My Professor's Secret

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sixteen

When I'm alone and free of all inescapable burdens life has to offer, I write. Hoping something tangible would escape from the endless stream of words jumbled in my brain. Hoping I could write myself into the life I wanted or thought I deserved. Hoping that maybe my mother could exist in an intangible world crafted only by my subconscious. It works most days. The days where I didn't feel like crumbling on the way to a lecture or when waking up wasn't dreadfully exhausting. This was different. I sat at the chipped white desk—eyes glued to a blank word document desperately trying to conjure up anything worthy of twenty grand. Nothing came. Nothing but my dad's voice on a loop in my mind practically admitting he didn't care about my mother anymore.

I wondered if the lingering smell of my mother's cinnamon and sugar scented fragrance ever collide with the overly expensive perfume that whisked passed me in a breeze when Lorelei left our house the night we were formally introduced. Surely my father would've had to tell Lorelei our house remained untouched since my mom last fixed it to her liking. That the picture of the four of us on our trip to New York hung perfectly over the fireplace and framed on the table of dads side of the room would never be replaced. Partly because he would never have the strength to rid us of such memories of her. Only I know the real reason. It was the last decent photo of us together. Before the cancer metastasized and morphed her usual olive toned skin to nothing but a dusty shade of gray.

A part of me expected to handle the news of him rekindling his love life with more maturity. At least enough to grant him the opportunity to love again. It remained unspoken between the three of us, but my brother and I knew our father rarely did anything without our approval. Needless to say, it hadn't changed anything. Instead, it only made him more desperate to prove that Lorelei was a suitable match for him. Suddenly, the three of us indulging in Dad's famous stew meant only for special occasions seemed more appropriate. Perhaps that first night standing amidst with Christian, pondering over who's Beetle sat parked in our driveway made more since too. Lorelei's debut as my father's new love interest was meant to be introduced to us as we all indulged in stew. Except something changed their minds that night.

The thought of Lorelei and my father corrupts me enough until I finally manage to shake the thought of them and focus back on the document staring back at me. It's pale brightness burns my eyes until my back hits the back of my seat, allowing my eyes to rest from the strain. My identity, the name of my university, and the name of my professor—since he nominated me for the reward—are the only words filling the left corner of the digital page. Taunting my lack of creativity until I shut its screen with a sigh of defeat then a knock startles me from my sulking.

Chris' husky voice announces his presence and enters in before receiving my permission. Normally, I'd argue with him about how a knock defeats the purpose if he walks in uninvited anyways, but instead, I bite my lip. He and I refrain from mentioning the argument from a few days prior, understanding that the fragility of our relationship was only temporarily mended by our mutual distaste in dad's news. My eyes follow him until he plops on the bed, phone in hand and typing something eager before he locks it and sets it beside his thigh. His eyes are heavy. Lack of sleep prominently adding a darker cast under the bags below his eyes. Clearly it wasn't just me tossing and turning the night before.

"I hope you're all packed," he says, picking his phone back up the second it dings with a notification. I guessed his rapid response was sent to Marcus. "We head out in ten." He refuses to linger any longer once he notices my luggage already stacked neatly near my door. Something he might've noticed had he waited for an invitation into my room.

When it's finally time to depart, I'm partly grateful my father's job prevents him from wishing us off. If the past few days gave us nothing more than a relationship, that would still be too much to handle. Instead, there's a sheet of paper laid on the table that catches my peripheral as I haul my bags to Marcus' trunk.