It’s lights out after that, because I’ve got an early morning and a long day of not thinking about Finn.
So I’ve got the college part of college worked out.
I’m not sure about the rest of it.
It’s like the girl who sat down at my table. How can I think about going to a party or joining the running club when Finn is dead?
I call my parents every other day. Charlie taught me that. “Day three is when they’ll start to think you’re dead,” he told me.
My parents never ask about Finn, but Mom’s “How’ve you been?” is worried. They seem to think a new friend will cheer me up.
She asks about that every time we talk. A few times, I’ve lied to my parents, told them that I’ve attended some of the student events from the flyers. That soothes them somewhat. They seem determined that Brett and I will eventually become buds, even though they’ve never met him, even though I’ve told them how he goes out of his way to ignore me. I suppose I’ll have to make a friend soon, or next time Mom calls, she’ll send Charlie to visit me.
Unfortunately, today would be a perfect day to make a friend.
I can’t justify going to the library after class. I’ve turned in my first big papers, I’m caught up on reading, and there’s no looming quiz or test.
I’ve accidentally set myself up to coast for a day or two.
Maybe I’ll drive around and find a park to go running. Finn was into varying your terrain.
So after my last class, I head back to the dorm to change clothes and get in an extra-long run, location TBA, as Sylvie would say.
There’s no reason not to call the ’rents as I walk, so I call their landline.
“Hello?” Dad always answers the phone like you’re about to ask him for ransom money for someone he hates. It probably scares off telemarketers.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Carole!” he bellows for Mom.
There’s a click as she picks up. I know she’s upstairs in her sewing room that used to be James’s room, and Dad is in his workshop in the basement. I think they do this because it gives them an excuse to yell at each other even when they aren’t angry.
“Jack?” Mom says. I’m probably the only reason they communicate these days.
“Hey, checking in.”
“I’m glad you called,” Mom says. She quizzes me on my laundry situation. Her words and Dad’s grunts make it clear they are doubtful that I’m wearing clean underwear, but it’s true. Doing laundry is easy. It’s putting it away that sucks. Mostly I’ve been leaving my clean clothes in the basket and dropping the dirty in a pile on the floor until the basket is empty. Since she doesn’t ask about putting it away, I don’t share that part.
On our last phone call, she was worrying over my diet. It’s funny because they were so hands-off when I was at home. Now that I’m out of their sight, they’re certain I need them.
“Have you made any friends yet?” Mom finally asks.
“Met a guy from Taiwan last night. He seemed cool.” I’d met him in the elevator. He liked my Zelda shirt, and we’d talked for about twenty seconds before we got off and walked to opposite ends of the floor, but it still counts.
“Have you and Brett hung out yet?” Mom asks.
“No.” I’m grateful the dormitory is in sight and I’ll be able to hang up soon. “And I don’t want to. I’m doing great, guys. You’ll see when midterm grades are out.”
“Grades aren’t everything,” Dad interjects.
I think Mom and I are both surprised into silence, though I recover first. “Who are you, and what have you done with my parents?” I ask.
“Well, grades are important, but your father has a point,” Mom says. They must be really worried if Mom’s agreeing with Dad.
“I’m doing good, seriously.” I’m not sure if it’s a lie or not. Maybe “good” isn’t the right word for where I am, but keeping my head above water when I feel like I’m drowning is good, right?
It’s like she knows I’m about to say I have to go. “You know you can call anytime?” Mom adds.
“Yeah, I know. I’m okay, okay? I should get off the phone. I’m about to go inside and get on the elevator.”
We say our goodbyes, and after we hang up, I imagine they are calling Charlie to pack a bag and visit me.
As I get off the elevator, it occurs to me that Brett will probably be in our room and not expecting me. My schedule has been pretty exact these past weeks. If he’s jerking off, he’d at least lock the door. And since the knob turns—