As much as I hate feeling like anyone’s charity case, I understand that living with Luca is going to be my only option if I want to stay in DC after I get kicked out of my dorm.
“Thanks. I might just take you up on that.”
“If you need anything, you know I’m here for you. You’re my only true friend.”
“Whatever,” I tease, nudging his shoulder. “You’re a socialite; you have hundreds of friends.”
“Those aren’t friends. They’re just people.”
Through my sadness, a smile grows for the guy who’s holding my hand. It’s a strange mixture of emotions that dangle heavily in my chest as I speak around the knot lodged in my throat. “You’re all I have, you know?”
Luca moves in closer and holds me in his arms. He has become so important to me this past year, more than simply a friend. He’s my everything.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I pull back. “But I have to get going.”
“Where to?”
“I have my counseling appointment.”
Luca watches me as I pull on my snow boots and apply concealer under my tired eyes.
“Did you see her husband on TV yesterday?” Luca asks.
“I missed the speech but caught a few clips on the evening news.” I swipe on a little lip gloss.
“I bet you he ties his wife up during sex and spanks her.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“Oh, come on, Em. A guy of power like that, you know he has to be controlling in the sack.”
Shaking my head, I laugh.
“Have you ever checked out her wrists?”
“No! God, that’s so weird.”
He stands to meet me face to face, and I can tell he’s happy to make me smile. Luca then rests a still kiss to my forehead the way he always does, and somehow, it soothes.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For you.”
“She’ll be with you in just a moment,” the girl from behind the desk says after I check in for my appointment with Mrs. Montgomery.
Taking a seat in one of the chairs in the waiting area, I scroll through my emails to busy myself. I started coming to therapy after my parents died because there was no doubt I needed help. In the blink of an eye, I lost my family—my world. Never have I felt so alone. Lost, really. We used to meet at her other office, but since I’m always on campus, she thought it would be more convenient for me to start having our sessions in her advisory office. So, I come here every week and talk through my issues with Mrs. Montgomery in an attempt to piece my life back together. Instead, it continues to crumble even further apart.
She has done what she could to help, going as far as to petition the university on my behalf for an additional semester of leniency due to my personal hardships.
The request was denied.
It’s frustrating because, while this prestigious education is being handed to most students on a silver platter, I have to fight for it.
“Emma, good to see you.”
Mrs. Montgomery is standing in the doorway to her office, and I slip my phone into my bag before following her inside. She takes the seat behind her desk, and I take my usual spot on the leather couch by the window that overlooks the parking lot.
“So, how are you doing today?”
“Been better.” I exhale deeply, feeling entirely defeated. “I wasn’t able to get the grants or supplemental scholarships I needed to cover my tuition.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, and I can tell in her tone that she truly means it.
“I guess that’s how it goes for people like me.”
“People like you?”
“Poor people.”
“You’re far from poor, Emma.”
“I’m even further from rich,” I retort. “Let’s face it, maybe this was just a pipe dream—working in politics.”
“It doesn’t have to be a pipe dream. You could always transfer.”
“I already looked into that. The thing is, most of the courses I’ve taken are so specific that there aren’t equivalents at most universities, which means that practically all my credits are non-transferable. It would mean starting over from the beginning.”
“Have you considered student loans?”
“I won’t be able get any student loans because my credit is screwed, and I don’t have anyone to co-sign for me. Plus, my part-time job only pays enough to keep my gas tank full and food in the fridge.” I grow more frustrated as I speak. “I am three semesters away from graduating, and I’d have to start all over. Plus, the resources that Georgetown has would guarantee me landing a good internship. This is all I’ve ever wanted since I was old enough to vote, a career in politics.” Slumping my shoulders, I sigh in resignation, adding, “It sucks to be so close but to know that it isn’t going to happen for me. I’m surrounded by students wasting this opportunity, who don’t really care that they’re here, when I’d do just about anything to stay.”
She shifts in her seat, asking, “If your mother were alive, what do you think she would tell you?”
This is the very thing that upsets me most. “I wouldn’t be in this situation if she were alive.”
“Possibly, but people can lose scholarships for all sorts of reasons. So, just humor me.” She crosses her legs and sits back in her chair. “What would she say to you?”
I don’t want to admit that I can almost hear my mother telling me not to give up. But my mom is no longer here, and the world is no longer the same in her absence, so what’s the point of considering a dead person’s thoughts?
I swallow the emotion lodged in my throat and state, “It doesn’t matter what she would say, or what anyone would say, for that matter. It isn’t their life; it’s mine.”
“True, but I wonder if you don’t want to consider her opinion, not because it doesn’t seem relevant to you but because of the feelings it might bring up.”
She hits the nail on the head.
“Is that the case?” she questions when I don’t react to her statement.
“Not everyone wears their emotions on their sleeves.”
“You’re right, but you shouldn’t be scared of them either.”
“I’m not scared,” I defend, even though we both know I am.
“Then what is it?”
My sadness isn’t something I want to show to others, yet she continually presses me to be more vulnerable. The thing is, I used to be able to drop my guard and expose more, but after losing my parents, I can’t.
I’m scared of opening myself up to only be hurt in the end. If there’s one thing life has taught me this past year, it’s that nothing lasts forever. One way or another, all relationships eventually come to an end, and I know all too well the pain that comes along with that.
“Like I said, it isn’t their life; it’s mine,” I state with a bloom of defensiveness.
She nods. “So, what are you going to do with your life?”
Looking away into blank space, I try and fail to hone in on an answer. “I don’t know. All I do know is that I want a better life; that’s why I came here. I want to be a media strategist for politicians; a respectable job that I would enjoy waking up every day to do. I don’t want all my time and hard work here at this school to be taken away from me when I’m so close to graduating.”