We Loved Until We Couldn’t Novel – Chapter 13
I mean, I was scared to touch him — but not because I thought I was better than him.
He just made me nervous.
He dropped his hand and gave a small nod. “I guess I better go.”
I stepped aside so he could pass. He pointed past the kitchen, silently asking if that was the way to the back door. I nodded and followed a few steps behind him as he made his way down the hall.
When he reached the back door, he paused — his gaze drifting toward my bedroom.
And suddenly, I was embarrassed.
No one ever saw my room, so I’d never bothered to make it look mature. The pink bedspread, the floral curtains, even the giant poster of Adam Brody on the wall — all of it suddenly felt childish under his eyes.
For the first time ever, I wanted to rip that poster down.
Julian didn’t seem to care how my room looked, though. He just glanced at my window — the one that faced the backyard — and then looked back at me.
Right before stepping outside, he said,
“Thank you for not being disparaging, Iris.”
And then he was gone.
I’d heard the word disparaging before, but it sounded strange coming from a teenage boy. Then again, everything about Julian seemed like a contradiction.
How does someone so polite, humble, and articulate — someone who uses words like disparaging — end up homeless?
How does any teenager end up homeless?
I need to find out, Nora.
I’m going to find out what happened to him.
You just wait and see.
— Iris
I’m about to open another entry when my phone rings.
I crawl across the couch and grab it — and I’m not the least bit surprised to see it’s my mother.
Now that my father is gone and she’s alone, I’m certain she’ll call me twice as often as before.
“Hello?”
“What do you think about my moving to Boston?” she blurts out.
I grab a throw pillow, press it against my face, and muffle a groan.
“Um. Wow,” I manage. “Really?”
She’s quiet for a moment. Then, softly:
“It was just a thought. We can discuss it tomorrow. I’m almost at my meeting.”
“Okay. Bye.”
The call ends, and I collapse back against the couch.
Just like that, I want to move out of Massachusetts.
She can’t move here.
She doesn’t know anyone in Boston. She’d expect me to entertain her every day.
I love my mother — truly — but I moved here to build my own life.
Having her in the same city would feel like taking a step backward.
My father was diagnosed with cancer three years ago, when I was still in college.
If Dr. Adrian Voss were here right now, I’d tell him the naked truth:
I was a little relieved when my father became too ill to hurt my mother anymore.
It changed everything between them — and between her and me.
For the first time, I didn’t feel like I had to stay in Plethora to protect her.
Now that he’s gone and I don’t have to worry about her safety, I was looking forward to finally spreading my wings.
But now she’s talking about moving to Boston?
It feels like my wings just got clipped.
Where’s a marine-grade polymer chair when I need one?
I’m seriously stressing out, and I have no idea what I’ll do if she actually follows through.
I don’t have a garden here. No yard. No patio. No weeds to pull.
I need a new outlet.
So, I clean.
I gather my old shoeboxes full of journals and notes and stack them neatly in my bedroom closet. Then I organize everything — my clothes, my shoes, my jewelry — until there’s nothing left to fix.
She cannot move to Boston.