I was having a pretty decent day--as decent as it could've been after not receiving any more responses (or texts) from Soren for more than a whole day already--especially since it had taken a lot of me to convince Brooke to go shopping with me at the nearest mall. And we had only just arrived at The Bakery, one of my favorite stops in this bustling city, when my phone rang.

I took it out of my front pocket and saw Mom's name on the screen.

"...it's just, I don't get how you can say strawberries are different from cherries when they both taste exactly alike." Brooke rambled to Macy, the red-haired woman behind the counter who also happened to be the nicest cafe owner I had ever met.

"It's because they shouldn't taste the same, sugar," Macy replied with a lilt of an accent in her voice, tapping one of her fingers on the countertop before sliding both of our drinks towards us.

I fiddled with my phone and twisted a little on the stool I was sitting on, glancing over at the restroom and wondering if I could make it there in two seconds. Or four, maybe. The longer I waited to answer Mom the more pissed she'd be at me.

"Alice, sweetheart."

I looked back at Macy.

"Who is it?" She asked gently, looking over at my phone that I had a deathly grip over.

"My mom." I smiled sheepishly when Brooke winced at me sympathetically. "Can you hold my drink for me? I'll be back in a few."

"Sure," Brooke offered.

"I'll get you one of the warm blueberry muffins." Macy gave me a smile that could've melted the coldest of hearts.

I excused myself and headed for the exit doors instead of the restroom since the exit seemed to be calling out my name right then, and answered the ringing on my phone.

"Hey, Mom."

"Alice, darling, how are you doing?" She didn't sound pissed, thank God.

With a tiny spark of obnoxious hope in my chest, I smiled much more genuinely this time. "I'm good, Mom. How about you?"

"Just the same apart from a few busy arrangements. You do remember the dinner on Saturday, yes? Your Aunt Henrietta's flying from Ireland as well. Your Uncle might not be present though since he had some work-related issues." Mom went on and I hunched up my shoulders unconsciously, looking down at the uneven concrete pavement and one of my scruffy floral-printed ankle boots. "After all that happened with Fraser here, I can't blame your uncle for fishing for excuses to not come."

I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "Maybe it is his work, Mom, and has got nothing to do with Fraser's death." The sudden, ghastly death of my cousin that had almost ruined our family.

"Whatever the case." Her tone shifted, hardened. "His death isn't on us anyway. Your cousin always had that foolish streak about him that I knew would one day get him--"

"Mom. Please." I whispered softly.

"Grow out of it, Alice." She snapped. "I've heard enough of it from my brothers and sisters and don't need to hear it from my daughter as well who can't even get her life straight. If it weren't for that scholarship of yours--"

I gathered my only little bits of courage left and interrupted her. Again. "I'm bringing Soren along." God, could I have been any more stupid? Except that it did get my mother to fall silent, so perhaps yes.

"Well, that's reassuring at least." Her tone softened just a bit. "Try to be tolerable enough, Alice, that he doesn't leave you for a few more weeks at least. Your Aunt Frannie keeps telling tales about her grandchildren and I can't even get you to stop going through boys like they're trash."

There were a few things I could've told her that was wrong about what she'd just said. For instance, Aunt Frannie did not have any grandchildren--none that I was aware of anyway. And two, I absolutely didn't think boys were trash.

"There's also this nice announcement to be made after dinner so do tell him to stick along." Mom continued and I realized she was still talking about Soren and how I was still bringing him along at the dinner on Saturday. According to my mother, I was. "All your aunts and uncles will be there so please, Alice, don't do anything that might--"

"I won't, Mom." I lowered my voice when someone sidestepped me to enter the bakery.

"Good." She sounded anything but satisfied. "And how are your studies going? Your scholarship won't last the next year if you don't keep up with all your courses. You know your dad and I can't spend any more of a penny on you when all you use it for is parties and booze. Don't think I've forgotten your years in high school, Alice. I hope for your sake you've grown out of that childish phase by now."

I wanted to cover my eyes and my ears and maybe even my whole face from everything and everyone. With an itch burning within my veins, I wanted. I wanted something. Pinching the skin on my wrist, I closed my eyes briefly.

"I've gotta go, Mom." I lied. "I just saw someone from campus that I've gotta talk to."

"Ah. All right. God forbid you take out some time to talk to your mother yourself."

I winced. "I'll see you on Saturday. I promise."

By the time the call ended, when Mom hung up on her end, my hot chocolate had gone cold on the marble counter where Brooke sat, scrolling on her phone. She instantly looked up at me with wide eyes as I neared her.

"Everything all right?" She asked me.

I nodded and took a big sip of my cold hot chocolate. "Yeah. Mom was just checking up on me and whether I'm still coming to that Saturday family dinner."

She nodded slowly, though her eyes were still a little wide. Concerned. Brooke was a nice friend, I reminded myself.

"You've got to..." She trailed off, grimacing. "You do know it's completely fine if you tell her sometimes to back off, right?"

I drained half of my cup before replying, "Who do I need to tell to back off?"

"Your mother, Alice." Her voice softened and so did her body posture as she turned towards me. I couldn't help but notice. "She calls you and whenever you're done talking to her, all your Alice-ness is gone. Dimmed to the very end."

"Alice-ness?"

"Everything that makes you you. You're always so happy and nice and incredible. No one should get to take that smile off your face."

I didn't say anything because I was too busy reading the today's special menu card in front of me.

"Brooke's a hundred percent correct, sugar." Macy sidled into my view with a large blueberry muffin that she slid towards me. "Your mother's a mean one."

"She really isn't." I shrugged as I took a bite, nearly groaning at the warm, blueberry burst of flavor on my tongue. "She just...gets worried about things easily. And there are a lot of things to get worried about when you've got a family like mine. I can be a handful and I know that."

Macy sighed in that warm motherly way--the kind I couldn't quite imagine my own mother doing in front of me--before leaning over the counter and wiping crumbs from the corner of my mouth.

"You are a beautiful beautiful gem, Alice Rhodes, and I hope someone out there shows you exactly that one of these days."

I couldn't help but smile at that because as long as I've known Macy, she's had a way with words. Kind, compassionate words that always left me a little bewildered and a little pleased.

"Where's that boy of yours anyway?" She asked a few seconds later. "The one that thinks he knows your favorite pastry but totally doesn't?"

"He does know my favorite pastry." I defended Soren. "And his name's Soren."

Brooke had been silent for a while, staring at the both of us, and since I didn't want to be the rude one and leave her out of the conversation, I glanced at her and asked, "You had a class with him today, didn't you? Has he been acting weird?"

Brooke seemed surprised, to say the least.

"Um...yeah. Maybe?"

"Yeah?" I frowned a little. Maybe I should've tried calling him once more. Texted him a few more times too.

"It was just...he may or may not have turned a little queasy-green in the face when I asked him of you."

I didn't ask her why she'd asked Soren of me in the first place. Not when I suddenly felt a little queasy-green in my stomach as well

• • •

I left Soren approximately nineteen missed calls and five more voice messages--all of which consisted of me asking him to call me back--and I spent hours waiting, only for him to not reply at all.

When I failed to spot him the next day as well, or the day after that in college or anywhere near campus, I came to a decision that I really needed to see him. Ask him what was wrong and get myself--this--to a conclusion at least. What was it that I'd done to mess it up this time?

Because Saturday family dinner was right there looming in the distance, taunting me from afar, and I was practically desperate for Soren to come along with me. If that didn't happen, I couldn't decide what might be worse--my mother's disbelief or having to go through it in front of my entire family. Especially my stepdad and my stepsister, the two people that I'd sworn never to show how bad my relationship with my own biological mother was.

How bad would it be if I somehow ruined the entire dinner when my perfect boyfriend never showed up?

A disaster was what it would turn into.

That's exactly why I gathered all the last bits of my courage and left the girls' dormitory the following night, wrapping up my slightly worn-out yellow scarf around my neck (one that I was hell-bent on believing was my lucky scarf) and headed out to Soren's apartment just a little in the distance.

Soren luckily didn't live in the boys' dormitory, but instead at one of the apartments near campus, which I had always somewhat found much cozier than the dormitories. I liked spending my time there and I would (more so) if it didn't always end up with us making out on his couch. Not that I had a problem with it. But sometimes I just...wished for him to spend a night with me without hinting at anything that I knew would lead to sex.

I groaned and dragged my hands up my face, shaking my head out of it.

"Won't think of it right now," I mumbled to myself as I walked upstairs past the familiar apartment entrance and stopped near the first one on the second floor. Breathing out slowly, I placed a tiny smile on my face and knocked on the door.

No one opened.

I knocked again and then again and waited for fifteen whole seconds before leaning down and searching for the spare key beneath the welcome mat. Once I'd unlocked the door, I stepped inside and readied myself for the talk.

It might not be so bad, I told myself as I entered the apartment, shuddering a little at the sudden warmth. Chance was that Soren might not be here in the first place, hence why he hadn't opened the door for me. Or if he was here and hadn't heard me knocking, maybe I could somehow convince him to give me just one more chance. Let me fix it somehow. Ask him to tag along with me till Saturday at least, which in turn made me wince because wasn't that just purely selfish?

"Soren?" I called out softly as I looked around the tiny, empty lounge. There was a well-used leather couch in the center with a small television along the wall, three pairs of boots resting against the foot of the same wall. I gazed past them to the two bedrooms--one that belonged to Soren and the other that belonged to Brenda-the-barista he shared his apartment with. Brenda's room was open and the lights were closed which meant she was out. Soren's bedroom was, however, closed. And I could hear distinct shuffling noises (so evidently obvious within the otherwise quiet of the house) as I neared it.

"Sore--" I started but then stopped.

There was a soft thud from his room followed by the smallest of giggles--a giggle that sounded strangely and horrifyingly a lot like a moan.

I blinked, my knuckles halfway from knocking on the door, and I completely froze.

A second ticked by. And then another.

"Soren...you gotta be sure no one else is...ah, is here in the apartment with us." Another giggle followed.

"Who else would be here?"

"Well...your roommate!"

"Brenda won't be here for another hour or so." I heard Soren say. "There's nothing to worry about, babe."

I exhaled, feeling my shoulders slumping with this...this dark, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I understood what I was hearing right then, from behind the closed door of Soren's bedroom, but at the same time I just didn't.

I didn't understand.

My phone buzzed and I found myself taking it out of my pocket in a daze. Looking down, I noticed it was a text from Soren himself.

Soren: busy. Talk later.

Busy. He was busy. Oh, of course he was busy. I could very well see it. Or hear it, more like.

I backed away from the closed bedroom door and stopped by the kitchen counter, leaning against it as I stared down at the limp ends of my yellow woolen scarf hanging from around my neck.

And here I'd thought luck was on my side.