My girlfriend nibbles on her lower lip, something she does when she’s anxious.

“Don’t fret about it just yet, okay? Just think it over. I’ll text you when I’m home tonight.”

“Okay, I’ll try not to.”

I can see that she’s lying—she’s one hundred percent going to worry herself about it all day long, but there is nothing I can do about that.

“Goodbye, babe. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Twenty-Seven

Georgia

Three weeks after that…

It’s been a while since my chat with Ashley about him coming back to the States to spend time with me and get this mess sorted out, and it’s consuming me. Eating me alive, taking away my appetite, filling me with guilt.

My mother notices.

Sits herself down on the couch with me one night, not reaching for the remote control as she usually does to watch her home improvement shows.

Back when I moved home, she made it clear that the television was hers to commandeer, and if I wanted to watch my own shows, I could do it in my bedroom on my laptop.

It’s my home, but it’s not my home.

A strange place to be.

“What’s going on with you?” Mom asks, turning her body to face me. I have my phone in my hand and was texting Ashley, our usual daily I miss you and How was your day?

What’s going on with me? Where do I begin?

Where do I begin?

With the truth, I suppose.

The truth makes me want to vomit, but that’s neither here nor there, and it won’t help me now. I have a boy who wants to come here to be with me and help me work through this so I’m not alone, and how do I explain why he is coming all the way from England to do it?

“So, you know how I moved in with that guy at school?”

“Yes. The guy with the girl’s name.”

I nod. That’s the one. “He’s from England. He’s home now, and we were talking—”

“Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant,” she jokes.

“No.” I shake my head and actually manage a laugh, although she’s not going to be any more pleased with my actual news than she’d be if I told her I’d gotten pregnant out of wedlock.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, It’s nothing like that, but the truth is, it’s sort of like that. “He and I took a trip to Vegas a few months ago, before school was done.”

“Okay…” She’s not following, obviously.

“And you know how it is.” I give her an expectant look, hoping she’ll rush in to fill in the blanks. “Lots of drinking.”

“Did you end up getting arrested?”

I give a wry smile, wishing it were that simple. “No, I would have called.”

“Did he do something to you while you were there?”

“Ashley? God no, he’s the perfect gentleman.” I clear my throat. It’s now or never. “The kind of perfect gentleman you…um…get drunk and…um. Marry.”

Mom tilts her head. “I’m sorry—I’m not following.”

“We got drunk and got married.”

Silence.

Silence.

Followed by more silence.

“Say that again?”

“We got married?”

“And you were drunk.” A statement, not a question.

I nod. “Yes.”

“And have you heard of such a thing as an annulment?” Her face is unquestionably getting red, and her lips are pursing. I didn’t think she’d be cool about this, but I didn’t think she’d act so stoically, either.

“Yes, of course.”

“And you haven’t gotten one?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not? Do you love him?”

“Yes, I love him.” But not enough to marry him, for crying out loud. This wasn’t part of my plan! Not that I had a plan, exactly, but this wouldn’t have been anywhere in or around it.

“You’re in love with someone you lived with even though you told your father and me not to worry, you got drunk and married your roommate in Vegas, and you’re just now telling us about it.”

Um.

That pretty much sums it up.

Ashamed, I nod.

She says nothing.

More of nothing.

A silence so deafening I almost want to check for a pulse; I swear I hear the ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance.

My mother is silent for so long I actually begin to worry.

“Mom, please say something.”

Her mouth opens.

Closes.

Opens again, but she’s looking above my head and out the window behind me. “I don’t know where to start, Georgia. I’m so…I’m so…” Are her fists clenching? “I don’t know what to say.”

She sits, as silent as I’ve ever seen her, and I wish to god she would please say something.

Anything.

I would even be able to handle it if she started yelling right now, or crying, but her not saying anything at all is freaking me out. I knew this was a terrible idea and I knew I shouldn’t have told her.

“Mom…”

“What do you want me to say?” Her tone is controlled. “Do you really want to know what I’m thinking right now? Because I don’t think you do.”

“Yes! Yes, please.”

“Fine.” Her lips press into a tight line. “I think that…you’re an adult, and therefore, it’s time to start acting like one.”

I sit there, shellshocked.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

Mom goes on to explain. “I have to talk to your father about this, and he’s going to be disappointed too, but I speak for both of us when I say…perhaps it’s time for you to move on.”

Move on?

“Yes. Perhaps it’s time for you to move out and spread your wings. You went to Vegas, you got drunk, and you got married. And from what you’re saying, you didn’t get an annulment, which would’ve been the responsible thing to do as soon as you got back to school, but you didn’t. For whatever reason, you’re dragging your feet. I don’t know why, but there must be something about this boy that you like enough not to separate from him.”

She’s absolutely right of course; she usually is. But just because I haven’t gone and gotten an annulment yet doesn’t mean I’m attached to Ashley in some way that would make me want to stay married to him at twenty-two years old. It’s not like I’m purposely putting it off, am I?

“Do you want me to move out?”

Mom shrugs casually…coldly. Pulling an expression I’ve never seen on her before.

“You’re married. You should go figure your life out. You have a husband somewhere and you’re sitting in my living room, wallowing.” She stands, brushing her hands on the front of her jeans. “How does thirty days sound? That’s what most landlords give their tenants.”

Tenants? “I don’t pay rent.”

“Exactly,” Mom says as she leaves the room.

I am at a loss.