He forgot—his exact words.
Lucky for him, I covered for him and told her that his swim meet ran late. It was risky. Mrs. Parks could’ve easily made her way to the high school pool to see if the team was still there, but she didn’t question it. Instead, she was just thrilled to have the boxes filled with the Angel Tree gifts all accounted for, wrapped, and with my help, piled inside of her car. I updated her on the adopted families and assured her that we had all presents packaged and ready to go. All we needed was to shop for groceries, divvy them up, then deliver everything.
But as I waited for him that afternoon at the Sweet Water Market, impatiently checking my time on the phone, I realized that he wasn’t going to show.
Sick of waiting, I sent him a disgusted text and did the grocery shopping myself. Instead of enjoying it like I had when we went shopping together for the gifts, I hated every single solitary minute. I had to somehow
navigate two carts, then park them to go and grab a third. By the time I was done, I was exhausted and made a point to call Ethan to ensure Carson wasn’t home. The last thing I wanted was to see him at the moment. I didn’t want a confrontation and couldn’t trust myself not to say something stupid.
When I pulled into the driveway, Ethan was already waiting for me. He helped me unload everything into the house, which we divided among the boxes. Luckily, Mrs. Brooks had made room in her refrigerator for the cold items like the deli trays and Christmas hams.
The entire time we worked, Ethan continued flicking worried looks my way, which I tried studiously to ignore.
“This is ridiculous. He should be here,” Ethan said.
“No kidding.” It was all I could think of to say.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. He helped you this whole time. To just stop now is weird. I heard Mom talking to him this morning, too. She asked him if he was supposed to help you today and he said you didn’t need his help. That you’d handled it. Handled it, my a—”
“It’s fine.” I snapped, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to talk about it, okay? You’re here now, and I’m sure he’ll be here tonight to help deliver. We’re supposed to use his Jeep.”
“But I thought you two were getting along? What happened?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said through gritted teeth.
When we placed the final bag in the freezer, Ethan turned to me. “Hey, Beth and I are supposed to go out tonight, but you and I can catch lunch if you want?”
I shook my head and tried for a small smile. “Nah. I’m tired. I’ll just go home until later when we’re supposed to deliver everything, then I’ll be back.”
“Okay. But call if you want company.”
“Will do,” I said, even though I had no intentions of doing so. The only thing I wanted was to wallow away in my bedroom.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The minute I got home, my day went from bad to worse.
The living room was a war zone. Clothes were strewn everywhere, along with what appeared to be a set of bed sheets, and what I recognized as my father’s luggage. In the middle of the mess was the Christmas tree, lying haphazardly, half out of the box, along with the plastic bins of ornaments, like my mom had decided to put it up after all, then gave up.
Shouting came from the master bedroom down the hall, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened—clearly, my parents had gotten into some kind of epic fight. ‘Tis the season.
I sighed as I picked my way through the living room, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water when my gaze landed on a pile of mail on the kitchen table.
Something pulled at me, urged me over. I reached out and grabbed the envelope on top with shaking hands. Sure enough, University of North Carolina Chapel Hill was printed in the left-hand corner in bold letters.
I squeezed my eyes closed, and my parents shouting faded to the background as I said a little prayer, then tore it open. With shaking hands, I pulled out the letter inside. And my heart dropped.
Dear Miss Mia Randalls,
We at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill regret to inform you. . .
I dropped my hands, and my vision blurred with tears. I didn’t need to read the rest of the letter to know what it said. Those opening words were enough.
We regret to inform you. . .
We regret to inform you. . .
Five tiny words that were like a knife in my back.