The Way I Am Now (The Way I Used to Be)

We stand in my driveway. All of us. Like the farewell scene in The Wizard of Oz. Except instead of ruby slippers, my magical transport is a borrowed beige Toyota. And, of course, I’m not going home; I’m leaving it.

It’s amazing how fast time passes when you’re trying to get your entire mess of a life in order. I had to quit my job at the Bean, register for classes, find a place to live, get a new job, and cram in as many appointments with my therapist as I could. I’m beyond exhausted.

But I did it. And now we’re here. Mara’s ugly crying, and, to everyone’s surprise, so is my dad, and it’s harder to hold it together than I thought it would be, even after taking an extra pill. But I do it.

“Eden, are you sure we can’t follow behind you?” my mom asks again. “Just to get you settled in.”

“No, it’s okay. Really, I have plenty of help there. And I’ll be home again next month for the . . .” I pause, meeting Caelin’s eye before he looks down at his feet. “Hearing,” I finish.

“Are you sure you didn’t forget anything?” she asks, looking back toward the house.

“Probably, but I can always get it next time.”

“Wish we at least knew this Joshua person you’re going to be living with,” my dad mutters.

“I’m not living with him, Dad,” I correct, not wanting to be too harsh, as these are probably the most words he’s said to me, or near me, since the dinner table fight. “We’ll just be in the same building.”

“I know him,” Caelin says. “He’s a decent guy.”

That seems to put my dad at ease, which sparks a tiny flame in my chest. Because why isn’t me knowing him, vouching for him, trusting him, good enough? My stomach clenches at that thought, extinguishing the fire before it makes its way to my brain and I say something I’ll feel guilty for later. That’s not the way I want this to end. Or begin.

We all look at each other, then at Caelin’s car, filled to the brim with boxes and bags and my still-newish mattress wrapped in plastic and strapped to the top with bungee cords.

“Well,” Mom says, pressing her fingers to the corners of her eyes. “I hate this.”

“So do I,” Mara sobs.

I go to each of them—Mom, Dad, and Caelin. I hug them and tell them I love them. Mara, my scarecrow, I save for last. “I think I’ll miss you most of all,” I whisper in her ear.

“Stop,” she laughs, even as she whimpers, “I can’t believe you’re leaving.”

“You better visit me,” I say through her hair in my face and her arms clasped around my neck, her whole body shaking with sobs as I hug her back.

“Let us know when you get there,” my mom calls to me as I’m pulling out of the driveway.

I’m almost at the highway when I realize I don’t know where I’m going. I pull down a side street and park. I see a text from Amanda from fifteen minutes earlier.

All it says is: ur really coming back right

I wonder if she was watching us in my driveway. I can feel the panic coming off those words. She means coming back for the hearing. When I asked the DA if I had to, she said they could make me. Though she used the word “compel.” I guess Mandy doesn’t know that. I can’t deal with her right now. I shake the chills out and copy the address from Josh’s text and paste it into my navigator.

Take a breath. Begin again.

Twenty minutes into the drive, I almost die when I swerve into the left lane while trying to check my directions. The truck driver I nearly collided with honks twice and gives me the finger. But after I make it past the city limits, I’m feeling pretty good. The road is clear, and I’m driving fast with the window rolled down, radio on, the playlist Mara made for me blasting all the songs I know by heart. I start thinking maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea, maybe this could actually be a good thing. The sky is gray, but it seems just right. Like the perfect day to try to change.Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

I text Josh my ETA at the halfway point, when I stop for gas and a bathroom break. I keep the radio off for the second leg of the trip. I hadn’t actually gotten this far in my plan. I mean, I know classes start in one week and that Monday morning I have new student orientation and a campus tour with a group of incoming freshmen like me. And that my roommate’s name is Parker Kim, a second-year undergrad on the women’s swim team, who lives in Josh’s building.

I slow down to the exact speed limit, try to prepare myself.

All our talks and texts have been strictly logistics. About the colossal shortage of student housing on campus and how all the apartment listings I sent him to check out for me were apparently in terrible neighborhoods and far from campus. About the vacancy in his friend’s apartment—her former roommate just moved in with their girlfriend and she needed a new roommate fast, almost as much as I did. “It’s perfect, right?” Josh had said. And I took it at face value, trying not to read too little or too much into him wanting me to be so close.

But for the past six weeks, throughout all the planning and preparing and back-and-forth, that almost-kiss has stayed pinned securely in place, not budging. The closest he’s come to giving me any kind of sign about what he’s thinking was when he sent me a link to a work-study job in the library, accompanied by some confusingly suggestive emojis.

You should apply for this. I remember you

used to volunteer in the school library

back when you were hiding from me . . .

And your🔥book club thing.😉

I reread that text so many times, even had Mara analyze it. She was pretty sure he was flirting with me, but I’m still not convinced. I did, however, apply for the job, and after a five-minute phone interview, I got it. Twelve hours per week. I’d still have to find something else, but this would be a good start.

GPS says I’m only two minutes away now. I pull over several blocks from the building, swish some lukewarm bottled water around my mouth, and pop a breath mint. I am rummaging in my purse when my hand makes contact with one of my now three prescription bottles. One for depression, one for sleeping, and one for when I’m actively having a panic attack. I consider taking another one, just to take the edge off. But instead, I apply a little lip gloss, pulling my windblown nest of hair back into a slightly less messy bun. Just in case. Of what exactly, I don’t know.