Jayson: A New Adult / Coming of Age Romance (16 page)

I
hit
the accelerator and zoom away from the student union, but before I even get a full block away from the building, the telltale flash of red and blue lights come from behind me, and I hear sirens. “Shit, not today,” I grumble. I pull over to the side of the road and slap the car in park, visibly irritated. I watch through my side mirror as a campus security officer gets out of his car and takes his precious damn time ambling up to my window. I power it down with a sigh. “Yes, officer?” I force a smile.

“Young lady, you know you were speeding, right?”

“Important meeting with my professor. I’m in a hurry. I’m sorry,” I confess, hoping he’ll go easy on me. He still whips out his ticket book and starts scribbling a citation. I suppress another expletive and stare glumly ahead.

He holds me up with a three-minute lecture about it being a pedestrian campus and the dangers of speeding. He nails me with a fine for being two miles per hour over the speed limit. “I don’t care if there’s a fire. You gotta follow the same laws of the road as everyone else, ma’am,” he drawls as he writes out the ticket. It almost seems like he writes at a slower pace just to spite me, taking his time to cross his t’s and dot his i’s.

Rather than blow up at him like I want to do, I graciously accept the stupid ticket and shove it in my glove box. “Have a nice day,” he says with a tip of his hat. I take care not to speed off, but as soon as he’s out of my rearview, I toe the limit.

By the time I get up to Professor Schwartz’s office, the frazzled, harried mood that’s been with me the entire day threatens to zap me of the last of my patience. When her assistant tells me I have to wait because she’s in with another student, it takes everything in me not to drop to the floor and have a full-fledged temper tantrum. “How long?” I demand. The poor girl behind the front desk shrugs with wide eyes at the aggression in my tone. I soften my response and apologize for being nippy with her. “It’s just that I’m kind of in a hurry.”

It’s Friday. I know Jayson will be waiting for me at my house by the time I get home, and it’s not like I have every Friday off work. This is a rare opportunity for us to hang out without the hassle of waiting until I get off from Devil in the Details.

I know it’s a big deal that Professor Schwartz takes out the extra time to see me, but today isn’t the day for hang-ups. Sighing, I mosey over to a square, uncomfortable looking chair in the waiting area just outside the professors’ offices and watch the door like a hawk.

As I wait, I think about the meeting yesterday evening with Hank, my supervisor at work. He called me in for a friendly chat about my job performance. I’ve only been working at the design and décor store for a few months, and I thought I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.

“Have a seat,” Hank said.

I sat down, prepared for…I guess, the usual high marks. Instead, he said, “We’ve been getting some complaints from customers about you.”

“Excuse me?” I stammered in shock. Complaints? The very idea was foreign to me. I don’t get complaints. I get accolades. I’m the head of the class, the overachiever, the perfectionist. If there’s an extra mile, I go it. What the hell did he mean, customers have been complaining about me? “I don’t understand.”

“Yeeeaaah,” he said reluctantly. “It seems your approach is putting some people off. You come off as a know-it-all, a little bit pushy and demanding. Kitrina, when a customer comes into the store, they don’t want someone to take over their shopping experience for them or belittle them and make them feel like they don’t know what they want.”

“I’ve never done that!”

“Oh, really? I got a call from a woman named Irene Gervais, and she stated that you expressly told her she didn’t want to buy what she came into the store to buy. Not only that, you tried to strong-arm her into getting a coffee table she couldn’t afford.” I blinked. I really thought Irene was going to think things over and see it my way. Who covers up watermarks with a random assortment of doilies? She
needed
a new coffee table. I gave her suggestions on how to get one.

Hank continued, “Unfortunately, it’s not the first such call about you. At first I tried to handle it by explaining to the customers that you were simply offering your expertise, and they had the option to decline your advice. But, this is happening too much, Kit. I’m afraid I have to take some sort of disciplinary action. It has to stop.”

I gulped at the words disciplinary action. In my heads, numbers swim: utility bills, my mortgage, my car note, insurance. In order to cover my expenses I have to work, and I don’t have time to find a new job. This one had to do. Despite the fact I felt the claims were unjustified, I listened with growing alarm to the “disciplinary action” Hank has in mind.

“I need you to go through some extra training before I put you on the floor. I guess I kind of threw you to the wolves. Ordinarily, the first week of work is spent with an experienced floor consultant, but I didn’t do that with you because I saw you had a clear grasp of design elements. I apologize for under-preparing you, and now I have to make it right.”

I nodded, and the portly mid-twenties supervisor handed me another copy of the employee handbook. “Now, I know you’re scheduled to work Friday evenings, but I struck you from the schedule this week. I won’t have a senior employee available until Monday. You’ll have the weekend off, and I need you to re-familiarize yourself with the standards and practices outlined in the handbook so you can get a clearer picture of customer-service and sales practices you might be going about wrong.”

“Of course,” I whispered demurely, gulping past a lump in my throat. It feels like the worst day of my life. For someone like me, it’s hard hearing my best isn’t good enough.

In the end, Hank let me off work early so I could go home and get started studying the handbook, which I diligently tried to do Thursday night since I knew Jayson would dominate the weekend. Sitting outside Professor Schwartz’s office, my confidence is rattled by what happened with Hank the day before. Could she be calling me in to admonish me, too? I push my hands through my hair, and a ragged nail catches a strand. I wince, pulling my fingers away. I need a fresh manicure, something I’m normally on top of. It feels impossible to keep track of things—as if my life is spiraling out of control.

My days consist of doggedly getting through class, slaving away at work, staying up late to study and doing it all over again the next day. I haven’t bought a lick of new furniture for the house with my bills and day-to-day needs eating up the majority of my finances. No one prepared me for how much food can cost, or toilet paper for that matter. I sink my head in my hands as I sit in the waiting room. It’s overwhelming.

“Professor Schwartz is ready for you now,” the assistant says, startling me. I look up, wondering how I missed the exiting student. Grabbing my bags, I dash into the professor’s office.

Professor Amy Schwartz’s black bob slants across her lined, carefully made-up face. She shakes it back with a welcoming smile, gesturing to the chair across from her industrial-style desk. I notice she’s had time to get her nails done and feel a stab of envy. I sit down heavily, feeling like it’s the first time I’ve rested all day. The muscles of my legs hurt from running around. My head throbs from overthinking things. I bask in the evening light filtering through the slats of the blinds, and for a minute I enjoy the expectant silence while I brace myself for what prompted the meeting.

“Do you have anything you need to talk about?” Professor Schwartz finally asks me. I’m too mentally exhausted to draw up a topic, so I wearily shake my head. “Well, how did everything go with the house hunt? You never told me.”

“Oh, I bought the house,” I say, mustering up a touch of excitement. “It’s being renovated now. I can’t wait to bring in pictures so you can see the finished rooms.”

“Excellent. I called you in because I wanted to see if you checked up on the internship I told you about last time we met.” She pushes forward another copy of the internship application. I nod, lying. I haven’t looked at the thing twice since receiving it. “Then, you know that the deadline for applying for an internship for next summer is fast approaching. These positions fill up far in advance. I hope you have a mock-up completed to submit with your application.”

My face falls. That was part of the requirement? I squeeze the bridge of my nose and drop my head. “I’m sorry, when is the deadline?” I ask fearfully. I remember all her reminders to look at the paperwork. Professor Schwartz expressly told me there were limited spots, and she backed me because she believed in me. Yet, here, I’ve fucked things way up. I had no idea the application would have to be turned in so far in advance.

“At the end of this month,” she replies softly, retracting the internship application back to her side of the desk. “Kitrina, you’ve been a bit distracted lately. I’ve noticed. Your work lacks a certain edge that it used to have. You seem distant in class. You haven’t stepped foot in my office since October when I extended the invitation. I’m worried about you.”

I shrug, not having an answer for what’s obviously her question. Why have I been distracted? Well, I do have an answer, but I’m too embarrassed at first to admit it. “I guess I…I’ve been letting my social life interfere with my academics,” I say quietly. My eyes sting, and I blink back the wetness.

Professor Schwartz doesn’t launch into a lecture. Instead she regards me with calm, cool eyes, extending no judgment. “It’s a tough thing, this circus. Folks expect you to juggle, tightrope walk and leap through rings of fire all at the same time, don’t they?”

I think about it, and that’s exactly what it feels like. Only, it isn’t just an expectation. It’s a need. If I don’t do everything required, I will be a failure. If I can’t keep my job, I can’t pay for my house. If I lose my house, I can’t have my relationship. If I can’t have my relationship, all this independence bullshit is in vain. I’ll be back in my mother’s house where I can’t even make decisions for myself. It’s a hopeless case. I juggle, walk the tightrope and jump through flaming hoops because I have to do it all.

“Look, I know being your age can be as upsetting as it can be fun. I’ve been there. Frankly, I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you that will make the coming of age process easier. But I can help you if you want this internship. Getting that project completed by the end of the month so you can submit your application is a must. That means you have about two weeks left. You’ll have to work hard if you want this.”

“I understand,” I reply. I have no idea how I’ll get it done in time. I don’t even know the requirements. I’m hopelessly underprepared. Yet, I know I have to figure out how if I want to keep Professor Schwartz’s backing.

“If you need any help with it or a second set of eyes to give you a critique, you know where to find me,” she says.

Professor Schwartz turns back to her computer, effectively dismissing me. I collect my things and quietly slip out of her office, walking back to her car in less of a hurry. I know Jayson is waiting for me at home, but suddenly it doesn’t seem imperative that I make time to hang out. I’ve got some things that need to be taken care of, not to mention tests coming up once the weekend is over. Not for the first time, I wonder if I need to put the thought of a relationship completely on the backburner. I wonder if my mother was right, no matter how much I wish she were wrong.

“
Y
ou have
two hours to take the exam,” the professor concludes before starting the timer.

I stare at the computer screen where the endless lines of my final exam blur into an indistinguishable mess of words. I know I studied. It shouldn’t be so hard to answer the test questions. Yet, as I go from page to page, I come across segments I’m not prepared to tackle. I skip what I can’t immediately answer, determined to come back to it later. All the while, I anguish over my inability to breeze through the test.

Ever since I was a kid, learning came easily to me. I went to private schools. I had the best tutors for any subject I had trouble understanding. My mother and I put a lot of effort into my academics because a lot was expected of me. In time, it became second nature to work a little harder than my peers to make sure I stayed on top of the game. My excellent grades weren’t the result of innate intelligence, although I had that, too. I worked very hard, studying, researching, reading—going above and beyond to prove myself exceptional.

What changed in the last few weeks leading up to my final exams?

I think about the past two weekends spent with Jayson, our midweek refresher at the hotel. The late night conversations come to mind, and the endless musings, daydreaming. I think about the juggling act, trying to make sure Grace doesn’t feel left out. Then, there’s work, problems on the job. In my head, a flurry of bills rains down. I hear my mother’s voice rambling about bad choices. The computer screen and test questions blur as I blink away tears.

The horrific result stares me in the face. I can’t get through a single question of the final exam without wracking my brain for the right answer. Sniffling miserably, I knuckle my eyes and dash away the unshed tears. No point crying now. The clock ticks down the minutes, and the minutes turn into an hour. When the professor announces time is up, I push away from the computer after having double-checked each question to make sure I answered to the best of my ability. It’s all I can do not to run from the room sobbing hysterically. It’s official. I currently suck at life.

As I walk hurriedly away from the site of carnage called the testing center, I pass other dazed and damaged students walking away, too. At least I’m not the only one. My phone rings. “Are you coming for Christmas dinner or not?” my mother’s voice greets me.

I pull the phone from my ear and scream on mute. Sighing, I put it back to my ear. “Hello to you too, Mother.”

“Well? Are you? I’m trying to get a head count.”

“Mother, are you still upset about what happened at Thanksgiving? We really can’t keep doing this. It’s time we learned how to be civil with one another. Trust me, I’m trying.” A part of me wants to unload my burdens and tell her all about what’s been going on in my life, but her snippy tone keeps me from giving her the satisfaction. I grit my teeth and answer her question. “And, yes, I’m coming to dinner. Is it alright if I bring a friend?”

“Who? Gracie?” Mother asks suspiciously.

“Jayson,” I reluctantly tell her. I was hoping I could show up with him rather than have to say in advance.

Mom inhales sharply. “I really tried to give you the benefit of doubt, Kit. I thought you were shaping up. Tell me you’re not involved with him.”

“Oh, God, Mom. Jayson and I are friends. I just asked you if I could bring a
friend
.”

“Kit, if you’re lying to me…”

“Listen, Mom, I don’t have time to get into it with you right now because I’m on my way to class. But, can we talk about this when we’re both free?...Hello?” The only answer I receive is the sound of my mother's phone hanging up.

“I think I failed a final exam today,” she says solemnly. Tears she’s been holding back crest and fall. I hate to see her so upset. Kit buries her face in her hands and cries it out while I rub her back and make soothing, sympathetic sounds, but there’s nothing I can really say. I don’t know why she failed the exam. I know she studied. I wonder if the pressure she’s been under lately, pressures she’s only hinted at to me, are the reason.

She has a project she has to complete by the end of the year. She has these finals to take. She had an incident on the job that required her to go through retraining today. When Kit called me over at close to midnight, I knew something was up. I ease closer to her on the sectional that finally got cleaned over the past weekend, and I put my arms around her to hold her tightly. “I think you need a long soak and some hot tea,” I determine.

“I’m sorry I called you over. I know it’s late. I know you have to work tomorrow.”

“Don’t you worry about that. Let’s get you upstairs.” Minutes later, I leave her in the tub filled to the brim with steamy water scented with the jasmine bath beads I bought her while she was staying at the hotel. The aroma fills the air with a refreshing floral scent certain to uplift the worst of moods. I run back downstairs to fix her a cup of chamomile tea like my momma used to make with honey and a squeeze of lemon. When I return to the bathroom, I see Kit up to her neck in bubbles, and I hand her the teacup. She thanks me softly, sets it on the ledge of the tub and closes her eyes.

“I’m tired,” she says. “Endlessly tired. I saw this saying on a t-shirt once that describes it completely. It’s like the hurrier I go, the behinder I get.”

I chuckle softly, skimming my fingers along the surface of the bathwater. “You need a break. The semester will be over soon, right?” I reply softly.

She nods. “I can’t wait for school to be out.”

I swallow thickly because I don’t want to say what I have to say. I’ve been thinking about it for days as I watched her struggle to balance the different elements of her life. I know it’s my presence making everything harder for her. “You need a break from school, and you need a break from me.” Tense silence meets my announcement.

Kit slowly sits up in the tub, a movement that sloshes water all over the floor. A wave hits the teacup, and it falls to the tile, shattering into tiny pieces. The dark brown tea mixes with the bathwater and bleeds across the puddle. I grab a towel to clean it up. When I glance back at Kitrina, she’s looking at me with red-rimmed eyes, shaking her head. “How could you say that? After everything I’ve been through to keep us together.”

Ignoring the water wetting my jeans, I ease to my knees at the tub side and cup her face in my hands. “Sweetie, I’m not ungrateful. I see the sacrifices you’ve made for our relationship. I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your life, Kitrina. It’s not fair to you. It makes it where you can’t give me one hundred percent; you can’t give your goals one hundred percent. You can’t give anything your all, because you’re trying to give everything something. I care about you. Enough to make this easier for you, even if it hurts. And don’t think it doesn’t hurt me to suggest this, Kit. At least until you get school out of the way. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be better off together in the summer.”

The very idea of not spending any time with her until May is painful. This is the only woman who knows how to make me smile at my lowest point, who knows how to turn the worst day into the best. We’ve shared laughter, tender words and mind-blowing sex. The kind of sex that brings meaning to the phrase “making love.” I have to fight my own instincts to tell her I’m willing to give that up, even temporarily, for her sake. I’m scared that she’ll forget me, meet someone else. She may have been a virgin, but she’s a beautiful girl—beautiful woman—and becoming more so all the time. But I don’t want to be the one to mess up her life. “Just try to understand,” I try again. “You have things you need to do, and your affection for me is making it impossible for you to devote your attention to those things. Maybe it’s time to pull back for a little while.”

“You can’t ask me to do that,” she says tearfully. “Jayson, you’re the only one keeping me sane. My life is filled with obligations and things I have to do. What you’re asking is for me to give up the one aspect that gives as much as it takes from me.”

I listen to her words, and I want to argue the point. I want to tell her that, all in all, I take more than I give. We both sacrifice time, but it’s not like I have a degree to work for after I clock out, and she does. What’s in my head makes perfect, rational sense…and it doesn’t jibe with what I want or what she wants. Her abject misery is readily apparent.

I don’t want to be the one to break her heart, either. I sigh, shaking my head. “At the very least, I think we need to reorganize how we do things. You need more time to do what you have to do.”

“What do you propose?” she asks, reaching for me. Kit tugs at the collar of my shirt, starts unbuttoning the buttons. I collect her fingers in mine and do the job for her. Peeling it from my arms, I stand and take off my wet pants. With a tired grunt, I climb into the tub with her, and she makes room for me, sliding her legs over mine. We settle comfortably face to face. Yeah, this feels like home. It’s all I can do not to bury my face in her breasts.

“I propose you let me know when you have work to do. Homework, reading, projects, any kind of assignment. When you have work, I don’t come over.”

“What about our study sessions?” she complains.

I smile mischievously. “Maybe every once in a while, but I think it’d be prudent for you to focus on these finals first. You won’t be so stressed if you get that out of the way first. Then, after all the important stuff is finished, you can chill with me at leisure. How about that?”

She smiles radiantly and my cock twitches. I want to be inside, but more than that I want to make sure she’s happy. I touch the tip of her nose. She’s so beautiful, even though she looks distressed by what I’m saying. She needs to hear it. The only way she’ll figure out how to balance the scales is if she figures out what’s more important. I know she thinks it’s me. But the truth is, it’s her. Her life and her goals are most important.