Warmth in Ice (Find You in the Dark #2.5)(4)
Author: A. Meredith Walters

“I promise, Maggie. We’ll get through this. You need to go to school and kick ass. I’ll do what I have to do down here. I’m going to follow this plan step by step and we’ll be together before you know it,” I told her, feeling the truth even as that tangly, dark place inside of me wanted to hijack it with uncertainty.

Because for now she was my entire reason and until I could find one for myself that was enough.

“Danny and Rachel are here. We’re going out to dinner and then to see a movie. They leave in the morning too,” Maggie told me and I recognized the sound of her friends.

“Tell them I said hey and good luck,” I said sincerely. I would always love Rachel and Daniel for the simple reason that they loved my girl.

“I will.” Maggie paused before continuing, “I miss you. So much,” she let out in a rush and I knew she felt guilty for exposing her vulnerability over the phone knowing there wasn’t a thing either of us could do about it.

But I missed her just as much, if not more, and that wouldn’t go away until we were together again.

“I miss you too. More than the moon misses the stars,” I said, laying the cheese on extra thick. I could practically hear Maggie’s smile over the phone.

“More than the waves miss the beach,” she added, laughing.

“More than a hamburger misses ketchup,” I chuckled.

“You are such a sap, Clayton Reed. All of this mush is making me want to vomit a little,” she said making a gagging noise.

“You love it,” I teased.

“No, I love you,” Maggie breathed out quietly, three words just for me.

“I love you Maggie May Young. For forever.”

2

How was I going to be expected to live in a room the size of my parents’ closet? This had hyperventilation written all over it. How could to people co-exist in such confined living conditions without resorting to base level brutality in order to survive?

There was no way I was going to fit half of the stuff I brought with me from home in here! I was freaking out! I was so freaking the hell out!

My dad dropped a heavy hand onto my shoulder and looked around. Mom was still down in the car, needing the extra minute to compose herself before leaving her “baby” all alone at big bad college.

“This is cozy,” Dad said, putting too much optimism into his voice to be anything other than fake.

“Cozy like a prison cell,” I mumbled, dropping my suitcase onto the twin-sized bed. There were two twin beds separated by no more than five feet. There were two desks smooshed against opposing walls. Two closets were built into the wall and were wide open, no doors, though one was covered by a shower curtain (we’d get to this later). There was a small sink in the corner with a mirror over it and a door beside it that led to a fungus filled bathroom.

“Come on, Maggie May, it’s not that bad. It’s a freshman rite of passage. You are given the worst rooms on campus as a means of culling the herd. Consider this a young adult survival of the fittest,” my dad enthused, setting a box on my desk.

My roommate had obviously already arrived. Hard not to notice the bright pink comforter and Justin Bieber posters on her side of the room. Christ, how was I going to breathe the same stale air as someone who listened to Justin Freaking Bieber?

I was about to be thrust into my very own version of college hell.

“Here’s the rest of your stuff, sweetie,” my mom said, her voice tight and muffled from her recent bout of crying. She looked around the room and her face registered the same horrified shock that I knew had crossed mine a few moments before.

“This is your room?” she asked aghast. My dad tsked her under his breath.

“Don’t start, Laura. The room is fine. Maggie will be fine,” my dad said tersely, surprising me with the harshness in his tone towards my mother. But I knew it had more to do with his feelings of empty nest syndrome than anything else. He was trying to make lemonade out of this big ol’ pile of nasty ass lemons.

Mom rubbed her eyes and gave me a watery smile. “No, you’re right, Marty. It’s fine. Maggie will do great. Things will be…great!” she said with a forced enthusiasm it was obvious she didn’t feel.

The problem with being an only child was that your parents clung a little too tightly every time you tried to fly. Even though they wanted what was best for you, they spent more time trying to keep your feet on the ground than pushing you to head for the sky.

I knew my parents wanted me to live my life. They wanted me to go to school and to do well and to make them proud and all that other Hallmark card stuff. But I think for the two people standing in front of me, trying to hide how desperately unhappy they were to lose their “little girl,” the ideas looked better on paper than in real life.

“So where’s the roommate?” my mom asked, sitting down on the end of my narrow bed. I glanced at the Justin Bieber posters again and tried not to shudder.

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen her yet.” I had spoken to Ashley McCawl, aka the apparent Bieber-loving roomie, a few weeks ago. She had seemed nice on the phone if not a bit perky. But I shrugged that off as excitement and a case of the nerves. We had only talked for about twenty minutes. Exchanging banal information like where we lived and who would be bringing the fridge and who would bring the microwave.

I had never thought to ask about whether she had an obsession with eye burning color palates and really bad pop music. Shit, she had covered her closet with a Little Mermaid shower curtain.

Was I living with a five year old?

“She has some cute things,” my mother mentioned, doing the nosy parent thing and totally looking at all of the little knickknacks that covered Ashley’s desk. She picked up a bright pink snow globe with a pair of Mickey Mouse ears inside and shook it.

“Someone really loves cartoons,” my dad commented, looking around. He was right, it looked like Walt Disney had thrown up in my dorm room. Aside from the overabundance of Bieber, there were the Cheshire cat throw pillows and the collection of porcelain Disney princesses on the shelf.

My Pixies and The Cure posters would definitely clash.

“You must be Maggie!” I heard from behind me, followed by a girlish squeal. I was blind tackled by a tiny girl with frizzy brown curls and a bright pink shirt with the word princess written in glitter.

I automatically put my arms up and around my overly excited roomie, patting her back mechanically because I didn’t know what else to do with all of…this.