Page 32 of Guarded Love

From [email protected].

My heart does this stupid little stutter that immediately annoys me. "Just open it, dumbass." I tap the notification.

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Interview Request - Senior Hockey Feature

Willow,

Thanks for reaching out. I'm available to meet you tomorrow between 2-4 P.M. We could meet at the library study rooms if so.

Let me know if that works.

Blaise

That's it. Short, direct, professional. Exactly what I asked for.

So why do I feel...disappointed?

"Get a grip, Willow," I whisper, shoving my phone back into my pocket without responding. I'll answer later, when I'm not standing in the freezing cold having an existential crisis over a four-line email.

I resume my walk to my car, my mind now split between Puerto Rico and tomorrow's interview. Two-to-four tomorrow. That gives me time to prepare and to remind myself that this is just another assignment.

Just another source.

Just another interview.

By the time I reach my car, my fingers are numb from the cold. I fumble with my keys, dropping them once before managing to unlock the door. Once inside, I crank the heat tomaximum and sit there, waiting for warmth to return to my extremities.

The Puerto Rico flyer peeks out from my bag on the passenger seat. I pull it out and smooth the creases, reading the details more carefully this time.

"Cultural immersion activities...historical sites..." Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull out my phone again and call a number I’m very familiar with.

Mom picks up on the third ring. "Willow? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, Mom, everything's fine." I take a deep breath. "I wanted to ask you about something. There's this study abroad program over winter break to Puerto Rico, and they've opened up some last-minute spots."

There's a pause on the other end. "Puerto Rico?"

"Yeah. I know it's short notice, but it's only a week, and it counts for credit, and?—"

"Slow down, sweetheart." I can hear the smile in her voice. "Tell me more about it."

I explain the program, the timing, and the cost. She listens without interruption, which is one of the things I've always loved about my mom. She actually listens and hears me out before offering her thoughts.

"What about the holidays?" she asks when I finish. "Abue would miss you."

"I wouldn’t leave until after the New Year," I assure her. "The program starts on the third."

Another pause. "And you really want to do this?"

Do I? The question hangs in the air between us before I respond. "I think..." I start, then pause for a moment before I continue. "I think I need this, Mom. A change of scenery. Something different."

She sighs, but it's not disapproving. "Well, you've always been independent. If this is something you truly want, we'll figure out the money part."

Relief floods through me because I didn’t have any expectations. "Really?"

"Really. Send me the details, and I'll talk it through with your dad tonight. Apply just in case to see if you will get in."