All You Need Is Love by Emily Franklin

Author:Emily Franklin [Franklin, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-5224-4
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-09-27T19:45:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

“Whatever the fastest way is,” I say to the post office worker and pay way too much to get my video project sent over in time for the deadline. It’s not perfect, it’s not even great, but it’s good. Or at least it feels that way to me. Dad and I watched a few nights ago and he cried and laughed along with Mable and gave a little cheer when he saw us walking all together. It was a nice break in the building tension between me and my father. Rather than little flare-ups that used to happen if I left my dishes in the sink or forgot to turn the heat down, the disagreements don’t fade. He seems annoyed that I went to London, annoyed that I came back, just frustrated in general. So watching the video was good distraction. Louisa came over for the last few minutes — I think she didn’t want to intrude — and brought us logs of chevre as if goat cheese had any relevance to the documentary whatsoever. But still, I’m not one to pass up cheese.

“Well, it’s out of your hands now,” Chris says, “Just like love is out of mine.”

“Oh will you stop being so dramatic. You’re going to see Alistair in less than a month,” I say and hold open the door for him.

“It feels like an eternity,” Chris says. We walk from the small Beacon Hill post office to the Charles/MGH T stop so Chris can head to Cambridge for his Harvard tour. “Am I bumming you out with all this talk of my boyfriend when you are broken-hearted and single?”

“Did you ask that just so you could refer to Alistair as your boyfriend?”

Chris nods and smiles. “Pretty much, yeah. But are you okay or are you wallowing?”

“It varies per day — one minute I feel like I want to fly over and see him and rekindle or kindle since we hardly had the time together to justify a rekindling.” We lean on the concrete pillar near the stairs that lead to the train. “But other days it’s all just so far removed from my life here, that is doesn’t really matter. Does that make sense?”

“It does, actually. But you’re allowed to feel bad about it — I mean you did almost love the guy and you did almost…”

“But I didn’t. So…”

“So,” Chris says, his voice changing tones completely. “Are you sure you won’t come with me?”

“I have no desire to parade around Harvard with you asking questions about their course requirements and the ratio of teachers to students and so on.” Then I remember what Mable said. “But tell me what the cereal selection’s like.”

“You’re twisted,” Chris shakes his head. “How do I look? Collegial?” He fixes the collar on his shirt and I pick a fleck of lint from his shoulder.

“You look stunning, dahling,” I say affecting old time Cary Grant. “They’d be silly fools not to let you in this instant.”

“Slow down there, Mum, I don’t even know if I’ll get in — it is in the category of reach on my SIBOF sheet.

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