Free But I Love Him by Amanda Grace Page A

into the room, her sensible little pumps sinking into the carpet. “It’s not just a coincidence. It’s about him. You’ve had college plans for years, and then six months with him and it changes. You don’t know what you want anymore.”
    “Yes, I do! And I want to be with him. Not here. Not with you. All you ever do is put him down. You’re just like his dad.”
    I want to leave, right now, before I break my teeth from clenching them so hard. But I won’t touch her, and she’s in my way. I sling the duffel over my shoulder and walk up to her, staring at the space between her eyes instead of looking her in the eyes.
    “He’s the reason you’ve given everything up. He’s not worth it.”
    “Don’t, Mom,” I say, desperate for her to stop before I snap. “Please, just shut up.”
    The words bite. I see it in her face. But I have to stop her.
    “Please, just don’t,” I say, quieter this time.
    She steps aside and I rush past before I can apologize. Before I can break down.
    I hate that our relationship has boiled down to Connor and nothing else. I don’t know why she can’t see past him to be there for me.
    I want this to end. I want it all over. I want her to rush after me and tell me she loves me and just wants what’s best for me, and that she won’t judge me if I think that’s something different than she does.
    But she never will. I see that now.
    And that is why I’m leaving.
    March 14
    Six months, fourteen days
    I’ve been working on the sculpture for six hours. It’s a little over half complete—half a heart. It sort of looks like some kind of weird bowl, hollow in the middle. I could probably fill it with chips if I wanted to.
    But I don’t have any chips, or soda, or anything. I’ve been working since nine o’clock this morning without stopping.
    It looks beautiful, too. The glow of the lamp casts a mosaic splash of color across the table. I just wish it was further along. It’s been hard to get the exact right amount of glue. Too little and it doesn’t hold. Too much and it ruins the effect of the glass.
    It has to be perfect. Each piece has to fit together like a puzzle. Like it went together all along, not like it’s a thousand broken pieces.
    I’m getting a headache from the glue fumes, so I decide to take a break and go get some lunch. Maybe a little fuel and some caffeine will perk me up enough that I can work for another hour or two.
    I leave the house and jump in my car, holding the wheel with two fingers because it’s cold to the touch.
    I wind down the hills, the view of the ocean disappearing as I descend to sea level. I park near the front door of the grocery store and go inside, swinging my keys around one finger.
    I’m in the candy aisle, debating between Mike and Ike and Good & Plenty when Abby walks up to me. She’s wearing cute bootcut jeans with electric blue heels and a hoodie with a big smiley face on the front. She used to hate jeans. She only wore skirts.
    I wonder when that changed.
    “Hey. Are you here with Blake or something?” She stops in front of me, shoving her hands into the pocket on the front of her hoodie. Is she blinking a lot or is it just me? When was the last time we even talked?
    I freeze, my hand on the Mike and Ike. “Blake?”
    She nods, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me. “Yeah. He has a cart filled with junk food. I thought maybe you two—”
    “He’s here?”
    Abby nods. “Yes. Cart. Junk Food. Are you following?”
    I nod, debating whether I should just ditch the candy and dash out the door before Blake finds me.
    I haven’t seen him since that day at the park.
    If he finds me now, I know there will be questions. Lots and lots of questions. And Abby is here. God—the two of them together, they’ll really lay into me.
    I don’t need the fifth degree. I just want some snacks and I want to go back home and work on the sculpture.
    “Um, no, we’re not here together. Actually, I just remembered something—” I