Page 78 of Meet Me Back Here

There’s a knock on his door behind me, and I turn to see one of my classmates peeking in, his paper clutched in his hand. Professor waves him in, and I take that as my cue to stand.

“Think about it, Ms. Viottolo,” he says again.

I nod, thank him, and leave, my head swimming.

By the time I’m standing outside Forrest’s dorm room, I think I’ve replayed what Professor Rupert said at least a dozen times. I think I made it here entirely on autopilot, too focused on the meeting I just left.

Why does his program have to be all the way in Phoenix?

I try to school my face so it doesn’t show my disappointment before I raise my fist and knock. I don’t want Forrest to feel like I’m giving something up for him. What we want is also what I want.

“Cam!” Forrest exclaims before he’s fully pulled the door in. He kicks it aside and lurches forward to sweep me up in his arms. “I got the internship!” he says as he swings me around.

Forrest worked for weeks with his architecture professor and TA on an application for an architectural design internship in Boston for the summer. The program doesn’t typically accept freshmen, but Forrest was determined. The last few weeks have been torture as he interviewed and interviewed some more and waited for their decision, the prospect of going back to his old job at a coffee shop in Hingley hanging over his head.

“That’s amazing!” I say, squeezing him back. “Congratulations!”

I can’t help the twinge of jealousy of him being able to say yes to his perfect opportunity while I’m on the precipice of saying no to what could be mine. Then I feel like a terrible person for thinking that.

“I can’t believe they picked me,” Forrest continues as he sets me down. He starts pacing in his small room, practically vibrating with this much excitement coursing through him. “It’s going to be so good. I’m sure some of it will be getting coffee and organizing records and stuff, but I’ll get to see what architects at a real firm do. I’ll get to be in the room when they plan buildings that are actually going to be made. I can’t believe I have to sit through another six weeks of classes before I can start.”

I’ve been enjoying watching him ramble, happy to see him so excited, but I frown when he says he’s starting in six weeks.

“Doesn’t it start in June?” I ask, specifically remembering Forrest telling me the internship started in June, leaving us enough time for at least a week-long trip to his aunt’s beach house in Maine. We were going to travel to Canada for another week after before we both had to start work this summer.

Forrest stops pacing and rubs a hand on the back of his neck.

“Well, I’m not exactly what they’re looking for, as you know. They usually don’t consider applicants who haven’t been in an architecture program for at least two years. Part of the deal for me getting accepted was me committing to a full twelve-week internship. That way I could be there early and learn what the other interns already know before they get there,” he says, suddenly unable to meet my eye.

“Oh,” I say, the vision of me sitting with my toes in the sand and a notebook on my knees dissolving. I was going to see something away from here. Granted, it wasn’t going to be very far, but it was a start, and I couldn’t wait.

I quickly count through weeks in my head. Unless I can’t count to twelve, his internship will probably end the week before orientation for our sophomore year. The entire summer.

I sink down into his desk chair.

Forrest circles his desk to lean against it in front of me. He cups my face and tilts it back, so I look at him.

“I’m so sorry, Cam. I know you wanted to go on our little trip. Once I’m settled there, I’ll talk to them and see if I can take a Friday off in June or July. Maybe we can drive up and have a weekend with my aunt,” he offers, and I try to feel grateful for it, but the sting of losing our summer plan—our first “little” trip—is fresh and raw. “I know it’s not what we talked about, but this internship has a reputation of leading to more internships that become full-time jobs after graduation. I’d be able to work every summer until I get my master’s and then have job security after. Getting that locked down as a freshman is unheard of. I’d be settled.”

My head is swimming. Master’s? Full-time job? Settled? We’re only nineteen. All of this sounds so… old.

I can’t say that, though. Even in my head, it sounds so immature. Of course he’d want job security. His parents are still facing financial insecurity. I just thought…

I don’t know what I thought. If he can get this set and have paid internships ready for the next four years, it would give us more flexibility to travel.

“I’m happy for you,” I say, and I hope it sounds authentic.

I am happy for him. I’m just also sad for us.

“This will be good for us, and I’ll make it up to you. The money is really good. Maybe we can buy a house soon,” he says. “Before we graduate, even.”

And my stomach drops.

Buy a house? Buy a house where? Buy a house why?

“Would a house make sense if we’re going to travel?” I ask. What about Copenhagen? Vienna? Rio?

“I mean, we can still travel later. Wouldn’t that make more sense when we’re older anyway? A house is a good investment. Renting feels like throwing away money,” Forrest says, but he’s back to avoiding looking at me.