I was always the one pushing her to get past the fear and do it anyway. Dan tended to want to whisk her away from it all. Now I wonder if she felt the constant push-pull of our warring need to protect and promote. Then I remember her confidence in sports, in music, in academics. The gift of her hard work is that self-confidence. She’s going to be fine.

I can see her rally in the determined set of her chin. We head inside, to a building that once housed future scientists, jurists, artists and world leaders. Following the directions in the packet, we find a bare room, hung with the smell of Pine-Sol and airless summerlong neglect. Molly heads straight for the window and opens it wide.

The roommate hasn’t arrived. Kayla from Philadelphia is nowhere in sight. The barren room contains two phone jacks and wireless modem setups, two desks, twin consoles of drawers and shelves and the requisite two beds. We climb up and down the worn concrete stairs, bringing stuff from the truck to the room. “Want some help unpacking?” I ask.

“That’s all right. I’ll do it myself. That way, I’ll know where everything is.” She is clear on not wanting me to linger, to tuck shirts away in drawers, stack office supplies, stand in registration lines with her.

She tackles the first box—towels and toiletries. Then she opens another. Her face looks tense.

“Did you remember your alarm clock?” I ask a mundane question to distract her, but it doesn’t work. “Moll?” I ask, tentative, not pushing at all now. “What’s up?”

She pulls out the green-shaded desk lamp. “It’s broken. I wonder when it broke. Maybe when I slammed on the brakes to miss that deer.”

“It can be fixed. We could find a store, look for a replacement for the shade.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You’re the one who insisted on bringing it.”

“And I was wrong. So sue me. Geez, I can’t believe you’re still doing this,” she snaps.

“Doing what?”

“This… I don’t even know what to call it. You want me to be here, to have the whole college experience, but at the same time, you keep acting like I’ll fall apart any second. You don’t need to fix everything. You don’t need to be my human shield anymore. I’m not that fragile. I won’t break, I swear. Don’t feel like you have to protect me.”

“It’s my job to protect you.”

“Well, congrats. You’re finished. Now you can do something else.”

The breeze through the open window is reviving her curls.

“Why are you acting so annoyed?” I ask her. I’m getting annoyed, too.