Standing in the kitchen, she watched him rip into the envelope like a kid on Christmas. There were several stapled pages of information, more glossy brochures, more details and promises about everything he had to look forward to. She picked up one of the trifolded pieces of marketing card stock. It showed smiling, well-groomed, successful-looking young adults with backpacks sitting under an autumn-colored tree on a well-manicured lawn, the prestigious pale-brick university building looming behind them. The title Student Life was bold and centered across the top.

“Why do they keep sending you all this crap? Didn’t they get the message? You’ve already accepted their offer.”

Adam furrowed his brow and glared at her. “It’s not crap. They’re trying to prepare me. It’s going to be a huge change.”

Clare shrugged and tossed the brochure back onto the table with the others. “They send all of this to everyone, I imagine. Seems like a huge waste if you ask me. I’ve heard…” she hesitated, but only for a moment, “that thirty percent of college freshmen wash out their first year. If you ask me, they should prepare you for that.”

Adam stared at her then, a coldness in his eyes that she hadn’t seen directed at her before. “Well,” he said quietly, “good thing nobody is asking you.” He shouldered his backpack, raked all his Indiana papers and pictures, even the torn-up envelope, into his hands, and carried it upstairs to his bedroom.

Still standing in the kitchen, wondering what was happening and what it all meant—why she seemed to insist on making everything between them so much worse—she heard him slam his door. She waited fifteen minutes, paralyzed between hope and rage—hope that he would come downstairs, kiss her, and say he was going to miss her, that he couldn’t live without her, and rage that burned brighter with every second that he didn’t.

She glanced up the stairs and considered going up to him herself—she could apologize as well. Honestly, she was making this difficult, punishing even. She was punishing him for being happy about all he had accomplished, making him pay for all he had to look forward to by subjecting him to every ounce of her own misery.

On some level, beyond all the hurt, she knew she was wrong.