Red in the Blue

Chapter 33

The following few days were a blur, which felt good. I didn't think about Eric. I didn't stop myself from thinking about Cade. It seemed harmless, little vignettes that didn't mean anything. I was immune to him now, after all the time we'd spent together. And that's what I told my parents when I finally called to update them and ask for their help. I saved most of the divulging for dinner after they arrived rather than trying to explain on the phone. And, as I had suspected, underneath their shock and concern about the things that had happened—which I immensely understated—they were disturbed about Cade. Disturbed in the same way human parents might be about their daughter coming home from a month in Paris and telling them she was engaged. I conveyed that Cade and I were not together, that I wasn't interested in being a pack luna. But my parents still expressed their doubts about the mating (was I even sure? How sure? What made me say that? An alpha?!).

My father—normally in a world of his own behind his wire-framed glasses and the white coil of his hair—must have rolled and re-rolled the sleeves of his shirt a dozen times as he sputtered about reticence and certainty and distancing myself from the trauma of the last few weeks before I committed to anything life-altering.

My mother, the more steady of the two of them, mostly listened. But finally, she closed her hand over my father's and said, "we're concerned about this move, Lenore. You say there's nothing between you two, but there's a whole globe full of packs to join if you want to explore that. We've never meant that you shouldn't experience all aspects of wolf society for yourself. But are you sure this is the way you want to do this?"

I could see her eying the ends of my teal-tinged hair and tucked it instinctively back over my shoulder. Not a good time to look like I was having a midlife crisis.

"I'm not joining his pack, Mom," I assured her. "Really. I just made some nice connections while I was there and there's Yale and all of its resources. It just seems like I've accidentally set a good foundation there."

The waiter came over to clear dishes and we paused for him to do so, smiling politely, taking sips of water. My father took off and cleaned his glasses almost meditatively.

"You love your job, honey," my mother continued. "You love your apartment, you love it here. That's what you've been saying every time we've checked in. Is that just a line you feed your parents or is this an abrupt change in tune?"

"It's abrupt. It is."

My father replaced his glasses and spoke up again.

"You're young—course-correct if you want to, whenever you want to. You don't have to keep a life you've outgrown. Just make sure you're not throwing a good thing away."

"I've thought about this," I said firmly.

My parents didn't argue any further. We ordered dessert.

The next day, while my parents bought boxes and cleaned out my fridge, took my car for an oil change, made arrangements for a truck, I went into the office to finalize things with my boss. I returned my keys and collected my few personal belongings from the desk I shared with a couple other people. I called my landlord and broke my lease.

With the three of us, it only took a couple of days to pack my little apartment and scrub everything down. We all piled into my parents' hotel room on the last night, the movie on TV interrupted frequently by commercials none of us were used to anymore. My evenings had stayed restless since getting back from New Haven. I had been going for jogs, and I had been doing yoga, and I had been taking the sedatives. They didn't stop the nightmares. If anything, I felt pressed further down as if stacked under a pile of books, unable to wake even if I wanted to. But the waking nightmares I'd been having weren't possible, and I didn't shift.