“Am I speaking to Solomon Callan?”
The word, “Yes,” rushes out of my lips, anxiety churning in my stomach at the sternness in the rector’s voice.
“This is Monsignor Martinez. Can you come by the seminary tomorrow at ten a.m.?”
Please, please just tell me my fate. “Of course, Monsignor.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow.”
The line goes dead.
I close my eyes, and my body slumps forward as my heart slowly returns to its normal rate.
The sound of the door opening forces my eyes open. I turn my head and meet Luke’s questioning gaze.
“I’m meeting them tomorrow.”
“Meeting who?”
“Uh, the disciplinary board, I think. Or the rector. I’m not sure. I was too nervous to ask.”
He takes his seat again and studies me with concern. “He didn’t say anything else?”
I shake my head and get to my feet, dragging my shaking fingers through my hair. “I’ll drive to Boston tonight so I can make the appointment without having to worry about traffic.”
Sitting on a chair in front of a panel of six members of St. Bernard’s Seminary Disciplinary Board, I keep my gaze on my shoes, praying this meeting goes quickly.
Someone clears their throat, prompting me to look up. Six pairs of eyes watch me, the expressions ranging from stern to blank. It’s disconcerting, to be honest. Being the center of attention is not my thing.
My hands curl into fists on my lap, and I attempt to push air through my lungs before I pass out, which is so freaking hard with people staring at you.
“After extensively reviewing your case and giving it careful consideration”—Monsignor Martinez gestures to the men sitting on either side of him—“we’ve come to a decision.”
My gut tightens as I await his next words.
“You’re summarily dismissed without prejudice.” His eyes narrow into slits, his jaw hard. “You have the option to reapply for admission after two years, in which case you’ll undergo another interview and very extensive psychological—”
My mind shuts down after that. Blood rushes in my ears, making it impossible to hear the rest of what Monsignor is saying.
“—future. Good luck, Solomon.” I catch the tail end of his spiel. I open my mouth to speak, though I don’t even know what I want to say. The men rise to their feet and file out of the room, leaving me staring after them.
I thought hearing from the rector would incite happiness or at least a feeling of loss or sadness—depending on the decision. Instead, I feel frozen. The chill crawling down my spine sends shivers all over my body. There’s a large hole in my chest where my dreams and hopes used to live, the emptiness so unfamiliar.
Slowly, I stand and shuffle out of the room, out of the building and toward my truck, unsure where I go from here. Grace asked me to leave her alone, and I’ll respect that. We both need space to think. Approaching her like this, with the way I’m feeling, wouldn’t be fair. I need to get my shit together.
Prague is lovely in March.
Scratch that.
Prague is ridiculously beautiful.
This city is our first destination since arriving in Europe two days ago. Backpacking through Europe is exactly what I needed to find clarity. Before I left, I was a complete mess, constantly seeing Sol in every face I met on the street. Mom told me he wasn’t attending the seminary anymore and he was staying at the house in Boston. I can’t even imagine what he’s going through; having to give up something he’s wanted for so long. The selfish part of me wondered why he didn’t come back to Portland for me. But the logical part of my brain knew he needed space and time. It didn’t stop my heart from beating fast every time the diner’s door opened and a customer—not Sol—walked in.
I glance at the mirror in front of me, taking in the streaks of blue curls mixed with my normally brown hair—a spontaneous decision made a week before my trip. Dyeing my hair made me feel different. Like I was letting go of the old me. I feel more, I don’t know, more confident? Sexy? There’s just something about changing my appearance that lightens my mood.
Large silver hoop hang from my ears, and my lips are painted scarlet—my favorite lipstick color. I look and feel amazing.
Two months ago, I walked away from the boy I loved. Still love. The boy who wasn’t meant to be mine. Nevertheless, I fell too far, too deep in love.
The thing is, I don’t regret being with Sol.
Our love was love in its purest form and it’s something I’ve always craved. I will never regret it or forget it.
The bathroom door squeaks open, and my gaze shifts, meeting my best friend’s eyes in the mirror.
“Ready to celebrate?” MJ asks as she steps into the room, a towel wrapped around her waist, her boobs on full display.
After sharing a room with her since arriving in Europe, I don’t even blink at her nakedness. I’m already immune.
She tosses her toiletries bag on the bed, then reaches down for the clothing she laid out earlier. After slipping it on, she shuffles toward me and pulls me into a hug. “Happy nineteenth birthday, bestie.”
I smile, squeezing her arms. “Thank you. I’m itching to get this party started.”
I grab the can of Red Bull from the nightstand and take a sip, then pass it to MJ.
I smile. How did I get so lucky to have such an amazing best friend and an awesome mom?
Powering on my phone, I start scrolling through, uploading the video to my YouTube channel. I videoed us during yesterday’s sightseeing trip as we strolled through the narrow, cobblestone streets. Thanks to my mom’s fear of something happening to me while I’m abroad, she added the international plan for me so we can stay in touch easily, despite my protests about how expensive it is.
Before leaving Portland, I created Grace Wanderlust, a YouTube channel, at my mom’s suggestion, to chronicle my travels. She said it was a way for her to experience my trip with me. So far my mother, Christopher, Ivan, and MJ are my only subscribers.
My phone dings with a message. I must have missed a call when it was off. After accessing my voice messages, I press the phone to my ear to listen.
There’s a long pause, followed by static.
I’m about to end the call when a voice says, “Um, h-hey, Gracie.” Every hair on my body stands up at attention as the deep, familiar voice jolts every single cell in my body awake with three words.
“Sol, here.” I’m not even sure I’m breathing anymore until he says, “Just want to wish you a happy birthday. Hope you’re having a good one whe—”
Time runs out, and his message cuts off. Pressing the phone to my chest, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, my body absorbing that voice and his words.
He remembered. He freaking remembered my birthday.
“You okay?” MJ asks causing my eyes snap open. MJ’s gaze bounces from the phone to my face, her eyebrows pulled together. “You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled like that since . . . wait, who was that on the phone?”
Heat fills my cheeks. If what I’m feeling inside is on full display on my face. . .
Her eyes widen, and she shrieks, “He didn’t! That bastard!” She stalks in my direction. “What did he say?”