No Time Like Now (Lesbian)

Chapter Nineteen

Mr. Timmons seems pleased to see me in his office once again, without having to lift a finger. He gestures for me to sit.

"How has my study-abroad student been doing?" he asks.

"Not good," I say bluntly.

His happy mood weakens. "Really? What's been bothering you?"

I'm folding and refolding my hands in my lap. "My mom plans to call the school about my college options," I say.

"Ah, yes. I got the memo from the receptionist about that," he mentions, elatedly confirming my fear. "It's great that she's able to be involved with your fantastic decision to go to college out of the country!"

"Yeah... about that."

He furrows his eyebrows. "Is there something wrong?"

"Yeah." I have to stop myself. Take a deep breath. I'm talking to someone who doesn't have a habit of blowing up when hearing 'shocking' news. "My parents don't know I'm going to college in England. They don't know that I don't want them to know."

"Oh? How come?" he asks.

"Because." He should have known the truth from the start. Better late than never, I guess. "Do you know how hard it is to have parents who control your decisions because they think you're still two and unable to take a shit by yourself? I'm lucky they were okay with sending me to a public school instead of being home-schooled."

"Language."

"Sorry. But you get what I'm saying."

He purses his lips in thought. I tap on my knees, where the cat on one sock is eyeing the fish on the other. "Alright. So, you want to do this on your own without your parents... 'controlling' you?"

I relax. "Yes. Mom would flip and demand that I attend a college close to home so she'll still keep an eye on me and make sure I don't ever fuck up."

The counselor again warns, "Language."

"Sorry, screw up." I forget how hard it is to talk to people who think I swear out of rebellion. "I've been wanting to move out forever, and her -- and Dad too, let's be honest -- knowing one more thing to hold over my head isn't gonna work."

He nods. "I see."

I don't have much else to say other than to repeat myself. Instead, I wait for him to come up with some sage advice.

"Well, I don't want to lie to your parents, and I'm sure you don't want to, either," he tells me. "However, we can --"

"Pretend we didn't get the call from Mom and act like she's crazy when she brings it up?" I suggest.

For once, I get an exasperated reaction out of him. "Niamh, I hate to break it to you, but you would be the last person I would go to for any ideas."

I mull it over. "That's fair."

After adjusting his plain grey tie, the counselor continues, "As I was going to say, I can call your mother back and let her know that -- as part of the college experience -- it would be good for you to look up certain schools and decide for yourself where you want to go. Having your parents be as involved as they want would mean, um..." Mr. Timmons is at a loss for words.

"Gaining a crack addict and crack baby living in their basement."

He's really at a loss for words. Pretty sure he short-circuited, but don't quote me on that. "I... will keep it in mind." 

He glances at the clock on the wall behind him. He then pulls out a pad of paper and scrawls across the top page. 

"I'll admit it's not the most ideal way to handle this situation of yours," Mr. Timmons says in the middle of writing. "But I'll call them tomorrow, if not later today. I think I've kept you long enough from class."

Ironic coming from the guy who likes to keep me far longer in the sessions. 

I leave the office with the note and head toward my class, passing a couple goths hanging out in a hallway corner. I catch enough of their conversation to know that a) a boyfriend of one of them is a dick about their lifestyle, and b) cobweb stockings look far more wicked at dawn than any other time of the day.

The thought of cobweb stockings make me feel like I'm missing out on a goth life. 

__________

After another battle with the hallway bulldozers in the form of people, I plop down in my next class, already exhausted from life. Josh, the loophole jock from English, glares at me when I place my backpack too close to his.

"Do you mind?" he asks, a bit too snobbish.

I pretend to think about it. "Nope. Not at all."

He just stares as I pull out my phone. I've opened my text app at the same time he huffs and takes his stuff somewhere else in the room.

Holy shit, I have a text from Aspen.

Hey stranger! I didn't forget you 😄😛

Excuse me while I make plans to print this out and hang it somewhere hidden in my room.

. . . 

I'm back. 

That's good, I was getting worried. I know we're both busy, tho, so not too worried

I get it. Are you free tomorrow?

I'm halfway through my frantic 'yes I am what are your plans can we meet at so and so' text before I stop myself. Aspen's asking about tomorrow. As in, Saturday. When the charity ball is. 

God. Damn it.

My previously text is thrown out of existence. I write a new one with slumped shoulders.

Sorry, I have a family thing that takes all day then 😞

Okay. I'd suggest Sunday but it's my customer day

She's still writing her next text but I butt in before she can send it.

Customer day?

Yeah, it's the day I allow walk-ins and stuff

Ah, makes sense.

My phone chirps again.

What about Monday? 🤔

Hmm. Do I have plans besides an existential crisis taking place to celebrate the first week day of winter break?

The calendar confirms that no, I do not.

Yeah, I'm free Monday. Is six okay?

Six is great! Swing by my place?

Sure. I'll see you then

😊😊😊😊

Aspen did not definitely put a smile on my face. I don't know how it got there. Yes, I'm sure it was a coincidence that it appeared after her last text.

The room settles down a couple minutes after class starts. For my sake, I force myself to focus on the teacher as she starts her lecture of the day. Easier said than done, right?