Chapter 3 HALF-TRUTHS AND AMERICANO

RIVER

Taylor was quieter than I would have loved to be during dinner, and I could not be happier. When I offered to pay for what I had eaten, he waved it off. I did not like being indebted to him, so I planned to leave him a few bills when I moved out by tomorrow. I have no idea how long the wait would be at the housing agency, but I must get it done by tomorrow so my life can get on track, and I have no reason to lie to my father.

I look down at my phone. I had promised to check in with him before I went to bed, but now that I could not be honest, it was hard. I wonder if there would be other things I couldn't be honest about with him. Was this going to be the reason that I drifted from him? I try to focus my mind on the present and stop worrying about what has not happened yet.

I take my phone and call my father. I hear screaming and muffled sounds in the background. "Dad," I groan into the phone.

"Kiddo, I am just taking one drink," he defends almost immediately.

"And one drink would spiral into a few bottles, and then you would be drunk. Who's going to pick you up and make sure you get home safe tonight?"

"You don't have to worry about that; I am a grown man who can take care of myself." I want to counter him, but I can't.

He went through these phases, drinking more than usual and disappearing into bars while I cleaned up the consequences.

"Make sure you get home tonight."

"Yes, ma'am," he teases, and I sigh. He should not be teasing me when he was the one in the wrong. "Are you all settled in?"

"Nope." I want to tell him why, but I can't seem to bring myself to do so. "I fell asleep and figured I could do it tomorrow," I add. It's not a lie, only a half-truth, and until I sort this out, he does not need to find out.

"Huh! River Rainbow Wilson? You did not follow a schedule?" he says, and I roll my eyes. "I guess you are taking my advice after all," he adds.

"I told you I will," I lied, knowing that once this housing situation was behind me, I was going to go back to my tight schedule. That was the only reason I was able to get anything done in life. I believe that everyone should have a schedule they follow to the letter so that they will never worry about not getting this done.

"Okay, let me let you get some rest so you can do all you have to do early tomorrow," he says as if he knew what I was about to say.

"Good night, Dad. Don't stay out late, and make sure you eat something once you go home. You know what beer does to..."

"Good night, kiddo," he cut me off and cut off the call before I could ramble on. I plug the phone into the bedside and lie on the bed. I had made the bed because I had no other option.

My alarm goes off at five am, and when I look out, the sun is still down. I say a little morning prayer before I get out and begin to do a little warm-up in the room; that is the only way I can get my body moving.

I play a soft, low-fi beat, making sure the volume is not loud enough to wake Taylor. I take out my things and go to the bathroom so I can freshen up for the day. Once I am done with my bath, I go into the room and put on a white tee neatly tucked into a pair of mom jeans.

I put on a necklace my father had given me when I turned fifteen; it had belonged to my mom, and he waited so long to make sure I would love and cherish it. Wearing it always made me feel like she could still see me, like someone was watching to make sure I didn't mess it all up. I toss my hair into a neat ponytail before taking a double look at myself in the mirror. By the time my morning routine is complete, it is already seven am.

I am a bit hungry, as I was the kind of girl who always wanted to have breakfast, but I did not know what I was supposed to do. I knew that if I left the room now, I could get a place to eat some bread and coffee before I got to the using agency. I had done a little research and found out exactly where it was, three miles from the house, and it would take me forty minutes on foot, which means if I left now, I would be in time to meet them open by eight.

I slip out of the house to the empty street and begin to walk, following the directions on my phone, stopping to check if I would see a place to eat something before the craziness of the day descended. I see a coffee truck that sells a few scones and coffee; left with no choice, I get one scone and a cup of Americano and then find a place to sit.

I finally made it to the housing agency, and I was greeted by a woman who looked like she was in her thirties and twenties at once. Her face looked older, but her clothes and energy screamed 'forever 23.'

"Hello, ma'am, I am River Wilson, and I..."

"We do not have any rooms left; this semester was brutal." Hearing her say that made my heart skip a beat, but I was sure that I would be able to convince her to swap me with someone else.

"Oh no, I already have a room," I say, and she looks at me as if I had gone mad.

"Then why are you here?"

"There was a mix-up," I say, setting the file on the table that separated us and pulling out the rental agreement. "My roommate is a boy." She looks up at me as if I had just spoken a foreign language. I clear my throat and reaffirm.

"My roommate is a boy."