Come As You Are by Theresa Weir Read Free Book Online

wasn’t doing anything,” I said.
    “Good day for a breakdown then. It usually happens when you’ve got someplace important to go.”
    “No place important for me.”
    “You a student?”
    I so didn’t want to have this fake conversation. On one hand, I thought it would serve him right if I unloaded the truth of my life on him, but he was just making small talk. He didn’t know. But that was the thing. Nobody ever knew when they asked about your day. Not the clerk at Target, or the barista at Starbucks. So many times I’d been tempted to tell the barista that I was on my way to kill somebody, but I always stopped myself at the last minute.
    They didn’t know. None of them knew. And the unforgivable part was that they didn’t give a shit to begin with. They didn’t want to know what you were doing. I made it a point to never get personal with customers at Mean Waitress. It’s just not cool.
    “I’m not a student,” I said. And then I remembered my father’s TA, and how he was waiting to hear back from me about course material.
    “It’s a waste of money.” My driver nodded at the lie I’d told. And maybe it wasn’t a lie. Maybe I would withdraw. “I’m never gonna go to college.”
    I didn’t need to struggle for a response because we were pulling up in front of the duplex. Once there, he had the car unloaded in a matter of minutes. I signed some papers and he was gone.
    Rose came out to meet me. “Car trouble, I see.”
    “I hope it doesn’t end up towed because I have no idea when I’ll be able to afford to get it fixed.”
    “Maybe being towed would be a good thing. Just let them take it. It’s been one thing after the other the past year.” She was dressed for work in all black— fitted crop pants, ballet flats, and a tank top, her hair pulled into a ponytail. She’d recently gotten some new tattoos, and both of her arms were covered in pale blues, reds, and pinks. She unchained her bike from the porch and swung her leg over the seat. “What’d the lawyer say?”
    “Long story,” I said. “Tell you later.”
    “Okay, gotta go.” She was always late. Always. “Bye, sweetie!” She waved and I waved, watching her pedal down the street looking cool and beautiful and carefree.
    I felt so old. But I also felt too young to be dealing with this crap. Lawyers and wills and the weird dude from California. A dead dad. Especially the dead dad.
    I pulled out my phone and checked the time. Not much after two. Would the day ever end? But then drinking at noon hadn’t helped much. I remembered the voicemail from the TA. Sabal Malik was his name.
    Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, I called him back. When he answered I told him I could meet him at my dad’s house and we could look for the course files.
    “It would probably be easier for you to spot them,” I told him. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
    He said okay, and I gave him the address. “Meet you in half an hour?” I asked.
    “I’ll be there.”
    Instead of going into the duplex, I unchained my bike from the front porch, bounced it down the steps, and headed across I-94 through the U of M campus to my dad’s house in the Marcy Holmes neighborhood. The ride was about three miles, and I got there before I really wanted to.
    Would I miss this place? I wondered as I walked through the house, seeing it with the eyes of someone who’d already told it goodbye. It held some good memories, but most were bad. No, I wouldn’t miss it. I wouldn’t miss it at all.
    The doorbell rang and I answered it to find an earnest-looking guy standing there in jeans and a button-down shirt. Brown skin, black hair, black eyes. Someone who would truly be called handsome.
    “You must be Sabal.”
    We shook hands, and I led him into my father’s study, turning on the overhead light along with the desk lamp. The space was cramped with ceiling-to-floor bookshelves. Chairs overflowed with stacks of papers, folders, and binders.
    “I never