There’s not much to say about college.

The first day was just sad. I got onto the plane and sobbed as soon as we took off, looking out the window at everything I was leaving behind. Then I got on a bus at the airport and cried some more. Then I got to campus, checked in, met my roommate, Anthony, and—you guessed it—cried when he left to go to the bookstore and I had the room to myself.

The first week was sad. It was full of orientation events and things to help you make friends with people. And it wasn’t that people weren’t nice—Anthony was very polite in not mentioning the fact that he kept finding me sobbing in our room at odd hours, for example—but I was too upset for it to sink in. I only had two settings: crying, or numb. And unfortunately, numb never lasted for longer than three hours at a time.

The first month was just as sad. I was supposed to get into a routine. Enjoy my classes. Make friends. But even the freshman creative writing seminar taught by Salome Ruiz, a professor at Wrenville and an author I adored, just dragged. Some days, I couldn’t even get out of bed for it.

“Dude, uh, do you wanna talk about it?” Anthony asked one night when he came back from the showers and found me, yet again, trying to cover the fact that I’d been crying at my computer, just staring at a blank screen. I was supposed to be working on a short story assignment, and I couldn’t type a word.

“Talk about what?” I said, trying to unobtrusively wipe tears away with the cuff of my sweatshirt.

“Uh, the fact that like, 9 out of every 10 times I see you, you’re crying?” Anthony said. “I mean, not to pry or anything. I was trying to give you your space but then I thought maybe I’m supposed to ask how you’re doing?”

“Nah, it’s—it’s okay,” I said, wishing my voice didn’t sound like I’d swallowed a frog.

“I know we don’t know each other very well. But are you missing home or something?”

I turned and looked at him, trying to come up with something to say that would explain my behavior without making me look insane—but also an explanation that wouldn’t lead to follow up questions. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it.” Anthony sat down at his desk and fiddled with a pen. “I don’t know, I just—like, I miss my parents too sometimes.”

This was excruciating. I knew I should be thankful for Anthony, thankful that I had a roommate who’d turned out to be so nice. But right now, I just needed him to stop.

“I’ve never actually been gone away from home this long before,” he went on. “Or this far away. I’m the first one in my family to go to college, and before this, I’d never been further than two hours from my house. So like, I’m not gonna judge you for—”

“It’s not my parents,” I said. I couldn’t handle his niceness anymore. “I miss someone but it’s not—well, it’s not them.”

“Oh.” Anthony paused. “Like a girlfriend or something?”

I shook my head. “A boyfriend. Except not really. An ex-boyfriend, which just makes the fact that I miss him even more pathetic.”

“Shit. That sucks.” Anthony grimaced. “Did you guys break up because of the distance or something like that?”

“Something like that.” I sighed heavily. What else could I say?

No, we broke up because he told me that the past year of my life has been a lie. That he doesn’t love me anymore, that he probably never did, and he wishes he’d never met me.

Nice as Anthony was being, I didn’t think he needed to learn just how pathetic I truly was.

Aisling still thought Nick was trying to help me in some fucked-up way, and Caden still thought Nick was just a dick. At this point, it didn’t matter. He’d hurt me more than I knew it was possible to hurt. Whether he’d done it because he was a sociopath, or because he’d thought he was doing the right thing, didn’t make a bit of difference to how much it hurt.

Nick had destroyed me, and he still hadn’t so much as reached out. My life had been in constant, slow-motion collapse since the day he’d broken up with me, and he’d never checked in, not even once. Clearly, he was doing fine, and I was stuck here, drowning.

After our talk, Anthony started making a point to invite me to things. I was pretty sure he thought I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. I probably was.

I said yes once or twice, but pretending to be having fun with people I didn’t even know just made me feel worse. It got so bad, I could barely leave my dorm room. I started skipping classes, stopped answering texts and phone calls from everyone I knew. I hadn’t talked to Aisling or Caden in a month, and it had been a full two weeks since the last time I could bring myself to answer my mom’s calls.

I just couldn’t see the point of pretending anymore. Nothing mattered. How the hell was I supposed to concentrate on classes when I was so gutted I could barely remember to shower? I didn’t care about anything, except for how much I hurt.

So I just withdrew even further. Anthony started staying away from the room as much as possible, only coming in to sleep. I hated that I was being that weird roommate—one more thing to hate about myself and my life, I supposed.

I began to wonder if maybe my mom had been right all along. Maybe I was immature. And irresponsible. Too emotional. Maybe I should have been on medication. Normal people didn’t handle breakups this way, did they? Normal people didn’t cease to function just because they were sad.

I started getting emails from my professors, from the freshman dean, and visits from my RA, all of them acting concerned and reminding me that I needed to go to class. After a while, I stopped opening my emails. Stopped answering the door.

I wasn’t sure how long it had been since I’d even left the room, let alone my bed. A week? Two? I couldn’t even have told you what month it was anymore, except that outside our window, I could see the leaves changing color.

When did leaves change in southwestern Minnesota? I didn’t care enough to find out. Didn’t care enough to do anything. Didn’t care enough to care about the fact that all my not caring was getting worrisome.

I rolled over in bed and stared resolutely at the wall, willing myself to fall asleep again. Everything hurt, and I just wanted it all to stop.

When I woke up later that evening, my mom was standing at the edge of my bed, staring down at me.

And as suddenly as I’d left home, I was back.

Ironic, really. I finally had an ironclad excuse to be home—my mom made me take a medical leave of absence—but I no longer had a reason to want to be there. Nick didn’t want to be with me, so what did it matter?

I ghosted around the house, my first week back, just sitting and staring at the walls, leaving anytime my mom came into the room. Or trying to, anyway. She was insanely attentive, as always, but she didn’t bring up school once. Instead, she just started bringing me milky coffee in the morning, and asking me if I wanted to come on walks with her to the post office or the library or whatever other errands she was running.

I didn’t want to do anything. I just wanted to sleep, for a million years, or until I could wake up and feel something other than sadness. My mom being nice to me only made things worse, because it hammered home how fucked-up she thought I was. She’d be nagging me to get my life together, if she thought I could handle it. She must have thought I was a complete failure.

I barely saw my dad. If I hadn’t run into him on the stairs the second night I was back, I wasn’t sure he’d even have realized I was home. He certainly wasn’t attentive, and it began to piss me off, the way he ignored not just me, but my mom, too. I’d never realized how much of her day she spent alone, how desperate she seemed for company.

I started going on those walks with her, just so she didn’t have to be by herself all the time. I didn’t say much—making conversation was far beyond my abilities. But my mom just kept up a steady stream of talk and didn’t seem to need much of a reply.

Aisling called me the first night I was back. And the second. And the third. I didn’t pick up, and eventually she switched to texting.

AISLING: Hey so your mom told me you came home. I’m so sorry Eli, I wish there were something I could do. If I weren’t in fucking California right now, you know I’d come give you the biggest hug

AISLING: I know things weren’t great when you left, and even though you haven’t told me what happened, I feel like I can kind of guess? Anyway, you don’t have to talk about it, but if you want to, I’m always here. And I’m just gonna send you pictures of puppies every day until you tell me to stop okay?

She followed her text with a picture of a baby corgi. The next day, she sent a pomeranian puppy, and the day after that, a baby golden retriever. It was really sweet of her, but it also reminded me of those puppies at the shelter, and Chuckles, and all my daydreams about moving in with Nick. Of us getting that house with the wraparound porch and the swing, of us adopting a dog and going to farmers markets and me knowing, just knowing, even if he didn’t say it much, that he was happy. That he loved me. That we’d be together forever.

Everything reminded me of Nick, now.

“So,” my mom said as we walked to the grocery store during my second week home. “I know you’re probably going to get annoyed at me, but we do need to talk about it, eventually.”

The most annoying thing was that she was right. I did know that we needed to talk, and I also knew I didn’t want to. Especially not if she was just going to tell me how much I’d fucked up, and how she thought I needed to go back on medication. Even if all of that was true.

I sighed and looked down, scuffing my shoes through the fallen leaves on the sidewalk. They were mostly matted and torn at this point.

“Yeah. I know.”

“You don’t have to talk to me, though.” My mom took a deep breath. “I think it might be good for you to start going to therapy, maybe, instead. But I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I just want you to be happy. Whatever that means to you.”

I looked at her sharply. “What?”

Since when had my mom ever felt that way?

“Eli, sweetie, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” Her eyes darted over to me as we walked. “And I’ve realized that this is all my fault.”

“What?” I asked, stopping and staring at her. I didn’t get it. “What do you think is your fault, exactly?”

“This. All of this.” My mom raised her hands helplessly, then let them fall to her sides. “You clearly aren’t happy. I don’t think you’ve been happy for over a year now. You’ve been so withdrawn, spending so much time out of the house and away from me.”

She shook her head. “And since you left, I started thinking about how hard I pushed you, always telling you to keep your grades up, insisting that you worry about college. Things that you didn’t necessarily want, things you told me you didn’t want. But I wouldn’t listen. And then you went off to school and everything got worse. I should have listened to you, sweetie.”

“Mom, no, it’s not—it’s not that.”

“For a while, I thought maybe you were doing better,” she continued. “This spring. You seemed a little more like yourself, the way you used to be. Cheerful. Happy. But I’m realizing now that I probably made you feel like you had to pretend you were. Because of what I wanted.”

“No, Mom, please—”

“It was clear by the summer that you didn’t want to go to Wrenville anymore, but I never gave you a chance to tell me you wanted something different. So you went, but it wasn’t your choice, and of course you hated it. Honey, I’m so sorry. I should never have pushed you so hard.”

I stared at my mom, open-mouthed. How could she be so well-meaning, and still so wrong? She was right that I wasn’t happy, but everything else…

God, for how many years would I have killed for her to say something like this? To acknowledge that she was trying to force me to be something I wasn’t sure I wanted? And now she finally did, but she was completely off-base.

Still, though. She was trying. I could try to explain a little, too. I owed her that much.

“Thank you for saying that,” I said slowly, starting to walk again. “That means—God, you have no idea how much that means to me. But please, don’t blame yourself for this. Me failing out wasn’t about you.”

“Then what was it?” she asked, her voice almost a wail. “Just tell me what it is, and we’ll figure out a way to fix it. Or, I don’t know, maybe that’s not what I’m supposed to say. I don’t know anymore, Eli. I just want to help you. But I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore, or if I ever did.”

“The fact that you want to help, helps.” The sadness inside me unfurled its wings. “It’s just—I don’t think it’s something that can be fixed. I think it’s just something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, honey.”

“But there is.” I looked at her helplessly. “Honestly, I think you saw that more clearly than I ever did. I think there’s something broken inside me. Normal people get sad and they can keep functioning. I just fall apart.”

“But what happened, Eli? What’s been bothering you?” My mom wrung her hands in frustration. “Oh, I know I said you didn’t have to talk to me, and I know I pry too much sometimes, but I just want to be a part of your life. I just want you to be okay.”

“I know.” I put my hands in my jacket pockets as we came to a stoplight. I stared at the red light above our heads and tried to figure out what to say. “I can—I can try to explain. But it’s kinda complicated. And I’m not sure how many of the details I want to talk about.”

“That’s okay, honey. Anything you feel comfortable with.”

Well, I didn’t feel comfortable sharing any of it. But then, I hadn’t felt comfortable in a long time. How could I, when everything felt so empty and pointless?

But my mom had never acted like this before. Had never treated me like—well, like an actual person. The least I could do was try to act like one. For her.

“I was dating someone this year,” I said slowly. “A guy. I don’t—I don’t wanna tell you who it was. It’s not like it was a bad thing or anything. It’s just someone you know a little. It doesn’t really matter anymore, anyway, because he broke up with me. Right before I left for school. And I just…” my voice cracked. “I just kinda lost it.”

“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry. Come here.”

My mom held out her arms, and I did something I hadn’t done in years. I hugged her.

“I know it’s messed up,” I choked out. “I know it’s pathetic to be this messed up over it, now, months later. But I just—I didn’t want to go to school because I didn’t want to leave him, but then he ended things, and going away only made it worse. I feel like my life got ripped away from me. Like nothing matters anymore. And I know that’s not true, but I just—I don’t know how to care about anything without him. I’m so pathetic.”

The light turned green, but we just stood there, me crying, my mom smoothing my hair. She hugged me until I’d cried myself out, and when I finally pulled back, there were tears in her eyes, too.

“I’m so sorry everything feels so hard right now.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “I’m sorry I wasted thousands of your dollars failing out of school before even finishing one semester.”

“Oh, honey, that doesn’t matter now. All you need to worry about is taking care of yourself.”

“But how am I supposed to do that?” I asked, hating how helpless I sounded. “I’ve tried and I just… can’t.”

“I don’t really know,” my mom said as we started walking again. “I’ve never been in your position. I met your dad my first year of college. He was the first, and only, guy I ever dated.”

“And you never broke up? Never had any problems?”

“Well, I won’t say we never had any problems. But broke up?” My mom laughed. “Honey, your father can barely be bothered to have a conversation some days. Breaking up just isn’t something he ever considered. Frankly, it probably would have required more energy to break up than he’d ever invested in the relationship in the first place.”

“Mom, that’s awful. Are you serious? That’s so sad.”

“It’s just how he is.”

I shook my head, wondering if I should say what was on the tip of my tongue. Fuck it, I decided. What were the chances I’d ever have a chance to talk with my mom this honestly again?

“I honestly don’t get why you guys are married,” I said. “He doesn’t seem like he cares. About either of us, really.”

“Honey, that’s not true. Your dad cares. He does. Just… in his own way. Which admittedly isn’t always very demonstrative.”

“What do you get out of it, though?” I pressed. “You never seem happy.”

My mom sighed. “A year ago, I think my answer would have been very different.” She pursed her lips. “When I met your father, he gave me everything I wanted. You know I didn’t grow up well-off. And things with your grandparents were… well, your father offered stability. Security. Even if he did work all the time, marrying him gave me someone to be with. Someone to share a home with, and a reason to not have to go back to my parents.”

“Wow.”

“And yes, sometimes I wondered what my life would have been like if I hadn’t made that decision. But if anything ever felt like it was missing—well, it didn’t, once you came along. And I knew that even if I didn’t have everything I’d ever dreamed of, I would make sure that you did. That you never had to feel like you needed to trade happiness for security. That you were successful enough that you could make your own happiness. That’s why I pushed you so hard. I didn’t want you to end up like me.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You were just trying to help,” I said, feeling awkward. I’d wished for years that she’d stop, but knowing why she’d done it now—it changed things. “I guess I’d never thought about it from your perspective before.”

“That’s not your job, sweetie.”

“Well… thanks. For saying that. But also—also for caring enough to try, if that makes sense.”

My mom smiled at me. “You’re gonna be alright, Eli. That’s one thing I know for sure. You’re irrepressible. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’ve always been a ray of sunshine. It’ll come back to you. And we’ll just take each day at a time, okay?”

I didn’t feel okay at all. And I was pretty convinced I’d never feel happy again. But in the depths of my sorrow, I’d never expected to find this—a connection with my mom, an honest conversation. Realizing how much she loved me, even when she didn’t show it in ways that I understood—it made a difference.

“Okay.”