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“Then I’ll help you.”

Isa started walking again. It took Mandy a second to pull her feet out of the soft sand she had been shimmying them down in to—just as good as a pedicure, Sophie would say—and caught up with Isa.

They were both quiet then for a little while. Was Isa regretting asking Mandy for help? Should Mandy try to get the conversation rolling again or just be quiet? The cool water lapped against Mandy’s toes when Isa turned to her and said, “You should go to college.” Just like that. Of course, Isa somehow knew it was an idea that had been playing at the back of Mandy’s mind even though she had never mentioned it.

“I don’t know,” Mandy responded.

“What else are you going to do? Work at Grace’s Art and Supply for the rest of your life?” Isa kicked water at Mandy’s legs, splashing all the way up to her shorts.

“Hey.” Mandy kicked water back, getting Isa equally wet.

“Okay, truce.” Isa brushed water from her thighs. “But you know what I mean. You’re better than this. You’re smart and talented. You can’t let that go to waste.”

Would they have had the conversation if Tally were around? Mandy would never know for sure, but she was grateful for it no matter what. “I suppose.”

Isa gave her a look—one that said Mandy was being too hard on herself, and maybe she was. “UCLA has a great art program. Yale does too.”

“You thinkI’mgetting into Yale?” Wasn’t it on the East Coast somewhere?

Isa shrugged. “I think you can get into anywhere you put your mind to. You’re good, Mandy. It’s time you started believing that.”

Mandy stayed quiet, the wet sand smooshing between her toes. Why was believing in yourself so hard to do?

“I’ll help you with applications if you want.”

“You want to help me?”

“Why do you sound so surprised? That’s what friends do.” Isa didn’t smile when she said it, more like she was testing out how those words felt on her lips.

“I’d like that,” Mandy blurted. She didn’t want Isa to think too long about it—have time to take it back.

“Well then. What are we waiting for?”

If it hadn’t been for Isa, Mandy would’ve never gotten to this point in life—graduation—and it felt strange not celebrating it with her.

Mandy did walk across the stage without tripping, and had her picture taken way too many times—thanks, Mom. But it wasn’t until she was sitting down at dinner—with fancy white tablecloths and too many pieces of silverware, where the chandeliers were bigger than small cars and sparkled like a million stars—that Mandy felt truly excited that day.

“We’re so proud of you, honey,” Mom said as she raised her champagne glass.

“To the future.” Dad clicked his against Mom’s, and then Mandy joined in.

As she brought the glass to her lips, she was hit with the floral notes of the golden liquid sparkling inside. She took a sip—the bubbles dancing on her tongue. Going to dinner with her parents always meant good wine—Mom had a knack for picking just the right bottle. And since today they were celebrating, Dad didn’t even complain about the price.

“Speaking of futures,” Mom said, “your father and I think it might be a good idea if you move home for a little while. Just until you get your feet under you.”

Mandy figured this would be coming. She had been lucky enough that they paid her rent while she was in school, but she wasn’t in school anymore, and her lease would be ending soon.

“But what if I get a job? Then I might have to commute,” Mandy reasoned.

“Not if you let your father talk to his colleague. Didn’t you say Bert’s husband’s company was looking for someone to help in marketing? You could do that, couldn’t you?” Mom’s expression was so encouraging, Mandy wasn’t sure if she should be appreciative or annoyed. Mom was just trying to be helpful—it’s what she did. But Mandy didn’t go to school to work in marketing.

“I want to do something with art,” she said.

“You would be making ads, I think, isn’t that right, dear?” Mom turned to Dad.

“Dale would be happy to share the details of the position, plus it’s a great company with an excellent benefits package.”

Mandy had officially been an adult since she was eighteen, but here at this table, she was starting to see that real adulting wasn’t just being able to vote, join the military, or buy cigarettes. She would have to think about insurance, and 401(k)s, and retirement. All terms she heard about in the business classes Dad insisted she take. Classes she passed, but not ones she thrived in or enjoyed. “I just might want to see what else is out there.” That was fair, wasn’t it?