Page 15

A Path, A Plan

Seventeen Years Old, Tennessee

A few days after the second-worst Thanksgiving of my life, my parents take me out for lunch and what I suspect will be a conversation about The Future.

I’m still reeling from what happened at school on Wednesday: the crying, the hugging, the kissing, the crying.

Who have I become?

A drifter. A sham. A calamity.

I knew Beck more than fifteen years before I worked up the courage to kiss him.

I kissed Isaiah after fifteen minutes.

Mom, Dad, and I go to The Shaggy Dog at my suggestion, because the bread pudding really is amazing. After we’re seated, I take a sourdough roll from the basket on the table and butter it. My parents do too, smiling as they wield their dull knives.

“So,” Dad says, once we’ve ordered drinks. “Given any more thought to what happens after graduation?”

I shrug. Thought isn’t required. I know what’ll happen after graduation.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” he says, as if I asked. “GMU and William and Mary, should you decide you want to go back to Virginia. Ole Miss, obviously. Austin Peay and UT, in case you decide you want to stay in Tennessee.”

“What about CVU?”

His smile falters. “Millie, really?”

“Yes, really.”

Flummoxed, he looks to Mom.

“Lovey,” she says before hesitating, her gaze shifting back to Dad’s, then skittering about the restaurant. We’re so conversationally out of practice, she and I, that talking with her is like navigating an ice-slicked sidewalk in platform heels. Finally, with gentleness, she says, “You can go to school anywhere. Virginia, Mississippi, Tennessee. Back to Washington, like you used to talk about. Remember when you were so passionate about Australia? I’d love to see you consider a semester abroad, the way you once did. But all Daddy and I really want is for you to find happiness. You don’t have to go to CVU for that.”

Last year, before, when I’d bring up Commonwealth of Virginia University, my parents would give me tongue-in-cheek shit. “You’ve got Rebel blood,” Dad used to say, and Mom would follow with, “Our years at Ole Miss were some of the best of our lives.” Then they’d burst into a rousing rendition of “Forward Rebels,” complete with mimed cymbal strikes .

Since Beck passed, their attitudes about CVU has been less tongue-in-cheek, and more knife-hand.

Doesn’t matter, though. I know where I belong. Since I kissed Isaiah—God, my chest seizes every time I think about the way I imposed myself on him—I’ve doubled down on the life Beck and I dreamed up. I’ll throw my whole heart into honoring our plan, no matter outside opinions and unwelcome judgments.

“I already applied,” I tell my parents. Judging by their reactions—the vein in Dad’s temple pulsing and Mom’s jaw grazing the table—they’ll lose their minds if I mention it was an early decision application. “Early action,” I lie, pushing my shoulders back, projecting poise I don’t feel. “I took care of the fee and got in touch with the Office of Veteran Services and everything. I thought you’d be proud.”

“If that were true,” Dad says, “you would’ve told us when you did it.” Brows knitted, he lets out a gusty breath. “Okay. So you applied. Early action is nonbinding. An application doesn’t mean you’re committed.”

Versus early decision, which is binding.

“But I am committed,” I tell him.

He smiles with condescension. “You’ll apply elsewhere though. You’ll want options.”

“You’ve got time,” Mom says. “And now that you’ve submitted one application, getting a few more out should be relatively easy.”

“But I don’t need time, or more applications, or other options.”

My parents look at one another before turning their piteous gazes onto me.

Why do they always presume to know what’s best?

“I’m going to CVU,” I say, “or I’m not going to college.”

That’s when our waitress returns and, God, I’m grateful for the interruption. Dad, strained, asks for a cheeseburger. Mom, a BLT. I go for soup and a salad.

“It’s foolish,” Dad says once the waitress has stepped away, “to discount other schools. You’d thrive at William and Mary. And you know how we feel about Ole Miss.”

Mom nods. “Of course, we’d be thrilled if you stayed in Tennessee. Austin Peay has a very good teaching program.” She touches my hand. “Is that what you still want? To teach?”

“Obviously,” I say, and then I recite the clairvoyant’s long-ago prediction. “She will walk a path similar to the one you blaze.”

Mom’s face falls. “Oh, Lia. I hope you’ll walk a path you choose. You can do anything. Be anything.”

I shake my head. “Teaching is the plan. CVU is the plan.”

My dad’s posture stiffens as he shifts into his wartime persona. Gruffly he says, “Plans change.”

“God, Dad, you don’t think I know that?” It feels like my ribs are closing in, constricting my lungs, compressing my heart. I look at my lap, twisting my napkin in my hands, wondering how to make him— them —understand that to abandon my destiny is to betray Beck. “Life is random and cruel and completely unfair,” I say, “and last year, the most important part of my plan was stolen. Is it so wrong to cling to what I have left?”

“No,” Dad says. “But be sensible. There’s nothing for you at CVU. Nothing but misery and misguided obligation.”

Mom squeezes my hand. “We know you miss Beck. We know you’re sad. But going to CVU isn’t going to bring him back.”

I am so fucking frustrated with their refusal to hear me.

“Feel your feelings,” Dad says. “But to march toward a dead end rather than change course… I’d hate to see it.”

I’ve got nothing—nothing but a strong urge to scream until my throat bleeds.

The waitress arrives with lunch. We’re quiet as she sets our dishes before us. We’re quiet as she walks away. We’re quiet as we take our first tastes of the food.

My soup is difficult to swallow.

The greens of my salad taste bitter.

I set down my fork.

“I’ve done my best to survive this last year,” I remind my parents. “I’ve gotten good grades, moved to a new town, made friends. I’m getting by. But you have no idea—” My voice breaks. I exhale a tremulous breath, gripping tight to what’s left of my composure. “You have no idea how hard it was to lose Beck. I just—I need you to trust me.”

“How about this?” Mom says, eyes brimming with sympathy. “If you submit applications to at least two more schools and keep an open mind during the next few months, Daddy and I will stand behind your final college decision.”

He nods. “See where you get accepted. We’ll visit campuses—CVU included. If Charlottesville is where you want to be when the dust settles, we’ll support you.”

I nod, muzzled by my earlier deceit. If CVU accepts me early decision, it won’t matter how many other schools I apply to. But I’m willing to concede in the name of getting my parents off my back.

Dad rests his hand on my shoulder. He sounds like he might cry when he says, “We want what’s best for you, Millie. That’s all we’ve ever wanted.”