Page 35

Flimsy

Seventeen Years Old, Tennessee

For the last few days, I’ve thought of little more than how to share my CVU acceptance with Mom and Dad. They haven’t asked about notifications because, as far as they know, I shouldn’t hear anything until February.

Until now.

On a foggy Saturday morning, I get up early, let Major into the backyard, and then lose myself measuring brown sugar, cinnamon, and pecans. I’m not a baker—the kitchen is Mom’s domain—but I’m hoping warm coffee cake will soften the blow of what I suspect will be an unwelcome collegiate acceptance.

Not long after the pan goes into the oven, the house fills with a sweet, buttery aroma. I set a pot of coffee to brew before letting Major in and giving him breakfast. He dives face-first into his bowl. Working a few pieces into the puzzle that sits half-finished on the dining room table, I listen for signs of life up in my parents’ room and, yep, there’s running water and murmured voices.

The oven timer goes off. As I’m setting the pan on a cooling rack, footsteps descend the stairs. Dad’s in sweats and a Star Wars T-shirt. Mom’s wearing a flannel pajama set.

She smiles, though there’s wariness in the lift of her eyebrows as she catches sight of the coffee cake.

“You’re up early,” Dad says, cautiously optimistic.

“I made breakfast.”

Mom scopes out the cake’s crumb topping. “Smells good. What a thoughtful surprise.”

Dad retrieves mugs from the cupboard, while Mom gets out creamer. Drumming my fingertips anxiously against the countertop, I watch them prep their coffee, hoping beyond hope that this goes better than I anticipate.

We sit at the table with wedges of coffee cake.

I charge forward, before my nerve dips out: “I heard from CVU.”

Mom’s loaded fork pauses midway to her mouth, hovering while she regards me with blatant trepidation. Dad, who’s only just taken a bite, looks like he’s chewing sawdust. He swallows with effort. “And?”

“I got in.”

I used to daydream about this moment, before Beck passed, before I understood how quickly plans can be upturned and expectations can be thwarted. I’d make my announcement, then pull off my sweatshirt to reveal a CVU Eagles T-shirt beneath. My parents would gasp with joyful astonishment. They’d hug me and tell me that CVU is lucky I applied and wow, what a life I have ahead of me! Then we’d go to dinner with the Byrnes, who’d be just as pleased. I used to see it all through starry eyes: my future unfurling before me.

This, reality , is nothing like that.

Dad crosses his arms.

Mom folds her hands.

Major comes to the table, which he’s been trained not to do, and rests his chin in my lap. I stroke his head, waiting for someone to say something.

Dad breaks the gloomy silence. “Well. I’m not surprised.”

Mom nods. “You are the sort of student CVU is looking for.”

With a lift of his shoulders, Dad adds, “You’re the sort of student most universities are looking for.”

Mom says, “Have you heard about any of your other applications?”

I didn’t submit other applications.

“Not yet.” I brush a few granules of brown sugar from the tabletop. For months, I’ve been eaten up by guilt at having lied to them, but now that guilt is eclipsed by hurt. My parents’ complete lack of excitement, of pride, is a terrible blow. It’s no simple feat, getting into college, let alone into one of the best-ranked colleges in Virginia. Yet Mom and Dad are looking at me like I asked them to bail me out of jail.

Is a well done too much to ask? A congratulations ?

“CVU is a good school,” I say quietly.

“Of course it is,” Mom says.

“But is it the right school for you?” Dad asks rhetorically.

“You promised to keep an open mind,” she says.

He nods. “You promised to consider your options.”

My stomach churns.

He’d be furious if he knew I don’t have options.

But…what if he’s on to something?

I should’ve applied early action to CVU and saved myself the binding commitment of early decision. I could’ve sent applications to GMU and UT and Austin Peay and Ole Miss and Seattle Pacific. I would’ve had nothing to lose reaching out to other universities. Instead I dug in my heels and shrugged off my parents’ advice—which wasn’t even bad advice—and now I’m going to CVU, whether I want to or not.

I should tell them. Come clean right now. Stand by my decisions.

I’m obligated to CVU. I didn’t send applications anywhere else. I’m nearly eighteen. It’s my choice.

I’d sound like a brat. An irrational, egotistical brat.

I do want to go to CVU.

Pressure builds in my chest, a balloon expanding beneath my ribs. I feel trapped in this house. Trapped in my life.

“Lia, take a breath, lovey,” Mom says.

The kitchen’s overly warm from the oven, and the cloying air clouds my head.

“It’ll work out,” Dad tells me in a tone meant for a toddler who’s dropped her ice cream.

I’m about to blow up at him—at them.

“I’m going upstairs,” I say, shoving back my chair.

My parents look at one another, their expressions clouded with concern.

Now they’re worried about my feelings?

“How about finishing your breakfast first?” Dad says.

I shake my head. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

After twenty-two years of faithful and honorable service,

Colonel Connor F. Byrne

is retiring from the United States Army.

Please join us to celebrate and wish him well in his future endeavors.

Ceremony to be held on

Monday, the eighteenth of March

at eight o’clock in the morning.

George Washington’s Mount Vernon

3200 Mount Vernon Memorial Highway

Mount Vernon, Virginia 22121

Reception at Café Americana to follow.

Please RSVP by the first of March.

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