Page 24 of Hell Bent

“I don’t think I’m coming back for school.” I had to say it. I had toadmitit. Why had I taken this job if I was coming back?

“Not … coming …back?”Now, her voice was at a register only dogs could hear.

“Not right now. I’ll call Stanford once they open up again and find out about doing a leave of absence.”

“Anastasia,” my mother said. “Listen to me. You have two trimesters to go. That’s barely five months. If you need a few months after graduation, fine, take them. But life requires self-discipline, and sometimes that means doing things we don’t particularly want to do so we don’t throw our life off track.”

“It’s a leave,” I said. “Not an abandonment. And it’s not like I’ve never accomplished anything. I’m a licensed commercial electrician with eight years on the job and foreman experience.” At her refined snort, I added, “I realize that isn’t an appropriate occupation to you, but you can’t say I don’t have self-discipline or don’t know how to work hard.”

“Why on earth would you be able to do that,” she said, “but not finish a college degree that you haveeveryaptitude for?” When I didn’t answer, because I had no answer other than, “I like to feel like I’m actually doing something when I’m working,” which didn’t sound convincing even to myself, she added, “And do you expect your father and me to continue paying your tuition after you’ve found yourself, or whatever is going on here?”

“I didn’t ask you to in the first place,” I said, trying hard to keep my cool. “I was over twenty-five. I had savings, and Icould have applied for financial aid on my own. There are plenty of schools in California that aren’t Stanford and don’t cost what Stanford does.” At her intake of breath, I said, “But I’m grateful you did pay it. Of course I am. I’ve received an excellent education. And if you don’t want to pay once I come back, I’ll pay it myself.”

“It’s sixty thousand dollars a year for tuition alone,” she said.

“Forty thousand for two trimesters. I told you, I’ll pay it. If that’s the problem, please don’t worry about it anymore. I’ll pay it.”

“We don’t want to cut you off,” she said. “We want to help you. We want toseeyou. Can you come for Christmas?”

“I only get two days off,” I said. “I’d be traveling on both of them.”

“Surely you can take an extra day. It won’t be at all the same without you.”

“No,” I said. “I can’t. Sorry. I’ll call you and Dad, though, how’s that?”

“And then there’s the wedding,” she said, switching tactics. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s one reason I called. The wedding presents, like I said, and my clothes, too. Ned hasn’t responded to me about my stuff. I don’t need all of it, but I’d rather not have to replace my entire wardrobe. Do you think you could box up a few things and send them to me? Pretty please? Nothing fancy, but I need jeans and T-shirts and underwear and socks and my running shoes. And my good winter coat, the waterproof one, and maybe a sweater or two. Oh—and my robe. Whatever fits in two boxes. Please?”

“Your father picked up your things from him today,” she said.

“Oh. Well, that was nice of him. And Ned.”

She huffed. “Ned’s actual text to us was, ‘I packed upAlix’s things. You can come get them within the next two days, or I’ll put them on the curb.’Notwhat I’d call taking the high road.”

“Well, I did wound his pride,” I said.

“He ought to have more intestinal fortitude than that,” she said. “A man who can’t cope with adversity without losing his composure and civility? Not who I’d have thought he was.”

“Cheering words,” I said, “from my point of view. OK. Back to wedding presents. I texted Ned the list of who gave what, but I got no answer. I guess that’s to be expected, given his lack of intestinal fortitude and all, but we really do have to return them.”

“You certainly do,” she said.

“And I have no idea whether he’s doing it,” I said.

“Probably not,” she said. “Men are hopeless at logistics, and I’m coming to believe that Ned doesn’t do what he doesn’t want to do. Somewhat like you, of course, but at least you’re broaching the subject.”

“Right,” I said. “I don’t want him to start using that stuff. Can you imagine returning used towels to people? ‘Here you go! Sorry about the stain. I used it to mop up a coffee spill.’ Most of it’s still in boxes in his spare room, so maybe you could ask him if he’d arrange for them to be brought over to you. Or even better, if you don’t want to store them—why did people give us so muchstuff?—I can rent a storage unit and hire movers, and all you’d have to do is supervise on the day. I have the list in my wedding database, so I could send a mass email telling people I’ll be returning their gifts and commit to a timeline. That would help, surely.”

“It would be the least you could do,” she said. “But we are not storing all those things for months and having the return period expire. If you can’t be bothered to take care of them, I’ll send them back.”

“I would be eternally grateful,” I said. “And I know it’s not fair to ask you. By the way—I’ll pay back some of the wedding cost, too. I’ll make a down payment and set up a plan.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “If you couldn’t marry him, you couldn’t. It’s cheaper than a weddinganda divorce.”

“That’s what Oma said.”

“Then she was right. But if you get married again, don’t expect it to be at the same level. I can hardly ask our colleagues and friends to turn up again after putting them to so much inconvenience.”