I don't go home for a long time. I drive over to the paintball fields and dig a sweatshirt out of my backseat, then go sit on one of the picnic tables, watching the game going on. This is one of those moments where, more than ever, I wish Jamie were here. Not like the rest of the time, when I miss her in general. This is a yearning to just have her here to hash this out with me and make me feel just a little better. Plus she'd let us bitch about it for a little while, but then she'd make me go do something random, like get pedicures, or eat ice cream in front of the windows at the YMCA while people ran on treadmills and were forced to watch us, or drive 10 minutes outside the city where some acreages are and try to launch ourselves onto horses that belong to people we don't know.
But I push those thoughts back into the places in my mind that I don't really travel to anymore.
In reality, Mom's being ridiculous. Obviously I know where Harvard is. So obviously I've sat and thought about what it would be like to live away from them. Away from all of them; my family of doctors. It will be a huge change. It'l hurt and I'll probably consider coming home at least twice within a six-month period. But it's also a huge opportunity. I don't want to spend my entire life in California. It will always be home, but I want to try things out. I want to live off-campus in my own little space, and I want to actually need to wear sweaters. It sounds stupid, but I mean it. I want actual seasons. I want to meet new people. I just want to live.
I watch a few rounds of paintball before getting back in my car and driving around some more. By the time it gets dark, I realize that I'm exhausted. My eyes are starting to feel heavy and tired, and I just want my bed. If only I had some kind of ladder to get up to it.
I suck it up and drive home. The lights are, of course, still on.
When I walk in the front door, Mom and Dad look up anxiously from the couch. Dad looks like he's about to scold me for not texting and ask me if I know how worried they were and blah blah blah. But he stops himself. Instead he swallows those words and says some new ones.
"You alright?"
I stare at him for a moment, and then I nod.
Mom looks at me from the couch. She's still angry.
Join the club, I think to myself.
"I'm going to bed," I mutter.
"Kate," Mom says shortly.
I don't say anything, I just meet her eyes.
"We are not done talking about this," she says firmly. Her eyes are still on fire, but the sadness is poking through.
"Yes. We are," I reply, walking to the stairs.
She starts to say my name again but Dad says something and she stops. Nigel hauls his sturdy self up the stairs after me, right on my heels, and jumps onto my bed.
I dig my phone out of my bag and drop the bag on the floor, and tap my iPod. Music plays and I crawl onto my bed. Axel called. I wonder if Dad called him….
"Hey," he says softly, answering.
"Hey," I reply, leaning into the corner, against a bunch of pillows.
"What's goin' on?" he asks gently.
I exhale and, to my surprise, my eyes sting a little. "I told them. Well, actually I just shoved the letter in their faces, but…regardless. They know now."
"How're you doing?" he asks.
"I dunno. I feel…shitty. I'm mad and sad and frustrated and…I don't even know."
"It's all gonna work out," he offers. "It's just gonna be rough for a little while."
"Yeah," I mumble.
"How bad was it?" he asks, knowing our fights are few and far between, so something big has to happen to equal a blowup.
"She just lost it," I reply softly. "She's so fucking mad at me right now. Said I'm not going, and it's her decision, and that's the end of it, and…well, you know her."
"She give you the Crazy Eyes?" he asks.
"She just developed a brand new strain of Crazy Eyes, all for me," I reply. "Sure to burn anyone not bearing her DNA, into a smouldering pile of bones and blood and skin."
"Nice," he replies dryly. "Nice visual."
"Seriously, Axel," I say, dejected. "I knew she'd be mad, but I didn't think it would launch this kind of meltdown. We both got so angry. She yelled at me, and I yelled back. We never do that. I mean, raised voices, yeah, but not this."
"What about your dad?"
"Tried to diffuse, as usual," I reply. "But he was mad too. But also sad and proud and confused. They both just looked at me like I'd just told them I bought the Statue of Liberty with my trust fund."
"I'm sorry, baby," he says. "That's rough. I wish it hadn't gone down like that."
"Well," I sigh. "I guess we can't say we're surprised. I'm just not used to being on the receiving end of her fury."
He blows out his breath. "Tell me about it. You're tougher than I am, that's for sure. Damn."
We're quiet for a few moments. Sometimes it's just nice to have him there, even when he's not here.
"I'm gonna try to sleep," I finally say.
"I'll come over if you need me," he offers. "Or come pick you up."
"I know you would," I smile, small. "I'm alright. I just need to sleep. For the first time in my life, I wish tomorrow wasn't Saturday. She's going to be waiting for me to wake up. Maybe even listening outside my door for breathing noises."
He laughs softly.
"Get some sleep. Call me if you need anything. Okay?"
"I will," I say.
"Alright. I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. We can talk about where we're going to live in Cambridge."
The smile in his voice makes me smile, genuinely. He's my silver lining.
"Sounds good. Night."
"Night. I love you."
"I love you too."
I hang up and I can hear Mom and Dad downstairs, still talking. She's still angry, he's still trying to deflate, and I'm wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
I barely hear someone come into my room later. It's late. Late enough for me to be so asleep that I don't fully register that I'm partially awake. Mom weightlessly walks into my room. For someone so pregnant, she can still tiptoe around unheard. My eyes are too tired to open, but I don't think I'd open them anyway, if I could. I still don't want to talk to her yet.
She leans over me and lightly runs a hand over my hair. I hear her sniffle, and then she leaves. So quickly it's like it may not have happened at all.
The next morning I make no effort to get myself moving. Dad comes in around 10:00 and makes Nigel get up to go outside. He gives me a sad smile as he leaves.
Already, I've created waves. A year ago, he would have sat down and made me talk about it. He would have explained to me why I couldn't have my way. Today, he leaves, knowing he can't talk me out of this, because I'm not a child. His, yes. But society's, no. He's giving me my space, and he's not forcing anything down my throat. I love him for it. But somehow, at the same time, even though it makes no fucking sense to me…I kind of wish he would. Maybe it's just because that's what I'm used to. But I've already shook the ground that my childhood sits upon, and I'll never be that kid again. Regardless of still needing my parents, things will never be quite the same. Convincing myself this is for the best is harder than I thought it would be.
I crawl onto my window seat later, staring out at the backyard and the hills behind it. Mom's sitting by the pool with a book on her lap that she's not reading and a mug of something that she's not drinking. I don't know what to do or say right now, so I go stand in a hot shower, hoping that will take the swelling down.
"Honey?" Dad knocks.
"Mmhmm," I mumble. I'm surprised he hears me.
He opens the door a bit.
"Can I come in?" he asks.
I'm cross-legged on my bed with my guitar, trying to get my mind to other places.
"Yeah," I reply quietly.
He comes and sits down beside Nigel, who came back to my room as soon as Dad had fed him and let him out to pee.
"How you doing?" he asks gently.
I meet his eyes for a second.
"I don't know," I reply.
When he reaches over and covers my hand with his, my eyes immediately sting. I blink rapidly.
"Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you tell us you were thinking Harvard?" he asks softly.
I shrug. "Last year when you brought home all of those brochures for Yale and Princeton and everything, she flipped out. She said there was no way I was going to any of them. Why would now be any different?"
He looks sad.
"Look, honey. I see both sides of this. I want you to be everything you're capable of. Harvard is an incredible school, and I have no doubt in my mind that you would crush every other student there. You're a King-Freedman," he gives a small smile. "What can't you do?"
"Convince my mother, apparently," I reply, not giving in to the smile.
His face reverts back to sadness.
"There wasn't gonna be a good time to tell you guys," I go on. "Now, when she's pregnant, or later, when she's got a new baby and is still hormonal."
"I don't want you to feel guilty about this, sweetheart. I see where you're coming from, and I understand why you want it, and why you're scared."
I frown slightly. I never said I was scared. I am, but I never said it out loud. Chalk it up to Cooper Freedman Dad Spidey Senses.
"Eventually…your mom will…well. She'll get there."
"Yeah right," I mutter, dancing my fingers along the strings of my guitar aimlessly. "You heard her. She wants to treat me like an invalid or a prisoner. Keep me in California forever."
"We're all going to talk about this," he says firmly but gently. "And everything's going to be fine. Okay?"
I nod slowly, not convinced.
"Come on," he says, nodding his toward the door.
Reluctantly, I set my guitar aside and follow him downstairs.
Mom's on the couch, with another mug of something beside her. But when we get closer, I see that the mug isn't steaming. It's the same one she's had all morning, just cold now.
My throat tightens when I get closer to her and see that her eyes are red-rimmed.
"Honey," Dad says, touching Mom's hand as he sits on the couch.
I sit in the arm chair adjacent.
"Look, Kati," Mom croaks, before Dad can say anything else. Her voice is thick from crying. "I'm sorry I got so angry yesterday. But I think we all just need to think about this."
"I don't," I reply. I hate that she's upset, but I'm not budging here. I'm not giving up Harvard because of both of us being afraid.
She glances at me, and I can see that she's still touchy, too.
"Kati," she says, looking at me. "Massachusetts is 3000 miles away."
"I know where it is," I reply, monotone. She doesn't like it, but she lets it go.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not agreeing to this."
"Agreeing to what, exactly?" I ask.
Dad's nervous. Both Mom and I are getting angry again.
"Agreeing to allow my child to take off to the other side of the country and live there, alone," she replies, louder.
"Oh my god, Mom," I say, getting heated. "When are you going to accept that this isn't your decision! You don't get final say here! This isn't high school or camp or something. This is my life! Why can't you just accept that?"
Her eyes are glassy and I hate it.
"I will always have a say in your life," she retorts. "I don't care if you're 50 years old and I'm an old crippled woman!"
"Well then you really can't do anything about it, if you're crippled," I mutter.
Dad presses his hand against his mouth. Partly because I see a hint of a smile, but mostly because he wants this arguing to stop.
"That's enough, Katelyn," Mom snaps. "This isn't up for discussion. Now you want to transfer to Berkeley, or USC, we can talk about that."
She gets a look of finality on her face that just ignites my anger.
"Stop!" I say loudly, my hands in my hair and then clenched on my lap. It startles her. "The only thing we're going to talk about, is where I'm going to live in Cambridge and when I'll leave for the drive up there! I don't want USC or Berkeley or any other university. I want Harvard, I got Harvard, and I'm taking Harvard! Why is this such a big deal? It's not like you're going to be sitting here alone! You'll have a brand new baby to worry about! You'll barely even notice that I'm gone!"
Her face starts to look less angry and more sad. That's not how I wanted that to come out.
"Darlin', is that what this is about? The baby?" she asks, starting to reach for my hands.
"No," I bite, standing up so she can't reach me. The gesture surprises her. "It's about me! I'm not saying what you're thinking. I'm saying you're going to be busy with the baby, and I get that. I'm fine with that. I actually thought it would help you deal with me being gone. How can you sit there and tell me that you don't want me to have to best education possible?"
"I never said that," she replies.
Dad's head is in his hands. He tried to help and now we're right back where we were last night.
"I will always want the absolute best for you, and I'll never settle for less, b-"
"Then let me go!" I cut her off, loudly, firmly.
She closes her mouth, and her glassy eyes fill with sorrow as the anger drains a little. She looks at me, into the eyes that match hers, and my chest hurts.
"I can't," she chokes out, and before Dad or I can say anything else, she's already hurrying up the stairs.
