January 25, 1999

Dear Mom,

I used to come home from school in elementary school and tell you all about my day. I'll give that a try here.

When I got there, everyone was talking and laughing. The place is huge. I'm not sure how long it'll be before I can find my way around. Compared to Stanford with its 3500 students, this place is…gigantic. I know it said 30,000 students on the website, but I didn't know what that would really look like in person.

I got lost straight off and ended up at a dining hall instead of my psych class. Not quite sure how that happened, but I was forced to ask one of the nearby students for directions. I was hoping to spot someone I knew from Stuyvesant—Claire and John I know went to NYU at least—but I couldn't find them amid all those people. So instead I walked up to this friendly African-American girl and asked her. She introduced herself as Delaney Parish, but immediately told me to call her Lanie, as she hated her stiff full name. She made me laugh, Mom. So I might've made my first friend here. She invited me to a party this weekend. I don't know if I'm going to go yet, but still.

I know that probably doesn't sound like me. In high school and at Stanford I would've been one of the first ones there at any party. But I just don't feel comfortable with the idea, I guess, anymore. I wonder what you would say about that now. I know you and Dad were always uncomfortable with my wild-child attitude, but you also advocated having a strong group of friends to rely on. I wish I could ask you now which piece of advice I'm supposed to follow.

I took a cab back home, and when I knocked on the door no one answered. I had to let myself in with my own key, and I found Dad sitting on the couch right where I had left him this morning. Mom, I don't think he had moved an inch. I know it must be hard for him, but can't he see it's hard for me too? I haven't asked when he'll be returning to the firm, or how much time off they'll give him. He probably has plenty of time—they all loved you there—but I'm still worried that he hasn't even looked into it.

I know what you would say to me right now. I can hear your voice so clearly in my head it's almost like you're standing in front of me, scolding me with your hands on your hips. You would tell me that even adults aren't perfect, and then normally I would snap back that I am one now, so I would know. But not right now. I wouldn't—I can't—even conceive of snapping at you. I would probably envelop you in a huge hug, no matter what was coming out of your mouth.

Anyways, I know you would tell me not to be so hard on him. I just worry, Mom.

Love,
Kate