I push the front door open and listen to the electronic lock reengage, it's the only noise in the house besides my own breathing.
I live in a really nice part of the city. It's deep into the Erudite sector and rather large both because my parents used to have a lot of children and because we can easily afford it.
No one is ever home to greet me. There are days when I like the silence, there are days when I wish for anything but. Most days I don't think anything about it, I'm just used to it. The twins have not been around for five years now. Five years that have passed all too quickly, I think.
"Home sweet home," I say to nothing. I look around and try not to think about how this is the last afternoon I will ever come back to this house after school.
I walk up to my room and drop my bag next to the desk. Stepping out of my heels and into a more comfortable outfit before stripping my makeup is a ritual that I relish. To look good is to feel good, my father says, and I take this advice to heart. But I can't help being relaxed when all of the things I'm expected to wear have been put away.
My mind is buzzing too loudly for me to try to do anything on my laptop, so instead I flop down on my bed. The picture from this afternoon is perfect, so perfect it becomes my background.
Putting on a playlist of my favorite songs doesn't center me either. I've always been fickle with my taste in music, but now everything just feels wrong somehow.
I don't cry, though only because even alone it would be too dramatic. Eventually I become too restless to continue lying down and instead start wandering the house.
Natasha's room became the guest bedroom, neutral in its decoration now. But I still remember the closet thick with clothes, the messy desk, the packed bookshelf, the corkboard where she kept pictures and other keepsakes. It was a lively kind of chaos, and one I find echoed in my own space. Of course, her room doesn't look that way now. Now she is as poised and perfect as our mom.
Nikolai's room is now the library. My parents have always had a vast collection, much of it old classics. My mom has a passion for Shakespeare and when she's in the right mood, she'll talk about how she and my father were almost actors. I haven't read all of the books stored here, only most of them. Our family portrait hangs here, taken when my siblings were all still here. I was only six and one of Natasha's arms is draped over me, the other hand clasping Nikolai's – though back then we knew him as Nikola. They both still kept their hair curly then and wore their glasses most of the time. Percy and Minerva are in their early teens, though they don't hold themselves with half the awkwardness I sometimes catch in myself. My parents are timeless and smiling, holding one another close. I linger on this picture, we have lots of pictures – my father hoards photos just as I do – but this is the only professional photo we ever took as a family.
My parents' offices – which used to be Percy and Minerva's rooms – are always locked, so I don't bother.
Eventually I wind up back in my room. This time I don't indulge my sadness by flipping through the pictures on my phone. Instead I pick up the book I've been working my way through: War and Peace, centuries old at this point but still Jeanine's favorite.
But initiates aren't allowed to take anything from their homes with them until after they've become members. Suddenly I become overwhelmed with the feeling that I must finish this book now before everything changes.
That's easier said than done though. It does pass the time quite effectively though until I hear the garage door open and shut again. It's fully dark outside now, though not yet eight o'clock. Maybe my mother has a chance of keeping her word yet.
At the railing that overlooks the first floor, I see my father pacing the living room with his phone held to his ear.
"Can this not all wait until another time?" he says with a huff. "It's the night before your youngest daughter's Choosing Ceremony; tell them to have a little compassion and come home." He pauses, listening, before letting out a humorless laugh. "No. No, I wouldn't expect that to work." He twirls a lock of his black hair around his finger. "Come home when you can, okay? I doubt it will matter when; she'll just want to see you." He waits again before saying, "I love you too."
I start down the stairs just as he hangs up. When he sees me, he smiles.
"Mom's not coming home for dinner, is she?"
He sighs. "No. I'm sorry Mimette. Some upset with the test has brought absolutely everything to a screeching halt."
"Natasha told me there was a problem," I say as he moves toward me for a hug.
"Ah, this is just ruining everyone's day, isn't it?" He kisses me on the forehead. My father is only an inch taller than me; my siblings are much taller, something they get from our mother. "I swear this seems to happen every year. You would think with how far we'd come, we'd be more equipped to deal with these situations." He pauses before saying, "Don't tell Jeanine I said that."
"I'll be sure to do exactly that," I reply with a laugh.
Most evenings, I sit on the couch while my father cooks. Our first floor is open plan enough that I am able to watch. He's always loved to cook and more than that likes to hear about my day.
"Natasha said that there's a lot going on right now," I say.
"Oh, yes." He hummed. "We live in exciting times."
"Do you know what's happening?"
"Always, dear daughter. I'm sure your sister told you that we're not exactly at liberty to discuss it. But suffice it to say, Erudite has made some very large strides lately."
I want to press for more questions, but I know my father well enough to know when a subject is closed. He could dodge me all night, but neither of us want that. So instead I say, "Did anything interesting happen at work today?"
He laughs. "Not in the slightest. I mean unless you want to hear about the seating arrangements for the Choosing Ceremony as well as the truly ungodly amount of meetings that it takes just to settle a minuscule component of our," he sighs and glances up from his cooking with a saccharine smile, "endless dispute with Abnegation."
"What is it this time?"
He flutters his hand. "Funding, again. They've made cuts to the aerodynamic engineering department again. Erudite has been trying to get it – heh – off the ground since before you born, but every time it gets tied up in bureaucracy; which is all Abnegation is good for, if you ask me."
Abnegation has been stepping on Erudite's sovereignty for decades, every other faction's as well. Their oversight council has something approaching total veto power. If they think that something is immoral or dangerous, they can cut it off. It's rather funny given how it's coming out that several members of the council are corrupt themselves. There is strong evidence that their leader, Marcus Eaton, abused his daughter before she transferred. And the way that they scrape off other faction's resources to give to the factionless has always been controversial.
"But you don't need to worry about that," says my father. "How was school?"
I shrug. "Mostly parties. If I ever see another cheap, store-bought cupcake, it will be too soon."
My father laughs. "Funny you should say that; I was thinking about picking up a cake on my way home. Did your test go well?"
Unlike Natasha, my father doesn't press me when I say, "It went pretty well, I think." I hate lying, but I know when to do it.
"And are you ready for the big day tomorrow?"
No.
"I think so."
My father cocks his head to the side and stares at me very intently through his narrow glasses. But, to my relief, he doesn't say anything more.
"What was choosing like for you, Dad?" I ask to diffuse the tension.
"Oh, well it was never much of a choice. I always knew what I wanted."
"Were you excited?"
His brows knit together as though he's going over some bitter memory. "Oh sure," His voice does not suggest this is the case. "Always exciting to start the rest of your life. You know, they say that initiation is where you figure out who you truly are."
I am silent for a long time before I say, "Dad, why did you choose Erudite?"
Give me a reason that doesn't involve the family. Tell me what your anchor was in this endless sea.
He seemed to turn my words over in his mind for a minute. "Because it was the only place I ever wanted to be. I knew – I knew my friends, and I knew my family, but most importantly I knew myself. Erudite is the only place I've ever belonged." He begins to plate our dinner, waving me toward the table.
"You stayed for Mom?" I already know that they'd been friends for years before their choosing.
"I stayed for me," he says with a confidence that I have never known.
"Did you lose someone?" I say after a long silence.
And how much did it hurt? I think but do not say. Will I be able to survive without Casey at my side?
He sighs. "I did. I lost some very close friends of mine. But that was okay. I had your mother and Jeanine, and I made new friends. Everything changes eventually, Mimette. But that's okay too. We adapt, we rise above it."
I know the statistics about people transferring out of Erudite. I know that almost everyone loses somebody. But those words and numbers don't give me the comfort that I need. I've always been bad with change. More than that, when I stare into my father's eyes, I know that he's lying to me. It's not okay, and that scares me more than anything.
"Was your Choosing Ceremony…uh…What was it like?"
"Well, remember, I was a bit older than you." He rolls his eyes. "Still don't know why they changed it, but that's neither here nor there. Other than that, it was probably the same. If I remember correctly…oh, who opened the ceremony? I think it was Norman Ramsey; yes, that sounds right."
I have heard bits and pieces about Norman Ramsey, Jeanine's predecessor. Every leader of Erudite is supposed to be the greatest mind of their time, but Norman was a titan right up until he suddenly died of heart failure. Jeanine was his protégé, Dad was his secretary, and they've told me many stories over the years about what a great man he was.
"Anyways," he says, "tell me about coffee with Natasha."
I shrug. "Okay, I guess. For the whole ten minutes we had before she got called into work."
"Don't be like that," replies my father. "Your sister loves you very much, we're all just busy. You'll be busy too one day soon."
I know that, of course, so why does it scare me so much?
I snap my fingers as I remember Natasha's request. "Oh! She asked me to get the number for Damascus' floristry for her. Do you remember it?"
My father visibly tenses. "Ah, Damascus, n-no. No, I don't believe I do."
I make a mental note to tell Natasha that I knew it was a bad idea. There's probably a good reason our parents don't talk about Damascus
"Anyways," he lets out an uncharacteristically nervous laugh, "did you get to spend any time with Cassandra and Elizabeth?"
I nod. "They were – uh – well. Their tests went well, I think." I don't tell him about Casey's plans to leave. That would only make him worry about me.
"You all must be very excited. I know how much fun you had going dress shopping."
Last month, my mother had taken us all to a boutique to buy our Choosing Ceremony outfits. Eliza had managed to talk her mother out of accompanying us and Casey's father obviously never cares about what she wears as long as it's nice.
I give a stiff nod. I really need to work on pretending that I'm excited about things more.
My father reaches to put his hand over mine. "I understand that you're nervous, and that's okay. But I promise you that this is a happy occasion; it's the start of the rest of your life."
I want to believe him. Some part of me does believe him. If I just keep telling my self that things are fine, and that they're going to be fine, then maybe I will start to believe it. I can make it here, I'm not scared.
God, what a terrible lie.
I let the conversation flow away into lighter topics, but no matter how good my father's cooking is, I just can't finish it. That hurts too, because what if this is the last time he ever cooks for me?
He insists on cleaning up everything himself, which means I am alone again. I unpack my schoolbag for the last time this year. Ever since mid-levels I've made a habit of hanging onto papers I believe are important. I keep them in a series of binders in my closet. It's not useful, I almost never use them to actually study, but getting rid of them just feels wrong.
I sit cross-legged in front of my closet for so long just looking at everything. The binders, the boxes that contain every journal I've written in since I was twelve, all of the well-tailored clothes in every shade of blue. I try to imagine not coming back to it; I try to imagine other colors.
Red and yellow feels nearly as comfortable as blue; it feels like a natural conclusion to come to if my desire is for familiarity but greater freedom.
Black and white makes my heart jump in my chest with both terror and elation. Have I not always hated lying? Have I not relentlessly pushed to know the truth of everything?
Gray is unnatural. Gray would hurt everyone. Gray is not something I can allow myself to consider. I can find my peace in other places.
Black on its own is a mystery. It is the thing that lurks just past my frame of knowledge. Someone a long time ago once said that the oldest and deepest fear is the fear of the unknown, and that is what I feel now.
But then I take a deep breath, re-center myself on those shades of blue, and tell myself not to think so much. I know what I need to do; I know what my destiny is.
I simply need to reach out and take it
For so long I find myself staring at a blank page in my journal. I have always felt better after writing. But now the words won't come, for once I don't know what to say.
When I start to draft a text to one of my friends, the result is the same. I start sentences that I can't continue and end up deleting. The things I usually enjoy just feel hollow now. The hours tick on, but sleeping is a lost cause. When I lie down, the thoughts come faster, the fear nearly chokes me.
Throughout the years, my insomnia has come and gone. I had managed to make it through almost the first year of upper levels before I found myself laying awake staring at my ceiling for hours on end. Usually when I'm this restless, I talk to Eliza. She doesn't sleep much either, though for very different reasons. But now nothing I could say feels good enough.
I am going over the pictures on my phone from beginning to end for the third time when I hear the front door open and shut. I hear the chatter of others; I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs. It's just past two in the morning and I fling my door open before my mother even has the chance to knock. I take the hug she offers me gladly; she's always been tall and taller still in the heels she wears every day. Looking at her face I see no exhaustion, only a happiness to see me.
"How was your day?"
Her smile twitches at the corners. "Don't worry about me. This is your night." She takes my hand and leads me to the stairs.
My father is in the kitchen again with the kettle on and sitting in the living room are all the people I was sure wouldn't come. Nikolai and Maureen share a love seat, Gwendolyn and Natasha have taken up the armchairs, and Jeanine is on the couch. The way that they all brighten when I come down makes the childish part of me feel special.
"Surprise," drawls Natasha. "I know we're late but–"
"But we would never miss this," Nikolai finishes for her.
My mother sits down beside Jeanine and I beside her. When the kettle goes off, my father brings us all tea ("Chamomile for Mimette," says my mother in hopes that I might sleep tonight). Then the glasses and champagne are broken out for a toast. I've been allowed to have tastes of some things since I started upper levels; most of it is wine because that's what my parents like.
"To your future, Mimette," says Jeanine, smiling.
"To the future," I say like there isn't a knot of guilt in my chest for ever even thinking of disappointing them.
They are my family, Erudite is my home, this is the future I've always known I would have. And I'd never have it any other way, would I? I look at all of them and know that this can be enough for me. I have the whole world at my feet and I would be stupid to run away from it.
I am not afraid, is another lie that I tell myself.
The night wears on and the twins along with their partners take their leave. Jeanine insists on helping my father clean, but before following him to the kitchen she puts her hands on my shoulders.
She smiles when she says, "I am so proud of you, Mimi." Whenever she pulls out that old nickname that she and she alone uses, I find myself getting emotional. This time the feelings hit me like a car. They hit me like a train. One of Jeanine's hands comes up to wipe my cheek and cradle my face. "Oh, come now, don't cry. You're okay."
But I'm not, and I fall into her arms.
Everyone thinks that Jeanine Matthews is emotionless, that she doesn't truly care about anything or anyone. But that doesn't make any sense, because if she didn't care then why would she hold me tight and stroke my hair as a sob wracks my body? Why would she whisper comforting nonsense in my ear about how it's all going to be okay?
A desperation to freeze time here forever only makes me cry harder. My mother brings me a glass of water, but when she asks me what's wrong, I cannot find the words. My father brings me a second cup of tea and a box of tissues.
I tell them that I should go upstairs, that they're probably tired, but they insist that they aren't. I still don't keep them for long, after five minutes I pretend like I'm feeling better.
But they still follow me upstairs to say goodnight. My father kisses my forehead first, then my mother, then I bend down to allow Jeanine to do the same. They seem satisfied when I get comfortable in bed and allow my eyes to close.
At first I am scared that I will see the sunrise before my brain can calm down enough for me to drift off. But maybe it's the tea, or the wine, or the hugs and kisses that allow me to be swept away. Maybe it's all three. When the true and proper darkness comes, I can only feel relief.