The waitress wanders off, and my father and I are left in a kind of quiet that we’ve never been in before. Even when Dad was pretty solidly drunk, he’s always been a talker. He’s always been the one who hates the silence. And now here he is, staring down at the table between us like it’s going to erase everything that’s happened in the last two hours.
I have never known this much of my father, and I’m not sure that I want to know. Life is more complicated when he’s more than just a fuckup. When he’s more than just the consistently drunk father who also consistently ruins my life.
And now everything is different. And I can’t even explain why, but I have an immediate urge to tell him the truth about school. It’s almost April, and when the school year ends, I can’t keep up this charade with Mom. So, what harm could it do, to tell him everything right now, after everything he just said in there?
“I have something to tell you,” I say, and from the way Dad looks up at me, his eyes tired and the bags under them looking like they need their own zip codes, I know he’s just as afraid as I am. So I take a deep breath, and I plunge in. “I’m not going to college.”
He looks at me for a second like he doesn’t quite know who I am, and then he leans back in the booth, his body sagging. “Fuck,” is all he says, the word barely a whisper, and for some reason, even though I know that’s not a particularly good response, it gives me the momentum to keep talking.
“I never applied to the school I told Mom I was going to. And when I don’t get a letter from them, she’s going to know I didn’t apply, and I’m just going to be one more disappointment in her life.”
Dad leans forward again, planting his elbows on the table and covering his mouth with one hand. “Fuck, she’s gonna kill you,” he says, and I sigh because duh. Of course she’s going to kill me. But doesn’t he have any other advice for me? From one disappointment to another, he’s got to have something. He taps on the table between us, clicking his teeth together. “When you gonna tell her?” he asks.
I bang my head on the table so loud my coffee cup rattles on its saucer. “Fuck if I know. Maybe I don’t have to tell her. I can say they offered me a free ride so she doesn’t ask about money. I can just pack my shit at the end of the summer and just pretend I’m living on campus. Maybe she’ll never ask about it.”
My father is silent, and when I lift my head, he’s sending me a look like, You know you’re an idiot, right?
“Okay, yes, it’s a stupid idea,” I shoot at him. “I get that. But I have no fucking clue what to do.”
I’m not expecting it, but for just a second, he doesn’t look like the person I’ve become so used to sitting across this table from. He looks like an adult. He looks like a father. He looks like someone who has something to say, like someone whose opinion might mean something.
“Oli, if this is really what you want to do, and to be honest, at this point I don’t think you have much of a choice, you’re buried so deep in it, you need to tell your mum. You need to tell her what you want and you have to be prepared to lose her respect. You have to be ready to lose her for the life you want for yourself. We’ve been holding you down long enough. It’s time for you to do something for yourself.”
By the time he’s done speaking, my hands are trembling. When Dad stood up to his parents, they cut him off. They disowned him. My father said no, and this is where it got him. Every time Mom told me if I didn’t stay on track, I would end up like my father, it always felt like the ultimate threat. And maybe Dad fucked up, but at least he tried. At least he had the balls to stand up for what he wanted.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He blinks at me, probably because I’ve never thanked him for anything in my life.
OLIVER
I’M NOT SURPRISED that Mom is throwing me a surprise party. If there’s anything my mom is terrible at, it’s keeping secrets, especially when that secret requires calling your boss and changing your schedule so that you show up at work only to find that your boss isn’t there and you don’t actually have a shift to work and now have to drive all the way back home. Subtle.
So I’m not surprised when I walk up to the apartment and it’s almost comically dark. Mom didn’t even leave the front porch light on, and I’m pretty sure that light has been left on permanently since we moved in. The entire apartment is dark and silent, and I know it’s because everyone inside is collectively holding their breath.
And I’m not surprised when the light goes on and there’s a meager exclamation of “Surprise!”
I am, however, surprised to find four people in my living room instead of three. Because I know Mom didn’t invite Amy. And there’s no reason she should be here, in my living room, dressed like she’s about to go on a date, in a shiny silver top and a black skirt that hugs her in all the most distracting places. But she’s here anyway, and I can’t take my eyes off her as Mom smiles at me and then a cake is produced. My favorite, chocolate with white icing.
I blow out the candles, and we sit around the dining room table, eating pizza, and I’m trying to be part of the conversation, but I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Amy is wearing heels. And hoop earrings.
Mom clears her throat. “So, Amy,” she begins. “Oli tells me you’re going to Stanford.”
Amy chokes on the pizza in her mouth. Brooke slides a soda in her direction, and Amy gulps it down before answering. “Actually, I haven’t gotten in yet. I’m still waiting to hear back.”
Mom waves Amy off. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll get in,” she says. “You seem like a very smart girl. And so pretty.” As if that has anything to do with getting into college. Mom glances at me in the absolutely least subtle way, and I roll my eyes. Across the table, Amy’s eyes have gone wide, and a blush is spreading across her cheeks.
“You know,” Brooke says, her mouth half full. Unlike Amy, she hasn’t dressed up. She’s wearing a black tank top and ripped jeans, and I wish beyond every wish that I could be as comfortable as she looks now. “We’ve been thinking of moving the shop to Cali. The hipsters out there are way more into vinyl than anyone in Missouri. Plus better work for Lauren when she’s out of law school. We wouldn’t be able to do it any time soon. We’d have to find a building and all that junk. But if it happens, you’re a shoo-in for a store manager position.” She nudges Amy with her elbow, and Amy looks discombobulated again.
“Oh,” is all she says, and I honestly can’t tell if it’s an oh like that’s a terrific offer that she’d love to take Brooke up on, or oh like Amy has no plans to be in any way associated with Spirits as soon as she leaves for California. She probably plans to cut all ties. She won’t have time for people back in Kansas City once she’s gone.
My pizza suddenly seems unappetizing.
“Oli, why don’t we go ahead and open your presents?”
I still have pizza in my mouth, but I take a sip of soda to wash it down and accept a gift my mother hands me. It’s a box covered in striped wrapping paper. I smile at Mom, figuring I probably know what’s in it. Mom gets me a band T-shirt every year for my birthday without fail. Inside is a Civil Wars T-shirt.