Because I was a coward, that’s how.
I was a coward who knew all along she didn’t want to go to Barnard but let her mother think she did. I was a coward who let her mother know via email that she wasn’t fulfilling her mother’s college dream for her—and with a cc: email at that. (Coward and schmuck.)
I was a coward who surprised her boyfriend at Christmas when she knew he really needed the holiday break for introspection and decompression from Oxford. I was a coward who hadn’t considered that she’d be a distraction to her boyfriend establishing his own roots in England if she also moved there, to be closer to him.
I was a coward who flirted with the idea of going to an obscure dog school in Twickenham, England, which would require her to give up the lovely and loyal dog-walking clients who counted on her in Manhattan, and to move away from her own beloved dog, Boris.
Coward coward coward. Jerk jerk jerk.
In the moment, when I sent that email to Professor Garvey, it seemed like a good idea. An act of defiance but also, what’s the word everyone uses now, agency? I was owning my power to make my own decisions and choose my own destiny. But in that moment, I didn’t think about the consequences. The collateral damage.
I couldn’t wait to be in a hotel room alone that night. I needed the introspection and decompression time just as much as Dash. I hoped Mark and Julia wouldn’t be home when I returned to their place, so I could get my stuff and make a stealth exit, like the coward I was. But when I went inside Mark and Julia’s apartment, I found Mark lying on their dreadful sofa, reading a Martin Amis novel (Mark’s love for this author being yet another reason Dash distrusted my cousin). When he saw me, Mark folded the book shut and sat up.
“Now you’ve done it,” he said.
“I know. I got Christmas canceled back home. I’m a monster,” I said as I made a mental inventory of my stuff. I’d left my toothbrush and toiletries bag in the bathroom. My clothes were all within an arm’s-length radius by my backpack, shoved behind the sofa to be out of the way of my hosts. At least I’d had the foresight to travel light. I could be packed and gone in five minutes—maybe ten, max, if Mark really gave me a hard time about daring to vacate his crappy apartment for a luxurious hotel because family stays with family.
Mark said, “Family crisis back in New York. They’re trying to blame me for luring you to London. But don’t worry. I made sure your parents understood that Dash is to blame, not me.”
“I am to blame! This is all me. Dash had nothing to do with it.”
“Sure,” Mark said, disbelieving. “The Daunt bibliophile challenge was also canceled. Too many people dropped out. Julia is devastated. I blame Dash for that, too. He started the attrition.”
I said, “Blame timing it at Christmas! People are too busy! She should do it in January, when the Christmas lights are gone and people are bummed by winter and really looking for something to do.” Like, basic common sense. “And stop blaming Dash for everything.”
“You used to be so sweet before you met him. So easy.”
“I’m still sweet and perhaps you mistook polite for easy.”
Mark stood up from the sofa. “I liked tween Lily better.”
How nice of Mark to make such a nice opening for me. I said, “Tween Lily could fit on your sofa for a night’s sleep. Adult Lily cannot. I’ve come to get my stuff and then I’m going to a hotel.”
Mark gasped. “Traitor!” Before I could defend myself, Mark’s TV rang with a Skype call. The caller ID said: grandpa.
“Please, Mark,” I pleaded. “Wait to answer till after I go.”
“Absolutely not, traitor,” said Mark. “I texted them when I heard your key in the door. Seems everyone is trying to reach you but you’re not answering calls. Not a problem here.” He pressed a remote to answer the call. “Hi, Grandpa!” he called to the screen, as suddenly, my grandfather and my brother, Langston, appeared on it. They were in Grandpa’s room at the assisted-living facility in Morningside Heights.
The biggest proof of my cowardice?
I had seriously considered leaving my grandpa! My dearest grandpa, who counted on my almost-daily visits to take him for walks around the neighborhood when he was up for it, or to sit by his side and read to him when he wasn’t. My grandpa, who loved all his children and grandchildren, but me the most. Then there were his fellow residents, who counted on me to bring Boris around to their rooms for companionship. My fearsome-looking dog had a surprising knack as a therapy animal. He’s a simple dude and it turns out the three loves of Boris’s life are peanut butter treats, me, and old people.
I started to bolt but Mark muttered, “Sit!” As if I were Boris, I immediately heeded the command and sat. I practically fell into the middle of the lumpy sofa as Grandpa’s and Langston’s faces looked at me accusingly.
Grandpa said, “So I hear you’ve gotten Christmas canceled, Lily Bear?” I tried to look away from Grandpa’s face, but all I saw were all the family photos surrounding him—at least half of which were photos of me at previous years’ Christmases. What a jerk, that cute Lily of Christmases past.
“Where’s Mrs. Basil E.?” I asked. It was her day at the home, not Langston’s.
Langston said, “She asked me to cover for her today since I’m already in the city. She’s also canceling her annual Christmas party this year. Those of us who appreciate her sharing her superior champers collection are hoping for another opportunity on New Year’s Eve, or we will be very angry with you indeed.”
“Where’d she go?” My heart hurt even more. My great-aunt’s Christmas Night party was the annual highlight of our family gatherings. Canceling that felt much more dire than canceling presents.
Grandpa said, “Who knows with my sister? She likes to disappear. Now listen, Lily. We can handle your mother canceling Christmas.” He stood up from his bed and stepped into his walker, as if to remind me of his fragility. Then he shook his fist at me. “BUT I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOU ABDICATING COLLEGE!”
Langston moved to Grandpa’s side. “Seriously, Lily. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t want to go to Barnard.” Finally, I’d said it, aloud and not just a million times in my own head.
From behind me, Mark said, “God forbid she slum it at that prestigious dump.”
It pained me how right Dash was about Mark. My cousin really was awful. He was my family and I loved him no matter what. But he was kind of the worst.
“And what would you presume to do instead?” Grandpa asked.
There was no use being anything other than honest about my intentions. No matter how I answered, they wouldn’t like it, so I choose to tell the truth. “There’s a dog training school I got into. Here in England.”
Dead silence.
Then Langston said, “What’s it called?”
“Pembroke Canine Facilitator Institute,” I said.
Mark said, “You’ve got to be kidding me with that name. Is Barbara Cartland the headmistress?”
“No, Jane Douglas is,” I said.
“How’d you find out about it?” Langston asked. “One of your dog-walking clients?”
Quietly, I said, “On Reddit.”