I’d had no idea they thought that. It was frustrating. “One has nothing to do with the other. Of course I want to be there for Grandpa.”
“But this school you’re considering in England?”
“It’s a one-year program. I wouldn’t be gone long. I’d come back home as much as I could.”
“You wouldn’t really move to England, would you?”
“If you mean, for Dash, the answer is, maybe I would. But I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t have a very good reason to be here otherwise. One of the concentrations the dog school offers is learning how to work with therapy animals. That’s a skill I’d like to bring back to Grandpa’s nursing home.”
“Interesting.” Champagne sip. Strawberry bite. “I still don’t approve. But you’re going to do what you’re going to do.”
“And I’ll still be your favorite niece, no matter what I choose.”
She set her glass down. “You are excused. Go to your room and call my other favorite niece. Resolve this. Get Christmas un-canceled!”
“I’m sorry,” I told Mom once I’d returned to my hotel room, which now seemed like a one-star travesty in comparison to Mrs. Basil E.’s Grand Piano Suite. But it was mine, and mine alone, and I’d earned it, and I loved my luxurious little hovel.
No phone filter could have helped how bad Mom looked—exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in days, and puffy-faced, like there’d been a lot of crying and mainlining Christmas cookies during all that time she wasn’t sleeping. In the background behind her, I could see that the Christmas decorations we’d put up in the living room after Thanksgiving had been taken down. I added, “I handled it badly.”
“You think?” she said, her face revealing the tiniest glimmer of humor. “If you didn’t want to go to Barnard, why’d you even apply?”
“If you really want to know, I wasn’t ready to make a decision about college at all last year. I only applied to Barnard because I was sure I wouldn’t get in.” My grades and test scores were good, but below the school’s averages for its admitted candidates. It had been a calculated risk on my part, one I’d lost either because I was a legacy or because Dash helped me with my personal essay and edited it to perfection.
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
“I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“It’s much more disappointing that you let us have the expectation you would go, when you had no intention to do so.”
“I did intend to go.”
Mom tried to smile. “Really?”
“I mean, theoretically, yes. I wanted to fulfill your college ambitions for me. Follow in your footsteps. Be closer to Grandpa. But it never felt like the right fit.”
“So what is the right fit?”
“I’m still deciding. I guess that’s what I wanted and didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted the freedom to figure it out in my own time, in my own way.”
“Fair enough. I’m sorry you’re just telling me that now, but glad to know it.”
“Don’t freak out, but there’s a dog school here in England I’m considering.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Mom.” I paused, not just for dramatic effect, but also to gather my courage. “That’s my decision to make. Not yours.”
She made a surprised face. Then wiped a tear from her cheek. “Harsh, Lily.”
“But I’d like you to help me make the decision,” I added. “When I get home, I’ll tell you more about it and you can see why it might be a great opportunity.”
“To be near Dash?”
“That would just be a bonus. Not the reason.” I took a deep breath and then said it. “I love him, Mom. I’m sorry you’re not ready to let me go, but I’m ready to go. He’s not just a big part of my life. He’s the best part of it.” I thought of this time last year, when I’d been a mess of insecurity because I didn’t know where my relationship with Dash stood, if he really felt the same about me as I did about him, and now, a year later, it was a world of difference. I felt confident in my relationship and confident in myself in a way I never had before. Dash hadn’t done that. I did it. By following my own path (and as many dogs as I could).
“I know, honey. It’s just that Dad and I want you to experience more on your own before you commit yourself to Dash.”
“Too late. My heart landed on him. And it’s not going anywhere.”
The slow, single tear gave way to a gush. “Okay,” Mom finally said. Or blubbered.
And now for the good news. I said, “I’m also going to apply to FIT.”
Her face perked up as she wiped the tears from her face with a tissue. “Here in New York? Really?”
“Yes. I’m interested in design. And entrepreneurship. I think I might be good at both?”
“Something other than dogs! You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that.” I do know, I thought. Thanks, Dashiell.
“Where is my dog, by the way?” Mom turned her camera to her feet, where Boris’s head was nestled, asleep. I couldn’t believe it. If Mom “tolerated” Dash as my boyfriend, she blatantly “loathed” (her word, not mine) my ginormous dog. Or so I thought.
“We miss you,” Mom said, turning the camera back on her sweet, tired face.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too. Let’s agree to talk things through more before making major decisions.”
“Agreed. Please un-cancel Christmas,” I said.
“Agreed. Come home already!”
I awoke the next morning, wishing for another vision of Dash in his purple pajamas. Then I remembered today was not only THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS but also a big day for Dash. He wanted to cast his fate to books and today was his first big step in that direction, his interview with what sounded like Sinjin Blakey someone-or-other. I was so excited for Dash and wondered if he’d opened my final Advent calendar gift to him yet. Dash wanted books? He’d get books.
The last present was a USB key with photos I’d taken in late October, when I’d gone on a day trip with my brother up to the Hudson Valley during peak fall foliage. We went to a glorious bookstore in Hillsdale, New York, called the Rodgers Book Barn, which was a rickety old country house filled with books, books, and more books, in every room, and outside on shelves. Langston photographed me holding many of Dash’s favorite books under the gold-, yellow-, and red-covered trees, and hiding in the Book Barn’s many reading nooks.
I opened my eyes. Alas, Dash was not standing at the window wearing purple pajamas, but luckily I had my photo of him doing so from the day before to brighten my morning. As I gazed at the photo, a text from Dash appeared.
I just opened your last Advent present. Sooooo many books.
I waited for him to tell me how awesome the present was.
Nothing.
And? I finally typed back.
I think I’m having a panic attack, he answered.
sixteen
December 24th
’Twas the day before Christmas, and all through the flat came the cry, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR!”