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“Please.”
She looks at me for a few seconds before saying, “Okay.” She looks shy and nervous.
I smile reassuringly, “It will be fun.”
She returns the smile unconvincingly. “What time do you want to leave?”
“Maybe, around 11?” I answer smoothly, even though my heart is about to beat through my chest. She chews on her bottom lip a little bit, avoiding my eyes.
“Okay,.” She answers quietly. “What should I wear?”
“Nothing fancy, whatever you feel comfortable in.”
“Can I wear fuzzy socks?” She asks, and I can tell she is trying to joke but she isn’t comfortable doing it, her inflection falling short.
“Absolutely,” I nod, trying to make her feel better.
“Okay, let me shower and get dressed.” She stands up a little awkwardly, which isn’t abnormal for Mads, taking her coffee with her.
Once she is out of sight I let my shoulders sag in relief.
She walks down the stairs just before 11 and she looks beautiful in jeans, a long sleeve shirt and a pullover sweater with boots.
She gets in the car without asking any questions, but I can tell she isn’t sure what to say. I don’t really know what to say either. This is all still completely uncharted territory for us. At least when we were going through the beginning awkwardness seven years ago, I had her to fill the silences. She was always so sure of herself, of us, especially in the beginning. I put on a playlist she had made for me to help fill the silence.
“Where are we going?” She asks as we’re driving down our street.
“College,” I answer and she whips her head towards me.
“College?” She questions me like I am crazy. Maybe I am.
“Yeah, we’re going to college,” I answer, trying to keep my voice even and controlled.
“Okay,” She says quietly, turning away from me to look out of the window.
I ask after a few minutes, “So you scheduled your certification test?” Even though I know the answer already.
“Yeah. I think I’m ready. I feel confident about it,” She says politely.
“Good. I know you’ll do great,” I say. “Just like you did the first time.”
She turns to look out the window. I ask her some more questions and offer up a bit of my work life as we continue the drive.
“So you stayed with the kids until the foster family showed up?” She asks after I told her about the emergency case we dealt with last week.
“Yeah. The mother had overdosed and the father wasn’t in the picture. So the kids stayed at the center until we could contact all the right channels of Child Protective Services and available emergency foster parents. I played Monopoly with them while we waited. They were pretty quiet though, didn’t talk too much,” I answer.
“That’s so nice that you played a game with them. I’m sure it was very reassuring,” She says kindly. I smile at her.
“It’s always heartbreaking to see kids in those situations—” I stop speaking, thinking this could be a good segue way into sharing more of my own story. I open my mouth to speak and close it again, afraid to open that door just yet. We drive in silence the last few miles.
Eventually, we pull up to the entrance of St. James University. “Wow,” She whispers, taking in the beautiful sprawling campus and huge stone buildings. “I've wanted to go here since I was a little girl.”
I don’t say anything but let her take it all in, in her mind, for the first time. I park in the main lot. I had called the administration to make sure that it was okay to walk around and they assured me that it was. I get out of the car and walk around to her side. She has already gotten out but I close the door behind her. It is a cold December day, but not brutally so. We are warm in our jackets and scarves.
I walk her to the library first, opening the door for her once we get there. “You spent most of your time here. I often studied with you, or tried to just keep up with you,” I explain as she looks around. “You used to tutor here as a job. All four years,” I remind her, something I had told her in the weeks following her accident.
“It’s beautiful,” She says, looking at everything. I watch her carefully as she takes it all in. We stay for about 15 minutes, looking at books and talking to the librarians. One of them was there when we attended and remembered her fondly.
