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Jumping in the shower and trying to wash off the dust of exhaustion, I decided it had been good for me to go out with Grace after work. Since I’d come home in January, I’d been in survival mode. It was fun to go out and hear about Grace’s latest dating escapades, to listen to her stories from college, and to just feel alive again. It was inspiring to be around someone who wasn’t down and out.
I got dressed after too long of a shower. The smell of bacon wafted through the house again. Mom must have had to go in early; Dad would never be allowed to have bacon for breakfast if Mom were home to monitor his health and eating choices. I smiled. We all had our vices and, thus, secrets we guarded from Connie Ashby.
I headed out to the table, seeing Dad had mixed it up and made pancakes to go with the bacon. I was starting to get used to our breakfast tradition and even like it. The quiet, the peace. Maybe things between us had changed. Maybe those crazy differences of opinion could finally be put to rest and...
I took my seat at the table and saw it. The pamphlet.
“What’s this?” I asked, a pointless question. I knew exactly what it was.
Dad turned from the stove, pointing with his spatula. “I talked to Greg at work. He said they’ve got a great program and are accepting students. They even accept students later in life and have scholarships,” he said. I looked down at the law program pamphlet for a college nearby. “And you could live here still, so you’d save money. I know it will be hard because you have a lot of catching up to do, but you can do it. I know you can.”
I stared at him, feeling like we had traveled back in time. I felt like that eighteen-year-old once more sitting at the table except my bones were creaky, and I’d been hardened by a whole lot more real life now.
“Dad, we’ve discussed this. For decades. Law school isn’t what I want.”
“But you’re smart, Tillie. You’re wasting your intelligence. Think of how you could set yourself up, how you could be stable. I’m going to be a partner soon, and I could guarantee you a spot. You had your fun; you had your dream. Now it’s time to buckle down.”
“It wasn’t just a childish whim, Dad. It was a business.”
“That didn’t work out.”
That stung. A lot more than I wanted to admit to myself.
“I know. But that doesn’t mean law school is the next option,” I argued, shaking my head.
“And Tino’s is?” he asked, his voice more pointed now. I could smell the pancakes burning, but he just slid the pan off the burner. “You’ve got to get it together, Tillie. You’re better than this.”
Tears stung again. “I want something different for my life.”
“And what is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think it’s time you figured it out. I don’t want you to struggle like my family did. Don’t you want a stable life, Tillie? Don’t you want to be able to depend on yourself?”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“I can tell you that living a life of wondering where your next meal is coming from, that’s not fun. And of course, your mother and I are here for you. But I know you. You’re like me. Full of pride. This can’t be making you happy.”
“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Dad.”
“I’m not trying to be hard on you.”
“Then stop.”
“I’m just saying you didn’t listen at eighteen. Maybe you should listen now.”
“I don’t want to go to law school,” I said, standing now and slamming my hands on the table. “I’m not you, Dad. I’m not. I need to find my own way.”
“Then find it, Tillie. Because you’re not finding it at Tino’s or by waiting around any longer. Sort it out. You’re smart and you’re motivated. Stop settling for average.”
“Maybe, Dad, I am average,” I said, the words chilling me as I spewed them. That girl in me who had desperately fought to be anything but average trembled. I thought of all the times I’d brought home tests from school with 100% stamped on them after hours and hours of studying; my dad promptly placed them on the front of the fridge every single time. I thought of all the times my dad had bragged to his friends about how smart I was, how I was certainly following in his footsteps. Or the times I would sit with Dad as he instructed me on the finer points of law, chatting about court cases and memorizing law facts. And then I thought about how at eighteen, I’d finally braved up to tell Dad I didn’t want to be a lawyer but wanted to open my own business. All those feelings of guilt and shame and the heavy disappointment settled in. I stood my ground, though.
“You’re not average. The Ashbys aren’t average.”
“Well, this one is,” I said as I pointed to myself. “So sorry I’m such a disappointment to you.” I stormed out of the kitchen and headed to my room, fighting the urge to slam my door like a teenager. Tears fell then.
I was average. I was just average, if even that. It was a hard pill to swallow.
