“Yeah, I know. It’s about being a Baldwin. And pride. And whatever other macho thing it means to be a Baldwin boy. But I’m a Baldwin whether I earned it or not.”
He looks like he’s going to interrupt me, but I don’t let him. I stand a little straighter, and the few inches I have on him feel like two feet of height. I puff my chest a bit, squaring my shoulders.
“I don’t need a scholarship to earn my name, and if that’s what I needed to earn your respect then that’s a damn shame. I couldn’t live with myself if I took that scholarship opportunity away from someone.”From Jessie.“But I can live without your respect.”
My dad stands there red-faced and speechless. I thought it would be terrifying to say these things to him, but it’s actually incredibly freeing. I chuckle and walk back toward the cart, stuffing my golf club back in my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I’m done here,” I say. “Oh. And I’m taking a theater class next year.”
I retrace our path back up to the clubhouse. My dad doesn’t follow me. He doesn’t bring the cart around and yell at me or apologize. My heart is racing, and it isn’t the pace at which I’m walking or the weight of the bag on my shoulder. I could run a marathon right now—I don’t feel like I weigh anything. I watch my feet like an out-of-body experience, trying to stay tethered to the earth, but I’m on cloud nine, ten, and eleven. I can’t believe I stood up to my dad like that. I can’t believe how little I care about what he thinks of me. What took me so damn long to do that?
I call my brother Noah to come get me. He shows up less than ten minutes later with Charlotte in the back seat. I stuff my clubs in the trunk and join him in the front.
“Dad being…Dad?”
“Yep,” I say. “I told him I declined the Walden Senior Scholarship, and he—”
Noah barks out a laugh.
“Exactly,” I say.
I recount the whole conversation to Noah, who doesn’t assure me Dad will come around because we both know he probably won’t. He’ll stay mad until it fizzles out and then he’ll pretend like it never happened. It’s the way he is, and none of us expect him to change.
“That seems healthy,” Charlotte says as we park.
“Gotta get used to it, love,” Noah says to her, helping her out of the car and planting a kiss on her knuckles.
“Is your family non-dysfunctional?” I ask Charlotte as I haul my bag from the trunk.
“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t be nearly as interesting if I came from a well-adjusted household.”
“Tell us about your dysfunction, my dear,” Noah says.
We walk into the house and Charlotte does exactly that. The three of us spike some hot chocolate and find a spot in the living room to finish our conversation.
We barely get halfway through our hot chocolates before Mom comes in and reminds us to get ready for church and that we need to leave in an hour. Naturally, we spend forty-five minutes finishing our drinks and chatting and then get ready at the last minute. We hear Dad come in at some point, slam the door, and stalk through the house. I don’t see him again until church. He doesn’t speak to me, and for once I don’t care.
During the service, I sit at the end of the pew, next to Charlotte. I liked her before she told us all about her childhood, but now I think she might be my favorite sister-in-law. Well, future sister-in-law. Maybe. I’ll be harassing Noah later about when he’s proposing.
I’m trying not to fall asleep during the sermon when I feel a tap on my leg. I look down and see Charlotte has typed out a note on her phone and is showing it to me.
How are things with the girl? Jessie?
Just seeing her name on the screen is like being punched. I successfully went a few hours without thinking about her, and now Charlotte’s brought her up.
Thanks, Charlotte.
I open the notes app on my phone and type out a response.
Not great. I fucked everything up.
Charlotte types back on her phone.
What happened?
I type out the story and pass my phone to her. After she reads it she gives me a painful look. I type out another message.
