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Oh, and a gift. I didn't tell anyone it was my birthday yesterday, the only nod I made to it being the sangria I had with dinner that I didn't even get carded for because we'd already gone to that restaurant enough times the server must have assumed I'd been checked before. But when we returned that night, I found on my dresser, where no one could have seen it unless they'd walked through my little parlor and into my bedroom and turned around, a jewelry box and a card.
Not a birthday card.
It was handwritten in masculine letters, unsigned. I didn't need the message, let alone a signature, to know the gift was from Ted.
It's a necklace pendant. A heart-shaped ruby with a starburst of emerald slivers above it, creating a strawberry. Only Ted could have noticed that tattoo standing out among the doodles.
The card read THANK YOU FOR BEING A GOOD GIRL.
I'm not sure what I expected from him. He told me to trust him, and every time I thought about it, my mind drew a blank. I suppose I expected something practical. Money or a car. Another vacation maybe?
Another vacation with him?
I definitely wasn't expecting jewelry. If he asked me if I'd like that, I would have said absolutely not, I'm gonna pawn it first chance I get. And I don't need to be a jeweler to know everything about this is real. Those gems alone have got to be four figures at the least.
They'd take it apart, though. Sell it piecemeal. They'd pop the gems and put the gold on a scale, and the number would be the only value to it.
No, this is not something to sell. This is something to cherish.
I hold it between my fingers, rubbing it as I stare at the pregnancy test on the vanity. I've already done the peeing on a stick thing, and I know I'm supposed to join the other women so we have each other, whatever the news is. I'm just not sure I want that moment. I'm getting along with them all now, even Crystal, but this is a pivotal moment in my life.
My phone rings, and I'm thinking it's Addison asking if I'm up yet, but then I see KYLA on the screen. She has no idea I'm here. I told her I was going away for a bit with a vague "I just need to think," and I've texted her a couple times so she wouldn't worry about me, but I don't think she'd understand what I'm doing here.
I almost ignore it, but the fact that she's calling me instead of texting has me concerned.
"Everything alright?" I ask.
"You're going to be home soon, right?" she says, her voice weaker than usual. What Kyla lacks in physical strength, she more than makes up for in attitude and charisma, but attitude doesn’t stop seizures and charisma doesn’t get her out of her wheelchair.
"What's wrong?" I ask as I dart out of the bathroom and grab one of the bags that I bought this week. "Are you sick?" I rush back and start loading my toiletries into the bag. "What hospital are you going to? I'll meet you—"
"I'm fine!" Kyla chirps. "Or, I'm not sick. Oh God. I was going to wait until you got home, but I'm just going to say it: I'm moving to New Jersey in the fall."
I stop everything then and there. Kyla can't move to New Jersey. Who's going to take care of her? Most days she can't walk. She doesn't have any income. Medicaid can get jacked up when it’s used out of state.
She's the reasonable one. I don't understand.
"This guy from Princeton called me the other day. It seemed like a scam, but I checked it all out, and he's a dean there. They're offering me a full ride."
"You didn't apply to Princeton." I have a million other thoughts, like how she's already in college and is this something deans do and why would they just offer her this, but that's all that comes out.
"It's some program they have, I guess. One of my professors reached out to them with a recommendation. He didn't say who, but—"
"But you're sick!"
Kyla is silent. I know it bothers her when I bring it up, when I remind her she can't do everything everyone else can, but pretending she doesn't have medical issues doesn't make them go away.
"Who's going to take care of you there?" I prod, understanding how easy it is to get so seduced by a big win that all the little but critical questions are forgotten.
"He knows already. He says they have tons of ADA services, and I'll be able to get an accessible dorm and even a shuttle to classes. The room is included, and I'll have a meal pass. He's hooked me up with grants for books and stuff, and I talked to a professor who I can work for to make extra money a couple hours a week, maybe even help with a class."
"You figured this all out in a week?" I ask as I lower the toilet seat so I can sit down.
"It's Ivy League. I guess things just move faster?"
I seriously doubt that. Not for people like us. The men who were here last week? This is what happens in their world, not ours.
"I'll move up with you." I've got fifty grand. I can do that.
