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“Let me know when you’re prepared.” A keyboardtaptaptaptaptaps in the background. I could imagine Millicent in some kind of black-ops control center somewhere, her dark hair in a perfect, no-nonsense ponytail and an earpiece in, listening to top-secret communications.
“Okay. Laptop is open. Refreshing email.” The screen loads. “Nothing.”
“By my clock, we still have eighty seconds.”
“Nice to have a precise estimate. How’s your day going otherwise?” I skim my fingers over the keys on my laptop and watch my inbox. I wish I was still doing my routine. My arms have had enough for the day, and the rest of my muscles are pleasantly tired, but Ilovedit out there. I always do.
“That guy was at the gym again.” There’s an obvious frown in Millicent’s voice. “I admire the commitment of my kindred four-thirty gym-goers, but this one’s too intense. He could be planning something nefarious.”
“What evidence do you have for that?”
“Nothing that would hold up in court.”
I let out a laugh and refresh my inbox.
Nothing.
My palms sweat.
“We have this locked down,” Millie says, one of her usual affirmations. “The universe will give us our heart’s desire. We’ve earned it.”
She goes on about our hard work and talent, and I close my eyes. I’m not sure I’m praying, exactly. I mostly want to avoid throwing up. Excitement should feel better than this. Waiting for this email reminds me of stepping onto a conveyor belt. Once I do, I’ll never get off. I’ll clothe myself in various tailored pantsuits and file endless briefs until I can earn a position as a judge. It doesn’t matter that I’ll be an empty shell.
“No!” I didn’t mean to shout that out loud. That’snotwhat will happen in law school and my career. My career is the way. The only way.
Millie gasps. “Oh, my God. Did you get the email?”
“No, I—no. There’s nothing yet. I got caught up in the negatives, but none of those things are going to happen. My grandfather’s going to be proud as hell when we get this.”
“That’s wonderful.” Millie’s brisk. “But that’s not the most important thing. What’s important is that we’re going to be a force shaping the interpretation and application of law. We’re going to change history by our engagement with it.”
“Right.” I get a weird lump in my throat. People like my mom don’t change history, theyarehistory, which means I shouldn’t bother wondering what happened to her. I still do, though, and that’s not a productive use of my time. It’s not—
“Lilith, it’s happened. Lily. Open your email.”
I refresh.
There it is. In bold, right at the top of my inbox.
Congratulations! Columbia Law School is pleased to invite you to our prestigious Columbia Legacy Immersive Scholars program…
Millie’s shrieking. There’s a clattering sound, and then her voice is much closer to the speaker. “Are you in? Lilith,are you in?”
“I’m in.” I can’t bring myself to shriek, or clap, or jump up. My throat’s cold, like I swallowed ice. It’s hard to breathe. “I got invited.”
One of the other women in the dressing room turns up a song on her iPhone. “Listen! It’s perfect!”
“It’ssoperfect,” her friend answers, and they’re all laughing, all dancing.
“Where are you?” Millie asks. “What is that weird noise?”
“It’s nothing,” I reassure her, staring at the email, willing myself to feel anything other than dread. “I’m nowhere.”
* * *
After a few minutesit gets weird sit at my laptop filled with the sensation of impending doom, so I do the right thing and transform into my study-group self. I trade the sparkly, winged-creature-of-the-night leotard for a short-sleeved bodysuit and wide-legged slacks, twirl my hair into a demure bun, and drive home.
When my car’s parked in the detached garage, keys out of the ignition, I undo the seat belt and give myself a final once-over in the rearview mirror. My cheeks are a little pink to have been attending a study group, but it’s basically summer, all green and warm and lovely in Cobble Hill.
