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Monty gave a growl of agreement from her feet, where he wrestled with one of his bones.
Pulling her keyboard toward her, Allison pressed a breath between her teeth and started typing. Each letter clacked louder as her fingers found them.
Jed,
I know talking hasn’t really been our thing, but if I am being honest, that last email you sent hurt. It seems like all the life choices I’ve made disappoint you. Even if you don’t care about college, I do, and I wish that was enough to make you try. This is my dream, and I’m doing it, and I’ve gotten this far with absolutely no help or support from you. Why do you think I would need any now?
And for the record, this degree won’t cost me or Ma a penny. The school’s paying ME to be here.
After a lot of thought, I’ve decided that I won’t be coming to Thanksgiving with you and Paula. I also won’t be writing for a while. Part of me feels like when you left Ma, you left me too, but that can’t be true, because you were never really there to begin with. You’ve never been a part of my life.
Maybe someday I will feel differently. But for now, I want space. That way you can make your choices and I can make mine and neither of us has to feel bad about it.
Take care,
Allison
Chapter 13
Another Saturday. Another night of mandatory bonding.
This time, Allison’s first-year cohort was having drinks and appetizers on the back deck of Mandy’s ranch-style house in Pawtucket. Roomy enough to fit two sets of tables and chairs and an outdoor sectional, the structure overlooked an in-ground pool that Mandy explained had just been closed for winter.
In his typical crass fashion, Ethan asked, “How do you afford this?”
“It was my parents’ house. I grew up here. They gave it to me when I graduated from Columbia and they retired to a new place in Florida.” Mandy cast a wistful glance over the expansive backyard. “I know it’s a lot of house for one person. But my sister comes to crash with me when she’s on break or needs to escape dorm life, and I love it too much to get rid of it. I can imagine raising my own family here, you know?” She laughed, as if the idea was a fantastic punchline to a joke. “Someday. Assuming I survive grad school.”
After that (probably to avoid further interrogation) she herded them all inside to, as she put it, “get the festivities started.”
Beyond the sliding glass doors stretched the hallway that led to three bedrooms. It was a veritable tribute to Mandy’s cross-stitching.Wooden hoops in an array of sizes lined the pale blue wall in a zigzag, each boasting a beautiful floral design. And the more intricate the pattern, the more profane the words. The messages ranged from the simpleEat a Dickin a Shakespearean flourish, to the delightfulI do not spew profanities, I enunciate them clearly like a fucking lady.But Allison’s favorite hung at the hallway’s end, centered on an otherwise blank wall. Small violets and peonies had been sewn into four corners, creating a square within the circular frame. At the center was an elaborately rendered Coach purse, and around it, in lettering that matched the brand, were the wordsDon’t Be an Assbag.
Allison moved closer to admire it. “You have to teach me how to do this,” she said to Mandy.
Mandy’s coffee-colored eyes brightened. “It’s actually pretty simple to pick up.”
“Maybe if you’re a crafty type. I can barely use a coloring book. And knitting made me want to impale myself with the needles.”
“Smaller needles with cross-stitch.”
They both laughed.
“What’s so funny over here?” Colin’s face appeared over Mandy’s shoulder.
Allison worked up a sweat suppressing a sigh. She’d been doing her best to avoid him since she’d arrived, but he kept popping up and trying to talk to her. Like she hadn’t made it very clear at lunch yesterday that the conversation he’d been trying to have was done. Over. Never happening to begin with. They werenotmoving forward, whatever the hell that meant.
She ducked away before he could try to broach the subject again.
And if she happened to put a little swish in her step, it was only right since she was wearing her favorite pair of skinny jeans. (It was Allison’s deepest belief that plus-sized women looked just as good in skinny jeans as everyone else, and people would have to pry her seven pairs out of her cold, dead hands before she’d stop wearing them.)
Everyone else had wandered back into the kitchen to grab another round of drinks. Allison fished her third raspberry cider from the fridge, promising herself it would be her last. There would be no repeat instances of alcohol-induced heart-to-hearts with Colin like at Kara’s party. Only distance and Olympic-caliber avoidance.
Reemerging from the hall, Mandy beckoned them all to the living room. The space took up most of the front of the house, with a series of bay windows overlooking the street. The couch, loveseat, coffee table, and armchair were pushed up against the cream walls, and, in the center of the room, dining chairs clustered around television trays, two chairs per tray. Each tray held a noise contraption: a squeaky toy, a bike horn, or a baby rattle. Leaning up beneath the flat-screen TV mounted on the east-facing wall was a white board.
Mandy grinned. “Welcome to trivia night.”
Apparently, Kara had started a trend, and every gathering would include an activity.
Alex thrust his old-fashioned in the air. The russet-toned bourbon sloshed as ice clinked against the sides. “I call Link as my partner.”
