Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

42 days ago

Graduating school felt like a blur. I had spent four years of sleepless nights, of half-read books and mostly consumed alcohol, to stand on a stage for four seconds. I loved school. And after the English department calmly filed out of the oldest auditorium on campus, the same auditorium in which my mother graduated, I left.

I remembered the night before graduation, the reason I felt nauseous during the ceremony (apart from my own nervousness). I could hear the bass booming as I walked up the stairwell. Four flights of stairs. I was not in shape for this. I started breathing heavily and Nick, my friend, asked if I was ok.

“Yeah...” I said between breaths, “I'll make it.” It didn't help that I was carrying the heavy case of beer and all he had was a bottle of coke. He ran past me in the narrow stairway, butting his hip against mine and pushing me against the rail. “Hey! Don't be an a*****e!”

“Don't have a heart attack!” If Nick wasn't already my best friend, I would have murdered him by now. He was a tall, lanky kid who had the diet worse than a middle schooler. And yet his body stayed thin and I always envied him. I met him first freshmen year in a class, and I vowed never to be friends with him because I thought he was egotistical. I wasn't wrong, but I was too, so it was hard for me to judge. Plus, he had radiating blue eyes, and after seeing him week after week, it got hard to ignore. He invited me to my first college party. It was my second semester as a freshmen, and no one told me how lonely college could be. And I had never been so excited in my life to have made a friend.

“Okay, okay, I've made it,” I called, still breathing heavy and dragging my feet. “Next time you carry the beer, lazy.”

“Nope! Dave!” Nick shouted and gave Dave, his boyfriend, a hug and a kiss. “Look who I found on the street.”

“Funny. Please lead to me in the direction of a table, this is killing my arms.” I walked through Dave and Nick and into the familiar apartment. It had a white metal spiral staircase in the middle, leading to the upstairs. Without fail, at every party someone tried to go upstairs and fell down, too drunk to navigate the tiny spiral. But with every gathering, the furniture changed. Sometimes the old futon, the rocking chair, and the brown leather chair, big enough for two, were angled toward the television for a movie marathon, with the circular table in the center for popcorn and beer. Sometimes it was all moved strategically in Dave's room, making room for a large party. Today, everything was in its casual, usual order, with the table in the kitchen and the couch against the wall. Jess was sitting on it, angled toward Jackie in the brown leather chair. The both gently held red cups in their hands, discussing the last few days of student teaching. Amanda was standing on the balcony with Andy, her boyfriend, and though she was speaking at her normal volume, I could hear her all the way from the other side. She turned around and gave a huge smile, her square jaw taking up half of her face.

“Emma! You're here! Now get a beer and get drunk!” Amanda's intentions were always clear.

I grabbed a beer and looking around. The room was filled with the people with whom I had spent the last four years. Most of them had been gone all semester, student teaching in different cities. They didn't have time for Tuesday Drunk Trivia or lunches at El Charro, where tacos were a dollar, and the likely food poisoning was free. It was at once calming and exhilarating to have them all back together, the night before graduation. That night, it felt like no time had passed. We all instantly fell back into place with one another, and the drinks followed suit. At one point, Amanda perched herself on the spiral staircase for a toast. She tapped the side of the beer can for attention, and when that didn't work, she finally shouted “Hey, b*****s, look at me!” We all turned instantly. Beautiful Amanda, holding her beer high and using her other hand to keep her from falling from the stair.

“I'm so glad we could all come out tonight,” she started, pausing to look at everyone. “These past four years were the best any girl could ask for. Now let's get super drunk and be hungover for our graduation photos!”

Hungover I was. But that meant my pictures were few, and while I did manage to sneak into a group shot, I was whisked away by my parents. My parents wanted to get to the car before traffic started piling up and so we could get to that mexican restaurant my mother loved so much before anyone else. I don't know why they worried about that, the restaurant was almost always empty and I'm positive not up to health code. But they did serve 18-ounce, very strong fruity margaritas for $2, which I suspect was the real reason my mother loved it so much. I didn't complain; I was busy sucking down a margarita trying to forget that I would never take another class or walk the campus, my campus, as a student ever again.

“Emma, quit sucking on that drink!,” my mother barked, but whispered at the same time. It was a sharp tone, but a tone only our table could hear. A trick all mothers must know, I assumed. I hadn't realized that my drink was empty because I was lost in thought.

It's hard to think of your life in four years. When I was 18 and was accepted to the University of Illinois, I couldn't even imagine my own high school graduation. My life had seem so insignificant that I stopped measuring in big moments and starting measuring in small. I thought to tests and papers, not to holidays and celebrations with friends. So for all I knew, four years was at least 100 tests away. More, probably. All of the work I would be doing seemed unmeasurable, so I didn't even try.

And then quickly, four years later, I am beyond test measurement and am instead waiting on a refill of chips and salsa, my college experience flickering away.

And then, we drove away.

I sat in the backseat of the car �" a familiar sight from my childhood. My father driving, his right hand on the shifter (even though he drove an automatic for as long as I could remember, he always kept his hand there, right in the middle, right on the shiny metal shifter as his he would suddenly need to put the car in neutral at any given moment). My mother would have her hand on his. It was a stark contrast between the two: my father's fatter, pale freckled hands underneath my mother's smooth, perfectly manicured and gentle hands. I stared at those hands when I was a child, sitting behind my mother on the passenger's side back seat, imaging those hands when people said “our hands fit together” or “her hands fit the spaces between my fingers.” During all of those romantic sayings or songs, I never thought of my own hands, a strange mixture of my mother's and father's. Rather, I thought of hers, and rather than fitting my father's hands, they complemented each other's.

In grade school, my girlfriends and I would sit together on the mulchy playground, watching the boys falls off of the monkey bars, and discussing which boy we loved. When asked who I had loved, a rather loaded questions for a fourth-grader, I remember looking down at my own hands, clean and freshly washed, and saying “Whoever has the dirtiest hands.” None of the other girls understood.

My mother's fingers moved over my father's, a move she did when she was happy. She saw her baby girl graduate college and was taking her home. A small movement of pride she perhaps thought was undecipherable. The sky was turning deep orange, sending shockwaves of yellow up and down the short corn fields. It was the beginning of may, and the corn had just started making progress. The clouds were perfectly painted, leaving just a few beams struggling to see the fields.

Illinois was really quit beautiful. It didn't have the rolling hills or mountains of the west or the deep forests of the east, but it did have a perfect view of the sun. I began to wonder if Illinois had always looked like this. Normally, when driving to and from school over the years, I focused so hard on making a playlist to keep me awake or grabbing a coffee right before starting the drive. I never actually looked past the flat top and toward the nature to either side of me. The flat crops went on for days, and I thought I could see into the future when I followed the crop lines into the horizon. Perfectly symmetrical, the soybeans would lead your eyes to the sun, those orange and gold reflections soaking the sky, which was already turning purple. But once I truly noticed the beauty, it started to seep into my memories. Suddenly my drives didn't seem filled with boredom, but with bountiful fields at dawn when I had fallen asleep at my parents house accidentally and had to drive back early in the morning. The woodsy shortcut I took was lush and filled my car with the scent of authentic pine. Every aspect was sensory, suddenly, and simple.

When we finally pulled up in that familiar white garage with green trim (and the corner dent where brad once crashed mom's car), I felt a sudden relief. I could finally take a break from thinking about the future to thinking about my own house with my own bed and my own dog. My dad helped carry the heaviest boxes into the house, dropping them at the door and commanding Charlie to carry them upstairs to my room. Charlie lived at home now, his second attempt at a university education failed. As I waded through the door with my own heavy bags, I saw him scoop a last bit of ravioli into his mouth, his eyes focused on some sort of baseball commentary. Then he reluctantly got up and grabbed the boxes with ease. He was 6'4” and masterfully sculpted. I assume this was because sports and the gym were the things he understood best in life.

I had finally unloaded most of my clothes when my twelve year old dog wandered into my shoebox-sized room, circling her familiar spot on my bed. She grabbed the flannel sheets with her claws and moved around the bigger quilt with her nose until she reached the perfect spot to rest. I smiled and knelt down to put my face by hers.

“Carmen, you're my best friend,” I whispered, slowly petting her floppy beagle ears. “Did you know that? And I missed you very much.” Her brown eyes met mine for a moment, then they started slowly closing. I gave her a kiss on her forehead and walked downstairs to grab a snack.

My mom was fussing with some vegetables on the stove as I walked toward the pantry.

“You do know I'm making dinner, right?” she said without even turning to look at me.

“I know, I'm just hungry now,” I said, my face buried between the crackers and cookies. “And besides, you're probably making chicken, so I might as well feed myself.” I had been a vegetarian for five years, a concept my mother had not yet understood.

“Oh, fine, don't have the chicken. But I'm making broccoli and mashed potatoes, too.” This time she turned to look at me. “You can eat those, right?”

“I closed the pantry door and walked off, three oreos in my mouth and several more in my hands. “Yesh ma'am,” I said, stopping to give her a kiss on the cheek before running into the living room.

Charlie was parked on the couch again, watching another sports show. I plopped onto the chair, landing sideways with my legs hanging over the armrest.

“Nice tank top,” I said. He was wearing a cut-off shirt with the words 'I Heart Boobies' over two very large and conveniently placed baseballs. Charlie laughed in this low-pitched giggle. His voice was naturally deep, so his laughter was always awkward, as if he was meant to be serious all of the time. Except he was never serious.

“brad's coming home tomorrow, by the way, so you might want to move some of your boxes out of the hallway,” Charlie said, still not diverting his attention from the screen. I looked up at him.

“Why?” I asked, still chewing on the last few oreos I had in my hand.

“Uh, I don't know, dad just told me.”

We both looked back to the screen. brad usually only came home during holidays. He lived in Chicago and worked at an accounting firm. I thought it sounded like exceptionally boring work, but he made money and seemed to enjoy it. I never though he fit in with that kind of crowd; brad could have been tall, dark, and handsome, but he was always a little uncomfortable with himself, so he went out and got tattoos all over his arms and listened to music where the singer only screamed. He also never worked out, but stayed skinny for inexplicable reasons. brad was an alternative version of tall, dark, and handsome.

With my mother in the kitchen, my father out running, and brad coming home, I felt as though I had been transported back to high school. As is my entirely family had been transplanted 5 years in the future. I was still a bit out of sorts, having graduated just a few hours earlier in the day, but I had this odd sense of comfort. As if this was where I was supposed to be.

Dinner wasn't its usual mixture of anger and sarcasm, as it always was growing up. Rather, my family was at peace, laughing throughout. My mother even raised a glass for toast at one point, which I had never before seen her do.

“To Emma. She graduated college today and did it with distinction! Oh, I'm so proud of you baby girl,” she said, one arm holding a glass of champagne and the other reaching out to squeeze me.

“Congrats, Em,” Charley said, giving his usual half smile.

Everyone clinked glasses. Hearing Charlie tell me congrats was the worst. I felt guilty for succeeding where he failed twice. But this thought passed quickly.

“Hey, Em, you want some Turkey? I know how much you like it,” Charlie said, his favorite joke.

“Ha-ha, so funny, I've never heard that before!” I scooped some potatoes onto my plate, shooting him glances from under my eyebrows.

“Okay, okay, let's quit with the jokes,” my mom said, grabbing the potatoes from me. “Let's talk about what Em's big girl job!”

“Ah, yes, that. Well that doesn't start for a few months.”

“I know it doesn't start for a few months, but you have to start planning it now! We need to know what you'll need out there, and if your father and I will have to go out there and help you with furniture.”

“Your mother's right,” my dad said, taking a swig of beer. “It's hard to move for the first time, especially because you had brad's old college furniture, which you won't want out there.”

“I'm sorry,” Charlie interrupted, turkey still in his mouth. “But what's happening?”

I looked at my mom, then to Charlie. Oh no, I thought. They didn't tell him.

“Uh,” I stammered, “I'm moving to California.” I sputtered the words out and hid them behind a drink of water.

Charlie looked around, his eyes expressionless. “Oh,” he said. “Where in California?”

“San Francisco. That Harper Collins job.” I thought I told him about it. How could I have forgotten to tell Charlie?

“Wow, that's really cool.”

“Well, not that cool, I'll probably just be making spreadsheets. Working with inventory.”

“Well, you know, you have to start somewhere,” my dad chimed in. “When I had just passed the bar, I worked for this horrible man named Ed Stone. He was just a complete a*s.”

“A total and complete a*s, never treated anyone with respect,” my mother interrupted. They must have memorized the story by this point because I certainly had.

My father pointed to my mother in agreement. “Right, total a*s. But he made me work hard and the practice was successful. So I started at the bottom and it taught me a lot.”

“Great, thanks dad,” I said, laughing. “So my boss is going to be an a*****e. Perfect.”

“There's a jackass in every company,” he said, pretending to reassure me. “Hey, did Charlie tell you about Rosie's?” Rosie's was a local restaurant and bar right next to my dad's law firm. He frequented it almost every night and was good friends with the owners. The whole family had spent a lot of time there over the years.

I looked at Charlie. “No, what happened?”

“Oh, I got a job there. Bartending and waiting.”

“No way! Congrats, man!” I highfived him over the table, nearly hitting my mother's delicate chandelier. She gave us both sideways glances, but smiled at the same time.

“We came in on his first day and some 40 year old woman was flirting with him,” she said, poking me in the side with her elbow, as if this was some sort of inside joke.

“She wasn't flirting, she was just ordering a drink,” Charlie said, laughing it off.

“Ordering a drink for 20 minutes, apparently,” my dad remarked to the side, as if only I could hear him.

Charlie's new job made me happy. The whole dinner did, really. We didn't fight, and it felt like we all belonged together again, eating at the family table. Even Carmen made an appearance, sniffing her way underneath the table and sneaking bits of turkey from Charlie. We were a family.

While I was brushing my teeth, Carmen waited patiently outside the bathroom door. She hated that bathroom because that's where I bathed her for so many years, but she also hated going to sleep without me or Charlie. She'd wait until we were in bed, all tucked in, and then she'd get comfortable. It stared at her, making weird faces as I brushed and she'd c**k her head to the side. I washed out the rest of the toothpaste and said, “one more stop, dog.” I walked over to my parent's bedroom and signaled for Carmen to follow. We both jumped on the bed, landing just after their feet.

“Well hello, little ones,” my dad said, halfway asleep.

“Just wanted to say goodnight,” I said. “Thanks for everything. And I mean it �" everything. You guys have been wonderful to me. But we'll have fun these next few months before I go and then you'll just have to come visit me all of the time.”

My mother's smile filled me with warmth. It made me heart swell. I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek before saying goodnight and taking Carmen to my bed. I felt calm and ready. I could hear my father say to my mother, “Katie, katie, katie, what will we ever do with her.”