FOUR
Two years later
“Of course I’m happy for you, honey,” my mother said when I told her the news of my scholarship. “You always wanted to go to Canton. I just don’t know what your father is going to say.”
“There’s not much he can say about it,” I replied airily.
Twenty-year-old me knew a lot of things seventeen-year-old me—and my mother—never had. Like how to get scholarships and interest-free student loans and line up research assistant positions that would defray the costs of textbooks. For two years, I’d given State my best shot, but their program didn’t have what I wanted. Canton’s did. Landing the transfer and the academic scholarship required to pay for it had meant everything. Even my old boss, Professor Stewart, had approved of my move.
“Everything is going to be paid for, so we don’t have to ask Dad for anything. And I’m going to pick up a few shifts at Verde downtown—you know, that restaurant where Sylvia works? So I can even help you with the rent and food—”
“You don’t have to help me,” my mom began. “I got a new commission last month.”
Well, I would if Dad decided to take my transfer to Canton out on Mom because she couldn’t keep their most dangerous secret three hours outside of town. If it were possible to hide my transfer from Dad, I would, but I knew that wasn’t Mom’s style. I just hoped that he wouldn’t punish her for my choice.
Like I said, two years—especially two years away—had given me all kinds of insights. But there was no point in stressing my mother out about that. And that was why I presented the whole thing as a fait accompli. I was already registered at Canton for the fall semester. I’d given up my apartment at State, sold my crummy thrift-store furniture, and packed every single one of my belongings in the back of my junky old car to move home, Canton course schedule clutched in my hand like some sort of talisman. Whatever arbitrary reasoning my father had convinced Mom of several years ago, she wouldn’t risk my academic career. My attending Canton wouldn’t pose the slightest danger to the maintenance of our little family secret. They would soon see that I was right.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
***
On the last night before classes started, there was a reception at the bioengineering department. Though I wasn’t really much for receptions, I figured it was a good idea to go and try to meet as many faculty and fellow students as possible before the year started. The only professors I’d had a chance to talk with so far had been the head of the department who’d interviewed me during my transfer application and two others he’d had sit in at the time. As I knew after my experiences with Professors White and Stewart, a lot of opportunities came from connections. I was a transfer student, which meant I was that much more of an unknown, even if I did come with stellar recommendations from my old teachers and a scholarship specifically due to my academic achievements. I wanted to make sure everyone in the department knew they’d made the right choice.
I dressed with more care than usual for the reception, eschewing the usual jeans and T-shirt look for one of my mother’s sheath dresses. My mom was only just forty, and she and I wore the same size. I had her curvy bombshell figure, though I was a few inches taller. The dress was pretty but conservative—a tailored, dove-gray sheath with a boat neck and pin tucks, and it fell to my knees. I paired it with stockings and a set of low, black slingbacks. As I stood before the bathroom mirror, pulling my hair up into a twist, my mother peeked in and smiled.
“That color’s nice on you,” she said. “Makes your eyes look almost like slate.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I knew what was coming.
