Chapter 7

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SOPHIE

Sometimes I wish everyday was Sunday. On Sundays, people are not expected to be up early doing important and productive things, or to get anything much done, really. And it's the day before Monday, so there's a kind of preciousness to this day, because you know it's going to end soon. On Sundays, I usually spend the whole day in my pajamas or yukata, which I've been using as a dressing gown. Connor calls it my version of the Dude's outfit from The Big Lebowski. I would read the New York Post or do the New York Times Sunday Crossword with James. If we were at the house in Massachusetts right now, sometimes we'd also go to my grandmother's in the afternoon and ride our horses.

"So I was thinking about Harvard," James announces when I sit at the breakfast table.

"And?" my mother asks expectantly.

"I might go there."

There was never any question that James was going to college there. We (me, James, and our cousin Anne) were all supposed to attend an Ivy League university, preferably Harvard, our grandfather's alma mater because 'Welfords have always gone to Harvard.' I wish I were kidding, but I'm not.

"Your concentration?" Peter asks.

"Molecular and Cellular Biology," James says.

"Really," says Peter, if a bit apprehensively.

"Yes," James is saying. "Then Harvard Med. And then Doctors without Borders."

Connor smirks condescendingly. "This is Sophie, isn't it?"

I raise an eyebrow. "What do I have to do with it?"

When I was James' age, I had also announced to my family that I was going to study how to create renewable energy from waste and save the world and the environment. I recall that they weren't too happy about it. But I imagine they would be even more unhappy if James does this. They don't want him to go to any developing countries exposing himself to all kinds of diseases, as I'd overheard Aunt Grace say once.

"Sophie didn't influence me in any way," James says. "Why do you think that I am incapable of making my own decisions?"

"Well, of course we don't think that, James," says Mom gently. "We aren't saying that at all—"

"But you have to admit, this is a little surprising," says Peter.

"What's surprising about it?" James asks.

"You know, James, it's not as easy as you think," says Connor slowly.

"I know it's not easy."

"We're just worried about you," says Mom.

"Why?" asks James.

"After all you've been through, it's only natural for us to—" Mom trails off.

"After what I've been through?" James repeats, clearly daring them to say it.

"You've been ill, James," says Peter. "You can't just do what you want if it means risking your health."

"I'm fine," James says calmly. "I'm not sick anymore."

"James—"

"And I've made up my mind." James stands up abruptly. "May I be excused?"

James never loses his temper, and when he does he still remains calm, or he excuses himself. We all watch him go. James has been well for over two years, but he must still feel it constantly, with everyone worrying about him and only thinking about his past illness.

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