Again, But Better

by Christine Riccio

  February 28, 2011 (take two)

  Mom and Dad,

  I’ll see you two on Thursday. I’m nervous, but I’m ready for you this time.

  XO,

  Shane

  * * *

  Somehow, it’s March. I’m in the kitchen with Atticus and Babe. They’re watching Glee, and I’m sitting next to them, staring blindly at the wall, clutching the leather armrest.

  When the time comes, I stand up calmly.

  “Are those your parents?” Atticus smiles.

  “Yeah, they’re visiting this weekend,” I tell them. I suck in a deep breath before stepping out of the kitchen and closing the door behind me.

  “Hi, sweetheart!” My dad sweeps me into a hug.

  When he releases me, my mother swoops in. “Shane, surprise!”

  “Take us into the kitchen. I want to meet your friends!” he exclaims.

  “Can we just hang out the three of us tonight?” I ask immediately.

  “We want to meet your friends and take them out! Then the three of us have all weekend,” he says.

  “Sweetie, we’re so excited to get a taste of the world you’re living in out here!” my mom gushes.

  “Okay,” I reason, “I’ll introduce them now, and then we’ll go out to dinner just the three of us, okay?”

  * * *

  “So all of you been traveling every weekend, huh?” my father asks as he drops his glass on the table.

  We sit around a small circular table at Delia’s. My feet vibrate against the floor. That’s how fast they’re moving.

  “Oh my gosh, yeah. Shane, why haven’t you been posting anything on Facebook?” Mom asks.

  “I’ve been posting on my blog,” I point out. My armpits are sweating.

  “I don’t know how to get to your blog. Can you send it to me in an email?” Dad commands.

  I fiddle with my napkin. “I’ve put links to some of the posts on Facebook.”

  “Yes, I’ve been following the posts, honey, but the family wants to see pictures! You’re taking pictures, right? This is such a dream come true, to be able to keep up with your studies and travel the world at the same time.” Emotion coats her voice. Her smile wobbles with pride.

  “Well, I’ve put some of the pictures in the blog posts.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not the same as on Facebook!” Mom laughs.

  “So where have you gone? Give us the rundown,” my father says jovially.

  I provide a rundown.

  “Sounds like you’re having the time of your life. Can we stay here with you for the rest of the trip?” Dad suggests jokingly.

  I chuckle uncomfortably.

  “Tell us about work!” my mom prompts. “I want to hear gory details!”

  “We don’t need the gory details,” Dad shoos. “Just tell us about it. You learning a lot?”

  Inhale. Exhale. Fiddle with a napkin. “Um, yeah…” My breaths are coming in big, swollen bursts. You can do this.

  Mom puts a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right, honey?”

  Breathe. “Yeah. I’m fine, I. Okay.”

  “Okay?” my mom repeats.

  “Drink some water or something!” Dad urges. I down a gulp of water. They watch me for a long moment.

  “Are you okay?” Dad asks again.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m good.”

  “Good.” Mom smiles.

  “Okay, so how’s the health clinic going?” he repeats.

  “I have to tell you guys something.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” My mom smiles. “As long as you don’t get pregnant—”

  I cut her off. “No.”

  “Okay, no need to get crabby. What is it?” She laughs.

  Her demeanor sobers quickly when my facial expression doesn’t change. “Shane, what is it?”

  I take one last breath and exhale the words, “I lied about this being a premed program.”

  Dad’s face juts forward. “What?”

  “What do you mean, you lied?” Mom says with confusion.

  “I mean, there is no premed program out here.”

  They both speak at the same time.

  “What do you mean? You signed up for it! I read the damn brochure!” my dad insists.

  “How can there be no premed program? You’re premed … yeah, the brochure!” Mom sounds disoriented.

  I look over at Dad. “So, I made the brochure myself.” I swallow. “There is no premed track out here.”

  There’s a moment of silence as my father’s face flushes neon, and then he explodes.

  “You conned us? You little shit,” he growls.

  I push my chair away from the table, back straightening against the seat.

  “Sal,” my mother scolds.

  “I’m sorry, it was wrong! I want to be a writer, and I saw an opportunity, and I did something stupid,” I explain.

  “A writer? Where the hell is this coming from!”

  “I told you I wanted to write when I was applying to schools!” I screech. “You said I couldn’t apply for any creative majors!”

  Dad roars on like I haven’t spoken. “Are you telling me you’ve lost an entire semester of required courses? You’re supposed to take the MCATs when you get back!”

  “You won’t be ready for the MCATs,” Mom echoes softly like she’s drifting away.

  “I don’t want to take the MCATs,” I breathe. I feel twenty pounds lighter as the words leave my mouth. I really, really don’t. Why did I push myself through taking them?

  “Shane!” gasps my mother. For Mom. That’s why. But she’ll understand. She has to understand.

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” booms my father. “I’m over here shelling out thousands of dollars for your education, and you’re out here completely disrespecting me? Lyin’ to me!”

  “I’m sorry! It’s just not what I’m passionate about! I want to—”

  “Stop. You’re on the next fucking flight to New York!”

  “I’m not going back yet. I’m seeing this through. I have a great internship.” I struggle to keep my words coherent. “And I’m really doing well there.”

  Dad jerks up from the table. “What did you just say to me?”

  “I said”—I heave a rattling breath—“I’m not going back yet.”

  “Give me your phone,” he demands.

  “I’m sorry, no,” I answer.

  His teeth grind. “You know, I do everything for you. You ungrateful little brat. I do what’s best for you—”

  “Forcing me into a life I don’t want isn’t what’s best for me!” I scream.

  I whip up my hand and cover my mouth.

  The anger in his eyes sears a hole right through my chest. My voice drops. “Dad, I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry! But you’re wasting your money pushing me into medical school. That’s not what I want to do!”

  “You throw this education away, and you’re going to be living in a fucking box on the street! And don’t think for a second you’re going to be able to call me for help!” His words thunder around the dining room.

  “Dad, why won’t you believe in me? Why would you say that? What have I ever failed at to make you think that would happen? I’m working so hard! I always work so hard!”

  I throw a desperate glance at my mother, who is staring into her plate. “Mom!” I yell.

  She gives the tiniest shake of her head.

  “Don’t look at her, you look at me! I built this life for you. I work day in, day out for you to have this life! These opportunities. You know my dad had nothing, chasing cartoon dreams of being a fuckin’ poet. I had nothin’. I handed you the tools for everything!” he bellows.

  His eyes bore straight into mine as he growls, “I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear from you. Don’t call me for money. Don’t call me for anything.” He charges away from the table.

  “I’m sorry,” I blubber after him. “I’m grateful, Dad. It’s”—sob—“just not the right path for”—I inhale
sharply as the restaurant door falls shut behind him—“me.”

  I look to my mother. “Mom, I’m sorry!” gurgles from my throat. She won’t meet my eyes.

  “Shane, how could you do this?” With another shake of the head, she follows him out. I try to quell the maelstrom of hurt raging in my chest.

  You knew it wouldn’t go over well.

  I swallow, gulp down the rest of my water, head out onto the street, and walk. I walk and walk until I can think again. Until I can breathe normally. Until I can turn the light back on.

  hey

  ________________________________________________

  Leo Primaveri 3/6/11

  to Shane

  Heard you fucked up. Are you coming home? My mom won’t go into detail.

  I blow out a breath, staring at the email in the dank school library. Why did Leo send this? I remember getting it the first time I was here—I just dismissed it. But when I got back, Leo had dropped out of school. I gnaw at my lip for a few minutes before typing out a response.

  I’ll be home at the end of April. I lied and said I was here for a premed program, but I’m doing a writing internship. What’s up with you?

  Send.

  Ten minutes later:

  Oh shit, that’s insane. Makes sense, though. You’re always reading. I always thought you’d be an author or something. Your blog’s been extra good lately. What’d he do to you when he found out?

  Has Leo always … read my blog? We’ve never talked about it before.

  He had a fit. Stormed off. Told me to never call him for anything ever again. You read my blog? What’s up with you?

  Send.

  A minute later:

  Could have been worse, I guess. Why wouldn’t I read your blog? Meet me on Facebook Chat?

  I pull up Facebook and log in.

  Leo

  I’m going through some

  shit … It’s fucking me up, and

  I don’t know what to do or who

  to talk to about it.

  Shane

  Do you want to Skype?

  Leo

  No, typing is easier.

  Shane

  What’s up?

  Leo

  I broke up with someone a couple

  weeks ago.

  Shane

  You had a girlfriend? I thought

  you just did hookups? For

  how long? Why wasn’t it on

  Facebook?

  Leo

  I’m gay.

  If I were holding the computer, I would have dropped it.

  Shane

  But you’re always talking about

  girls you’ve had sex with?!

  Back in high school he hooked up with the cheerleading captain in my year when he was still a junior! He’s played along and laughed when my other cousin Anthony has made cracks about me probably being a lesbian.

  Leo

  I’ve been with the guy for

  almost a year, but he got tired

  of living in the fucking

  shadows. But if my dad found

  out, he would kick me out of

  the house. I know just how the

  conversation would go. I’d tell

  him I’m gay and he’d say: “No,

  you’re not.” There’d be an

  awkward pause. I’d repeat

  myself, and he’d tell me to get

  out. And then, like, the guys …

  Alfie, Anthony, Vincent,

  Matt—I’d be exiled at every

  family gathering.

  My vision blurs because I can hear Uncle Dan saying exactly that. How many homophobic remarks has he had to endure from Uncle Dan over the years? How long has he been struggling with this alone? Was all that stuff he’d said about dating girls through high school a way to protect himself? I heave in a breath.

  Shane

  Aflie, Anthony, Vincent,

  Matt … they love you. Finding

  out you like dudes is not going

  to change that. Maybe it’ll take

  a second to process, but you

  won’t lose them. You’re not

  going to lose me. Uncle Dan

  and everyone with an issue will

  have to evolve.

  Leo

  I can’t bring myself to do shit

  right now. I stopped going to

  class. I’m going to lose my

  scholarship.

  Jesus. My heart constricts. Is he out in 2017 to his friends? Was he dealing with depression? Did he ever talk to a counselor or something? Do Uncle Dan and Aunt Marie know now? Is that why 2017 Mom never talks about him? Did Uncle Dan exile him? Do they never talk about him? I wipe at my cheeks.

  Shane

  Leo, you should go talk to

  someone. You don’t actually

  want to lose that scholarship,

  right?

  Leo

  I just want to be normal.

  Shane

  There is no normal.

  He doesn’t respond for a minute. Then:

  Leo

  Thanks for being here.

  Shane

  You’re the closest thing I have

  to a brother, Leo. Call me, beep

  me, if you need to reach me =)

  Leo

  Sorry we don’t talk anymore.

  Shane

  It’s not too late to change that.

  I’m here!

  Leo

  g2g

  24. Through Accepting Limits

  It’s Tuesday, March 8, and I have the first draft of my study abroad guide typed up and saved on a thumb drive. When I get to Packed!, I boot up the white MacBook, plug in the drive, email it to Wendy, and wait. Nowadays I’m working side by side with Tracey, Declan, and Donna on a regular basis. Whenever they’re doing something they can share with me, I’m shadowing them. Today, I’m shadowing Declan, who’s working on a photo spread for their April issue. I end up periodically excusing myself throughout the afternoon to go refresh my email.

  “Are you expecting something important that you keep running back to your desk?” Declan laughs when I return for the third time.

  I sigh. “I’m sorry. Just an important email. Ignore me!”

  At the end of the day when I’m packing up, Wendy emerges from her office and walks over to my table. My throat tightens. I’m pushing in my chair to leave when she stops in front of me.

  “I read your draft,” she opens.

  I try to swallow. “… Thanks?”

  A smile spreads across her face. “I love the direction you’re taking with this. You’re on for the article! I think we’re going to use this to kick off a series, gathering pieces from people studying abroad all over the world. I’m going to put together some notes, and I’ll call you in for a meeting to discuss everything soon.”

  My hands jump to my cheeks in astonishment. “Wendy, oh my goodness, I’m so excited. Thank you! This means so much to me!”

  I blast Avril Lavigne’s “new” album through my iPod and dance down the sidewalk on my way home.

  * * *

  Wendy pulls me into her office Wednesday afternoon, and we go through my piece together, point by point. She tells me what she likes and gives me notes on how I can improve it.

  Wednesday night, I brainstorm Wendy’s notes. Thursday morning, I type up a second draft on the white MacBook at work, and Thursday afternoon, Donna goes through it with me before I turn it in to Wendy again. Donna is great! She’s really funny, easy to talk to, and endlessly generous with her time.

  * * *

  Thursday night, I check in with Leo.

  Shane

  Hey, how’s it going?

  Leo

  Figuring it out.

  Shane

  …?

  He doesn’t say anything else.

  * * *

  Babe and I go to Dublin over the weekend, and while we’re there, I open up to her about e
verything: Pilot, his girlfriend, the internship going wrong, my parents—everything but the time travel. She shares some of her own family issues in return. She has an older brother who’s dealing with some alcohol issues, and it’s taking a toll on her parents. I’ve heard bits and pieces about this over the years, but never in as much detail as she shared this weekend. I’m sad I was too caught up in my own drama during London: Take One to have been someone she could talk to about it.

  It feels great to chat so candidly with her. It’s almost like having 2017 Babe here with me.

  When we get back Sunday night, I write up a post in Horcrux Ten (Nine overflowed) and borrow Babe’s computer to type up and publish: “American Girls Do Dublin.”

  * * *

  On Wednesday, March 16, I come into work and find the white MacBook already powered up at my station. When I get close enough, I see that Safari’s open to an article on the Packed! site. I drop my purse when I read the headline.

  The Top 25 Things to Cram into Your London Study Abroad Experience … Before You Go Bankrupt

  by Shane Primaveri

  “Tracey, this is my piece!” I yelp toward the front desk.

  She smiles at me. “It is.”

  “It’s up?” I squeak. “Wendy said … she didn’t say when it would be—”

  “It’s up. Surprise! Congratulations!” she cheers.

  “Congratulations, Shane!” Donna shouts from across the room.