An Education in Ruin

by Alexis Bass

  Jasper stops hitting his bag and leans against it, waiting for my response.

  “I remembered I have something to do.”

  Theo pulls off one of his gloves. “I can walk you back if you need—”

  But I’m shaking my head, already taking fast steps toward the door. “It’s fine,” I call to them. “I just have to go.”

  It’s too cold to be outside in only my workout shorts and a tank top, but I don’t stop by the locker room to get changed. I’m halfway up the path when it starts to rain, light wispy drops that sting because of the wind, and I’m soaked by the time I reach the girls’ dorm. I’m still shaking. My mind whirls. I reach for a distraction, try to remember all the work I have to do. But all I see are Mimi’s sad eyes, her sullen expression, promising me she’ll give me the space I’ve asked for, telling me it’s fine if I don’t want to talk to her for a while. Rosie squeezing my hands before I left, whispering, “I know you’ll do what you have to do. We’re counting on you.”

  I race to the third-year bathroom and rush straight into the shower. My teeth chatter until the hot water comes down around me and I’m enveloped in steam and that replicate lavender smell.

  Rosie didn’t just have photos of the Mahoney boys’ lives. She had that photo of Theo and six other boys at Camp En Tous Lieux, which was French for everywhere or in all places, and, in my opinion, impossible to pronounce. She had the nondisclosure agreement saying he couldn’t speak about being there. She had the record of that year’s groups, where the names of those six boys were expunged from the record. She knew one of the other boys’ fathers—which is how she found out about the NDAs. How she got ahold of Theo’s, she wouldn’t say, but Rosie was gifted at getting whatever she wanted. The names of lawyers representing each party were on the agreements, and my guess was that’s where she’d started.

  “He was supposed to have a summer full of hiking around the world, through mountain ranges, a professional guide leading the group,” she said. Camp En Tous Lieux was an exquisite experience, taking a group of boys and girls who could afford their high prices on unforgettable summer long outdoor excursions that would test their limits and show them they could do the impossible—according to their website. “But he was back from their trip after only two weeks. All the boys were.” She showed me photos posted to his profile during that summer he should’ve been with the camp, where he was instead vacationing with his family or with Anastasia. “Something happened on their trip. Something so terrible they can’t talk about it, and Theo is at the center of it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have the other NDAs.” She pulled them up on her iPad. “For all the other boys in that group, the price of silence is $2 million. For Theo, it’s $5 million.”

  I didn’t know how to argue with this.

  “If you find out what it is, then we can use it. We’ll ask Mrs. Mahoney what’s more important to her, this information getting out about whatever her son was involved in at that camp, or your father.”

  “How will I find out what it is?”

  She gave me a proud smile. “You’ll think of something. And if you don’t, there’s always Jasper.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing yet.” She pushed my hair behind my ear, a rare gesture of affection from her. “Maybe instead we’ll tell Mrs. Mahoney that she has to choose between your father’s broken heart or Jasper’s.”

  The warmth from the shower and the steam surrounds me. Rosie went through all this trouble for me to be here. She told me things no one wanted me to know. She wouldn’t’ve done all that if she didn’t think I could help her; if she didn’t think getting me to Rutherford to save my dad would be worth it. I feel my head clearing, the panic subsiding.

  When I come out, I smell as good as the air and feel fresher than a daisy. Joyce and her friend Neveah are sitting on the benches by the vanity. I wave to them. Joyce is crying. She wipes her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s nothing,” she tells me. A clear lie. News reports have continued to circulate about Joyce’s father, the extortion and the cocaine, plus more trouble from the prostitutes he was having affairs with. The things our parents do trickle down to us, and it’s not fair, but there’s no getting around it.

  “I’m sorry,” I say on my way out.

  I pause when I reach the door and turn back to face her. “This thing that happened, it’s not going to define you,” I say. I think of Mimi, her hand pinching my chin, forcing me to look up at her. The stern look in her watering eyes. “Don’t do it, Collins,” she said. “Don’t let this be it for you. This isn’t everything. This does not define you.” For that moment, I do miss her; wish I wasn’t too mad to call her, see where she is in the world, and if its vastness was living up to her expectations.

  “Thanks,” Joyce says, her quivering lips forming a true smile. Neveah nods like she’s seconding this random plug of advice.

  Mimi was right, and she was wrong. Something can define you and also strengthen you. A horrible burden can be blown into something new, something better.

  I sit at my desk and open my laptop. There’s a new email from my dad, a forwarded invitation from Robames for a corporate retreat at the Hylift complex in Canada. The retreat is for the board members, key investors, and company executives only. For people like my dad and the Mahoneys.

  The invitation reads: Bring your families and join us for less work and more play at Hylift resort this holiday season!

  My dad’s message says: It’s probably going to be more work and less play for me, but we’ll still have a blast. What do you say, kid? Since Mimi and Rosie are staying in Buenos Aries, I figure we deserve a vacation-bound holiday, too.

  I write back and tell him that I’m excited and can’t wait to spend the holidays with him at Hylift.

  This news that over winter break I’ll be staying at the same mountain resort as Jasper ignites me. Gives me a second wind, so to speak. Because Rosie was right about me. I am strong and smart, and I’m not giving up.

  Twenty-four

  When I get off the plane for Thanksgiving break, my dad cries. It’s the first thing I see when I exit the terminal, a sign that says Welcome Home and his large tears.

  “You’re such a baby,” I say as I hug him.

  “It feels like yesterday when you were just a baby, and now here you are flying by yourself across the country.” It gets him crying again.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I lean back and look up at him.

  He nods. “This is much better. When you were a baby, there was always so much spit-up.”

  I laugh and lean into him again and am hit with the familiar smell of his John Varvatos cologne and the French roast coffee he drinks throughout the day. Oh wow, I really did miss him.

  The first thing I do when I get to his Tribeca penthouse is fall asleep on the couch while the 1994 version of Little Women plays on the television. I tried to stay awake until Laurie professed his love to Jo, but fell asleep right after Jo cut her hair.

  When I wake up, the movie is off. The television is back to its normal streaming of stock prices and Wall Street news, on mute. The room is dark except for the screen of the television and light coming from my father’s open office door, a few feet from where I’m lying. I can hear him talking on the phone. He’s speaking in a gentle voice.

  “I know, Marylyn, believe me, I know,” he’s saying—his tenor like he’s comforting someone. “I miss you, too. But it won’t be much longer.”

  This is the first time I’ve heard him on the phone with Marylyn Mahoney, though over the summer when we were in Barcelona together, I saw him on the terrace outside our villa, pacing, talking on the phone. I assumed it was her because of the way he was smiling to himself, the way he couldn’t stand still, the way he nodded as he listened, covered his mouth at some of the things she said. I watched him lean against the side of the villa as he said goodbye to her. He tipped his head back after he hung up, his face to the sun. I’d never seen him look
so exposed and helpless.

  “I hate it when you’re stressed,” he says to her now. “I don’t want you to worry. I’m doing everything I can. I’ll take care of it; I’m trying.” He’s quiet where she must be talking. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I promise. I’ve got it covered. I love you. Goodbye.”

  I hear him sigh, and I know he’s probably dropped his hands to his sides and sunk into his desk chair, like saying goodbye to her requires some sort of recovery.

  After a few minutes, I get up and go to my room, waving as I pass his office. It’s normal for him to be awake at odd hours.

  The next day, we both wake up around 11:00 a.m. He makes us a coffee and tea while we wait for the French restaurant around the corner to deliver the brunch he ordered. But a different delivery arrives first. A large bouquet of roses, two dozen of them, in a tall crystal vase.

  Admittedly, I first assume they’re from Marylyn. Flaunting her feelings in the most flagrant way in my father’s apartment. Second, I decide they must be from any one of my father’s business partners or clients, sent as a thank-you or a gesture of goodwill. And then I wonder if they’re from Mimi, since this is the first Thanksgiving I’m spending without her.

  My father sets the flowers on the counter as he reads the card. He frowns. “So who is Sebastian?”

  “Hey, excuse me!” I snatch the card out of his hands in such a panic that he starts to laugh.

  “Who is Sebastian, and why does he miss you?” my father teases me.

  I die of embarrassment as I see the card does in fact say: Have a good holiday! Miss you already. Yours, Sebastian.

  “Yours?” he continues, chuckling. “What exactly does he mean by that?”

  “This isn’t up for discussion.” I rush into my room, the sound of my father’s laughter fading behind me. Once I’m safely inside my room, I smile. I’ve never received flowers from a crush before. Yours is quite embarrassing, yes. It’s also making my face hot, my stomach flutter.

  There’s a light knocking on my door, and I jump. I press my hands against my cheeks as I say, “Yes, come in.” My father is very good about only entering my room when invited. I relax my expression, get rid of my smile.

  “Thought you might want to admire these while giving them proper sunlight.” He sets the bouquet down on a small round table next to the French doors that lead to the terrace.

  “You want them in here so you don’t have to look at them while we eat.”

  “Don’t want to lose my appetite,” he says.

  We spend the rest of the day together, except instead of going to the movies like we usually do, I break to catch up on my English reading.

  “You know if you don’t like it at Rutherford, for any reason, not only this ridiculous amount of homework,” he says, “I will pull you out of that school so fast. I mean it.”

  “Did they tell you I was almost on academic probation?”

  “Mmm-hmm, I did get that call. I said I was fine with it. One school’s academic probation is another’s honor roll.”

  “Aren’t you proud that I’ve pulled myself out of it?”

  “Of course,” he says. “But if it’s too much … don’t you want a normal, carefree childhood, girlhood, whatever?”

  “No,” I tell him. I really mean it. “Not anymore.”

  The next day, our Thanksgiving dinner arrives from our favorite Mexican restaurant. I squeal with delight. Mimi hated typical Thanksgiving food. She loved to cook but disliked boring food, and the usual turkey, gravy, stuffing, and mashed potatoes were uninteresting to her. Our turkey last year was mole-roasted, basically covered in a chocolate sauce, and served with masa stuffing and spicy chili gravy on the side. Our stuffing was made with rice and, naturally, goat cheese; our potatoes were roasted crisp.

  This isn’t exactly the same as our usual Thanksgivings in Wisconsin, but eating burritos and nachos feels more like our normal than if he were to order a carved turkey or attempt Mimi’s recipes himself. He does make the dessert, though—a cherry pie he started when I was still asleep. Together we make pumpkin tarts and peach cobbler.

  My father would always help Mimi in the kitchen when she was prepping the food, and one thing I do really miss is the way they’d banter, Mimi taking such delight in all of us cooking together, my father dressed down, usually the most relaxed we’d see him all year because he’d have his phone off and spending time with us was the only thing on his agenda. It was moments like those that I often wondered if they might fall back in love. I couldn’t see then that their love came from respect and was forged out of necessity, because of me. There was no falling back; they’d never been there in the first place. It wasn’t Mimi who knew how to make someone fall in love with her.

  Twenty-five

  The next morning, I get a text from Anastasia asking if I’m going to spend the weekend with her and Theo in the penthouse from Joyce that she won in the game. I explain to my dad my friend Anastasia Bowditch is in town, and he tells me I can hang out with her until 11:00, when he will send the car for me.

  “Collins,” he says as I wait for the elevator on my way out. “I’m glad you’re making new friends.” I smile at him as the elevator dings its arrival and wonder if he’ll be seeing Marylyn tonight. The Mahoneys spent their Thanksgiving with Mr. Mahoney’s sister upstate, and she could easily take a train down to Manhattan the way Theo is to join Anastasia tonight.

  When I arrive at the penthouse, it’s nearly completely empty. Its white walls and beige carpeting and floor-to-ceiling windows make for an eerie setting. All that remains are a few blankets, stacks of decades-old magazines, wooden barstools with tall backs, blue-tinted champagne flutes with jeweled bases, the Game of Life!, a record player with speakers, and a single record, Madonna’s Like a Prayer.

  Anastasia tells us she screamed in horror when she first saw it and promptly went out and bought blow-up mattresses, six-hundred-thread-count sheets, a large charcuterie platter, cases of pamplemousse-flavored LaCroix, and an apricot-and-dry-earth-scented candle. By the time I arrive, one of the mattresses is made up in the master, the gas fireplace is flickering, the room smells like an orchard, and Anastasia is sipping sparkling water out of a champagne glass and eating brie, staring out at the neighboring skyscrapers and city lights, while Theo hooks up the other air mattress to the air pump and watches as it inflates.

  “We didn’t get one for you since you’re not staying the night, but if you decide you want to, Theo will share his.” Theo unhooks the pump and begins dragging the fitted sheet over the edges of the mattress. “Mine will be otherwise occupied.” She jumps up to pour me a glass of sparkling water. “Do you have a New York boyfriend?”

  “A New York boyfriend?”

  “Someone you see only when you’re in the city. Like a Manhattan hookup.”

  “No—”

  “But you half live here,” Anastasia says. “I really recommend it. I don’t even half live here and I have one. Theo had one, too, until he moved to LA.”

  Theo sighs. “Broadway wasn’t good enough for him. He had to be on television, too.”

  “It’s fun to have some romantic attention around the holidays when it’s all family, family, family, you know, Collins?” Anastasia hands me a full glass of LaCroix.

  “Why are you blushing like that?”

  “Like what?” Why does Theo have to notice everything?

  “You have someone in mind already, don’t you?” Anastasia points at me. “Who is it? Someone who interns for your dad? A Midtown barista?”

  “I don’t have anyone here in mind. I mean, anyone in mind at all. Or in general.”

  They eye me. They’re on to me because I am the easiest person to be onto when it comes to having a crush.

  Fine. “Sebastian sent me flowers,” I confess.

  “Of course he did,” Theo says. “He’s full of moves.”

  “Unoriginal moves,” Anastasia says. “The ladies at Cashmere Flowers probably recognize his voice on the phone.”


  “He orders on their website,” Theo says. “What? I asked him once.”

  “That’s so lazy.”

  “Or is it incredibly efficient?”

  The two of them look at me, like my opinion suddenly will be the tiebreaker on Sebastian’s laziness. “It was nice to receive flowers, regardless of his ordering methods. Besides, it was forever ago when he asked me to dinner, and I’m always too busy to go.”

  “Oh, that’s got to be driving him crazy.” Theo snickers, and Anastasia nods. “I bet he gives her back her earrings on the date.” So that was a move, too, one they’ve both seen before undoubtedly with Joyce and Ariel as part of the game.

  “I bet he takes her behind the angel,” Anastasia says.

  “Behind the what?”

  Theo and Anastasia smile at each other.

  Theo explains, “Behind the angel. That statue in the courtyard of the angel spreading her wings.”

  “Or his wings—it’s not clear,” Anastasia says.

  Theo continues, “It’s in this perfect position that blocks the view of the courtyard and the cafeteria and the B wing windows.”

  “He takes girls there to kiss them,” Anastasia says.

  I can feel myself blushing again. The urge to smile is strong—even if it’s cliché, even if it’s one of his moves.

  Anastasia’s phone chimes, thankfully taking the attention off me and my tomato-red face.

  “Oh no,” she says, her eyes scanning the screen. “Daniel is going to be late.” She downs her sparkling water and frowns.

  “Sometimes New York boyfriends are unreliable,” Theo says.

  “He even convinced me to take an earlier flight, and now he’s late. That’s rich,” Anastasia says.

  Anastasia’s mother is from Florida, and her father is from England. This Thanksgiving was spent in Orlando and, as Theo explains it, Anastasia was anxious to get far away from the humidity as soon as possible. But from what I can tell, Anastasia and Theo rarely spend more than a few days apart, regardless of where their families’ take them for the holidays.