Chapter Twenty-Nine
The rumors of a lovely, catered lunch for Parents’ Day were grossly exaggerated. And when I say gross, I mean as in yuck.
Though it’s late September, it’s still hot as the surface of the sun. So why the university thought a picnic would be a grand idea is beyond me. You know what would’ve been an even better idea? Air conditioning.
I’m currently waiting in one of four long lines with James and Millie to get our sack lunches. Millie tries to inject some small talk, but mostly the three of us stand in a bubble of uncomfortable silence. They’re upset. I’m upset.
I wave at Tate, who’s in another line with his parents. They look happy as lottery winners. We said we’d all sit together, but do I want to bring Tate and his family in on my awkward dysfunction?
“Katie! Hey, Katie!” Violet motions us over to her spot on the lawn, a semi-shaded patch of grass sporting a cluster of dandelions and a discarded poster for a student protest.
“Let’s join your roommate.” Millie heads in that direction, the serene smile back on her face.
Violet sits with her legs pretzeled, flanked on each side by a parent. Her mom drinks from a Diet Coke can, but doesn’t eat. Her dad removes his hand from a bag of Fritos to shake.
“This is my dad, Jonathan Newbury.” Violet gazes at her dad with pure adoration.
“Great to meet you guys!” He shakes my hand with a frenetic energy, his red hair a curly, frizzy halo about his head. “Violet’s told us so much about you, Katie.” His kind brown eyes match his daughter’s. “An actress, eh? What a fun career pursuit. Vi’s told us you have quite the resumé.”
“Don’t call Violet that, Jonathan.” Violet’s mom sets down her drink and offers a limp hand. “Alison Carrington Newbury. Nice to meet you.”
James and Millie introduce themselves as they settle onto the grass. “What do you all do?”
While the adults swap job descriptions, I watch Tate and his parents approach. Given the fact that they’re not carrying food, they’re obviously not staying.
“Hey, Katie.” Tate leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek, then greets everyone else with a little less lip action. As I chit-chat with his folks, I watch my boyfriend. He’s handsome, he’s charismatic, and he’s kind. So why am I not feeling it? What’s not to like here?
But I know exactly what it is.
He’s not Charlie Benson.
Will Charlie be the gold standard for guys the rest of my days? Is that fair to any future romantic interests?
“Would you like to sit down and join us?” Millie asks Tate.
He grins sheepishly, a facial expression I’ve come to know as I Have a Frat Event That Suddenly Takes Precedence. “We can’t. Upsilon Sigma is grilling steaks for all of us freshmen, but we wanted to pop over and say hello.” He catches my peeved look. “I thought I’d have time to do both, but they moved up the cookout due to the rain that’s coming in.”
Sure, blame it on the weather. Never mind, it adds insult to brown-bagged injury that he’ll be dining on sirloin. “Maybe we can catch up later.” I drop my surly face for his parents, genuinely happy to see them. If Tate and I did break up, I’d miss them. I hug them both like it’s the last time because, honestly, I’m not sure it isn’t. Basically, I want to break up with everything and everyone.
“How’s college life treating you, Katie?” Tate’s mom asks.
“It’s…different.” We chat for a few more sweltering minutes before goodbyes are said.
“I’ll call you later,” Tate whispers in my ear as he pulls me close. “And I’m sorry. I seem to be saying that a lot, don’t I?”
“Some people will do anything to get out of an overheated ham sandwich.”
“Did we talk about the Halloween corn maze event?”
I blink at the change in topic. “I think I would’ve remembered that.”
“Next Saturday night,” he says. “Up Sigs are going to the haunted corn maze over in Centerville. Ever heard of it?”
“I’m not really into scary things.” I’ve lived too many of them.
“It’ll be fun. It’s a date thing, and everyone’s dressing up as famous couples. Go with me.”
I give him a pointed look at my parents, who I have thoroughly disappointed. “Can we talk about this later?”
“I’m not letting you bail on this one.”
“If James and Millie have anything to do with it, I might be grounded.”
He frowns in confusion. “Can they still do that?”
“I think I’m about to find out.” I give Tate’s hand a squeeze, then watch him and his parents walk away from our picnic.
“Violet, dear, Katie’s been here the same amount of time as you, and she’s found a boyfriend.” Violet’s mom gives a little laugh.
I don’t appreciate her joke. It’s not 1950. Who needs that kind of pressure? “Tate and I started dating before college. And it’s hard to meet people at Hendrix, believe it or not.”
Ms. Newbury doesn’t seem interested in my defense of her daughter.
“I met my best friends in college,” Mr. Newbury says. “We started a band and played the college bars.”
Violet’s mom rolls her eyes. “Definitely not the example I want her to follow.”
After an extended period of sandwich chewing and small talk, James and Millie turn their focus back to me and fire up another round of Let’s Define Katie’s Improvement Plan.
“Your theater professor seems nice.” James crunches into a chip.
“He can’t remember my name.”
“I sometimes forget James’s name, but I still love him.” Millie smiles as she takes a drink from her water bottle. “Dr. Maddox sounds very willing to let you retake your last test. But he wants you to take the initiative and schedule an appointment to talk.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, as in I’ll do it?” James asks. “Or okay, as in uh-huh, whatever?”
The old sass-talking Katie is still alive and well in there, and it’s all I can do not to lash out. But this isn’t my bio mom. And James and Millie are only looking out for me, whether I like it or not. That’s been a lesson I’ve had to learn over and over these past few years. “I’ll do it.”
James launches into a sermon dressed up as a conversation. “I’d like to see you connect with a church here, as well. Any prospects? Millie and I know the pastor of Hope Fellowship downtown and…”
As he lays out a comparative analysis of area churches, I can’t help but let my attention stray to Violet and her family nearby. Judging from Violet’s ashen face and her mother’s shrill tone, things aren’t going much better over there.
“All the things I’ve bought you to wear, and that’s what you chose?” Ms. Newbury snarls as she inspects Violet’s t-shirt emblazoned with an artistic rendering of the First Amendment.
“I—”
“Leave her alone, Alison. Violet can wear whatever she darn well wants.” Her dad takes a drink of tea from a red Solo cup then spares his daughter a glance. “At least she shows some individuality and gumption.”
“Don’t start on me, Jonathan. If it were up to you, our daughter would be aimlessly backpacking Europe with nothing more than a hundred Euros and one of your stupid water bottles.”
“My stupid water bottles pay for your alimony and keep you in outrageous, excessive comfort.”
Ms. Newbury huffs disgustedly and turns her eagle eyes back to Violet. “What is this the Kappa Zeta house mom tells me about your missing events?”
“I wanted to talk to you about quitting the sorority.”
Whoa, I didn’t know she was going to break it to her mom today.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Violet’s mother taps a hand beneath Violet’s chin. “Head up, no slouching. What you should be talking to me about are influential people you’ve met, what specialty you’ve decided to pursue, and what position of sorority office you’ll run for in the spring.”
Violet decimates a tu
ft of grass with her toe. “I don’t care about networking, I still want to switch my major to journalism, and I want to quit the sorority.”
Her mother’s gasp is worthy of a soap opera fade-out. “What has gotten into you, Violet Grace Newbury?”
“An opinion of my own?”
“Well, I don’t like it.”
Her dad chuckles. “Seriously, Alison?”
“Our daughter hasn’t even been here two months, and I barely recognize her. Her destiny as a Kappa Zeta Rho was sealed at birth, and she’s talked about becoming a doctor since she could walk.”
“No, you’ve talked about my becoming a doctor,” Violet says. “I’ve always wanted to be a reporter.”
“There is absolutely no stability in that profession.” Ms. Newbury’s tone is as disgusted as if Violet had said she wanted to be Santa’s Sexy Elf at the What’s Shakin’ gentlemen’s club at the edge of town. “Medicine will always put food on the table.”
“I don’t care about food. I care about being happy.” Violet nodded toward Mr. Newbury. “Like dad.”
“Oh, great going, Jonathan.” Her mom’s tone drips with disdain. “Let me guess, you’ve been filling her head with all sorts of dreamy ideas?”
“Your daughter has a mind of her own, and maybe you should let her use it.”
“And let her waste it on fly-by-night jobs? What’s next, she’ll want to move to New York and become an actress?”
I choke on my soda. James hands me a napkin, then returns his attention back to the show.
Violet’s face burns crimson red. “There’s nothing flaky about wanting to be a reporter. They’re important. They’re vital to democracy, and change and…and keeping the world informed and aware.”
“This conversation is over. You’re not quitting the sorority, and you’re not changing your major. That’s final. You are a Newbury. I expect you to wear that name with pride and respect.”
“I do respect our family, but—”
“Then act like it. I don’t want any more reports of you not showing up to events or blowing off meetings. Women in our family have been Kappa Zeta for generations. And not only have we been members, but we’ve been leaders. I never had this problem with your sister, and I expect you to fall in line. Are we clear?”
“No, Mother.” Violet stands and dusts the grass from her shorts. “We’re not.”
“Sit down, Violet.”
“I won’t. I’m tired of sitting down and being quiet.”
“I personally think it’s nice to see some fire in my youngest,” Violet’s dad says. “I wasn’t sure it was in there.”
“Would you be quiet?” Ms. Newbury snips. “Violet, you’re overwrought, and you’re making a scene.”
“I don’t care.” Violet’s voice only gets louder. “I’m not going to be a pre-med student, and I’m not staying in the sorority. The Kappas only took me on because I was a legacy and because my family donates to the college. They’ve regretted it ever since I came on board, and so have I. It would be a lovely experience for someone, but that girl’s not me. I feel out of my element and overwhelmed. Mother, I’m tired of being told what to do, what to wear, and who to be friends with. If you can’t love me for me, then I’ll spend my weekends home with Dad.” Violet waits for her mother’s acquiescence.
We all turn, watching Ms. Newbury, then Violet, then back to Ms. Newbury.
Her mom throws her napkin on the ground, grabs her purse, then walks away as fast as her Jimmy Choo heels can carry her.
Violet’s eyes fill with tears, and I jump up to hug her. “It’s okay. When she calms down, she’ll understand.”
“No, she won’t.” Violet sniffs and rests her head on my shoulder. “But I don’t even care. I stuck up for myself!”
I smile as I step away from my roommate. “You did. How do you feel?”
“Sick.”
“Sounds about right. How else?”
“Completely liberated.” She throws her hands in the air. “I’m free! I’m free!”
Her father laughs. “That’s my girl!”
Violet exhales deeply as if expelling her mother’s expectations from her lungs. “Wow, so this is what it feels like to know exactly what you want to do and to actually do it.”
I’m so proud of Violet, I could burst.
Yet her unexpected breakthrough only shines a mirror on my own failure.
I thought I knew what I wanted to do. Who I wanted to be.
But somehow that’s not working out for me.
And I don’t know how to turn this around.
Or if I even want to.
Chapter Thirty
I am bone-weary.
My feet hurt, my eyes burn, there’s a London fog rolling in my brain, and my heart feels almost too heavy to lug up these stairs to my dorm tonight.
James and Millie left this afternoon after securing yet another promise from me that I would reach out to all my professors and report back. By tomorrow, James will have an algebra tutor lined up, and Millie will have hand-picked a nearby counselor. She wanted me to enroll in some yoga class, but I did get her to back off on that one. Namaste out of yoga right now.
A few hours after they left, I had a rehearsal that went about the same as usual. I am proud to say I did remember my one line. Though no one gave me a standing ovation or wept tears of joy after my performance. Standing ovations—I miss those.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I check the screen as I walk by a handmade poster advertising a chess tournament and reach the third floor.
Charlie.
I want to talk to him so badly. But it’s wrong.
I’m dating Tate. I think.
And my thoughts of Charlie have wandered into More Than Friend Territory. It’s a wild place, full of steep climbs, snake pits, and quicksand that will take you under with one step. I’m not prepared to traverse that land yet. And maybe not ever. Charlie and I have tried to make a romance work multiple times, and every time it ended with me getting my heartbroken. I can’t handle one more heartbreak, you know?
I silence my phone and stick it in my pocket.
Inside the room, Violet and Jemma both sit at their desks and type away on their laptops. Their reactions to my return is a study in contrasts. Jemma frowns and regards me like I just walked in and announced I think the moon is made of cheese. Violet, however, jumps up and asks me about my rehearsal, happy as a puppy to see me.
“My rehearsal was okay.” I throw my bag down on my desk and avoid making eye contact with mom’s ashes. These days I feel like it’s judging me.
“I thought the urn would be gone by now.” Jemma doesn’t lift her gaze from her screen. “It’s a biohazard.”
“So is the school cafeteria, but we still eat there.”
Violet twirls her hair around her finger. “I was telling Jemma about Parent Day.”
I reach into the fridge, grab a water, then pull out stuff from the cabinet until I have the makings of a PB&J. “Did you tell her about Viva La Revolucion de Violet?”
“I didn’t mention that.”
“Why? That’s the best part.”
Violet collapses back into her desk chair and spins. “Because I’m already regretting everything I said.”
I grab two pieces of bread and slap them on a plate. “So, you want to stay in the sorority and become a doctor?”
“No.”
I unscrew the lid on the peanut butter Millie brought me, all-natural, of course. “You’ll make a great pediatrician.”
“No, that’s not what I want.”
“Then stand by what you told your mom. Stick to your guns. You made a declaration, now follow through.”
“You’re one to talk.” Jemma shuts her laptop and turns to face me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” All I want to do is eat a sandwich and take a shower. I am so not in the mood for her crabby rants tonight.
She rises from her desk like an avenging queen. “You said you’d get rid of the urn, and
it’s still here. I want it gone.”
“And I said I’ll handle it. Soon.”
“Maybe you should ask yourself why you can’t seem to find a location for these ashes.”
“Jemma, I can’t find a location because the perfect place hasn’t hit me yet. When it does, and it will, I assure you I will take care of it asap.”
Jemma’s lip curls as she watches me slather grape jelly on my bread. “You can’t bring peanut butter in here.”
“Since when are you allergic?”
“I’m not reactive now, but peanut allergies can come on you at any age and any time. Today I’m fine, but who’s to say if I touch that stuff tomorrow my lungs don’t seize, my airwaves constrict, and I suffocate right in my own dorm room because you had to have your Skippy?”
I sink my teeth into the sandwich and chew with more gusto than a PB&J deserves. “I’m willing to risk that.”
“It’s rude.”
“You’re rude.”
“Hey, guys!” Violet stands between us like a boxing referee. “Let’s all take a breath, huh? We’ve had a long day, and everyone’s on edge.”
“I’m not on edge,” Jemma says. “I’m sick of her weird ashes being here. It’s disturbing. It’s not normal.”
“Like I know what normal is anymore!” I’m a volcano that can no longer be contained. Stand back, because I’m Mount Vesuvius, and I’m about to liquify this whole room. “I’m doing the best I can. Why can’t anyone see that? Why isn’t that enough?”
“How hard is it to find a spot for the urn?” Jemma demands. “Just take it home, for crying out loud.”
“I don’t want to take her home. I want my mom’s ashes with me.” I hear my own words, and I’m taken aback. I want her with me?
But I realize it’s true. These ashes are all I have left of Bobbie Ann. At some point, I’m going to find the best spot to lay her to rest, but until then, I want to hang on to whatever time we have left. “It’s not harming anything,” I tell Jemma. “Just ignore it.”
My roommate puts a hand to her hip and strikes a defiant pose. “Like I’ve ignored your backpack on the floor that I tripped over in the middle of the night? Like I’ve ignored you not restocking the drinks in the fridge? Like I’ve ignored your drawer being open and your stuff all over the bathroom counter?”
Something to Believe In Page 17