by Anya Monroe
She was present. She wasn’t like the other girls. The ones in his accounting course who constantly typed on tiny screens, not noticing a guy right next to them was attempting to make eye contact. Or the Amish girls like Esther who constantly wanted to force a relationship that wasn’t there.
Just Marigold.
Later that afternoon in the taxi home, Abel asked for her phone number.
“Be warned, I don’t usually call girls. And by usually I mean never.”
“You’ve never called a girl?”
“Not once.”
“So I’ll be your first?”
It was a sexual innuendo and they both knew it, but instead of the air getting charged with nervous energy, they both just laughed.
“Yes, Marigold, you will be the very first girl, if you’ll let me.”
“You don’t have to, you know. Call me. This could be like a one-time random day, where a girl meets a guy at a coffee shop, and they walk around a museum. Like a romantic comedy, without the romance, I mean not necessarily. What I mean is, don’t feel obligated to be my friend or whatever.”
“I don’t really do things out of obligation. I do what I want, for sure and certain.”
When the driver dropped him off on campus, Marigold told him she lived just two blocks over, next to the Catholic Church on the corner.
“I’ll see you,” he said, through the open car door.
“You will.”
Marigold
The house was quiet when she returned from the museum. Meeting Abel had been weird, and the entire day had been like this vortex. Like the two of them were sucked in a vacuum where no one else existed. Life wasn’t always that unexpected and breezy, it had been the sort of reprieve she needed.
Marigold went to her room to change into more comfortable clothes, bloomers exchanged for her dress and soft slippers in place of her boots. Pulling her phone out of her messenger bag she plugged it into the charger, realizing it had died at some point when she was out with Abel. Her cheeks blushed remembering him, his smile, gentle words, and convictions.
She wanted to call him even though they had just said good-bye. She knew this was irrational, they hardly knew one another, and besides she wasn’t the sort of girl for him. He was smart in ways she wasn’t, but also, and more importantly, he was Amish. Marigold accidentally wore see-through dresses and cursed when she forgot her wallet, and she was far from religious. She’d never gone to Sunday school.
Her phone buzzed to life and she saw there were a dozen missed texts from her mom and brother. She intentionally avoided checking her phone and email and no longer belonged to any social networks. She joked that Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter, and YouTube were all trigger words. She said it like a joke, but it wasn’t. They really did make her anxious, embarrassed.
Her family knew this about her, how useless it was to even try to get in touch with her this way, so she was confused as she scrolled through the texts that had come over the course of the afternoon, suddenly scared something serious had happened.
Mom: Please call.
Mom: Where are you? Don’t freak out. He didn’t mean it like that.
Mom: Seriously worrying us. Please call, are you alone?
Cedar: He’s a dick. I’ll stop by tonight. It’s okay.
And then one from just a few minutes earlier.
Mom: I’m getting take-out with Lily. Please come home ASAP. Dinner together tonight. Mandatory.
She set her phone down, confused. Part of her wanted to text Cedar to find out what the hell they were talking about, but a bigger part didn’t want to. She would find out soon enough, and whatever it was, it wasn’t good. She could wait for bad news.
Marigold decided to bake something while she waited for them. The kitchen had become her sanctuary this past year, as she taught herself the basics from cookbooks and quickly gained confidence, taking on more challenging lessons like how to make perfect caramel sauce and pipe frosting and bake artisan loaves of bread. Walking into the kitchen, she ran her hand over the granite countertop anxiously, thinking about the texts. She turned the oven on to three hundred fifty degrees and began pulling out ingredients, knowing if the house smelled of chocolate brownies, any bad news would be easier to bear.
She broke eggs in sugar and creamed them before adding the flour and rich cocoa. Beating the mixture by hand was the only way Marigold could create the right consistency for this decadent treat. The batter filled a greased pan and she slid it into the oven, setting the timer.
Marigold poured herself iced tea and opened the back patio door to wait, but let out a yelp of surprise at seeing her dad sitting out there, alone. He didn’t hear her; he just sat staring at his phone.
“Dad?” she asked, thinking he was supposed to be at a book signing tonight. “What are you doing here?”
“All hail, the golden child arrives.”
“Sorry, what? I didn’t know anyone was out here. I thought you had a signing.”
“It was postponed.”
“What?”
“Postponed.” His word was loud and cold and surprised her.
“Why?”
“Bureaucracy.” His word slurred, and only then did she notice a bottle of Jameson on the patio table, the glass in his hand.
“What’s going on?” She wanted to ask what the texts were about, but she was scared to press him when he was like this.
“You didn’t see?” He laughed. “Figures, you’re never where you are supposed to be, are you, Goldie? Think nothing affects you. Think your mother is the Devil for caring.”
“I didn’t say Mom was the Devil.”
“Didn’t you though?” He snarls his lip, shaking his head at his oldest daughter. “By doing everything in your power to make her life miserable?”
The timer went off, beeping through the heavy, drunken words. Words she knew he used in an effort to hurt, to deflect. Words she wouldn’t take to heart.
“I need to get the brownies.”
Marigold flipped off the timer and pulled the brownies from the oven. Setting them on the counter, her breath caught on her father’s words. What in the world was he talking about? Turning around she screamed, surprised to see her brother standing there, a bowl of Fro-Yo in his hand. Two yelps in one night felt like a lot. It seemed as if more would come.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Cedar said, handing the fruit laden bowl to her.
“What’s this for?” she was suspicious of him. He was her closest ally in this house, but they both knew that was a stretch. He wasn’t exactly a supportive force in her life, just another pair of judgmental eyes.
“Did you get my text?”
“Yeah,” Marigold said softly, knowing whatever it was, it was coming out now. She wanted to stall. “Dad’s here. Outside, drunk. Incoherent and condemning as usual.”
“So you heard?”
“Heard what, exactly? Mom texted and so did you, but I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Don’t you read the news?” Cedar shook his head at her, like she was a freak, an alien. Not his sister.
“Not really. Not today at least.”
“Well, you need to.” Cedar pulled out his phone and handed it to her. It was an op-ed piece on the Huffington Post. “There are dozens like that, popping up everywhere.”
‘In Archer’s latest release, Man of Steel, he offers the American people basic tools to generate productivity and business during economic downfall.
However, productivity seems to be at a standstill in Archer’s immediate family. In a Huff Post interview this morning [link] Archer made fiery statements in regard to his eighteen-year-old daughter, the former YouTube sensation, which have caught fire.
“Her inability to make decisions about her future has nothing to do with me. She’s lazy, plain and simple. Just another face in a sea of teenagers who think they’ll always be rescued. She spent a year making public displays of idiocy on the Internet and now wants to be rescued. I wasn’t rescued … I pu
lled myself up by my bootstraps and made my way; my grandmother was the only family I had. My daughter has everything but wants none of it.”
Marigold pressed the phone to her chest, not wanting to read anymore. She didn’t want to be rescued, not by her father, not by anyone. This was just another way to push her away, point out to the world how she was a failure. A lost cause. Alone.
“It’s not so bad, I mean, it’s Dad, he’s always an ass-hat,” Cedar reassured her as Mom and Lily walked in the front door, bags of food in their arms.
“Goldie, thank god you’re here.” Her mom’s face rounded the corner, relief flooding her face. “You never answered my texts, I thought for sure you’d jumped off the roof or something.”
“That’s not funny,” Marigold said quietly, but no one heard her. She knew her parents were angry about her choices, but she couldn’t believe her dad would say that publicly. She felt judged enough as it was.
“It’s not that big of a deal. And the thing is, it’s kind of true.” Lily crossed her arms.
“Don’t say that. Did she read it then?” Eileen asked Cedar.
“I showed her one article, she didn’t want to read anymore.”
“Typical.” Lily rolled her eyes.
“Well, she shouldn’t. It’s only going to hurt her; you know how sensitive she is. Have you heard from your father?”
“He’s outside.”
“I didn’t expect that.” Eileen pursed her lips. “This is awkward.”
“I’m right here,” Marigold said, but no one heard her say that, either. Instead they all turned to the patio door as her dad walked inside, raising a glass to his family.
“Max,” Eileen said. “I tried calling you all day.” She walked over and gave him a hug.
The children watched their parents embrace. Marigold felt her brother’s fuming, her sister’s confusion. Lily looked pityingly at her older sister with her big, round eyes. Marigold looked away and met Cedar’s gaze instead.
“You owe her an apology, Dad,” he said on his sister’s behalf.
“For what? Do you disagree with what I said?” her dad asked.
“It wasn’t very nice.”
“But you agree?” her dad pressed. “Because I’m not going to make apologies for the truth. You’re a philosophy major, you can appreciate my erudite take on false praise, sugar coating reality.” He poured himself another glass of whisky, eyes locked on his only son. The son that forced him into a life of fatherhood, one all the children knew he never much wanted. That was clear every time he became inebriated past the point of socially acceptable drunkenness.
“Marigold didn’t deserve that.”
“She can speak for herself.”
But she didn’t. She just looked around the room, seeing her family for what they were. A mother who gave up her ideals for a man who offered her a better stipend as his wife than a protestor could ever garnish. A brother who had convictions, but when pressed couldn’t stay true to them. A sister who judged heartlessly. A father who cared more about self than the preservation of family.
She knew that left her on the other side of everything.
“Can we just forget about this?” Eileen asked. “Put out a press release, Max, and we’ll pretend it didn’t happen. We really don’t need this drama now.”
“They want to interview her,” Cedar said. “All the bloggers are calling for her side.”
“She can’t do that. She’s a liability,” Eileen said quickly.
“She will not be the face of our family,” Lily said, adamant.
“Don’t worry, guys,” Marigold tried to reassure them. “There’s no way I am going to be the face of anything.”
“I’ll release a statement in the morning. Nothing will change over a few sentences that are true.” Max looked at Marigold, disappointment filling his face. “This wouldn’t have happened you know, if you’d done what you were supposed to.”
Somehow this was her fault and Marigold didn’t argue. She nodded ever so slightly, enough to tip the tears back in her eyes. Enough to muster the courage to walk out of the kitchen. Enough to avoid the people meant to protect and love her.
She walked away and didn’t look back, not knowing where she was going.
Abel
He didn’t call her.
When he returned from the museum he told Lacey about his day with Marigold. Lacey seemed surprised, but he was also obviously high.
“Are you on something?” Abel asked as he took a seat in the beanbag chair on the floor. Lacey was easy to get along with, and Abel didn’t want to hassle him, but he also didn’t want to have his status as a Jamestown student put in jeopardy because of his roommate’s habits.
“Want some?” Lacey pulled a stick of beef jerky from his bag.
Abel took it and read the label, soft and chewy with teriyaki flavor, an original cannabis-infused product, recommended use: 1 inch.
Shaking his head, Abel handed it back. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“Ain’t no thang.”
“Are you like an original gangster or something?” Abel asked.
“I had no idea the Amish were so progressive. You know about OG’s?”
“Honestly, no,” he said laughing. “But I’ve heard my friend Joshua use the term when he was high.”
“Okay, back to the girl. What’s she like?”
“She’s everything. She isn’t intense, she’s soft. I know it sounds corny, but she reminds me of home.”
After taking another bite from his jerky, Lacey gave him a sidelong glance.
“You think you can handle a non-Amish girl? I mean, no offense, but you’re experience is limited.”
“What do you know about my experience?” Abel knew Lacey was right though, all day he’d felt a few steps behind Marigold with her unexpected laugh and bright eyes and absolute ease. Realizing he was totally out of his league with her, he found himself fumbling for the jerky and taking a bite.
“Abel, you pissed your entire family off to come here. Maybe focus on the Intensive, it would suck to lose your edge because of some girl no matter how hot she is.”
Nodding slowly, Abel took his advice. He had to trust Lacey more than anyone else here because he had exactly zero experience with English girls. If Lacey thought he should back off Marigold, maybe he should.
“But you’re all about the girls here, Lacey, why is it different for me?”
“Because you have a hell of a lot more at stake than I do.” Lacey, who had clearly consumed more than the recommended inch of dried meat and pot, was giving reasonable advice.
Advice that left Abel conflicted. He didn’t want to back off.
The pace of school began to pick up on Monday morning, which was good for Abel. He did best when he was overworked, when his mind was filled with projects and deadlines and ideas. All week he’d felt idle.
Except when he’d been with Marigold.
Marigold, with her angelic hair and nonjudgmental eyes. Marigold, who was an enigma, a passage straight out of a Shakespearean play.
Marigold, the girl he swore he saw when he walked into Practical Business Application.
“What do you want?” the girl asked. “You’re totally staring at me.”
Not Marigold. Marigold belonged in the clouds, where the atmosphere was gentle and soft. He’d made a mistake by letting her evaporate. Obviously he’d never take the advice from a stoned guy again.
“Sorry. You look like someone I know,” he said, awkwardly taking a seat next to her.
“Well, I don’t know you.”
Her eyes were the same though, and so was her hair, her shape. It dawned on him.
“You’re Lily, Marigold’s sister,” he said sitting next to her.
“Um. Yes. We share the same DNA. That’s basically it.”
“I see that.” Abel tried to hide his smile, these sisters were nothing alike, that was clear.
“You know her or something?”
“Ja, we’re friends.”<
br />
“Why am I not surprised?”
Professor Trape walked in the room, but instead of describing the syllabus or highlighting the “importance of a program such as this” like last week, he explained how study groups were an integral part of the Business Intensive. The groups were important, as the final test of the course would be given as a group, and the group with the highest grade would earn a handwritten letter of recommendation. A letter that had never once, in all the fourteen years Trape taught this course, resulted in anything less than acceptance into the School of Business at Jamestown University.
The classroom of twenty students went quiet, everyone hanging on each word from Trape’s mouth. This was the reason Abel was here, the part he hadn’t told his parents. The secret possibility of attending the most prestigious University in the country.
And you know, disappoint his entire community.
“I suggest you take the next week to analyze your assets and those of your classmates. In one week, come to class prepared to pick your groups. As a cohort, you will be spending countless hours together, you’re in the same seminars and lectures for this Intensive.”
Lacey raised his hand, “What is the final test on exactly?” Abel knew that while he liked to get high, he was also smart. Smart enough to get accepted here and smart enough to be in a group with.
“That will be revealed over the course, though you already have the syllabus and course reading material. Anything is fair game.”
“But once we pick our group, it’s final?” a girl with thick black glasses asked.
“Exactly.” Without any more discussion, Trape moved onto a lecture titled, Crucial Skills for Tomorrow’s Leaders.
Abel pulled out his notebook and began taking copious notes, silently observing the classmates around him. Everyone sat bent over their tablets and computers. He didn’t necessarily intend to go to Jamestown for college, but he did intend to win. He didn’t come all this way for nothing.
Later that night, Abel and Lacey sat at a table in the dining hall discussing the study groups. Abel ate a plate of penne pasta and wilted greens, wishing for a tuna casserole in his mom’s kitchen. Lacey sat with a tray of desserts. He had the munchies. Again.