Mara’s brows knit even deeper together. “What do you mean—you’re not going to college in the fall? You just got accepted to State—I thought…”
“I know. And I don’t want to go to State, or anywhere else, right now. I want to take a gap year, explore, maybe do an internship at a Black-owned farm or—”
“Absolutely not,” Mara cuts in. “You’re going to college as planned. End of discussion.”
“You bet your butt,” Alice chimes in. “Junie—this is not a smart plan. Your car? A young woman alone? Just no.”
“Listen!” Juniper tries. “Please, can you hear me out? It’s not like Ineverwant to go to college, I just need some time. I want to take a year, that’s all. I can defer or reapply next year.”
“JUNIPER ANDREA JONES.” Mara is yelling now. “You will do no such thing. Who even put this idea in your head—I am so—and you think, what, we’re just going to fund this little ‘gap year’? Because we are absolutely not. We could barely afford to send you to State if it wasn’t for my faculty discount.”
“Junie—we love you so much, darling. But your mom and I, well—this is just not what we envisioned for your life.”
Juniper snorts. “So, let me get right. After over a year of you two barely being able to agree onanything, of almost imploding our family,thisis what you’re going to agree on. Mama, I thought at least youmight understand—being an artist and all, and you’ve always encouraged me to be one with nature, follow my own path.”
I give Grammy a side-eye from the couch, where the two of us sit awkwardly watching all of this unfold. I guess we’re not the only ones with drama today.
“Junie, watch your tone when you talk to us,” Mara snaps.
“It’s fine,” Juniper says. “You know what, how about we just drop this for now. It’s Christmas. Let’s not ruin it. This is why I didn’t tell you. But you know, I’m going to be eighteen soon, and you can’t really tell me what to do.”
“Oh really?” Mara scoffs. “As long as you live under my roof, where I pay bills, I can tell you what to do.”
“I know that’s right,” Grammy whispers next to me. “This is better than my shows.” I give her a sharp look because this isnotthe time. Juniper’s eyes have gone dark and stormy.
“Our house,” Alice says then. “This is our house.”
“This is my life,” Juniper says in a quiet yet forceful tone I’ve never heard her use before. “Not yours. I will live it how I please.”
Mara ignores Alice. “So, you want to go live in your car, fine! But we are not supporting youat all. You will be on your own.”
Tears are streaming down from Juniper’s eyes now. “That’s why I’ve been saving money. I don’t expect you to pay for my whole life—but I did hope you’d support me, at least emotionally.”
“We do support you, honey,” Alice starts. “This is just—this is a lot. And we weren’t trying to worry you, but money is kind of tight these days.”
“What does that mean?” Juniper says.
“Alice, no. Not now,” Mara says.
“Just, listen—why don’t we all take a breather,” Alice says. “Ms. Viv, Lyric—I’m so sorry y’all had to see this. This is not who we are—”
“Oh, but it is!” Juniper says. “This is exactly who we are. A family full of secrets and betrayals.”
Juniper’s arms sag at her sides. Her shoulders are sunken. I watch her face go blank—almost unreadable. But I know that face. It’s the face I used to see staring back at me in the mirror after I’d punched a wall, or destroyed another room, or hurled every horrible word I could at some social worker or foster parent who wasn’t my own grammy. It’s the look that means: I’m so hurt and confused, I can’t feel anything.
I rush to Juniper’s side. “Hey—” I say, touching her arm. “Let’s take a walk? Cool off?”
She startles at my touch, as if she’s forgotten I’m there. She pulls her arm away from me gently, but then says: “OK.”
We bundle up in silence, while Mara and Alice mumble more apologies to Grammy Viv, then retreat to the kitchen to whisper-yell at one another. I think leaving for a bit is a good plan.
“Grammy, will you be fine for a little while?”
“Yes, Lyric, baby. Go on and take your time. I’ll be good.”
“Ready?” I say to Juniper, my hand extended to her.
She looks at my hand for a beat, and then sighs and takes it. We throw on boots and coats in the back entryway, and then I open the back door to a blinding white winter wonderland. Then we walk out into the freeze, our tracks heavy and deep behind us.
