“I got in a fight. But it’sfine.”
“It’s fine?” his dad yelled. “Rafe, you are an ocean away all bruised up. You don’t want us to worry about you, yet you give us reasons toworry.”
He supposed his dad had apoint.
“Is this because you’reAmerican?”
“No. Not quite.” Rafe wished he hadn’t been so truthful. “I just woke up. Can we talklater?”
“No,” his mom said firmly. “We’ve barely spoken to you over the past month. All we’ve gotten are emails about your classes and that you saw Stonehenge. I want to catch up, especially now.” She was no doubt talking about hisface.
“Things are good. I’m havingfun.”
“We know. When did you decide to become a bartender?” his mom asked. He could hear the imaginary jury gasp at therevelation.
“How did you knowthat?”
“You posted pictures toInstagram.”
“You read my Instagram feed? But it’s private.” Only his friends could see his posts, and he hadn’t given his parents his username. He wanted one thing of his own that he didn’t have toshare.
“Melody Keener’s mother came up to me in the supermarket and told me you were bartending and you were dating a very cute youngman.”
Melody Keener was one of those high school friends he pretty much lost touch with once they graduated, yet still followed each other on socialmedia.
“Cunt,” Rafe said under hisbreath.
“What did you say?” His dad teetered on the verge of yelling, and his mom’s look of disgusted shock was nobetter.
“Nothing. Sorry.” Rafe’s head pounded as much from his bruises as from this interrogation. No amount of Advil could make this go away. “And I’m not a bartender. I’m a runner, but I got to take on a slow bartending shift once. Things seem more exaggerated on socialmedia.”
“You were able to get a job legally over there?” his dadasked.
“Yes. I looked into it. I can work up to twenty hours a week with a studentvisa.”
His parents traded a surprised look, but they also seemed impressed at his duediligence.
“Interesting,” his momsaid.
“Why are you working at a bar? We wanted you to focus on your schoolwork and to enjoy being abroad,” his dadsaid.
“Because I’m an adult, and I want to make my own money without you looking at my checkingaccount.”
“What do you want to buy that you don’t want us to know about?” his mom asked. Rafe knew thesubtext.
“I’m not doing drugs. I just…I want some freedom.” This seemed as good a time as any to share his other news. “I’m also, well I’m thinking of maybe possibly extending my study abroad trip for the rest of theyear.”
“What?” his dad asked. His mom’s expression secondedthat.
“I’m having a great time in England. I’m just hitting my stride, and I want to stay a littlelonger.”
“A little longer? A whole year of your college education will be spent abroad. That seems like a lot,” his momsaid.
“It’s actually very common at Browerton. Kids extend their trips. I just have to get permission and send in the extra payment, which I will pay you back everycent.”
His dad waved off the suggestion. Money was the least of their worries, something Rafe never appreciated enough. His parents unloaded a barrage of questions athim.
“Will this jeopardize your ability to graduate ontime?”
