Mom sniffles. “It will all work out, but in the meantime, things will have to get a little tighter around here.”
“I’ll call on Monday and cancel my classes,” Sky says. “I’ll get a second job and go to school when it’s a better time. I’m sure those scholarships will still—”
“No,” my mom says sharply. “You will not do that, Sky Marie. You will stay enrolled. You will not give up.” She untangles herself from our limbs and stands up. Turning around, she points at me. “And you won’t either. You’re going to college…on scholarships, I guess.” Her eyes move away, and I know they’re seeing her nightstand with its envelopes of saved money.Collegecash will be moved for certain, going towardFoodandRent. Not that there was much to begin with.
“I haven’t been accepted anywhere,” I lie, thinking of the stack of acceptance letters hidden under my mattress. They are all screaming at me, but it’s the one that arrived today that sears me with indignation. Stanford.We’re delighted to inform you…
“You’re kidding me?” Sky asks, eyebrows on her forehead. “AP classes, good grades? And nobody wants you?”
I shake my head and shrug, the lie churning in my stomach. “It’s tough out there, but I’m happy. I need a little time to think about what I want from life. Who really knows at eighteen what they want to do for the rest of their lives?”
My mother stares at me. Her anguish and disappointment has beaten her down. I can tell. On most days she would challenge me, but on this day, she caves.
“You’re going to college one day, Ember. I promise you that.” Her face is earnest.
“Yes, Mom. I will.”
She leaves with slumped shoulders. Sky and I climb in bed, both too shocked to say much. I wait for Sky to fall asleep, and then I feel it. The sting of salt, the burn at the top of my nose. I’m quiet as can be as I cry. Just because I’m letting go of a dream on purpose doesn’t mean I can’t mourn it.
15
Noah
The first thingI do when I wake up is grab my phone. By the time Coach Dalto left last night, it was too late to call Ember. In an apartment that small, it feels like calling her is like calling her mom and sister too. I sent her a message instead, but she didn’t respond, probably because she was already asleep.
And she’s probably still asleep, because it’s six o’clock in the morning. Sleep is but a dream for someone who just found out they’re going to put their cleats on Stanford grass in the fall.
I pull on my running clothes and head downstairs, stopping to grab a set of earbuds from a drawer in the kitchen.
It’s dark outside and the grass is slick with dew. Turning left, I run on our property until our expansive yard gives way to one edge of the vineyard. The blue of the sky is developing into shades of deep purple, like a bruise, and then slowly changes to light pink and orange, like sherbet.
I love it out here, love the way my lungs take in breath, the way the gentle sloping hills make my body work harder. At the top of a hill I pause, turning in a circle. Grapes forever, it feels like. Behind me, in front of me, and beside me. I reach out and gently pinch a large, dusty purple one that sticks out from the bunch.
Last night my father was ecstatic. He shook hands with Coach Dalto and his wife, Priscilla, thanked them again for coming, and for giving me the opportunity. When they left he said nothing of what this could mean for him.Four more years of another son who doesn’t want to learn about the vineyard.
It’s not forever, it’s just for now.
After my run, I shower and eat breakfast. My dad comes in and pours a glass of water. He tosses something into his mouth and swallows the water.
“Too much wine last night?” I ask. Hazard of the job, I suppose.
“Yep. Celebrating your acceptance and got a little ahead of myself.” One side of his mouth turns up into a grin, and he shakes his head. “Poor choices are not only for the young.” He walks to the pantry and steps in. Boxes move across the shelves, and then he steps out with cereal in hand. “What do you think you’ll do about Ember?”
His eyes aren’t on me. They’re focused on pouring his cereal, as if it’s that hard. He grabs the milk from the fridge and adds some to his bowl. Anger flares inside me. When it comes to Ember, it feels like there’s always a fire burning in my chest and the flames need only an errant comment to be teased out.
“Did I miss the segue?” My voice is harsh. “Because it sounds like you were talking about bad decisions, and then you asked about Ember.” I hate how I have to defend her. I never had to defend Kelsey. My parents accepted her without comment.
Dad rubs a hand over his forehead. “Calm down. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was only asking what your plans are.” He looks at me with somber eyes. “You know she’s not going to Stanford.”
I argue without hesitation. “She could. Her grades are Stanford material.”
Dad sets his bowl on the counter and leans against it. His mouth turns down, not a frown but more a pensive hopelessness. “Son, I know what a girl like Ember can do to you. She’ll make you think anything is possible even when it goes against all logic. You’ll start thinking maybe you can work.”
What does that even mean?A girl like Ember?How is she any different from anybody else? I shake my head, looking down at my shoes. The truth is already in my thoughts. She’s different, and I know it. She operates on a different frequency than all the girls running around our high school. Ember is better. Still, I want to know just what my dad meant by that. I open my mouth to challenge him, but stop short when I see his face.
His eyes have gone somewhere, someplace outside this kitchen, away from this house to another time. What is he remembering? I feel uncomfortable, because I know whoever he’s thinking of, it’s not my mom.
“She’ll be something else altogether, a being you didn’t know existed. She’ll make you think any dream you ever had is possible.” He turns his gaze back to me, and he’s back from wherever he went inside his memory. “I’m speaking from experience.”
