“Will do.”
The window.
I drop the soiled hand towel out the window. I’ll pick it up when I leave, dispose of it on the way home. On my way backto my parents’ empty house. I suppose I can’t blame them for working at the office on Thanksgiving. It is a weekday, after all.
“What do you mean you aren’t going to college?” I think my ears are ringing. Did someone just punch me in the head? Glancing around the table, I am shocked—stunned—to find that Olivia’s parents and brother are unaffected by this news. It’s like she just casually placed a bomb in front of herself at the dining table. A bomb that will only blow up in her pretty face later in life. And no one else can see it but me.
Olivia smiles as she turns her gaze to me. Her hazel eyes always look lit from within. Right now they are glowing amber and filled with mischief. “I’ve been accepted into the graduate school program in Pittsburgh.”
“What kind of graduate school? How do you get into graduate school if you don’t go to college? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about ballet. Duh.” She looks over at her brother. “You didn’t tell him about this?”
“Believe it or not, sis, you rarely come up in our conversations.”
“Whatever. I’ll be training with the Ballet Theatre in the pre-professional division. It’s an amazing intensive program.”
“In Pittsburgh?” I huff out. “Pennsylvania?”
“At least it’s closer to home than Seattle or Houston,” sighs Mrs. Montgomery.
“And cheaper,” mumbles Mr. Montgomery.
I can see that her parents are resigned to this but not happy about it.
“Well, I would have been happy to go to any of them, but I chose Pittsburgh to be closer to you guys, so you’re welcome,” Olivia says.
“Did you get a scholarship?”
Staring down at her mashed potatoes as she traces a pattern into it with her fork, she says, “They gave me a partial scholarship.”
Monty scoffs. “Partial. It only covers like ten percent of your tuition.”
“Well, some people didn’t get anything,” she snaps.
My ears feel hot now. Why is this news so upsetting to me? She’s happy. She has always wanted to be a ballerina. She’s Tiny Dancer. I should congratulate her. “Did you even apply to colleges?”
Her mouth is full of stuffing. “I applied.”
“So, you didn’t get in anywhere?”
After swallowing, she says, “I got in everywhere that I applied. This may come as a shock to you, but college was always going to be my fallback in case I didn’t get accepted to the good training schools.”
Her brother snorts and shakes his head but says nothing.
“It’s fine, Johnny,” her saint of a mother says. “This is what she wants. Would you like more gravy, dear?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Montgomery, but it’s not fine. Yes, I would like more gravy—thank you.”
Mrs. Montgomery passes the gravy boat to Olivia, who carefully places it in front of me, grinning.
I should just leave it. I’m not family. It’s not my place to have an opinion. Not at Thanksgiving dinner, anyway.
I take a deep breath and then say, “It’s not fine. Because your daughter has an excellent brain, and regardless of her talent and passion for ballet, her brain is the only thing that she can rely on to provide for her long-term. That is, if she plans to providefor herself financially.” I don’t turn toward her when I say, “If your plan is to marry a wealthy man while pursuing your lifelong dream of dancing, well, that’s up to you, I suppose. It’s just disappointing.”
Is that what I think? It just came out. I don’t even know why this is so upsetting to me.
“First of all, I’m not getting married untilaftermy dance career is over,” she says calmly. “And when I have sex, I will always use two forms of birth control.”
