Until today when I forgot the snacks, because every space in my brain was consumed by something else. The bag of Bugles and Nerds Gummy Clusters paid the price for that.
“Well, lucky for you, I made spaghetti.” My mom presses her cheek to Savannah’s. “Go put your stuff in your room and then meet me in the kitchen. I’ve got to finish getting the rest of the extra plates out.”
I pause with my bag halfway up to my shoulder. “Is someone else coming for dinner?”
“The Edens are in town for a few days, I invited them last night. They’re so excited to see you and hear all about school.” She smiles before throwing her towel over her shoulder and heading back toward the kitchen.
Savannah gives me a gentle nudge, and I realize I’m still standing with my bag hanging. “Come on, Honor Roll, you got this,” she whispers.
The Edens have been coming over for family dinner for as long as I can remember. We could order pizza and eat it straight out of the box, and I don’t think they would bat an eye, but my mom is too anal for that.
Long tapered candles light the center of the wooden table, and the velvet green bows wrapped around them match the placemats and cloth napkins.
“So, Chloe, you’re interning with a professor next year, Ihear?” Mr. Eden cups his crystal glass, turning his attention to me.
“Oh, well…” I rub my palms together under the table before cracking my knuckles. “Not really.”
“It’s a teacher's assistant position, Ken,” my mom corrects.
Savannah’s hand pats my knee once and then she squeezes. I take a breath, settling my hands between my legs and look over at Mr. Eden. “Yeah, but, um…well, the one I applied for, I didn’t get, so…” My shoulders reach my ears, but they stay there because there’s nothing carefree about the shrug.
“Are they crazy? Do they know who you are?!” Mrs. Eden pipes up. “You’re Chloe Cooper, for Christ’s sake. No one would have done a better job than you,” she says, lifting her wine glass to her mouth. Janet Eden has been friends with my mom since before I was born, and she sounds just like my mom because they’re practically the same person at this point, but I think she also genuinely believes there isn’t anything that I can’t do either.
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, chancing a peek over at my parents. My dad has a crease between his brows but it’s not disappointment there. It’s the same odd expression my mom has. It’s something like confusion mixed with…oh shit.
“Honey. Why didn’t you say something sooner?” my mom asks.
“I just found out yesterday.”
My dad is still processing, but when I look around the table, at the way my mom’s head is slightly tilted, and how she looks like she’s a second away from jumping up to hug me, it’s clear as day. They pity me.
My childhood bedroom is exactly the way I left it. The same purple comforter tucks us into the full size bed. The eight-footlong shelf on the opposite wall holds every trophy, certificate, and medal I’ve ever received. My desk even has the same books and pictures scattered around.
“Are you sleeping?” Savannah whispers in the dark room.
“If I was, that scary Chucky voice would have woken me up.”
She laughs and I feel her roll over to face me. It’s her silent way of telling me to get it all out.
“I don't even know why I’m so upset,” I huff. “It’s an internship I have no interest in, for a hopeful letter for more schooling that I don’t need. I think if anything, I’m just upset I let my parents down.”
“Hello?! Were we in the same room? They were not at all disappointed.”
“No, you’re right,” I say. “They pitied me. For the first time, they got to see me fail and they pitied me.”
“I don’t think they were that either, but forget about them for a minute.” I make out the way one of her arms waves around in front of us. “I think this is the universe telling you something.”
“Mmm,” I muse. “And what pray tell is she telling me?”
“She’s saying, ‘Chloe, it’s time.’” Her fingers begin tapping away on my arm. “Get back to clickity-clacking, you’ve got stories to tell,” she says, her voice more haunting than whimsical.
My lips tug up despite my best efforts to remain closed off to this conversation.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m just scared,” I admit.
“Okay, fair. What are you scared of?”
