Tati apologized profusely for being at least partly responsible for that afternoon that ended everything between me and Matt. “It’s probably for the best. You didn’t want to pull a Jacki Reed anyway, did you?”
Jacki Reed was a girl I went to high school with, and I used to tell her story to my friends like a cautionary tale. Jacki Reed used to brag at the lunch tables about her college boyfriend off in Nevada somewhere. For a long time, none of the other senior girls at my high school even believed the dude existed. Jacki always acted like they were so evolved because they were in a long-distance relationship—like that meant he liked her more. She actually referred to it as an LDR. I told her that you can’t make up acronyms for everything; people won’t know what you’re talking about. When we graduated, she enrolled in a shitty junior college in Nevada just to be near him, even though she got accepted to Yale. He dumped her two months later. Now she lives back home and works at The Dairy Queen. We all thought she was the biggest moron.
Poor foolish girl was probably just in love.
It wasn’t Tati’s fault, or the Jacki Reed story. Matt and I fell apart because the walls were closing in on us. Him serving the annulment papers to me proved to me that he wasn’t all-in like he said he was. He probably realized what I had realized: we were on separate paths.
Graduation was approaching so I spent a lot of time in my room filling out forms for grants and trying to hide from everyone. Matt tried to stop me in the hall once, but I ignored him. I regretted it later when I saw that he had left a sandwich for me outside my door. I cried the entire time I ate it.
There was a stack of mail on my desk that I had been ignoring for a week because I knew what one particular piece contained. It was in a regular envelope, addressed to me by my mother. There’s nothing cheery about a standard, white envelope. I picked it up and stared at it. The front return address was blurry, like someone had spilled water on it. I realized, after reading the letter, that it could have been her tears.
Finally, one morning, I decided to open it.
Dear Graceland,
I’m so sorry that I couldn’t tell you this in person but there is just not enough money in the bank to pay for a flight home for you this summer. Your brother needed a new backpack for school and we hadn’t bought your sisters any new school clothes this year. Everything is falling apart. How can I say these words to you? Your father’s drinking has gotten to be too much for me. We are getting a divorce and he is going to live with your uncle. Your brother and sisters and I are going to move into Grandma’s until we can get on our feet.
I know your father loves you and we are so proud of you. We don’t want you to take any of this on as your burden. Right now we just can’t help out, and I don’t think we will be able to afford to come for your graduation. Please understand. You’ve always been so independent, and we didn’t think you would want us there anyway. You’ve always been able to make ends meet on your own, Grace, and we are proud of you for that. We love you. When you can afford it, come home and visit and we will make a bed for you on Grandma’s couch.
I must tell you we had to sell the piano and some of your things that I don’t think you wanted anyway to help pay for your sister’s tooth. We love you. Keep doing a good job.
Love, Mom
To say I was hysterical would be an understatement. I could not stop crying. How could they? I thought. How could they just abandon me because of their own mistakes? I didn’t even have a car or money to live on, and my mother was using my sister’s tooth as an excuse again when I had given her half of my student loan for it. Where had that money even gone? It was all too depressing to think about.
The second envelope was a notice from the Student Financial Services office stating that I still owed eight hundred dollars for housing. Sitting in the corner of my room as the tears ran steadily down my cheeks, I thought about all the things I could do. I could do some cello gigs, but that would be a minimal amount of money.
With my knees propped up and my head dropped down between them, I sobbed. I could sell my cello. I could go home and live on my grandma’s couch and get a job at the Dairy Queen. I could give up.
And then I heard Matt mumble, “Baby?” as he pushed my door open. I hadn’t heard his voice in three weeks.
“I’m fine, Matt.”
He came over to me. “What happened?”
Without looking up, I held the two tear-soaked pieces of mail toward him. He read them quietly then sat down next to me.
“I can help you.”
“No.”
He brushed his thumb over my cheek, capturing the tears. “I have money to cover this.”
“No, Matt. You’re going to ask your dad and I don’t want him ‘bailing me out’ again.”
“It’s not my father’s money. I sold a photo. I was going to tell you but you wouldn’t fucking talk to me.”