“You let Natalie quit dance,” Coco says, and now even Dad looks up.
“You want to quit altogether?” he says.
“No . . . I just don’t want it to be my whole life, is all.”
Jack officially checks out of the conversation when he starts dropping linguine noodles under the table for Gus, who’s always on top of our feet while we eat. Mom sighs and runs her hands through her hair before addressing Coco again. “Well, your father and I will have to talk.”
Per usual, Mom’s fighting for a serene expression, though it’s obvious that internally she’s sobbing and wondering what anti-dance god has cursed her family.
At the end of dinner, Jack ambles off to play video games, and Coco goes to pack for a sleepover at Abby’s, leaving me to help Mom and Dad carry the dishes into the kitchen. When the dishwasher’s loaded, I lean against the island, send a prayer to Grandmother, and force out the words “Can I talk to you guys for a second?”
“Sure, honey,” Mom says. They must think it’s bad because Mom leads the way to their bedroom. The rest of the house is clean and quaint, carefully designed to look homey without being cluttered, warm without being stifling, and country without being hick, but Mom and Dad never bothered giving their own room the same attention. It’s clean but not neat, the dresser covered in mail and the plaid chairs beyond the bed loaded with clean laundry. The walls are the same eggshell color they were when Mom and Dad bought the house, and the bedding, curtains, side tables, and lamps are so unintentionally mismatched that the aesthetic can’t even be called “eclectic.” When Mom picks up new pieces from estate sales and antique stores, the furniture being replaced typically comes up here to die. If Pier 1 Imports sponsored a production of The Lion King, this is where the hyenas would live.
As I follow Mom and Dad around the bed, I think about Beau’s credenza, the singular bright spot in a room I know I’d find depressing if not for the person who lives in it. Unlike Mom, I’ve never happy-cried over pretty furniture, but seeing something Beau made with his hands—that wouldn’t exist without him—turned me into goop. I think right then he could’ve told me he was the one who spread out the stars and I would have been neither surprised nor any more impressed than I already was. Thinking about that night makes my insides feel warm and mushy and a little achy all over again. It’s not why this conversation’s so important, but it is helping me go through with it. I want those three extra weeks. I want them so badly.
Mom perches on the edge of the bed and pats the blankets beside her. I sit down, and Dad eases into one of the chairs across from me.
“I’ve been seeing a counselor,” I say.
“You have?” Mom says. “Dr. Langdon?”
“No, not Dr. Langdon. She works at NKU. I found her online, and she specializes in . . . my issues, I guess.”
“How are you paying for it?” Dad says.
“It’s free. I mean, it’s helping Al—Dr. Chan with her research, so it’s sort of a trade.”
“Oh.” Mom nods encouragingly. “That’s great, honey. Isn’t that great, Patrick?”
“It’s great,” Dad confirms, but his eyes are discerning, and I know he senses there’s more to it than what I’ve said.
“We’ve been making real progress,” I go on, “but we’re not finished, and . . .” I gather my courage and push forward. “And I want to keep seeing her for as long as I can.”
“Would she be open to that?” Mom says. “Long-distance sessions? Maybe video chat or something?”
“No,” I say.
“Maybe she could recommend someone near Providence then.”
I sigh and crack my knuckles. “Actually, I had another idea.”
When I’ve spit it all out, at least the parts that leave out eerie warnings and alternate realities, Mom and Dad just stare blankly at me. To my surprise, Dad speaks first. “Well, sugar, sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”
Mom looks up at him, her face frozen in something that resembles terror. She swallows audibly and tries to compose herself. “Honey, I thought you loved this trip.”
“I do,” I hurry to say before Mom’s spirit can wilt. “And I’ll be really, really sad to miss it. But this is really, really important to me. If I’m going to go to Brown, I feel like I need it.”
“If?” Mom’s voice cracks. “What do you mean, if ?”
Dad clears his throat again. “You’re going to Brown, Natalie. It’s settled. We didn’t take out a small fortune of loans for nothing.”