Page 13 of Come Break My Heart Again

My parents are waiting, beaming, beneath the broad branches of one of the many old trees that cover campus. They weren’t this jubilant at my college graduation three years ago. Probably because we all knew that was simply a stop along the way, and this was the final destination. A relief to reach. But I have to fake the answering smile I know they’re expecting.

My shoulders square under the suffocating blanket of my graduation gown and hood, the sticky humidity in the air seeping into the heavy fabric. The pride on their faces is almost enough to make the past three years worth it. Almost.

“Wait! Stop!” my mom calls out.

I pause, nearly stumbling over a gnarled root.

“This lighting is just perfect, and I’ve got the law library right behind … there.”

“I can keep walking?” I ask dryly.

“Get over here, kiddo,” my dad says.

The wide grin on his face is both a surprise and expected. I’m so used to his stoicism. My father doesn’t share his feelings freely. He keeps most of his emotions locked away. A trait I’ve been told we share and a comparison I don’t find flattering.

But today is his dream come true. For my dad, there’s no greater achievement than me graduating from his alma mater and pursuing a career in law. That’s success to him, confirmation I was raised right. If Rose were still alive, maybe he wouldn’t have cared as much about what I did with my life. But she’s not; she’s gone. And ghosts can’t struggle with choices or make mistakes or earn degrees. Rose was the daughter who went into the office with my dad during the summer, while I was the one who went to sleepaway camp in Maine.

My dad hugs me more tightly than I’m expecting. Hard enough I feel a little guilty for my thoughts. Maybe I’m not the spare daughter in his mind. Maybe it matters to him thatIwent to law school, not just that he guided one of his children to what he considers to be the best career path.

“Congratulations, Elodie,” he tells me, dropping his arms and taking a step back. “We’re so very proud of you.”

“Walking across the stage wasn’t all that difficult.”

Another rare smile appears as he reaches out to straighten my crimson stole. “The work it took to get here didn’t go unnoticed. And to celebrate …” He pulls a small box out from inside of his suit jacket. The wooden surface glows a soft honey color in the sunshine as he holds it out to me. “Don’t smoke them all today. Or any of them ever. But that’s what my father gave me when I graduated law school, so I thought …”

I flip open the lid, inhaling the scent of leather, wood, and tobacco. Rub my finger against the paper wrapping, remembering the one and only time I’ve smoked. Resenting howhe’sthe place my brain always goes first.

My grandfather was a tough, harsh man who made it easy to see where my father learned his stolid demeanor. I’m not surprised to learn his graduation gift to my father wasn’t a sentimental one.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“And a moreappropriategift.” Even without the heavy emphasis my mom places onappropriate, I’d know she disapproves of the cigars. She considerscoffeean illicit substance after all.

I take the paper envelope she’s holding out, knowing it contains a check without looking inside. “You guys paid for law school and my place. You don’t need to?—”

“We wanted to,” my mom interrupts. “You’re our only child. Let us spoil you.”

The second reminder of Rose. The first being the bouquet of pink blossoms my mom is holding. Roses are the only type of flowers she’ll buy. A sweet, sad tribute. But just like the breakfast I ate for years, I think it means she’s forgotten peonies are my favorite. Or that Lily is my middle name.

We rarely discuss Rose directly, but she hovers as a phantom presence anyway.

I’m always surrounded by ghosts.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.” My mom steps forward to kiss my cheek, pressing the bunch of blooms into my hand. An overlooked thorn snags my sleeve. “You earned it.”

Earned a degree, she means. Earned their pride. Earned this money.

Because I wasn’t brave enough to find out what I’d end up with if I didn’t follow the expected path. I’m somehow resentful and relieved I’ll never know.

“Now, let’s get a few more photos, and then you should really take that robe off, dear. Your face is awfully red.”

I pose for photos—with my parents, with fellow graduates, by myself—until my facial muscles are quivering from the strain of holding smiles. My mom must have hundreds from today. She made me and Prescott stand for dozens in front of the law building before the ceremony.

Atlantic Oyster Bar was my request for lunch. The food is overpriced and the atmosphere overly formal, but the view overlooking the harbor that was once teeming with tea can’t be beaten. Seaport has always felt like the least restrictive section of the city to me. All the towering buildings and crowded streets are invisible from this vantage point.

The restaurant’s decor is classy and elegant, decorated in shades of white, pale blue, and navy with a clear nautical inspiration. We’re led to an outdoor table, the breeze reviving my smothered skin as I inhale deeply.

---