Page 98 of Limbo

We never talked about any trip, but she doesn’t need to know that. Her face pinches worse than before, and I glance over at Jordan and wink, sipping my wine. He’s not the only one who enjoys screwing with people.

With a smile on his lips, his gaze softens to my favorite one. I could get lost in it, forgetting everyone and everything, if not for his father asking me about sailing. A subject I have no knowledge of, but he seems excited to teach me.

The previously chatty Mrs. Waters has nothing more to say from across the table. Jordan stays quiet, too, eyes never leaving me to the point that my cheeks blush. The longer he stares, the more rigid his mother’s posture grows.

After Greta brings out dessert, the conversation moves to Dustin’s plans after he graduates law school. Jordan’s mother perks up at the topic, and she veers the discussion to her younger son. When she mentions the upcoming LSATs and an internship over the summer with one of his father’s associates, Jordan’s attention returns to the rest of the table.

“Dad, let’s go smoke a cigar,” he says.

“We’ve been talking, honey,” Mrs. Waters says. “We think you should attend a school out of state.”

“Think or decided?” Jordan asks, his tone clipped.

A small smile forms, tight at the corners of her mouth. “We strongly suggest.”

“What if I strongly suggest I not go to law school at all?”

Dustin sputters out a few coughs while drinking his wine. The commotion steals everyone’s attention, but once he stops, the focus returns to Jordan on our side of the table.

Ray finishes chewing a bite of his dessert. “What would you do as an alternative?”

Jordan hesitates, finger tapping his leg under the table. “I’m working on that.”

“No,” his mother says, shaking her head.

“Carol,” Ray warns, “we can talk about this.”

“No.” She throws her napkin onto her plate. “Jordan will attend law school, and he will do so at a university of our choosing.”

Jordan stops his finger, a determined set to his jaw. “So now you not only dictate what I do but where I do it? What’s wrong with UPenn? It’s good enough for Dustin.”

“Dustin shows good judgment.”

He scoffs. “Wool over the eyes much, Mother?”

Dustin interjects then, and Jordan apologizes for dragging him into it.

I readjust in my seat, uncomfortable when Ray’s gaze meets mine. He sets his fork on his empty plate and wipes his mouth. “This is a discussion for another time, but I think we would be open to a compromise.”

“There will be no discussion,” Carol says. “You will choose an out-of-state school or be on your own next year.” She stands and casts another harsh look in my direction. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go lie down.”

“Perfect.” Jordan does as his mother did, tossing his napkin down. “Then I’ll be on my own.”

The room goes quiet as she storms out, the air thick with unspoken tension. I feel like an intruder. Maybe the catalyst for the entire argument.

She might have been rude to me, but it’s clear that Carol has these dreams and goals for her sons and sees them capable of achieving amazing things. I’ve never known support like that. My parents hate the idea of me living a life better than theirs and want me at their level or lower, so I can’t look down on them. They try to drag me back while his parents focus on driving him forward. Only he seems dead set against letting them. All of these opportunities, and he dismisses them, not interested in the least.

I can’t for the fucking life of me understand why.

Breaking the silence, Ray asks Dustin about a feature fromThe New Yorker. I feel Jordan watching me, but I won’t look at him. After a minute of me avoiding his gaze, he stands. “I’m going to show Callie the rest of the house.”

Ray tells us to find them when we’re finished. Jordan catches my hand in the hall and leads me through the sitting room and then out a set of French doors and onto a brick patio.

“Where are we going?” I ask on our way across the backyard.

He digs his keys out of his pocket. “My room.”

By room, he means a carriage house at the back of the property. He unlocks the door and flips on the lights, walking in. I glance around at a much larger version of his room at the house. Books, guitars, concert merchandise, and other little pieces of him are scattered about the living area we’re standing in. Up an open staircase is a loft with a bed.

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