Page 70 of One True Loves

“It’s not that.” Wally shakes his head. Inhales, exhales, like he’s gearing up to sprint away. I wonder if I should slow him down, tell him that’s enough for now, because I don’t want to trigger another attack. But he continues on. “Lenore, I didn’t actually graduate.” I can feel my eyes go wide, and I try to get my face under control. “That midterm I failed... it was for agen-ed literature class that I stupidly put off until senior year. I don’t even know how they let me do that, honestly. But I thought it would make the semester easy, especially with the internship, the LSAT, everything... But then I didn’t turn in any of the papers. I couldn’t get myself to start. And I missed the final too, just slept right on through it because I was up all night with anxiety.” He puts his head in his hands. “So, the school let me walk, but I don’t technically have my degree. I’ve been trying to fix it all this summer, retaking the class online, so I can start law school in the fall and Mom and Dad don’t have to know. I only have two papers left and a final to take. I’ve been writing the essays in the Notes app on my phone, and then going into the business center at night to submit them and post in the class discussion board. I used some of my grad money to pay for that stupid expensive Wi-Fi.” He sighs deeply and closes his eyes. “And then it will all be worked out. I can fix my dumb mistakes, if I can just get myself together, get my messed-up brain under control.”

I’m reeling from this reveal. I never in a million years would have expected this. In the past, I would have felt smug, even a little satisfied that the great Wally had fallen. Now I just want to give him a hug. I want to protect him from the way he’s beating himself up.

“Wally,” I start slowly. “Maybe that’s not the best path.”

“It’s the only path,” he says, his eyebrows pressed tightly together. “You know how Mom and Dad are. Can you imagine Dad’s face if he found out I might not go to law school in September?”

I can picture that face clearly. It’s the same one he gave me when they sat me down for a talk after the grad party, lecturing me about how I should be more like Wally.

“But, look at you,” I say, throwing my hands out at him. “You’re in a freaking hospital bed during our European vacation! What will it be like for you in the fall, if you keep going like this? I’m pretty sure law school is one of the most stressful environments ever.”

“Um, I think people in literal war zones would beg to differ,” he says with a smirk. I’m relieved to see a spark of the Wally I know.

“Whatever. You know what I mean. Is this how you want to live your life? Are you even happy?”

He considers it for a second before shaking his head resignedly. “No. No, I’m not happy.”

I squeeze his hand again, leaning closer onto the bed. “You deserve to be happy, Wally. And maybe you will be happy being a lawyer, eventually. But not right now. Not like this. You need to take care of yourself first, so you can keep going. You need to do what’s best for you, outside of Mom and Dad’s expectations.”

I realize as the words come out that this is advice for him, yeah, but it also applies to me, too. Why can I be so sure that it’s right for him to do what makes him happy, but scared to take that leap myself?

Almost as if he can read my mind, he asks, “And what about what you want?”

“What do you mean what I want?” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “I’m going to NYU. I’m going to study art history.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what you want.”

“How do you know that?” I know I sound like a belligerent little kid, but it’s almost a relief to fall into that role with my big brother.

“Because you make that stank face every time you say it!” I can’t help but laugh. This face must be real bad, to have everyone notice it like this. “And art history? I can’t see you being happy doing that for four years, let alone forever! You need to create! You’ve always needed to create, Lenore.”

“I know.”

As much as I’ve been trying to convince myself differently since everything fell apart with Alex yesterday, Wally’s words make it clear that I still want what me and Alex talked about: a gap year, space to figure things out. Even if the way I came to that conclusion is forever tainted, the conclusion is still right, authentic.

So, I tell Wally all about what I’m considering. And when I’m done, he laughs. But it’s not judgmental. Instead, it makes me feel connected to him, because he understands the reality of what I’m proposing, like no one else can.

“God, Mom and Dad would hate that.”

“You don’t gotta tell me.”

“But likeyoujust toldme, we deserve to be happy.” His face clouds over. “But I know it’s not that easy. That’s why I’m... here. It’s scary, to disappoint them. Because of wherethey started, and how much they’ve accomplished and sacrificed for us, so we could do the same. Anything but putting our heads down and working as hard as we possibly can... it feels indulgent.”

“It really does. I feel like such an ungrateful, privileged asshole, not wanting to go to NYU, with my tuition paid in full with my parents’ savings.” I shake my head. “But maybe caring for ourselves is the ultimate celebration of how they’ve raised us. Having options, you know? Not just surviving in this world... but living.” I feel like I’m convincing myself as I say it.

Wally considers me, the skepticism plain in his arched eyebrow. “Lenore, you’re dangerously close to sounding like some white girl influencer’s caption on a picture of her at, like, brunch.”

“Shit! I do. I really do!” I laugh. “But see, we deserve that freedom. That white girl at brunch freedom! And no matter how corny it sounds, you know I’m right!”

He laughs too. “You are. You really are.”

“Hey, say that again. I could get used to this version of Wally.”

“I don’t know what they’ve got me on,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It might be impairing my judgment.”

I roll mine right back, making him laugh even more.

“So what’s next?” I ask. I may be helping him right now, but he’s still my big brother. And I know that whatever’s going to happen, I can’t do it without him.

---