Page 4 of All The Way Under
I grin. “That explains so much more.”
He chuckles. “Hand me the torque spanner.”
I rifle through the top drawer of his red toolbox and find it. “What millimeter?”
He tells me, and I hand it to him.
“If you don’t want to do your master’s degree, you don’t have to. You know that, right? Sometimes Mom is set in her ways of thinking things need to be done a certain way. She’s sharp how she goes about it. If you’re anything like me,” he says, lookingat me with raised brows. “Then more school is the last thing that’s going to make you happy. You’re rising through the ranks at Wyndham Technology without my help because you’re a brilliant engineer. It comes naturally without sitting in lectures.”
He moves back to the exposed engine.
“Go sail. I’ll take care of your mother. She’ll come around. Don’t let her qualifiers scare you. You’re an adult now, Saylor. Do what makes your heart happy.” He pauses. “Your job will be here when you get back. No one can spitball big-brain ideas like you. Martin said you constantly wow him.”
Dad’s great-great-grandpa started Wyndham Technology, and luckily for him, we’ve all been math-brained and love the family work. Martin is my boss, but I do find him asking me things I’d expect him to know.
“We love you no matter what and no matter how,” Dad adds.
He always says they’ll love me no matter what. Angie pops her head in and asks, “Salmon and quinoa?”
“That sounds great,” Dad replies. “With a Sauvvy B for Bianca?”
I cackle at the use of Mom’s nickname for Sauvignon Blanc. “I love your salmon, Angie. Yes, please. Sounds great,” I say.
“I would never serve salmon without Bianca’s favorite Sauvvy B,” she replies, lowering her voice, a smirk on her lips.
It’s like we’re in the normal club at the Wyndham Manor, and Mom can’t know it exists. Bronwyn used to be part of the club before she moved out. It’s getting smaller and smaller. Poor Dad will only have Angie soon.
Our chef heads back inside, and I’m left watching Dad tinker. I take my seat on the stool and watch him in between going over my sail plan and schedule. It’s just like old times, except there’s promise on the horizon—something exhilarating brewing.
I email the sail plan documents I’ve been working on for weeks to my dad when I’m sure they’re perfect.
“For the first time in my life, I’m doing something I want to do. No one can tell me to act a certain way or dress a certain way. No one is watching my mannerisms to make sure I’m behaving in a way dictated for me since birth. I can just be myself.Saylor’s Delightis going to set records. I just know it.”
Dad stands, hands on his hips. “There’s nothing that makes me happier than seeing you and your sister following your dreams.”
Bronwyn followed her escape plan, not her dreams, but did happen to fall in love while doing it. Lucky rat.
There is a touchscreen panel on the wall that helps communicate with almost every room in the house. It’s as if my mom hears my excitement about something she has no part in and must interrupt. She beeps in. “Darling, when you’re finished, join me on the deck before dinner. I have big plans for our party, and I need to share them with you.”
“Of course. Give me ten,” he replies to her before she clicks off. He ruffles my hair, gentler than he used to do when I was a kid. I tell him I emailed him the plan, and he promises to go over it tonight. “This is the beginning of something fantastic, Sweet Pea. Your grand adventure”
After I kiss him on his scratchy cheek, I skip out of the garage and into the foyer. My cell phone rings in my back pocket. It’s Bronwyn’s ringtone.
“You already heard the good news,” I chirp, heading toward the kitchen stairwell.
We don’t get cell service in the elevator. Despite all the code and tech in this house, it’s insane we haven’t been able to fix it. I concluded it was built this way for a reason. It’s a dead zone.
Bronwyn jostles the phone, then says, “No, I didn’t hear anything yet. I want my cashmere sweater back. I just bought a long silk skirt, and it will match perfectly. Edmund is taking me to the Savoy Cellar this weekend, and I want to wear it.”
I round the first set of stairs and begin the second. Our house is large by our neighborhood’s standards. By the average American standard, it’s monstrous. I’ll be out of breath soon.
“I’ll have to make sure I have it at home. There is still a closet full of clothes at my apartment in the city,” I say. “Not that the Savoy Cellar isn’t exciting, but they agreed to let me do the sail, Bronwyn. I’m going to leave next month when the tides are perfect.”
“Are you kidding me? Not that I’m not excited,” she says, her voice lacking all enthusiasm. “But didn’t you say the prep would take years?”
“Yes, the prep takes years. I have been working on this for so long and know I can be ready quickly.”
She stays silent but for breathing, then finally says, “I have a bad feeling about this, Saylor, but I know nothing will stop you from trying. Mom agreeing to this is insane. I can’t even imagine what she made you give up.” Bronwyn knows, because she’s experienced it as well. “I don’t know what you have to prove. You’ve already won sailing competitions. Everyone knows you’re an excellent sailor. The whole thing seems unsafe and unnecessary. I don’t want to sound like Mom, but you are my only sister.”
