Page 19 of Collision
***
It is the smell of hot coffee and pancakes that wakes me the next morning. Beside me Travis is still sound asleep. I stare at him for a few seconds, and I let my fingers wander through his auburn curls, tousling them gently. I still feel a little guilty for having brief fantasies of another man, my mind playing tricks on me. Then I wake him up and persuade him to come downstairs to have breakfast.
As soon as we cross the threshold of the kitchen, I spot my mother, standing in front of the stove and beaming beatifically. “Welcome back, Mom,” I say through clenched teeth, directing a glare at her. I haven’t seen her since Monday morning, and now she’s trying to play Susie Homemaker?
She greets us with a radiant smile. Hypocrite. I know she’s longing to snap back at me, but she would never make a scene right in front of Travis. Not when it would reveal what a harpy she really is.
“Good morning, honey! And good morning to you, Travis. I made you guys coffee!” she chirps, pushing the steaming cup under my nose. She is trying to buy my good mood. I know her. I grab the cup and sit down at the table without sparing her a glance. Travis follows me, but, unlike me, he greets her warmly.
“And pancakes too!” she adds. She sets the plate down on the table and slides it toward me in one smooth movement. Apparently, she will make time for grocery shopping if it means she can give her dearest Travis the perfect breakfast. I look up at her but, before I can say anything, she’s already reaching into the refrigerator and grabbing the whipped cream and maple syrup. She pours the syrup over the pancakes and makes two small mountains of cream on top of it. Fine. I surrender.
I give my mom a break, forking up a piece of pancake and dipping it in whipped cream.
“Travis, dear, did you sleep well? Are you going to eat anything? I know you don’t like pancakes, but I can cook you some bacon if you’d prefer that. Or some eggs?”
I cannot suppress an eye roll.
“Thank you, Mrs. White, I will gladly have a cup of coffee,” he replies.
“Oh, dear, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Esther! Here’s yours, no sugar.” She hands it to him with a giggle and pats his shoulder.
“Call me Esther,” I mimic under my breath. Travis stifles a laugh.
“So how are your parents? Your sister?”
“Dad is in Europe these days. Tiffany’s okay, but I need Nessy to help me convince her not to keep majoring in sociology. She would do great at Dad’s company with me someday, but she’s dead set on becoming a criminologist.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” I ask. “Tiffany succeeds in everything she does. If she wants to become a criminologist, she’s going to be the best criminologist in the country. You should be on her side, you know. You’re her brother, her twin!”
“Don’t listen to her, Travis,” my mother interjects. “My daughter lives in la-la land sometimes. Tiffany should follow your example and carry on with your father’s business.” Mom draws closer and rests a hand on my shoulder. “My Nessy should also understand the importance of building a realistic future for herself that can guarantee her financial stability, rather than wasting time chasing fantasies. I’ve always told her that she should study law…”
Okay, that’s enough. I get up from the table, furious. I haven’t seen her in forty-eight hours, and now she’s going to show up just to tell me how I should live my life? No way. “Thanks for breakfast, Mom, but no one asked for your advice.” I storm up to my room to finish getting dressed. As I do, I listen with one ear to my mother and Travis, who continue chatting cheerfully in the kitchen.
***
“I can’t believe you’re trying to get Tiff to change her major,” I blurt out as soon as we get into the pickup truck. Travis rolls his eyes, but I just keep going: “You do know that money and social prestige are not the only things of value in life, right? You and my mother are insufferable when you get together.”
“You always blow everything out of proportion. Maybe your mother is right.”
I huff and make to turn on the radio, but Travis intercepts my hand and squeezes it. “Hey, last night was good. Let’s not ruin it.”
I take a deep breath and, overwhelmed by a wave of guilt, I don’t protest.
Arriving at campus, I immediately catch sight of Alex near the entrance of the liberal arts building. I run up to him as Travis moves to walk with some boys from the team.
I jump on Alex’s back, and he gasps. “Nessy! I’ve been looking for you!” he grins, dropping me to the ground.
“Found you! Tell me everything.”
“My mother came back from Italy today…”
“Wait, what? But you just got back from Santa Barbara a week ago!” I say, flabbergasted. Sometimes I forget how much his mother travels for work. She’s seen so much of the world, I envy her. When we were thirteen, she took us with her to Washington, D.C., and we went on a guided tour of the city. It was a beautiful day, still one of my happiest memories with Alex.
“Yes, she had to organize an auction in a library in Florence. And she told me to give you this little souvenir. Here, I think you’ll like it.” He takes a paper bag out of his backpack and hands it to me. Inside, I find a package wrapped in tissue paper, and I tear it open like a little girl on Christmas Day. When I realize I’m holding a first edition ofPride and Prejudice, I almost faint with excitement.
“Alex! Is this a joke? Your mother got me a first edition of my favorite book?” I shout incredulously. “I…I…I can’t accept this, it must have cost her a fortune, I don’t…” I try to give it back to him, but he blocks me.
“Nessy, my mother doesn’t want it back, she made me promise I would force you to keep it. Besides, you know her, unearthing goodies like this is her job. She likes to share them with people when she can.”
