Page 3 of Crossroads
“What? A step above minimum wage?”
“With room and board.”
I nearly choke. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not. At all. We spoiled you, Emerson.” I want to laugh, but I don’t when her look cuts me off. “We wanted a child for so long, and then when you came along, we didn’t want to say no. We didn’t want to see you sad, so we gave you everything. And you’ve turned into a spoiled brat.”
“Gee, Mom. Tell me how much you love me some more,” I deadpan.
She doesn’t roll her eyes, but I can see her fighting it—struggling to stay poised. “And I realized, I’m about to throw you out into the real world, and you have no idea what can happen to you. You’re so used to us bailing you out.”
“Oh my God. I was arrested one time, and I told you I didn’t throw the brick. That was Dusty.”
A heavy sigh leaves my mother’s lips. “I’m not talking about actually bailing you out of jail, although that was super fun,Emerson.” I cross my arms in a huff. “I mean everything. We spoil you. You don’t know how to work hard. You’re used to us paying for everything. At Kelly’s, you’ll learn that. I know I failed you as a mother, and I’m sorry for that. I know one summer isn’t going to fix everything, but I’m hoping you’ll learnsomething. Anything to make your life easier.”
“Which is it, Mom? My life is too simple or too hard?”
“It’s going to be very hard as an adult if you don’t learn the basic things I failed to teach you.”
I notice the tears in her eyes, threatening to fall down and mess up her perfect makeup. The urge to run far away from that image and this conversation takes over, but I remain seated. “I’m not working on some farm in the middle of nowhere Kansas. It’s not happening.”
“It is,” she says firmly, her eyes meeting mine. “Or I won’t pay for your college. These are the terms. You will drive to Kensley, to your aunt’s home, where you’ll help her for the next three months. You won’t get into any trouble. No fights with the locals. No fights with your aunt. You’ll be respectful and work hard. Do what she tells you, or that’s it, Emerson. I will cut you off completely. You won’t stay here anymore, and I won’t pay for your college.”
I stare at her in utter shock. “Dad won’t let this happen.”
“I’ve had to fight your father for the past year to pay for your college. Trust me, he will. I begged him to give you this chance.”
My jaw nearly hits the floor as I stare at her. “I...”
“I know it’s scary, but you can do this, Emerson. I believe in you. This will be good for you. I promise.”
“Really?” I glare at her. “Is that why you left Kensley and never looked back?”
She flinches—a momentary break in her icy armor—but she recovers as she stands up. Reaching into her pocket, she hands me keys to a Ford and some cash.
“Your credit card has been locked. I sold your car, but don’t worry—” She nods toward the keys in my hand. “This one is reliable. Your father would have preferred I gave you a junker, but I’m still a mother and couldn’t let you drive eight hours, knowing you might get stuck on the side of the road.”
“Mom—” I stand up, ready to argue more, but she holds up her hand once again.
“It’s not up for discussion. This is happening. I’ll text you with the hotel information. It’s in a town about halfway. You just need to show your ID. It’s already paid for, and the cash should be enough to get you there—for gas and food.”
I open my mouth to say something—anything—but nothing comes out. They’re cutting me off. I have a trust fund—as most of us do around here—but I don’t have access to it until I turn twenty-five.
“This’ll be good for you. Your dad is in his office, if you’d like to say goodbye.” Not a fucking chance. “Pack for warm weather. Summers in Kensley are no joke.”
“It’s still the same state.”
She actually smiles at that and shakes her head. “Trust me. It gets hot there in the summer. Drive safely. Let me know when you get there.”
“Mom...” I try as she starts toward the door. She stops right at the threshold and looks back over at me over her shoulder. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. Why can’t you just wait it out for three more months? Pay for my college, and you’ll be rid of me.”
She turns around fully now, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “I don’t want to be rid of you. I just need you to take something seriously for once. To live up to your potential. If we send you to college the way you’re going now, you’ll flunk out in the first semester. We all know it. You know it,” she says coldly, but it sounds like it actually hurts her to say it.
Why, I’m not sure. She has no problem telling me what a fuck up I am—though my dad is the number one in that category.
“Drive safely,” she says again, a final edge to her voice before she leaves the room entirely, giving me her back.
I move to my bed and sit down again, staring at the car keys and the cash in my hand.
