Page 7 of Let's Talk About Love
Her brother, Adam, and his wife, Christy, were having a difficult first pregnancy. They had planned to move in with their parents for extra support and to save money on rent and child care for a little bit. The baby wasn’t due until October. Alice had already written her speeches to plead, beg, and offer to donate her right foot to have the excused time off from school. It was imperative for her to be there when the baby first opened their eyes. And for their first smile. And first laugh. However long that took.
(Jesus, she couldn’t wait to meet that kid.)
“You can be in charge of decorating the baby’s nursery. I’m sure Christy would love for you to take over to help reduce her stress levels.”
“I can’t. Summer school, remember? Besides, I love California. California loves me.”
“Online classes can be done from anywhere. Your school won’t know you’re ten hours away from campus. I checked your student account this morning—”
“Mom, you promised you wouldn’t do that.” She tried not to whine, but she was BUSTED. She had zero intention of attending the summer intersession.
“I wanted to pay for your class. Why haven’t you signed up yet?” she said. “And it still says ‘undeclared.’ What did we talk about?”
They didn’t talk about anything. Her mom had lectured her for an hour about how the foundations of a good law degree were rooted in political science. Alice came from a family of lawyers (her mom, her dad, and her brother) and local politicians (her newly elected sister, Mayor Aisha R. Johnson). The expectation was clear: Alice would attend law school.
(Or be disowned.)
(Probably.)
(Okay, maybe not, but the penalty would be steep.)
“I’m going to. I’ve been busy. I’m busy now.” Alice sighed. “I have to go. Okay, I’m hanging up, I love you, kiss Daddy for me, bye.”
Ryan had paused the episode while they waited for her to return.
(Her absence didn’t stop them from devouring half the pizza, though. And she thoughtsheate fast.)
“I am having a terrible week,” Alice announced as her phone chimed.
“Damn it. Margot hates me or something, my mom is practically breathing fire at me, and now she wants me to call Aisha, who is reallygoing to roast me. What’s next? Am I going to fall and break both my ankles?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ryan warned. “Don’t put that out there.”
“All I’m saying is everything happens in threes. Something else is going to happen. I can feel it.” She stretched out on the floor next to Feenie and rolled onto her back, groaning at the ceiling. “I love my mom. My parents take good care of me. I love my mom. My parents take good care of me.”
“Is that some kind of mantra?” Feenie tapped Alice’s nose. “Say it enough and you’ll believe it?”
“No, I believe it. It can bereallyhard to remember that sometimes.” She sat up. “She went into my student account to pay for my summer intersession class even though we agreed that I would do it myself.”
Ryan gave her a funny look. “So what?”
“It’s my responsibility. And now she’s irritated because I didn’t sign up yet or declare my major when neither of those things are any of her business.”
“But you don’t get financial aid?” He reached for another slice. “I’m failing to see the problem, Buttons.”
Her parents paid almost all her tuition. The only reason why they made her pay anything at all was to encourage her to get a job instead of lazing about. She had found a quiet job at the county library, and for the first time in her life she had been able to tell them that she didn’t need a spending allowance. She hated trying to explain why her sense of pride shot through the damn roof during that conversation. Most people didn’t understand.
Shewasn’t rich—her parents were. They made that distinction quite clear to her anytime she stepped out of line. She had lived under their roof, in their house, and had to follow their rules. They expected courtesy and good grades and for her chores to be done. In return, they gave her the childhood they never got to have.
But she wasn’t a kid anymore.
“She just told you,” Feenie said. “It was Alice’s responsibility. Momma J overstepped. I’d be mad, too. Intentions don’t change impact.”
“True, but it was a positive intention. You can still be grateful,” said Ryan.
Alice puffed up her cheeks. “Iamgrateful. I just—I don’t think wanting the tiniest bit of autonomy is a bad thing.”
How else was she supposed to learn? Wait for the magical Adulting Fairy to show up and give her private lessons?
