Everything That Makes You(30)

She flicked the edge of the paper. "I'm stuck."

"What's the assignment?"

"Creative writing," she said. "Describe something ugly and find beauty in it."

He frowned a little, kind of sideways. "Like Marcus's urn."

The memory came suddenly-the ornate silver urn centered on the gleaming  dark wood altar. "Ugh, that's the opposite. A beautiful thing that's  nothing but ugly."

Jackson shrugged and looked back to his book, leaving her to stew in  another memory of Marcus. These moments were sneaky little things. They  could switch her on and off without warning.

She grabbed her mug and headed up front for a refill, melding into the  loose line behind the register. That's when she made eye contact with  the last person on earth she wanted to see.

"Hey, Fi." Lucy Daines looked exactly the same. Tall and skinny, even  taller with that out-of-control hair and those thick-soled, vintage  boots. She acted the same, too, acknowledging Fi only after getting  ahead of her in line.

Fi took the place behind her. "Lucy."

Lucy ordered three coffees and stepped aside to wait. Fi handed her mug forward and asked for a refill.

"I heard about your boyfriend," Lucy said. "That sucks."

Fi nodded, watching the tattooed barista take his own sweet time with her refill.

"So you're at Milton?" Lucy's voice went higher than normal, and she tilted her head sympathetically.

Fi hated when people did the fake-concern thing. It was even worse coming from Lucy Daines. "Yeah."

"Do you like it?" Lucy asked. She looked uncomfortable, like the small talk was creating some physical constriction.

"It's okay."

"I'm at NYU."

"Cool," Fi said, hoping her jealousy didn't show.

"Yeah, it really is." Lucy got her drinks and used her head to gesture  to the back of the room. "Well, I should bring these over."

Fi followed the nod's direction and squinted. "Didn't that guy go to school with us?"

"David Wright. Yeah, we were on the paper. And that's his girlfriend, from UT. She came home with him for the holidays."

After another awkward moment-like neither knew how to relate now that  civility had been established-Lucy eventually said, "See you later," and  walked away.

Fi returned to her table and nursed the coffee for a few minutes. Then she got her stuff.

"You're done?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah," she said, not sure how to explain her mood change. Not sure she wanted to. "I need to get home."                       
       
           



       

"Well, have a good Thanksgiving."

"You too," she said, but by his look, she knew that Thanksgiving at the  Kings would be pretty bleak. Jackson had had a tough time with  Halloween. He'd told her how he and Marcus used to match their costumes.

On the drive home, she kept replaying that conversation about the  urn-and then the one with Lucy Daines-wishing she could pinpoint why  they bothered her so much.

Seconds after her car keys hit the front hall table, Fi's mother called, "Fiona, come in here, please."

Fi tensed. No good conversations ever started with her proper name.

Lowering her bag to the floor, Fi took cautious steps back to the  kitchen. Her mother stood at the kitchen counter, flicking through mail.  She held up a single white piece of paper. "This came from school."

Fi took the piece of paper, which read Student Evaluation:  Pre-Probationary. It looked like a report card of sorts, but finals were  three weeks away.

All of her courses were listed, but the writing class was the only one  without a note. It was also the only A. Sociology and Spanish were low  Cs. Calculus was a D.

From the sociology professor: From the single time I've seen her during  office hours, I could see that Ms. Doyle had the potential to master  this material. As we approach finals, I hope she'll show more dedication  to the subject and improved timeliness and thoroughness in completing  work assigned.

From Spanish: Fi began the class with an appropriate grasp of the  language for the course level. However, as the term has progressed she  appeared to lose ground. I encourage her to make better use of the lab  facilities, as well as the optional study sessions offered.

From calculus: There have been several optional tutoring sessions  available to Ms. Doyle during the semester. I believe her grade would  improve should she attend these in the future.

Fi kept staring at the paper, even though she was done reading. The  stalling didn't work. "Do you have an explanation?" her mother asked.

Fi handed the paper back. Her mom took it like it might spread infection. "Um, it's been-you know, ever since Marcus-"

She held up a hand. "Don't blame this on heartbreak."

"It's been a hard semester. What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to do better."

"I've been trying."

Her mother arched her perfect brows. "Not enough, apparently."

"I have an A in the writing class."

"And a D in calculus."

"You know I can't do math."

"All the more reason to use the tutoring."

Fi wanted out of this conversation. The never-ending criticism was  exhausting. "My boyfriend is dead!" she yelled, startling herself as  much as her mother. "I live with my parents, play for a terrible  lacrosse team, take classes I don't care about. I'm just barely treading  water here!"

"So grab a vest, Fi," her mother said levelly.

Fi threw her hands up. "A vest. Perfect. That's helpful."

"It's a metaphor."

"I know it's a metaphor. I'm not stupid."

Her mother pointed at the grades. "Prove it."

Every part of her body clenched. No matter how hard she worked, she  would never, ever be enough for this woman. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to live up to your potential."

"I had potential. I was the best lacrosse player in this state in high school. You didn't care about that."

"That has nothing to do with these grades."

"No, but it was something."

"Not enough of a something. You can't make a career out it."

"You sound like Dad."

"That's because I agree with him," she said. "This is your main chance  to decide what you want, Fi. After college, things just happen, you can  lose track. Before you know it, you're forty and-"

"You're leaping from college to forty?"

"It's not that big of a leap, trust me. If you don't plan now, you might not get another chance."

"Are we talking about me or you now?"

"Watch the tone," her mom said, pointing to the grades. "We both know you are smarter than Cs and Ds."

"I have an A!"

"One A, Fi. Just one."

Fi sank onto a counter stool, head in hands. "I'll never measure up. You want too much."

"All I want is for you to have the best life you can."

"Well, that life died."

"Then get another one," her mother said-and then she walked away.


                       
       
           



       


DECEMBER


FIONA


"You only just got home," her mother said, standing at the kitchen  counter, wrapping her annual Christmas banana breads into pretty  cellophane packages. An artful snack plate sat on the kitchen table,  with decorative rings of sliced apples, cheese, olives, and crackers.

Just to annoy her, Fiona took an apple slice right from the middle.

The doorbell rang. From the front of the house, her dad yelled, "It's David."

"We won't be late," Fiona said, popping an olive.

"You aren't going out in that?"

"What's wrong with this?" she said, looking down at her long-sleeved tee  and favorite black jeans. "I'm just going to the coffee shop."

"It's freezing out, Fiona."

"It's, like, fifty degrees."

"I hope you don't wander around school like this, hardly dressed."

"At school, it's actually cold." When she got in from the airport,  Fiona's bed was layered in enough thermal gear to overheat a Sherpa.  Fleece was the new frill.

Her mom grabbed Fiona's denim jacket from the back of the chair and shoved it at her. "At least wear this."

David walked in the kitchen before Fiona could shove it right back. He  kissed her long on the lips-her mother was standing right there!-before  wrapping her in a hug. "Hey, you."

Her mother's heels clicked away down the hall, thank God. "Hey," Fiona  said, hugging him back. It felt good pressing against this familiar  chest, feeling those arms around her back, breathing in his fabric  softener smell. There was relief, too, that it still felt good.

Leaning away slightly, she asked, "Did you get taller?"

"A little, I think." He smiled. His hair was longer, falling over his  eyes. "You look great." He rubbed the back of his fingers along her new  cheek. She felt only the pressure, not the touch. "The scar's so faint  now."