"How is it in the cold?"
"A little tight, but fine."
"Would you tell me if it weren't?"
"No. You going to ask him?"
"I have to. I used the last of my savings to pay off the first installment of my tuition for the spring semester, and the next one is due in three days."
"You know, I have some savings—"
"Carter. You are not using the money you earned by fighting overseas to put me through college. But thank you for the offer." I stop at the doors to my father's study. "OK, here I go." Carter nods, and I knock. Through the glass, I see my father look up and frown, but he waves me in. Carter stays outside, turning his back to the house to give us privacy.
"What is it?" my father asks unceremoniously.
"I have a—something to discuss with you," I fumble. I sit down, and put my papers in my lap then fold my hands over them. "I know you were disappointed with me when I left college, and the truth is, I was disappointed with myself. I've been looking into going back to school, and I actually applied and got accepted to the University of South Florida. I'm here because...because I need help with the tuition."
"You know I lost the tuition for your fall semester when you left Duke," he says evenly, staring at me across his wide desk.
"I know. And again, I'm sorry. After I graduate college, I'll be able to get a higher paying job and pay you back."
"I really can't see you holding down a job, Alexa."
"I worked at the same bakery in Paris for almost two—"
"A bakery. Not a real job."
"I couldn't get hired anywhere else at the time. But with a college—"
"You always have an excuse ready for your behavior. Why can't you be more like your brother?"
"Gigantic and capable of playing professional football?"
"Do you really think this is an appropriate time for jokes? This is the kind of thing I'm talking about. You wouldn't exactly fit in in a professional environment. You can't quit a real job just because you want to go shopping or you just don't feel like going in that day."
I take a deep breath. "Dad, I know I've made some mistakes, and I haven't always been that responsible, but I want to make something of—"
"What about that William from the gala?"
I frown, completely thrown by the seeming change of topic. "What about him?"
"He seemed interested."
"I—I don't...what are you suggesting?"
He sighs. "Well, your friend Nikki, she seems happy. Don't you think you're more suited to that kind of life?"
"You mean, you think I should marry a rich guy and to hell with my education?" I ask, my voice rising.
"Alexa, calm down."
"No, you can't do that! You insult me, purposefully rile me up, and then tell me to calm down."
"You have control over your emotions, not me. Though I know you come by them honestly."
"Meaning?"
"Jack got my drive and intelligence, and you got your mother's emotionality."
I gasp, as though he slapped me. "What are you suggesting? That I'm like her?"
"Am I really telling you something you don't know?
I stand up, tears stinging my eyes. "I'm stronger than her, more resilient."
"Alexa, it's not an insult, just a statement of fact." He's still sitting, completely relaxed, completely sure that he's in the right. I look out the window and see Carter standing there, his back still toward us, but his head slightly turned toward the glass. "You're asking me to give you money for something that I don't think is a good investment. You've proven time and again that you can't handle responsibility, and you react with outsized emotion to everyday occurrences. Just like your mother. Some people are too fragile for the real world."
"Got it," I whisper, my head spinning. "Thank you for your time." I turn and head out the door to the house. I have to get out of the room before I completely lose it. I shut the door behind me and speed down the hallway, almost running.
I can't handle what I'm feeling right now. It's too much. I feel like I'm about to explode.
I stop in front of the den. A bottle of scotch sits on the bar cart in the corner. I dart over and grab it, then hurry back out. I know Carter is already looking for me, always fulfilling his duty.
The basement door beckons me, and I hurry down the steps. I rush through the main room and into the home theatre, shutting the door behind me and nestling into one of the big recliners. It's dark and calm down here.
I pull the stopper out of the bottle and take a long swig. It burns as it runs down my throat. I take another long sip, and feel a warmth extend from my belly out to my skin.