CHAPTER 3

2001

I had called Finn a few times a day starting the morning after Comic-Con. It went straight to voice mail at first, and changed to a disconnected number a few days later. I kept calling until the voice mail changed to a woman’s voice. I had no other way to contact him. I’d never felt so lonely in my life. To distract myself, I put all my energy into researching colleges.

The beginning of my senior year brought more debates about my postgraduate activities. My parents were starting to accept that I might not matriculate to either of their alma maters. I was willing to concede ground on attending college before I ran away with the circus, so to speak. There was hope for us yet.

That was until late October when the Willmingtons came to dinner . . . with their seventeen-year-old son. Edward Willmington was an accomplished violinist, polo player, and butterfly collector, or so he told me repeatedly in the first ten minutes. This was going to be a long night. I noticed he took the liberty of putting his hand on my lower back as we walked into the sitting room. All of the adults had conveniently disappeared into thin air. His parents probably wanted to give us some privacy, likely wanting to avoid responsibility for anything that might happen.

Edward tried to sit next to me on the sofa while we waited for dinner to be finished, but I told him that was where my Aunt Tessa had died, and we hadn’t cleaned the upholstery yet. I didn’t have an Aunt Tessa, but I wouldn’t lose any sleep over lying to him. He settled into the settee adjacent to me.

“I can’t believe you haven’t learned to play a stringed instrument in the last seventeen years. What have you been doing with your time?” Edward derided, after rehashing his violin prowess. Again.

“I’ve mostly been filling my time with things I like, which is probably why we’ve never crossed paths.” I attempted to keep any emotion out of my voice. I wanted to save that for my parents later. This was shaping up to be their worst setup yet.

He ignored my tone and underlying insult completely. “You should really learn a classical instrument. I think it improves one’s character greatly. Not only do I play the violin with near perfection, but I also research the habits of fellow violinists.” He reached across to put his hand on my leg, so I jumped out of his reach onto the cushion where the fabled Aunt Tessa had passed.

I played three instruments, but I wasn’t about to tell this pompous windbag that. There wasn’t an alternate universe I could imagine where I could ever be remotely interested in this guy. “Well, it hasn’t given you a personality, so how much of a panacea could it really be?”

Again, he hadn’t heard me. “I think it’s especially important for women to have some sort of skill. It gives them something to offer society.” He picked up the large silver bowl on the coffee table and checked his reflection.

I balled up my right fist and thought long and hard about what it would cost my parents if I sucker punched one of their dinner invitees. On the one hand, my parents would most certainly be sued, and I could do irreparable damage to my air guitar skills if I hurt my hand. On the other, I would get to sock this loser in his dumb face. The call to violence was winning.

Taking a deep breath, I practiced a little bit of the Tibetan meditation I’d been teaching myself. I closed my eyes and decided on a path of nonviolence. For now.

After a few more breaths, I opened my eyes and smiled sweetly at the misogynist next to me. “I’ll let Ruth Bader Ginsberg know she needs to step up her game.”

Mercifully, we were called into dinner before he could speak again.

***

Dinner didn’t go well. It went the opposite of well, in fact. Even my father, who normally slept through these things, stepped in and explained to Edward Willmington that being female was not a disease in need of a cure. Edward offered numerous suggestions on how my gender could better themselves, most of which centered around less talking. My mother’s eyes were about to shoot out of their sockets after he said that.

The Willmingtons said hasty good-byes when I threatened to shove a salad fork up their son’s rectum if he spoke another word. We didn’t even make it to the main course. I officially crowned this the worst Vincent dinner ever.

After closing the door behind the family, my parents turned in unison to face me. My mother lifted one hand as if waving a white flag. “We know you’re mad . . .”

I folded my arms. “Mad isn’t the word I would use.”

“But we had no idea they were like that. They seemed so nice at the World Hunger fundraiser last month.”

“His eyes were too close together. I told you that in the kitchen, dear.” If my dad was tossing my mom under the bus, they knew how much they screwed up. The time for bartering was over. They owed me and they knew it.

“I want to go to Fordham in the fall.” I raised an eyebrow, waiting for them to challenge that.

“Fordham? Isn’t that more of a l-liberal arts college?” I’d never heard my father stutter once in his life. He had lost some of the color in his face.

Mom squeezed Dad’s arm to signify she was taking it from there. “Honey, I really think . . .”

I raised my eyebrow higher. “Fordham.”

My parents exchanged defeated looks. My mother sighed and closed her eyes for a bit. “You can go to Fordham. We’ll start looking for a suitable apartment away from the campus.”

I decided to go for broke. “I’m living on campus.”

“On . . . campus . . . housing? Where you would live with other people?” I started to worry my dad might be having a stroke.

I really wanted to go to a public school and see what that was all about, but I didn’t want to annihilate my parents’ comfort zone altogether. I felt a private liberal arts school was a good compromise and would make them much more likely to agree to let me live on campus. Plus, I had been watching a lot of college movies lately, and all the dorm rooms were so pretty and spacious. Every day was a party. I wanted in on that action.

The lines between my mother’s eyebrows deepened. “We will agree to a dorm room, but if you end up with some weird, hippie roommate, we’re pulling you right out and getting you an apartment. Deal?”

I smiled so hard it hurt. “Deal.”