Amy
After breakfast, we pulled up to the house. My mom was sitting on the porch, a rare sight, and next to her was a large envelope.
Uh-oh.
My hand froze on the door handle, and my dad nudged me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I swallowed. “She has my Art Institute envelope next to her.”
“You didn’t tell her yet?”
“No,” I said in a small voice.
“Do you want me to come down with you?”
I shook my head. That would make it worse. “No, it’s okay. I can handle this.”
“All right, Ames. Call me later.” He kissed my cheek, and I hugged him quickly before getting out.
I shut the car door and walked up to the porch. I glanced behind me to see my dad mouth, “Good luck.”
I smiled and watched him drive off.
I heard my mom shift behind me.
“So when were you planning on telling me?” she demanded. “While you were packing?” Her voice was shaking. I had never seen her so mad at me before. I didn’t reply, just looked at her as she stood there with her hands on her hips. I wondered how many cigarettes she had smoked while she had been waiting for me.
“No,” I said slowly, “I was going to tell you this week.”
“Oh, I see!” she said sarcastically, shaking her head. She started toward the front door.
“Mom,” I sighed. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve always wanted to go away for college; you shouldn’t be so surprised I chose Chicago.” I followed behind her. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. It’s not only about Dad.”
She whipped around. “Don’t you dare say that. I know you hate living with me. I’m not an idiot. I always knew you preferred your father over me. I just can’t believe you would wait this long to tell me you would be moving halfway across the country.”
“I’m sorry—really I am!” I cried. “I didn’t mean to wait this long. Really, Mom, it’s not only about Dad. I worked hard to get in.”
She shook her head, ignoring me. “And here, all this time, you’ve been telling me you’re undecided. But all along you knew you were going there. I went around graduation saying you hadn’t decided yet where you were going. Do you know how stupid I feel?!” she yelled.
“Mom...”
“How long has your dad known?”
Crap. “Since I got accepted,” I replied in the smallest voice.
She inhaled quickly. “So you both have been planning your life away, ignoring the fact that you live with me and I am your mom, who deserves to know where her own daughter is going to college!”
She was getting it all wrong. It was nothing like that. Leave it to her to over exaggerate.
“Mom, I swear it was nothing like that. It was just easier to tell Dad because we always used to talk about Chicago when I was little. Remember? He always wanted me to go there.”
“Oh, yeah, how could I forget how he would tell you all these stories, brainwashing you about college life at seven years old, leaving me out of everything like you were only his daughter. Not mine.”
“That is not true,” I said in a low voice. I was starting to get very annoyed. Still, she ignored me and continued on.
“I should have just let him get custody of you all those years ago—my mistake. I didn’t know being with me was so unbearable.”
I felt like I had just been slapped. Never had she said anything so mean to me. I didn’t even deserve it either. My blood began to boil.
“Yeah, maybe,” I snapped. “Sorry for being such a burden to you.” I turned around and began walking away from the house.
When I reached the mailbox, I glanced over my shoulder and yelled, “Oh, and thanks for being proud of me, because, you know, getting a full ride was so easy. I’m overwhelmed, really.”
I stormed off without looking back; I could not believe what had just happened. I’ll admit I was wrong for not telling her sooner about Chicago, but there was no way I deserved the things she’d said. I walked in the direction of the beach, hoping to find some solace there. The beach always calmed me down. It was home.
I plopped down on the sand and inhaled the air. I lay back and closed my eyes.
The Art Institute of Chicago was where my dad had attended college. When I was little, he constantly told me stories about college life and how they were his best years. He hoped that one day I would follow in his footsteps and go there.
When my parents divorced, Chicago was all I could think about. My dad had moved back, and going to the Art Institute seemed to be the only way I would be able to spend time with him.
I worked my butt off to make straight A’s in high school to be good enough. When I realized it was architecture I wanted to do, the Art Institute seemed to be the perfect option. I had other options, but that was my top pick.
I never told any of this to my mom. I avoided bringing up my dad with her at all times, and I knew mentioning Chicago would start a fight. When I got accepted, I tried to find ways to bring it up to her, but I could never do it. It would hurt her; I would hurt her, which was something I didn’t want to do.
My dad and I had a special bond. A bond that was broken when he left. No matter how much I told myself that he left us, and that I was better off living with my mom, I could never hate him. I always missed him and wished I was with him. Maybe that was wrong of me, maybe now I was being selfish, but whether or not my dad had anything to do with my decision, I had done it for me. I wanted to go to Chicago. And I was going.