Begin Again(12)

“You let me fly solo on the most monumental decision of my life for bagels?”

For once, Gammy Nell takes the reins on the conversation. “No, dearie. We did it because you’re a grown woman now, and you have to forge your own path.”

My chin feels uncharacteristically wobbly. I press the phone closer to my cheek, like I can use it to make them both closer to me. “It’s weird that you guys are so far away.”

Neither of them says the thing we’re all thinking, which is that I was going to have to move out sooner or later. But we sidestep it, and they tell me what I need to hear most instead.

“Andie Rose. You know we will zip up there any day to see you,” says Grandma Maeve. “Even days Deadpool is on cable.”

Gammy Nell hums in agreement. “And you can come home anytime you want. We’ll pick you up whenever you say the word.”

My eyes are stinging, but I don’t bother with my four seconds in and two seconds out. My grandmas are the only two people I’ve never had trouble crying in front of. They know me inside out and backward.

“Okay.” I’m too overwhelmed to say anything else.

There’s a pause then. The kind of pause so telling that I know exactly what Gammy Nell is going to ask before she asks it.

“Did you call your dad back yet?”

I fix my eyeline on a group of ducks waddling around the ice. “Oh,” I say, the sincerity so false that it hurts even my own ears. “I meant to. I just—forgot. In all of the pandemonium.”

There’s silence from all three of us then, but their silence is different from mine. Their silence is strategic, the two of them doing that grandma thing they do when they’re both trying to convince me of the same thing, but can’t agree on how to approach it. My silence, on the other hand, is strictly out of hurt.

See, my dad asked me a few months ago to send him clippings from my advice column, “Bed of Roses.” The one I’d spent most of high school hesitant to tell him about in the first place. And after I did—after I sent him the back catalogue of all the people whose questions I’d answered, each of the clippings painstakingly collected, printed, and put into an envelope—he never said a word about it. Not a single one.

“He’s so excited you’re at Blue Ridge State,” says Grandma Maeve, which is how I know for a fact he’s been calling the house about it. She isn’t the conductor of the Make Amends With Your Dad train, the way Gammy Nell justifiably is, being his mom and all. “It might make you feel better to talk it out with him.”

“You’re right,” I say automatically, even though I’d sooner try to figure skate on this half-frozen lake. And then, mostly just to move the conversation along, I ask, “How are your sourdough starters doing?”

Just as predicted, this launches them into a ten-minute back and forth defending the sanctity of their respective starters and which one they’re going to use for that week’s loaf (“Hers is too sour,” Gammy Nell complains, to which Grandma Maeve responds, “What, did you want dull dough?”), so the focus is squarely off the dad talk. By the time we hang up the whole thing’s all but forgotten.

I spend the rest of the day unpacking my stuff and staring at my phone, trying to decide whether to call Connor or wait for him to call. Eventually the question just chases itself in circles enough times that Milo’s advice to “take a breather” falls on the back burner. Desperate for something else to focus on, I start emailing potential leads for work-studies—I know full well there are no open positions on campus right now, but I figure emailing the heads of a few different departments won’t hurt. Once I’ve exhausted my options, I whip out the very large sketchpad I had tucked into the rolling suitcase, stare at Shay’s half of the room, and write down all the words I can think of. It starts with “books, candles, cozy sweaters, Instagram, pastels, coffee.” Then I do some light stalking of her Instagram and add “sister, bubble tea, sunflowers, hiking, rom-coms, horror movies, woozy face emoji, true-crime podcasts, Instagram-famous dogs, Janelle Monáe, photography.” By the time Shay comes back with a massive to-go box full of food, I’m so far into my idea boarding I realize I didn’t even notice the sun going down.

“Uh-oh. Did I miss dining hall hours?”

“If you love yourself, you’ll never step foot in our dining halls. Here. I grabbed this for you,” says Shay, opening the to-go box and handing me a bagel stuffed to the brim with cream cheese.

The smell of it alone is beautiful enough to make me swoon like one of the characters on the covers of her romance novels. I take a bite and the bagel is so perfectly pillowy on the inside and toasted on the outside, with this sweet, tangy cream cheese unlike anything I’ve tasted in my entire human life.

“This is . . . otherworldly.” If this came from the same place Grandma Maeve was talking about, it’s no wonder she was so willing to sell out my future for carbs. “How much do I owe you?”

“I do my work-study at Bagelopolis, so I get them for free,” says Shay, unwrapping her own bagel. “They have like, twenty cream cheese flavors, but I guessed at cookie dough for you. Seems like you have a sweet tooth.”

“My blood is ninety-eight percent sugar,” I confirm. “Also, you can do work-study off campus?”

Shay jerks a thumb toward the hallway. “Talk to Milo. He has a zillion brothers and sisters, and they have all the best work-study connects.”