by J. P. Grider
"I am," I say sadly.
"You don't look too happy about that. You really hate that job, don't you?"
I take several huge sips of my Hurricane and answer Rose. "More than anything."
The expression on Rose's face is the same that it always is when I talk about anything finance—irked.
"I know what you're gonna say." I stop her on the defense.
"You don't know."
"I do know. You think I'm stupid for listening to my father."
"Oh my God, Holl, I don't think you are stupid at all." She sighs and sits back in her chair. "I'm sorry I made you think that."
"Please," I say indifferently, waving her apology away with my hand, "I am stupid for listening. It's just...I respect my father's opinion. I always have. I know he's controlling, and I know he's the one making me do this, but in his defense, have I really let him know I'm not happy? No. I'm always wishy-washy when it comes to talking with him, because he always knows what's best." Rose sits forward, leaning her elbows on the table and listening intently. "He's a really smart man, Rose." I push some stray hairs behind my ear and pause. "But until now, I didn't have any idea what I wanted to do, so I let him choose."
"Wait. Until now?" She extends her arms and grabs at my hand. "You know what you want to do with your life?" she asks with huge eyes and a wide smile, excited as a kid in a candy store.
"I do. I want to be that person who puts lipstick on clowns," I say seriously.
Rose's face drops. Her mouth, her cheeks, even her eyes look like they sunk down her face an inch.
Cracking up, I say, "Teasing. But, yeah, I think I do..."
She smacks me on my hand. "You're horrible," she declares.
"I couldn't resist. Anyway, I really do have an idea what I'd like to do though."
"Okay."
"I want to study social work. Specifically children."
Rose's eyes are so big it's funny.
"What? You don't think I'd be good at that?" I say in a mock sour tone.
A silent chuckle makes her chest rise and fall. "Is this another joke?"
"Rose," I say seriously now. "I'm being serious this time. I think I want to be a social worker. It occurred to me today after my psych exam, so I haven't thought about it too long, but...it kind of makes sense to me."
"Sense?" she cuts in, not meaning to offend me, but succeeding anyway. "Since when were you interested in social work? That's like... getting involved in other's... problems and stuff. You hate that. I would think you'd want to do something fun, like fashion, or interior design or something."
"Thanks," I say defensively this time, highly insulted. "Glad you see me as being so shallow."
Rose grabs my hand again, "Holly, you're not shallow. That's not what I mean." She sighs, frowning so deeply I know she didn't mean to hurt my feelings. "I just...what made you want to do social work? Tell me. I really want to know. I want you to be happy. I do."
"I know I come across as one-dimensional, but really, there's a lot I don't...I don't want people to see."
"Holly. I don't think you're one-dimensional. Not at all. I just never saw you passionate about...well, about people." She squints her eyes, looking confused.
"Well, I'm not passionate about people. You're right. But I found out recently that I'm really passionate about seeing justice served to innocent children."
"Innocent children? When?"
"When I went to court to see how Michael, Mick's, case would turn out. I mean, I first felt this twinge of pain when that lady took Mick's niece from him. I told you about that?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I felt bad, you know, but then, when I went to court and listened to some of those cases, I felt like that judge made all these wrong decisions. Not that I know all their circumstances, but that's the thing. I wanted to know. And I've always enjoyed my psych classes and then today's exam question. It just all kind of came together for me. I can't explain it, but I really want to do this."
"Well then, good for you. Are you going to talk to your dad about it?"
I nod. "That's gonna be the tough part. Wanna come with me?" I ask, half teasing, half not-so-much.
"You got this, Holl. I hear the passion in your voice. He will, too. You said yourself, you were always wishy-washy. You don't sound wishy-washy right now, so...I know you can do this."
"Yeah, I can. Thanks, Rose."
53
MICK
Luke is sitting at the counter inside Sally's Diner down at the strip mall in town.
"Thanks for meeting me, Luke." I sit on the maroon stool next to him.
"Hey, my best friend's buying me breakfast. Think I'm gonna pass that up?"
"Ha. Funny."
The waitress comes over to hand me a menu and asks if she can get me a drink. After ordering an iced tea, I turn back to Luke. "So how's Charity?"
"Struggling."
Bowing my head in chagrin, I respond with, "I didn't know what else to do, Luke. I had to put the house up for sale. And...I'm trying to get Kenna back. I can't have T living there until I know she's going to give a hundred percent to her recovery. This isn't the first time she's come back from rehab clean, only to find herself shooting up three weeks later."
"I get it. But look at it from her point of view." Luke pauses when the waitress comes with my drink and then takes our order. "Anyway. How do you think she feels? She comes home from her month at rehab to find her home is being sold, and she's not even allowed to stay there until it's sold. I mean, I understand you doing what you have to do, and honestly, you're doing exactly what child services would expect you to do. I just...well you know I've had a soft spot for your big sis since we were little." Luke shrugs sheepishly.
"Yeah. Well I am glad you took her in. I really appreciate it, actually. I need her to do well. I want her to do well, and," I shrug now, feeling guilty for kicking her out of our house, "being with you, I know she will."
"So why you selling the place? With a little work, it just needs...it's such a beautiful house."
"No. It's only bad memories for me. How can T recover, how can either of us recover, living in that house? Besides, I want a two-family. This way T and I can be close, especially if, when, we get Kenna back."
"Tell me about that. The judge will hear your case again?"
I sip my tea before answering Luke. "Well, now that T's out of rehab, the lawyer suggests having her try to plead her own case. Visitation rights and all. Carmine spoke with Madeline at child services, and they both seem to agree to keeping Kenna with her foster family." The words strangle in my throat. "I told him I want to try to get temporary custody again anyway. I can't leave her there. Who knows how long it's gonna take Charity, or how long it's gonna take the judge to allow her to get Kenna back. I have to appeal, so... Carmine's going to. Even though he advises against it."
"He's a good lawyer, Mick. I don't know if it's such a good idea to not take his advice."
"It kills me to know Kenna's not with her family. Right now, I'm not even allowed to visit her. How is that right?"
"I don't know. It sucks. I do know that."
"That's why I can't have T living with me right now. In case I have a chance."
"So any bids on the house?"
"Yeah. Two of 'em. Plus, I looked at a couple in Haledon. I'm gonna put a bid on one of them."
"Really? And you're sure that's what you want?" Luke asks, doubtful of my decision.
"Yup." I say firmly. "That's what I want." I let my tone tell him he's not gonna change my mind. "That house is just bad news."
He nods. "I guess you're right about that."
"So...I went on an a few interviews this week."
"You did? Something in IT?"
"Yeah. All entry level pretty much, but...I need a normal job, so.. ."
"It's what you studied," he says as a matter of fact.
"It is. I've been needing to move forward."
"Weren't you going for your Master's?"
"Ye
ah. I've actually just finished a couple of assignments. Got to take my exams online."
"Really? How'd that happen?"
"Professors sympathized with my story I guess." I shrug.
"It is quite a story. I'm glad they worked with you."
"Yeah."
The waitress brings our order, and we eat in near silence, the cacophony of silverware and ceramic filling our ears while we chow down on pancakes and eggs. As Luke suggested when we exchanged greetings, I pay the bill and we disperse in the parking lot, he in his patrol car, me on my Harley. I'm glad I have a friend in Luke. And I'm happy that Charity does too.
***
Donny's filling the cash drawer when I come in to work.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey," is our usual one-word greeting to each other when I get to work. Since Donny works so late into the night now, he's quite grumpy at ten thirty in the morning when he comes down to bring the cash. So as not to stoke his fire, I keep my words to a minimum as well, even though I'm not a man of many words myself.
I set up my bar, say good morning to Tom, and read up on my Pride Book—the training book from the class for prospective foster parents that Carmine talked Madeline into letting me sign up for. Though the first class begins this Monday night, I want to get a head start in reading up on it, so I don't go in looking like I know nothing. Truth is, however, I really don't know a thing about foster care. I only know that I love my niece and only want the best for her.
Donny comes out of the kitchen and sluggishly heads straight for the side door to go home. "Oh," he says, remembering something as he turns to me. "You'll be working with Tabitha today. Don't go gettin' into some love-hate relationship with this one." His voice matches the stern expression on his face. "I can't keep losing barmaids left and right."
His comment catches me off guard, but after a moment's hesitation, I affirm, "That is not the reason Holly left."
"Sure it's not," he counters, his voice sarcastic and gruff.
Attributing his bad mood to the fact he hasn't had much sleep, I ignore the insinuating remark and silently watch him leave.
Working with Tabitha is fun, I must admit. She's cutting and witty without being diabolical. But she lacks the intelligence and righteousness that Holly possesses. And with Tabitha, it's sometimes hard to tell if she is being humble or patronizing. With Holly, even if she's in a wicked mood, she still remains genuine.
And why am I comparing the two? I have absolutely no interest in Tabitha, and I'm quite certain she has no interest in me.
But Holly.
I miss her.
Way too much.
54
HOLLY
It's eight o'clock on a Friday night and I'm going home, to my parents' SoHo place, to go to bed. And it's my last weekend on campus. That just sucks. But I am so mentally exhausted, that even hanging out with my friends doesn't seem appealing.
"Holly. What's the matter? You look terrible."
"Thanks, Daddy. Always nice to hear a compliment."
"You know what I mean. You look drained...and you don't look particularly happy. I also noticed, you haven't been as amiable as you usually are."
This is my chance. I'm sitting alone with my father in the back of his limousine. He's having a scotch, so I pour myself one. I decide while sipping my strong drink that it's time to grow up. Pull on the big girl panties and grow a backbone. I need to take control of my life once and for all.
Sucking in a huge breath to get my guts to finally speak, I blurt, "I hate Wall Street, Daddy." Okay. I guess I could have been more subtle.
It's only a couple of seconds, but the silence is painful to hear.
"Daddy. I didn't mean I hate it of course." This is me, trying to backpedal. "I meant, well..." I look at his eyes. They are dark, intense. Is he listening? Or fuming? "I meant that, well, I'm not very good at it." Bile starts to rise up from my stomach. That's what I get for trying to get my guts to spill from my mouth.
Daddy is now looking at his scotch.
"Dad?"
"How long," he takes his attention off his glass and returns it to me, "have you not liked it? Do you not like money? Do you not make enough?" he asks sarcastically.
"It's not that, Dad. I...I'm not good at it."
"Well that's why I have you working with me. To get you practical experience."
"Daddy. I've been studying finance for the past four years. If I haven't gotten it yet, I am never going to get it. Can't you understand that? I don't like working with numbers. I just...I don't." I stare at him, waiting for him to respond.
"You don't like numbers?" He grimaces. "How can you not like numbers? Money is numbers."
"Dad. Not everyone likes numbers and money."
"Okay," he says quickly, "not everyone likes money. Stop talking out of your ass, Holly."
Clutching tightly to my scotch glass, my hand feeling uncomfortably wet from the condensation, I grit my teeth. "I am not saying people don't like money, Father. I am saying that not everyone likes working with it."
He shakes his head, clearly annoyed with this conversation, but I persevere. I've come this far.
"I want to work with children," I say firmly, unyielding in my resolve. "I'm going to switch my major to social work."
"Social work?" he exclaims, aghast at my decision to choose a career that yields a salary less than his ideal. "You've got to be kidding me. Why spend all this money on college to do that?"
"Daddy. It's a very rewarding job...well, if I'm able to help a child and her family stay together, or make her family stronger...it's something I feel really strongly about, Dad. It's what I want to do. Plus, I can study social work and psychology, and I love my psych classes."
"Social Work? Psychology? Would you consider being a doctor of psychiatry?"
"No, Daddy, I don't want to study to be a psychiatrist. Maybe a psychologist, but for children. I want. To work. With children. And if you don't want to continue to help me pay for my education, then I will figure something else out. But this is what I want to do. I'm sorry if you don't like it."
My father says nothing for the rest of the ride home, leaving me to feel utterly sick to my stomach.
When I get to the Soho apartment, the only thing I do is plop on my bed and go to sleep. I don't take off my shoes, or my skirt. I don't undo the stupid, pretentious bun that's in my hair. I don't even utter another word to dear-old-dad. Nope. My pillow is calling to me, and I'm answering it. Everything else can wait.
***
Monday morning, the campus is dead, and aside from the two guys waiting outside the office of the one counselor I need to see, I'm one of the only ones left. Me, these two guys, the sparse administration, and the janitorial crew are all that stayed behind after the weekend.
The reason I'm here?
I'm switching majors.
Yup.
Even though my father is against it.
I did it, people. And it feels really good.
Dad still isn't so happy about me studying for something that doesn't provide me with a good financial cushion, but Rose was right, Dad does respect me for making a firm decision about my future. He says, "Holly, if this is really what you want to do, and I'm not happy about it mind you, but I'll accept it, and yes, I'll pay for it. But," and he puts his finger up to press his point, "but you need to start now by taking summer courses, and you need to finance your own living expenses since you'll be going to college a lot longer than we'd expected. I'm not saying we won't help you out, love, but you need to learn how hard it is out there. Maybe then you'll realize why I wanted you to get into the field I wanted you to study."
I respect him for that, I do. And there is something frightening about going out into the world alone, but it's exciting as well. It's invigorating actually. Scary as shit, but invigorating.
That was Saturday night, and today is Monday. After spending the whole weekend packing my summer clothes and boxing things from my bedroom that I'll nee
d when I find a place to live, since I don't really want to stay in Soho, I'm happy to be back in New Jersey. It's where my friends are. And I'd like to stick around Haledon for a while. I'm only allowed in the dorm one more week, so it's imperative I find a place to live immediately. I'm glad I have Griffin's billiard room to fall back on, but seriously, that would not be the most sound decision I'd ever make. Too much foot traffic through my room and never-ending partying would keep me from my goals. And Daddy had mentioned this weekend that the most important thing for me to do is set goals. So I will.
"How long have you been waiting?" I ask the guy in front of me who's sleeveless baseball shirt reads FALCO in all caps.
"'Bout twenty-minutes," he answers, nodding. Smiling. His blue eyes something from out of this world.
"Ugh," I groan, basically to myself, but he hears.
"You can cut in front of me." He shrugs. "I got nowhere to be."
"What? Cut? You're joking right?"
Those clear crystal blue eyes narrow. "What?" he asks, like I'm a lunatic.
"You're being nice. Why?" I turn my head a little, questioning his sincerity.
"Don't cut. I don't give a shit." He turns and his back once again screams the name FALCO at me.
Oookaay. Maybe he's not so nice. In the meantime, a girl walks out of the office while the boy in front of Falco goes in. My gut tells me to apologize to the kid for being snarky, but my brain keeps yelling at me to kick him behind the knees. I seriously have to do something about my brain. So I ignore the obnoxious thing and go with my gut. "Sorry about that." I nudge him in his back, dead center of the thirty-nine that sits below the name Falco.
"What?" he exclaims. "Do you want to go before me, or do you not?"
"I do. But it doesn't really matter, I just wanted to apologize. For thinking you had an ulterior motive."
"That's fine." He scoops his arm around, gesturing for me to get in front of him, and I think how nice some people are.
