This Book Will Change Your Life

by Amanda Weaver

  He still hasn’t even told me, in spite of dragging me home a day early to do it. He spent all day yesterday at his office, and I didn’t even see him until after nine. He probably commanded my presence in Columbus just to prove his power over me. That’d be just like him.

  And now the whole family is settled around the table in our cold, overly-formal dining room, and he still hasn’t said anything. I’m so over his Sun Tzu Art of War psychological bullshit.

  “So, what do you think of the Bengals’ chances this year, buddy?” Dad asks Gavin.

  Dad and Gavin don’t just share a love of football that borders on obsession; they look exactly alike, too—tall, broad-shouldered, blond, ruddy-faced. Gav even talks like Dad, in this too-loud, too-slick salesman’s voice. They both charge through life like they have to convince everyone of their own dominance.

  I feel like I’m shrinking whenever I’m in the same room with them, like everything I thought I knew about myself disappears. Ironically, they’re what pushed me to books in the first place— Reading has always been my escape.

  Gavin leans back in his chair and smiles, so stupidly pleased with himself for no reason at all. “They’d be a lot better if they hadn’t traded Armstrong for that Kirkpatrick kid.”

  My dad shakes his head sadly. “Damn shame.”

  Mom sighs as she refills her wine glass. “Can we save the football talk for after dinner?”

  “You’ll spend the rest of the day watching it. Surely you can hold off talking about it for an hour,” Aunt Lisa—Mom’s sister—says. Her husband left her to marry his secretary six years ago, and Aunt Lisa has never stopped being angry with Mom for still having a husband, which Mom passive-aggressively lords over her. They communicate with fake smiles and sublimated rage.

  “All these years, and the boys are still obsessed with football.” Mom laughs, then evidently remembers she’s talking about my dad and Gavin, not me. Her eyes flicker to me momentarily, and she bites her lip and shifts in her seat. Nobody else notices. Dad and Gavin are plowing through huge plates of food, and my vapid cousin, Megan, hasn’t said a word since we sat down. She’s too busy pouting because her mom made her put her phone away at the table.

  “Everything is delicious, Jess,” Aunt Lisa says insincerely.

  “I went with a new place this year. They worked out well.”

  Mom means the caterer who made Thanksgiving dinner. My mother doesn’t cook. She finds the very idea distasteful. She’s not crazy about eating, either. Mostly, she pushes her food around with her fork and nibbles between sips of chardonnay.

  “Gav,” my dad says, trying again. “How’s the training program going?”

  “Pretty good. Got to have lunch with Murphy and Reynolds last week. They’re pretty big in the firm.”

  “Good, good. Make sure they know how eager you are. Show ’em what you’ve got. That’s how you get ahead.”

  So Gavin gets ahead by brown-nosing a couple of financial bigwigs over beers while I read hundreds of pages a week and write essay after essay about them, all with stellar grades, but I’m the one wasting my life.

  I down the rest of my beer and grab another from the fridge, surprising the hell out of the poor woman from the catering company dealing with our dinner. Does she have a family at home having Thanksgiving dinner without her while she serves our miserable household? I return silently to the table and keep my eyes on my beer. Maybe if I don’t say anything, everyone will forget I’m here, and I’ll get out of this dinner unscathed.

  God, I wish I was anywhere but here. Like in Hannah’s room, a week ago, eating extra cheese pizza. I should have kissed her that night— I wanted to kiss her that night, even if I was in denial. And then I did kiss her two nights ago, and Jesus, why was I trying so hard not to? Tangled on her bed in the dark, kissing, touching, and on the way to doing a whole lot more. It was amazing. She’s amazing.

  After how badly I handled everything, it’s a miracle Hannah’s even giving me the time of day. And instead of spending yesterday with her, figuring out how we’re going to go forward, I wasted it in Columbus because my dad needed to remind me he’s boss.

  Thinking about Hannah makes me imagine her here and… Ugh, Dad would be delighted with that choice. Three years younger than me and pursuing a science degree because she wants to help sick people. I can almost hear my dad’s dismissive “soft-hearted, hippie bullshit” comment.

  “How are the grades holding up, sport?” Dad’s voice jars me. He’s called me “sport” and Gavin “buddy” as long as I can remember, even though I’ve never played sports of any kind. I guess in his mind, Gavin and I are the matched set he always hoped for and still can’t believe he didn’t get.

  “Fine. As good as they’ve always been. Still carrying a three point nine GPA.” I pass the potatoes to Aunt Lisa.

  “Megan could stand to learn a few things about applying herself like Ben does,” Aunt Lisa says. Megan’s in her senior year of high school and shows about as much enthusiasm for college as she might for a root canal. She doesn’t even glance up when her mom starts talking about her. It’s hard to believe that Megan is just a year younger than Hannah. They come from different worlds entirely. I’ve always known Hannah was exceptional, but it’s made clear when I compare her to Megan.

  “Go easy on her, Lisa,” my dad says. “The kids all have to sow some wild oats when they’re young.”

  Aunt Lisa sighs and shakes her head. “Steve, you’re so lucky Ben is such a good student.”

  My dad snorts dismissively. “He’d better be a good student, since all he does is read.”

  I swallow down a flush of rage and force myself to speak calmly. “My last paper was about the role agnosticism plays in Thomas Hardy’s works. There’s a bit more involved than just reading.”

  “You know what your dad meant.” Mom laughs. I’m pretty sure she’s the one who doesn’t know what Dad meant. Or rather, she doesn’t want to know. I don’t respond. It’s pointless. This is Thanksgiving, and I’m trying really hard to get through the day without an ugly scene.

  “It’s fine.” Dad gestures expansively. “You can afford to be a little frivolous with your undergrad degree as long as you knuckle down after that and go into something that’ll earn you a decent living.”

  “I could make money with an English degree,” I protest.

  “That shitty little bookstore job isn’t going to cut it, and you know it.”

  “I won’t work there forever. Actually…” I swallow hard. I can’t believe I’m about to say this out loud. “If I got my PhD, I could teach. College.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. Laughs. My face goes hot, and my stomach churns— This was such a bad idea. Why did I open my mouth?

  “That’s just an excuse to spend your life in school instead of finding a real job,” Dad says.

  Gavin smirks. “Let us know when you’re ready to pull your head out of your ass and join the real world, Ben.”

  “So I can spend all day selling electronic shares in a bunch of imaginary shit like you?”

  “Hey,” Dad snaps. “That industry put a roof over your head and money in your pockets. Now it’s time to pay it back, kid. I was fine when you didn’t want to follow in the family business. I was fine when you decided to major in English, but you’re in your final year, and it’s time to make some plans.”

  “If this is about law school—”

  Gavin scoffs softly. “Yeah, sure. Ben’s going to law school.”

  Dad points his fork at Gavin, then at me. “You’re damn right he’s going to law school.”

  “I’m just not sure law school is the right fit for me,” I mutter.

  “What’s the matter, Ben?” Gavin chuckles. “Don’t think you can hack it?”

  “I could fucking ace law school compared to you, moron.”

  Dad smiles smugly, sets his fork down, and leans forward onto his elbows. “That’s just the kind of attitude I like hearing from you, sport. You’re going to
need that drive next year at the Chicago College of Law— It’s one of the best in the country. When you get out, top notch firms will be lining up to recruit you.”

  This is it—his big news—and I just wandered right into it. I clear my throat. “There’s no way I can get into a program like that.”

  “With a little help, which I just so happen to have access to, you sure can. An old fraternity buddy of mine is on the faculty there. I shot him an email and told him how eager you were to get into the program, and he’s happy to coach you through the process.”

  “Isn’t that exciting?” Mom trills.

  “That’ll give you quite an edge, Ben,” Aunt Lisa says bitterly.

  “I don’t think—”

  But Dad charges along like I didn’t speak. “He’s already emailed you the application and some pointers. You have to write some kind of essay, but you should be able to ace that part, right, sport? All those English classes will finally come in handy.”

  I start to protest that I never got an email, but Dad must have given this guy my old Gmail address from when I was in high school. I never gave my parents the Arlington State.edu address when I started school. The less access my dad has to me, the better.

  “That sounds great, but—”

  “No ‘buts.’” Dad points his fork at me again. “Richard doesn’t have to help you out— He’s doing it as a favor to me. I expect you to get that application in ASAP.”

  Gavin snorts. “This should be fun.”

  “Shut up, asshole.”

  “Boys!” Mom snaps. All the tendons are standing out on her neck. “Can we just settle down and enjoy a nice family dinner?” She’s clutching her wineglass so tightly her knuckles have gone white. There’s a moment of tense silence at the table while Gavin and I glare at each other. Mom gulps down her wine, Dad glowers at me, Aunt Lisa smirks smugly, and Megan stares blankly into space.

  Happy Thanksgiving.

  Thanksgiving dinner in the Fisher house has always felt like the Bataan Death March, and I lost my appetite the second Dad threw down his “awesome news.” But eventually, dessert is over and the plates are cleared.

  Gavin grabs a beer and escapes to the family room to watch the game while Mom and Aunt Lisa snipe at each other. Megan retrieves her phone with a relieved sigh and resumes texting everyone she knows. As soon as Dad follows Gav into the den to scream obscenities at the TV all afternoon, I grab my coat and slip out of the house. I can’t stand another minute of it. I walk through the sunny, cold, well-manicured streets of New Albany to try to clear my head, but it doesn’t work.

  It’s Thanksgiving in the Columbus suburbs, which means it’s freezing and almost nothing is open. I end up at a Starbucks, nursing a hot chocolate, just so I don’t have to walk around outside. There’s one sullen high school kid manning the register, and, impossibly, he looks even more miserable than me.

  My laptop is in my messenger bag, and out of curiosity, I fire it up and log back into my old email account. It’s been ages. There are a bunch of Facebook notifications—I still have a Facebook?—and a few emails from high school people I never gave my college email to. And there it is, halfway down the page, an email from Richard Parker, Esq., with the subject “Law school.” I skim through it, and sure enough, Richard’s willing to waltz me through the admissions process. It would be so easy.

  I close out of my old email and open another document on my desktop: my application to Arlington State’s master’s program in English Lit. It’s all filled out. I did it weeks ago, when Donnelly first said he wanted me in the program, but I still haven’t sent it because I have no idea how I could possibly make it work.

  Maybe it’s because my dad makes me so fucking frustrated and furious, and I just need this act of rebellion. Maybe it’s because after an afternoon of being invisible, unless I’m being told how to live my life, I just need to reclaim something that’s me. Whatever it is, after staring at that application for weeks, I send it off to the admissions office in less than thirty seconds. The high of hitting send lasts another thirty seconds, until I remember I’m sitting in a Starbucks on Thanksgiving, hiding from my family, and I feel horrible again.

  I want to talk—actually talk—to someone. I could call John, but while we’ve been good friends since freshman year, we don’t really confide in each other about stuff like this. He knows I don’t get along with my family, but that’s the extent of it.

  But Hannah knows all about my family. Maybe more than anyone who isn’t related to me.

  I scroll back to her name. I hate this kind of hesitation, the high school game of wondering what she’ll think if I text, or if I should call. Should I wait until I get back to campus? Will I seem too eager if I text her now? Worse, my dad just gave me a big fat reminder about what’s waiting for me in the future, and it’s hard to see how this new thing with Hannah fits into it.

  Maybe it’s selfish, but I open up a text to her anyway and type five words.

  I miss talking to you.

  Shit. I shouldn’t have sent that— Could I be any sappier? But she answers back right away.

  I miss talking to you, too.

  Fuck this. Before I lose my nerve, I press call. She answers after the first ring.

  “Hey.” Her voice is soft but excited.

  “Hey.”

  I swallow hard and rub my palm down my thigh. My hands are sweating even though it’s thirty degrees outside. God, I’ve missed hearing her voice. How did she get buried so deeply in my life so fast? “How’ve you been?”

  It seems impossible that it’s been just over a day since that night in her dorm room. It feels like years. “Fine.”

  “How’s your Thanksgiving?”

  “It’s good.”

  I hesitate. Last we spoke, she was freaked out about the questions her dad might ask about her major that she didn’t know how to answer anymore. “What about your dad?”

  “It’s…okay.”

  “Have you told him about Honors Chem yet?”

  She sighs. “Can we not talk about this?”

  “Sure. Yeah.” I can’t blame her— I don’t really want to talk about my family, either. I cast around for something less touchy to ask her, something about us. “You reading anything right now?”

  “Yeah, I picked it up at World of Books yesterday, but it sucks. It’s so dumb.”

  This—this—is what I missed, being the one to give her books, staying up half the night talking about different stories with her. I want to have that again more than anything else, at least for a little while longer.

  “World of Books?” I groan. That place is soulless—like Starbucks for books. “You’re killing me.”

  “Well, there’s that one right near campus—”

  “I know, I know. Sorry it sucks.”

  “Me, too. But it didn’t feel right going back to Prometheus without you there. I don’t want anyone else to help me find a book.”

  My heart soars, and we’re getting into a groove now where it feels natural to give her a hard time. “So you went to the soulless corporation instead? Hannah, that’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  She laughs loudly and freely, and the sound fills me with warmth. When she finally comes down, she asks, “How’s your holiday?”

  “Well, I’m sitting in a Starbucks right now, so that should tell you how it’s going.”

  “Your family didn’t do dinner?”

  “Oh, no, Mom had it catered. The food wasn’t the problem. It was the people.”

  “What happened?”

  “My dad. You know, the usual. Going off about how I’m wasting my time and I’m an idiot and law school is my only option.”

  Hannah snorts dismissively. “Well, that’s ridiculous. As soon as he sees how well you’re doing working on your master’s next year, he’ll realize he was wrong.”

  I smile at her absolute confidence in me, even after everything that happened last week. I want to believe in her vision for nex
t year, but I’m torn between what I want and what’s right. Maybe I can figure out a way to make it happen, to make that application I just sent my reality.

  “We’ll see,” I say.

  “So was it really bad?”

  “I’m sitting in a Starbucks, remember?”

  “Right. Wow. What are you going to do?”

  I sigh. “I think I’m just gonna grab my stuff and head back to Arlington.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. I was going back early tomorrow anyway for work, Black Friday and all. But if I leave now, we won’t get into any more fights.”

  She hesitates. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Hannah.”

  “For what?”

  “Just…talking to me. I really needed this.”

  I needed it—her—more than I realized. We’ve got this whole other aspect to our relationship still waiting to be explored, but for now? I’m insanely happy to have this back.

  “Hey, are you coming back to school on Sunday?” I ask.

  “Yeah, Sunday afternoon.”

  “I’m working all day, but can I come see you when I get off? We should talk.”

  Neither of us says anything with the implication of “talk” hovering between us. We’re going to talk, but there’s some other unresolved business between us, too. Business that starts with kissing and ends where we both wanted it to go after the party.

  “Yeah, we probably should,” she says. “Come see me when you get off work.”

  Sunday feels like a century from now. This is sure to be the longest weekend I’ve ever lived through.

  “Okay. Hannah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for giving me another chance.”

  She giggles. “Oh, God.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Thanksgiving. What else could I do?” I laugh, too, until she interrupts me, her voice much more serious. “But I’d have given you another chance no matter what day it was, Ben.”

  It’s official. I don’t deserve this girl. “I won’t let you down,” I promise her.

  It’s only after I hang up that I realize I might have made a promise I can’t keep.