Early June, seven years ago
“Congratulations again, both of you! We couldn’t be more proud.”
Frank lifted his flute of champagne high, and we clinked glasses across the long table.
“Yeah, congrats. Welcome to adulthood,” Ben added, giving Bonnie a wink and me a warm grin.
My mother, sitting regally in a flowing tie-dye dress at the other end of the table, took a silent sip of her champagne, bangles jingling.
Ange added, “That arena is something else, huh? I bet you’ve seen a lot of games there.” The School of Communication undergraduate convocation ceremony had been held at the university’s arena, where the Northwestern Wildcats basketball team ruled.
“Sure,” I replied. “I mean, we’re not really team sports people, but the basketball games are fun.” I glanced at my mother, who was looking away, clearly not listening. “Go Wildcats,” I added, weakly.
Around us, the buzz of the packed Ten-Mile House restaurant was loud with other families also celebrating graduation day, many of us still in our robes. Mom would be finding the noise hard — she was never good at dealing with busy places and high levels of ambient sound. She’d clearly been deeply uncomfortable in the arena during the ceremony, and the experience had left her irritable and distracted.
I made eye contact and gave her a small smile, which she returned, wordlessly and with little enthusiasm.
If only she would make more of an effort in front of the Masons. But social situations like this were tough for her, I got that. Deep down, I knew she was proud of me for graduating from a top-tier university, even if she wasn’t especially vocal about it.
She was here, after all. She hadn’t made an excuse not to come to Chicago for the ceremony, which I had half-expected. She’d even put up the money for the two of us to stay in a downtown hotel this weekend, before she headed back to Indianapolis on Monday. That was very generous of her, considering her paltry income. And considering she was quite obviously offended that I’d chosen to move in with the Masons until I found a job, instead of moving back to Indy with her after school ended.
So, yeah, her effort wasn’t much, but it wasn’t nothing. I’d take it.
“What’s the plan now, Millie?” Ange asked, warm affection coating her voice. “Where’s our girl taking her life next?”
At the foot of the table, Mom twisted her mouth into a tiny smirk at the phrase “our girl.”
I ignored her, and turned to Ange.
“Get a job, I guess, so I can get out of your hair.” I laughed. “I’m sure you don’t want me living with you the entire summer.” Ange lifted her hand to protest, but I placed mine over her arm. “No, really. I’m so grateful for your generosity, but I can’t stay with you forever.”
After dorms closed two weeks ago, I’d moved my meager possessions into the Masons’ guest room, as Bonnie moved back into her childhood bedroom. It was a fun time, and Ben was often at the house — usually when Amber was busy doing something else. But I did need to find a way to stop depending on the Masons for everything.
Getting a job was the top priority. Anything to give me some semblance of independence. While still being able to spend time with the Masons on a regular basis, of course.
“You’re not thinking about doing the IMC Masters at Medill?” Ben asked. “I thought you wanted to do that.”
I swallowed a sip of my drink and sighed. The Masters of Integrated Marketing Communications at Northwestern’s Medill School would’ve been a great next step for me, and a lot of the Comms graduates in my class were going on to do it. But it was expensive.
“I was hoping to,” I admitted, with a wry smile. “But the Bank of Dad has dried up, so I can’t fund it. His construction company in Ireland isn’t doing all that well right now, so he can’t pay for any more studies for me. I’m on my own.” I shrugged. “Medill offers a part-time masters for professionals so, if I need to, I can pay for it myself later, while I’m working. We’ll see. I’ll have to get a job first.”
My mother cleared her throat. “I’m sure you’ll find something, honey. And at the rate your dad is drinking himself into an early grave over there in Dublin, you’ll probably get your inheritance from that huge McMansion of his sooner than later.” She emitted a slightly bitter laugh. “You’ll be fine.”
Seriously, Mom?
Despite the chatter around us, a thick silence descended into the airspace above our table, and Bonnie shuffled nervously in her seat beside me. I glanced over at Ben, who gave me a soft, sympathetic smile, and then at Frank, who looked gravely at his hands.
Did Mom really just wish my father dead so I’d get some inheritance? Right in front of everyone who mattered to me?
I opened my mouth to form a response, but nothing came out.
Ange, bless her, piped up, breaking the awkward silence. “Well, I’m sure Millie will be just great forging her own path. But she’ll always have our support, and she can stay with us just as long as she wants to — no matter what she says.” She turned to me. “We were talking about it, and we hope you will consider staying the whole summer, and taking some time to have some fun after working so hard at school. You can always get a job in September, right? Summer’s a horrible time for job hunting, anyways.”
I smiled. Angela always made me feel so much better about myself. So safe and cared for.
Beside me, Bonnie issued a little yip of excitement. “Yay! You’ve got to stay the whole summer, Mill. You know my classes don’t start until the fall, and I need you to keep me company.”
She’d already gotten into an interior design program at the art school in the city, and would commute from Lake Bluff for the five months it would take to complete. I was thrilled that she’d chosen to pursue a creative career, given that she’d been wavering about maybe going into public policy. She’d definitely chosen the path that would make her happiest, I was sure of that.
“Plus, you’re coming to the beach house in Oregon with us in August,” Bonnie added, pointedly. “No point in you starting a new job in July, only to be away for three weeks in August. You may as well wait until we get back.”
We’d been planning this vacation with Bonnie’s parents for months. Ever since Bonnie’s grandmother had passed last year, leaving her Oregon beachfront home to Frank, the house had been undergoing massive renovations for use as a vacation home. As of this summer, it was finally ready — and I couldn’t wait. I hadn’t been back to the West Coast since the summer I met Bonnie.
I glanced over at my mother, whose over-plucked eyebrows were arched. I could almost physically feel the waves of disdain coming off her, vibrating over the table, stacked as it was with unfinished champagne glasses and generous family-style food platters.
To Mom, summers spent having nothing but a good time, family-owned beach houses in Oregon, and generational wealth — even celebratory meals like this — were a level of privilege she had never known. Her disdain was part envy, part lack of respect for anyone with money. She always assumed that anybody wealthy had had their lives handed to them on a platter, just like the smoked meat on the table.
The Masons were privileged, yes. But they were also good, kind, generous, hardworking, career-driven people who didn’t deserve the thinly disguised sneer coming from my mother’s end of the table.
I turned back to Frank and Ange with a smile. “Thanks, that’s so kind of you. If you’re sure, I’d love to stay. But I’ll be applying for jobs while we’re in Oregon, so that I have interviews lined up in September. I don’t want to be a burden on you after Bonnie has started classes.”
Across the table, I caught Ben’s eye and he gave me a silent nod, and a grin.
Maybe he would join us on our Oregon vacation, too — at least for some of the time. That would be fun. But then again, I wasn’t sure I wanted Amber and her perfectly tanned bikini body there with us. Less fun.
Bonnie gave my shoulder a friendly nudge. “It’ll be great. We’ll have the best time.”
Our harassed-looking server came to clear away our plates, and Frank quietly paid what must’ve been an exorbitant check — no doubt with a giant tip, judging from the server’s smile. Mom, I noticed, barely mustered more than a quiet “thanks” to Frank as we stood and gathered our belongings.
Such a chip on her shoulder.
But then, it was probably hard for her to see her daughter being lavishly taken care of in a way that she could never have afforded. That had to hurt.
We said our goodbyes, and Mom and I walked to Evanston train station, my heavy graduation robe draped over my arm as I carried my cap. The day was warm, and I was glad of the light sundress I’d worn beneath the robe. Mom’s brightly colored dress flowed out behind her, the thin straps exposing her tanned, leathery arms. She’d never believed in using sunscreen. “Too many chemicals, Millie,” she’d tell me. “It’s not natural.”
Yeah, Mom. Skin cancer was much more natural. But still definitely worth avoiding.
We settled into our seats in the two-level train to Chicago, Mom insisting on sitting on the lower level to avoid the tiny, steep steps to the mezzanine seats. The train was packed, and we shared our four-seater spot with a gray-haired couple who were also carrying a convocation ceremony program. I smiled at them and they grinned back, nodding at the purple graduation robe and four-cornered tasseled cap resting in my lap, a silent congratulations between strangers.
The train pulled away from the station, and Mom looked out of the window, twisting the jeweled rings on her fingers.
“You’re going to stay with the Masons the entire summer, then, and get a job in the fall?” she asked, not looking at me, her eyes flicking at the passing townscape. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
I shrugged, immediately on the defensive. “You heard Bonnie and Angela. It’s hardly worth applying now, to start a job in mid- to late July at the earliest, only to be away for three weeks in August. I’ll make sure I get something in September, and move out then. Even if it’s only an interim job to pay the rent until I get something permanent. I’ll be fine.”
Mom huffed, and finally made eye contact. “Well, you’d also be fine if you came and stayed with me, and started applying for jobs right now, and spent the summer going on interviews instead of living it up on the beaches of Oregon.” The bitter edge to her voice had returned. “I mean, you might miss out on a job that starts in early September, if you wait to start applying. Sure, Bonnie wants to spend the summer with you, but she’s already got her next phase locked down. She’s already fine. People like us have to work harder, and make sacrifices in life, you know? Not everybody has it all figured out like the Masons.”
Beside us, the sweet couple who had smiled at me shifted uncomfortably in their seats, the woman pretending to read her ceremony program rather than unwittingly eavesdrop on our conversation. The man cleared his throat nervously.
I sighed. “I get it, Mom. But Ange is right — there’s hardly any recruitment in July and August. Everybody is on vacation. And those graduate programs that start in early September — they’re already filled, and I’m not going for something like that anyways. I’ll find an entry-level job at a marketing agency, or something. September will be fine for that. I promise.”
Mom furrowed her brow, evidently unconvinced. “If you say so. I’ve said my piece.”
I leaned forward, trying to engage her in a smile. “And I appreciate the offer of staying with you in Indy, I really do, Mom. But as I told you before, it’s not good for me there. I can’t see my friends in Chicago, and even if I did spend the summer applying for jobs from your place, it’s a nightmare to get the train four hours each way to go for interviews in Chicago — I’d have to stay overnight with Bonnie anyways. It just makes sense for me to stay nearer Chicago.” I reach over and put my hand on her tanned arm, above the bangles. “I do love you, Mom, but my life is here now. I’ll come visit for a few days before Oregon, okay? You can show me your new rose-gold product line.”
Mom nodded, somewhat placated, then squinted a little. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else keeping you in Chicago? You’ve been real quiet about your love life recently. Have you met a boy?” She gave me a twisted grin, and I laughed, relieved at the break in tension. Even if it meant touching on a topic that was another sore spot for me.
“No, Mom, I’m not seeing anybody. It’s not that.”
Mom pursed her lips. “That brother of Bonnie’s is pretty cute, though, isn’t he? I saw him looking at you over lunch — don’t think I didn’t notice.”
My stomach did a little flutter, which I ignored. “Ben? No, no. He’s got a long-term girlfriend. He’s not remotely available. And even if he was, you know, he’s Bonnie’s brother. I’m sure that would be weird. So, you know. Not an option. Definitely not.”
Mom’s thin left eyebrow had gradually risen to its highest possible point throughout my protestations. “If you say so,” she repeated, this time with a tiny smile. “And no other prospects on the horizon? I haven’t heard you speak of anybody since you broke up with Chris. You’re such a beautiful and smart girl, I can’t understand why you’re not beating them off with a stick. I’m sure you meet nice boys all the time.”
Wow. I couldn’t remember Mom ever calling me “beautiful and smart.” Not in the same breath, that’s for sure.
“Thanks, Mom. But . . . no. There’s nobody.”
My mind flitted back to my final singing gig with the Notables a week ago — a fundraising gala in which I’d briefly met a really cute guy, Evan, the founder of some skyrocketing tech company. We’d spoken for only a few minutes, but there had definitely been some chemistry. Then he’d suddenly rushed off — narrowly missing a server with a tray full of champagne, I recall — to take an urgent phone call. I didn’t see him again for the rest of the evening. The next day, I’d pondered trying to connect with him on LinkedIn, since I knew his name and company, and we’d arguably met at a work event. But in our brief exchange, Evan had told me his company was on a hiring freeze, so there was no chance of a marketing job. Plus he was based in San Francisco, so he wasn’t a good romantic prospect. I’d decided to let it go.
Mom was watching the passing townscape again, which was getting increasingly vertical as we approached the city. “You haven’t had much luck with men, have you?” This was said quietly, almost more to herself than to me, and for a second I wondered if she actually meant her own love life. But she turned her face to me, as if expecting me to respond.
I pulled in a long breath. I wasn’t going to get into all that with her right now — not on a public train, with two polite strangers next to us trying desperately not to listen to our conversation.
Instead, I looked out of the window myself. The high-rise towers of Chicago were now in view, and I felt my heartbeat slowing. This was where I belonged.
“Like mother, like daughter, I guess,” I replied.
We sat in silence for the rest of the journey.