Chapter 11
The Inheritance Committee meeting room has always been in the basement of the art building. Some things stay the same, despite my memories that fade and bleed around the edges.
Murals cover every wall from generations of students who have come and gone from these rooms. Ancient couches and chairs fill the space, some draped in blankets, others in patches.
There is an eternal earthy smell that never seems to leave.
And despite the dim light of the lamps that decorate the space, fake candles glow on low tables, making it feel warm and inviting.
Before, I would sit near the front, as close to Carter as I could get, raising my hand to volunteer for everything and anything.
Now I sit as close to the back wall as possible, wondering why I came. Linden walks into the room, greeting people and taking a seat toward the front in a chair with large, puffy arms. It used to be my chair. When Carter and Benji walk in, every eye turns to them.
“I know, I know. I’m late.” Carter smiles sheepishly, and everyone laughs.
He claps people on the back as he asks them questions. How was your weekend? What’ve you been up to? People beam at his attention. I wonder if he would have made a good politician.
Will.
Would?
I can’t tell anymore.
“You’re in my seat.”
Max Emerson stands over me with a frown.
“Your seat?” I ask to clarify. “Are they assigned?”
He shifts on his feet, uncomfortable, before answering my question. “No.”
The room has filled up, but there’s a space next to me on the couch. Before I can tell him that he can sit next to me, he lets out a groan and grabs a folding chair and sits down.
Clearly, I’ve annoyed him. Maybe he’s still upset about what happened at the pool, or maybe Max and I are just the kind of people who will never get along, no matter the universe we exist in.
Carter claps his hands together. “All right, everyone, this meeting has officially begun, so grab your preferred beverage and take a seat.”
Max pulls out a notebook and a pencil.
Carter goes on and on about goals for the Inheritance Committee and its mandate to make art accessible to everyone.
An ironic obligation for a private school with a tuition that’s the same as many people’s yearly income.
As he speaks, he takes sips of a drink that looks suspiciously like whiskey. “Halloween!” He smiles at the crowd. “Our favorite party of the year.”
“Fundraiser,” Benji clarifies. “It’s a fundraiser.”
“Be thinking of ideas to make it even more insane than last year.” Carter takes another sip. “I’ve already been told we cannot have any trampolines this year, so don’t even suggest them. It’ll just make me sad.”
Did Carter always drink at committee meetings?
Benji stands up, and Carter takes a seat and another drink.
“Volunteer hours are mandatory for everyone in the committee and must be completed monthly. If you do not complete them, you lose membership in the committee.” He looks down at a sheet of paper. “We have three opportunities this month. There’s a play at the elementary school that my friend has a…”
I stop listening. Lose membership?
It’s something I had never considered. Last time, all I did was try to support the committee, and now …
I stand, and Carter looks at me.
Which has everyone else turning in my direction.
And …
I just leave.
This change is small but big enough that maybe, just maybe, things won’t end up in the same place as before. But my hands shake with the idea that I’ve just … left. Gone. I don’t have to stay there. I don’t have to be anywhere I don’t want to be. It feels … wrong.
And amazing.
“Nieve!” Max’s voice finds me on the stairwell.
I stop.
“Where are you going?”
The words feel caught on my tongue, and I worry that I can’t say them. That I won’t be able to say them. I realize I could lie, that I should lie. I’m going to the bathroom, or I forgot something in my dorm. But instead …
“I’m not doing the committee this year.”
“Why?” He looks like he’s trying to figure out my game. But there is no game here. This is me, finally doing what I’m supposed to do.
“What do you care?”
His shoulders straighten. “If that’s what you think is best.” But I don’t think he means it.
“I do.”
Max nods. “Okay. You have to put yourself first.” His words are kind, soft. And I remember a different version of him, when his words weren’t so kind.
“You have to do what’s best for you. You can’t keep putting other people first.” Max is shouting at me, pointing back at my unfinished art project.
“Carter needed me!” Max, of all people, should understand that. “I couldn’t just tell him I had a project.”
“Carter would have been fine without you, Nieve! And he should have told you that! He should have made you come here and finish your project!”
But Max was wrong then, and he’s wrong now. Carter does need me, and quitting the committee is me still putting him first.
I feel lighter. Smart. I’m changing things.
But as soon as I lie on my bed, guilt swims in my gut. Linden’s voice fills my mind with words about obligation and duty. Grandee’s voice reminds me of tradition, our legacy, even though she hated the committee. And my own heart supplies the memories from a life that no one else knows existed.
Ones where I was happy, and life felt endless.
Without really thinking about it, I pick up my phone to call my mother. She’ll agree with me about my choice.
I scroll and scroll and …
No matter how hard I look, there is no contact that says Mom.
Maybe I put her in by her first name?
I look through every contact saved and cannot seem to find one for her. I try to search my memory for her number and come up with one that I think might be hers, but the woman who answers has never heard of her.
I call Grandee.
“This had better not be another breakdown.”
I roll my eyes. “I need my mom’s number.”
The other end of the line is silent, which is odd. Grandee always has something to say.
Finally, she clarifies. “Your mother?”
Something about the tone of her voice makes an odd feeling creep over my skin. “Yeah. I must have accidentally deleted it.”
There’s the sound of a deep breath on the other end, and then Grandee says, “Honey, your mom’s been gone for years. Since you were three.”
“Gone where?”
“Gone,” she repeats.
It’s a flat word. Something that feels thin from time and truth.
Gone. How long doesn’t matter, where doesn’t matter. It’s just a fact.
“Nieve, dear. Did you make a change?” Grandee’s voice breaks through the fog of my thoughts as they try to align themselves. “Take deep breaths.”
I nod like she can hear that, but I can’t find any air in my lungs to speak or to take a breath.
“Small ripples. Not big waves. Time wants to correct itself, remember.”
“All right.” But it’s a whisper when it comes out.
As I hang up, I reach down for the hideous doll that is somehow here in this timeline. The one I made with my mother. With button eyes and a heart mouth. Something familiar that will make me feel grounded. Better. Less adrift.
But the doll is gone. Like my mother. A ripple effect.
All because I thought I could do what I wanted.
For the rest of the night, I don’t get out of bed.