Chapter Thirty-five #2
“No, Faith, I’m not. You don’t know what kind of crazy stuff is out there in the world.
I do. My sister ran off to California to be a rock star, and she ended up making jewelry for Jesus while she bounced in and out of rehab clinics.
Now, she’s a Denver pothead, barely making enough money to stay alive. ”
“I’m not an idiot, Mom. And I haven’t bought into a cult. I’m a Christian.”
“But you’re basing your future plan on”—Mom makes air quotes—“‘God’s will.’ Do you know how many times I heard that from my sister? I will not—” Her fist slams into the table, and I jump. “—let the same thing happen to my daughter.”
“Janet.” Dad puts his hand over Mom’s clenched fist. Mom closes her eyes, inhales through her nose, and lets the breath out slowly through her mouth before opening her eyes again.
“We want you to get a good education,” she says, her voice calmer.
“To use the brain God gave you—yes, God—to live up to your potential. I know you think you’re a better Christian than I am, Faith.
And maybe you are. But my parents dragged me to church enough when I was a kid that I at least know the Ten Commandments.
And one of those commandments says ‘honor thy mother and thy father.’”
“Following my dreams does not dishonor you.” I close my eyes for a moment to tamp down the defensive arguments that tease the back of my tongue.
“I cannot pretend to be something—or someone—contrary to what God created me to be. That doesn’t honor him.
And it doesn’t honor you, either. It only appeases you. And that’s not the same thing.”
There’s no immediate rebuttal, so I continue.
“This isn’t some wild dream. It’s what I believe I’m meant to do with my life. I’m applying for scholarships. I’m going to work really hard to be ready for my auditions. And . . . I’ll be happy with whichever school wants me enough to offer a financial aid package I can live with.”
“But why beauty—er, cosmetology school?” Dad asks. “You’re already burning the candle at both ends with your community college classes in addition to the high school requirements. And you’ve never talked about wanting to be an esthet—” Dad clears his throat again, “a makeup artist before.”
“I’ve always helped with makeup for the shows at school. And I’ve gotten to watch Lissa a lot—she’s the esthetician Grandma hired last year. I think I’d be good at it.”
Mom inhales sharply. “I should have known.” She crosses her arms. “This was Madeleine’s idea, wasn’t it?”
“No. This was my idea. All of it.” I was worried this would happen.
“I did talk with Grandma about it. Since she owns a salon, it seemed like a good idea.” I look back down at my plate and the omelet that’s turned to mush from all the fiddling I’ve done during this conversation.
“She did loan me the money for the deposit to La Bella, but I’m going to pay her back as soon as possible. ”
Mom shoots a seething glance at Dad. As if he has any more control over Grandma Maddie’s decisions than over his wife’s? Please.
“It was my idea,” I reiterate. “I know it seems a little sudden, because it’s the first you’ve heard about it. But it’s not sudden. I’ve been planning this for months. I was just waiting to tell you until I was eighteen so you couldn’t tell me no.”
Mom sniffs. She won’t make eye contact with me.
“I’m not going into this blindly. I know it’ll be rough this fall, adding night classes at La Bella to all I’ve got going on already, but it’s only for a couple of months, and then I’ll switch to days in January.”
Mom presses her lips together, and a fast breath exits her nose “Aren’t you going out for the musical this fall?”
“Yes. Most of my practices are right after school. My classes at La Bella don’t start until six. Mr. Barron said he would work around my schedule.”
“Well, isn’t he helpful.”
I ignore Mom’s sarcasm. “I’ll finish up at La Bella in early May. That gives me plenty of time to find a job and a place to live wherever I end up going to school.”
“Why are you really doing this, Faith?” Dad asks. “Graduating early, I mean. Racing into adulthood before you’ve finished the time allotted for being a kid?”
An ache presses around my throat. “I left ‘kid’ behind a while ago. Last year was really hard.”
“But you did fine! You were at the top of your class!”
“I know, Mom. It wasn’t school that was difficult. Well, not exactly. There were a lot of rumors, and—”
“It’s a small town. You were the flavor of the month for a while, but it’s over. You need to move past all that.”
Heaven forbid she should take an ounce of responsibility.
“I know the last year or so has been . . . ah, difficult for you,” Dad adds. “Socially speaking. But you’ve kept your grades up under a heavier course load than either Ryan or Gretchen could have handled. I suppose there’s no reason why you shouldn’t graduate early if that’s what you really want.”
“It is what I want. The sooner I can get out of KHS, the better.” I set my fork down. I really need to stop messing with this omelet. It’s gross. “There’s nothing for me here. After Noah left, I—”
Noah.
The shock of saying—hearing—his name aloud after so long is intense.
I pull in my breath, wishing I could remove that last phrase from the air before it registers in my mom’s ears with as much resonance as it did mine, but it’s too late.