47. Daphne
Daphne
We don’t wake up until Chastity raps on the door of my farmhouse bedroom. “Daphne? Rickie? Family meeting in half an hour.”
“Okay,” I mumble.
“There’s bacon,” she adds helpfully.
“Mmm. Thanks.”
But I don’t get up. Rickie is curled tightly around me. That may have something to do with the modest size of my bed in the farmhouse. Or maybe he’s just in a very snuggly mood.
Either way, I like it. Except it’s giving me ideas. And we can’t get busy here in my childhood bedroom.
“Rickie,” I whisper. “We have to get up. Family meeting.”
“I’m not family,” he slurs. “I’m not anybody’s family before at least ten in the morning.”
“Be that as it may, it’s also breakfast time. I heard there’s bacon.”
“Mmf. You know what would really motivate me to wake up?”
“I’m sure it involves sex,” I guess.
“ Ding ding . Shower sex. Let’s go. I have some very fond memories of you and me in that shower on a hundred-degree day after baking pies.”
“Not today, McFly. Wake up and come downstairs if you can.” Against all my deepest desires, I slide out of his comfortable embrace. I have to, because it’s going to be a very busy April Friday, and I need that half hour to get ready.
So I head to the bathroom, bracing myself.
First, there’s a family meeting. That wouldn’t be a big deal, except that I’m going to open up my grad school financial aid packages and compare them. It’s always terrifying to confront your future head-on.
Then again, I’m pretty grateful that I have a few options. Reardon Halsey didn’t break me. In six short weeks I’ll have a degree from Moo U, and then in the fall I’ll head off to one of the three grad school programs that accepted me.
Two weeks ago I found out that I didn’t get into Berkeley. Or Johns Hopkins. Although Berkeley wrote me a lovely letter encouraging me to get more work experience and reapply.
That had been a blow to my ego. But in hindsight it’s not that surprising. I have a funny-looking resume, and I lack the real-life experience that many public health masters’ candidates have.
Still, I have choices. I’ll make the most of them.
Grad school decisions aren’t even the biggest thing on my mind this weekend.
May is getting married tomorrow. That’s why we’re all here in the farmhouse, to celebrate her wedding weekend.
Today there will be a quick rehearsal at the church, and then the men are all headed out to play paintball in the woods somewhere.
The women are getting a yoga class, followed by mani/pedis and mocktails.
Then, tomorrow, there’s a church wedding, followed by May’s reception at Speakeasy . The gastropub’s private upstairs space will be decked out for dancing and a barbecue buffet.
It will all be great. Just as soon as I get through the scary financial aid parts.
* * *
Mom went all out for brunch today, so I nibble on some extra strawberries while I wait for the family meeting to begin. In front of me on the table are three large envelopes. Sealed.
“You haven’t opened them?” Griffin asks, sipping his coffee.
“No,” I admit. “I promised myself that I’d open them here, where you could remind me that prestige isn’t everything. If North Carolina isn’t a good deal for me, then I’ll have to let it go.”
“Prestige isn’t everything,” my big brother says.
“Thank you.”
“Neither is money.”
“Now you’re just confusing me.” He grins.
Mom hurries into the room and takes a seat at the head of the table. “Sorry. Are we all here?”
“Almost!” Dylan yells from the kitchen, before appearing in the doorway. “I’m here. Let the party start.”
“First order of business,” my mother says. “The battery in my new pickup truck is dead. So if one of you can’t jump it, that’s an expense I wasn’t expecting.”
“Again?” Griffin mutters. “Huh. Someone must be running the heated seats or the radio too long with the engine off.”
Grandpa’s voice comes from the TV room. “It’s been a cold spring! Somebody probably had to keep his tushie warm.”
“But not without the engine running,” I point out. “Why stay in the truck if you’re parked?”
Dylan snorts. “I can think of a couple of reasons.”
“In April?” I argue, because arguing with your twin is a God-given right. “Brrr.”
Dylan shrugs. “Maybe you really were snatched by aliens, because you clearly didn’t grow up in Vermont.”
There are a few chuckles around the table. And then Griffin calls out, “Hey, Gramps? Didn’t you take Mabel on a date in the truck last night?”
“Don’t pin this on me,” he grumbles. “Something must be wrong with the truck.”
There’s a stunned silence among us.
“Okay!” my mother says too brightly. “Next subject—Daphne’s grad school decision. Open up those envelopes, honey.”
“This one can wait. Let’s get the drama over with.” I pick up the envelope from North Carolina and slit it open with my thumb. I pull the financial aid letter out and drop it on the table.
“Dear Miss Shipley,” Griffin reads. Then he trails his finger down the column of numbers. “They gave you some aid,” he says. “Next year would cost us twenty-two thousand dollars.”
“Ouch,” I say. “That’s…a lot.”
“Don’t panic yet,” my brother says. He hands me the envelope from the University of Massachusetts. “Let’s have some more data points, first.”
I open that one, and it’s better news. They’ve funded me for everything except for thirteen thousand dollars. “Better!” I say cheerfully. Except I’m not as wild about that school, even though it has a good reputation.
Griff slides the third envelope toward me. Everyone watches while I open an offer from the Burlington U. I pull it out and slap it on the table. I read the letter.
Then I read it again.
“Full ride!” Griffin hoots. “Yes, baby, yes!”
There’s a note written in ink at the bottom. I really hope you’ll join us, Daphne. We’d love to have you. —Dr. Drummond
“Who’s that?” Griffin asks.
“The Dean of the whole program,” I say in a hushed voice.
“Nice,” my brother says, slapping me on the back. “You think it all over. But sometimes it’s pretty great to stick with the people who love you.”
“True,” I murmur, lifting my eyes from the page. And there stands Rickie in the doorway, a mug of tea in his hand. Our gazes lock, and he smiles at me.
Then he gives me a wink and turns to go back into the kitchen.
“Wait!” My mother says, pulling another envelope out of her folder. “You got one more yesterday.” She hands it to me.
“Ooh, it’s from Harkness,” my brother says. “Didn’t know you applied there.”
“I didn’t,” I admit. “I have no idea what this could be.” A girl can’t apply to a program after admitting to breaking and entering. That’s just bad form. So I have no idea what’s in this envelope.
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” May chirps.
So I rip it open. It’s a letter from the other powerful woman in my life—Dean Reynolds.
Dear Miss Shipley—
The matter of survey tampering has finally been resolved. An employee was removed from the study. And an undergraduate was removed from the college. Thank you for your cooperation.
Per our investigation, it has come to light that harassment by a member of your program led to your transfer. We do not condone harassment in any form.
Meanwhile, since you completed more than 75% of your Harkness requirements—and then fulfilled the rest at an accredited institution—you are technically eligible to receive your Harkness BA in lieu of graduating from Burlington University.
If you wish to ask for reinstatement, please write a letter indicating your interest before May 8 th to be considered for commencement in June.
Sincerely,
Dr. R. Reynolds
“Wow!” May says. “Check it out!”
“Who knew?” my mother asks.
“You have to do this,” Griffin insists.
Somehow my whole family has crowded around in order to read over my shoulder.
“You’re going to get your fancy degree after all,” Dylan chuckles. “Of course you are. I knew it all along.”
I didn’t, though. The whole year has been harrowing. And I can’t believe I’ve come out on the other side of it. The paper grows blurry as my eyes fill with grateful tears.
A firm hand lands on the back of my neck and squeezes lightly. It’s Rickie. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.
He’s just there for me.