Chapter 22 #3
Once he’d gone, her father set her down on the blue chesterfield. He settled beside her with a sigh that added ten years to
him, even though he’d just turned forty-five. “So. That’s the famous Nick. At last.”
Aubrey clasped her hands in her lap. “That’s him.”
Another sigh. “You’re serious about him?”
“Yes.”
“How serious?”
“Very.” Her fingers tangled together. “He’s the most honorable person I’ve ever met.”
“Honorable? He didn’t look honorable, with his hands all over you like that.”
Her heart wriggled up the back of her throat. How she wished she could go back in time and beg Nick to come to dinner on a
night when he could’ve showed up with a bouquet for her mother and a handshake for her father. A wasted wish. “I know, but—”
“And he started a fight over you.”
“He didn’t,” she rushed out, absurdly grateful for Nick’s first-punch policy. “Brent started it. Nick just hit back.”
Her father grunted. “He’s not being raised right, Aubrey. That probably means more to me than it does to you, but people learn from their parents. They turn into them,
someday.”
She hissed in protest. “That’s prejudiced.”
“It’s realistic.”
She dug her heels in at that point. So did her father, and Aubrey ended up parroting the same speech she’d delivered to Tansy.
She wished, then, that she had Nick’s aptitude for words, because hers failed in every way to convey the breadth of what he
meant to her. She couldn’t explain how his arms offered a haven, or that his letters scorched into her, each word a fizzing
star slingshotted across her sky. She had no poetry to describe her certainty that Nick was worth it. Worth anything.
Still, her father listened, and when she finished, he cradled her hands in his. “That’s all well and good,” he said. “But
it’s probably for the best that this thing is ending in a few weeks.”
She stiffened. “Ending?”
“When you go to NYU.”
Ice trickled down her spine. “Well, that’s the thing, Dad. I’ve decided . . . I’ve, ah . . .”
His hands tightened around hers.
Somehow, the pressure steadied her. “I’m deferring. For a year. I’m not going to New York without him.”
There. She’d said it. At the worst possible moment, but anything less would have been a betrayal.
Her father dropped her hands as if stung. “What? No. Absolutely not.”
“Yes. I’m staying in Henderson for another year to save up, and then we’re leaving together. We’re going to move in—”
“No,” he thundered. A vein in his temple throbbed. “Absolutely not. You haven’t told NYU this yet, have you?”
“No, but it’s not up for discussion.”
“Everything is up for discussion.” He rose and paced. A red mottle rose in his cheeks, brighter than the one he’d worn in
the kitchen. “And you’ve worked too hard to defer. You have a plan. I’m not letting you throw it away for some boyfriend.”
“He’s not just a boyfriend!”
The conversation quickly spun out of control, degenerating to a cacophony of raised voices and impassioned pleas.
“Pack a bag,” her father said, when Aubrey started crying. “We’re going away for a few days. Somewhere where you can think
about this. I mean really think, away from that boy. You need to approach this with a clear head.”
“I don’t want to go away. And I don’t need to think about it.”
“I’m not asking.”
“I don’t care. You can’t force me.”
His eyes flashed. “Think about this, Aubrey. It’s inertia. Simple physics. If you stay in Henderson, it’ll only get harder
and harder to leave. And I know that’s not what you want for yourself. It’s not what I want for you, either.”
She sniffled. She had no doubt his heart was in the right place, but he didn’t understand.
She struggled to her feet, her hands flexing into fists. His eyes had hardened to chunks of jade, and as she wiped away her
tears, she imagined hers had done the same.
“Look, Dad, I love you, but this isn’t your call. I’m eighteen now. An adult. And I know what I want. So if you put something
in my way, I’ll just go around you. If you knock me down, I’ll get right back up. If you—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” he half-shouted. “Not to me.”
She took a step. “Yes, to you. You taught me to never give up, and guess what? You don’t get to pick and choose when that applies.
So yeah, if you stick me between a rock and a hard place, I’ll split the difference and aim straight down the middle.
And that’s what this is. The middle. The path that gets me where I want to go. ”
He gaped, but a subtle gleam undercut his fury. Aubrey dared to hope she’d impressed him, if only a bit.
“We’re going,” he said. The knot of his tie hung askew. “And that’s final.”
“You know what?” she snapped. “Fine. If you agree that when we get back, that’s the end of it. If I still want to stay, I’m staying, and we’re not discussing this
again.”
His jaw worked. “Fine. But only if you make an honest and open-minded effort to reevaluate your decision.”
As angry and affronted as she was, a rush of love shot through her. “Okay. Yes. Thank you.”
“Now go pack. We’re leaving tomorrow. For a week.”
He stormed off to make some phone calls, no doubt rearranging his work schedule. Aubrey retreated to her bedroom to do as
she was told.
She filled her suitcase, not caring what went in, then stood in the middle of her bedroom, casting about for more.
Her eyes fell on the desk in the corner. She hesitated only a moment before sitting and ripping a page from a spiral-bound
notebook. Any letter she produced would fall miles short of Nick’s, but this would serve as a declaration, at least. An assurance,
something he could hold on to while she was away.
She uncapped a purple pen and began to write.
An Inexhaustive List of Things I Love About You . . .