I started to say something in response, but then thought better of it. It might just be better to be a bachelor for life.
Chapter Four
Chloe
I let myself sleep in until 9:30 on Saturday, which was something I hadn’t done the entire school year. The house was again empty, another note on the counter from Mom saying that she and my father had gone out but would be back in a few hours and wanted to take me to lunch. I made myself some tea and then sat on the veranda and looked out at the ocean. It was late enough that if I ate something for breakfast, I wouldn’t be hungry for lunch, and my mother would inevitably start asking if I had an eating disorder. So, I ignored the rumbling in my stomach and sipped my tea. Then I went back up to my room and unpacked my clothes, realizing that I basically had nothing to wear out tonight with Tara. Nothing that she would consider worthy enough, anyway. The thing was, she liked when people looked at her, and she knew how to dress so she looked her best. Me, I mostly felt like an imposter when I dressed up, like everyone would somehow know that I felt more comfortable in jeans and a paint-spattered T-shirt than some fancy dress. It didn’t help that I couldn’t walk in high heels even if my life depended on it.
I did have a cute, sleeveless, cotton dress, printed with pink and turquoise flowers. I took it out of my bag and hung it on a hanger so hopefully all the wrinkles would be out by the time I needed to wear it.
*****
My parents took me out to L’Orange, which was my mother’s favorite bistro. It was downtown, right next to a little breakfast joint that had really good chocolate croissants. I could tell by the way my parents kept exchanging glances with each other that they had something they wanted to talk to me about. I tried to ignore the uneasiness I felt. I already knew what I was going to order, but pretended to go through the menu. My mother wondered whether she should get the crab cakes or the lobster bisque for an appetizer. I racked my brain, trying to figure out just what it was they were planning to tell me. Our server came over, and I ordered a side Caesar salad and the chicken pot pie. My parents placed their orders, and once the server left, my father cleared his throat.
“Chloe,” he said. “There’s something your mother and I would like to discuss with you.”
I tried to force a smile, but it probably came out looking more like a grimace. “Okay,” I said. “I had a feeling there was something you wanted to talk about.”
“Oh, darling, you make it sound so doom and gloom!” my mother exclaimed, placing her hand over mine. “It’s nothing like that at all.” But something didn’t ring quite true in her exuberant tone, and the glance she threw my father’s way as she said this only served to confirm that she didn’t entirely believe what she was saying.
“Chloe,” Dad said. “There’s really no point in beating it around the bush. So I’m just going to come out and say it: your mother and I don’t think pursuing a career in art is the right move for you.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. So I just sat there while the seconds ticked by and didn’t say anything, while my parents exchanged glances with each other once more.
“What your father’s trying to say ...” my mother started.
Finally, I found my voice. “But ... I just finished my third year. I’m supposed to graduate next year! Why are you just telling me this now? And what exactly do you expect me to do?” I might have found my voice, but I sounded shrill. I sounded like maybe I was about to completely lose my shit or burst into tears, or maybe both. I took a deep breath and willed myself to be calm.
“Sweetie, we want what’s going to be best for you in the long run,” Dad said. “And we don’t think that a degree in art is that. We feel like you’ve got a lot of talents and you’re just ... well ... wasting them.”
“I don’t understand what you want me to do, though,” I said. “I mean, it’s a little late in the game to be telling me this. I’m supposed to graduate next year. With an art degree that the two of you are apparently so certain will be useless.”
“It’s not that we think it will be useless,” my mother said. “I just ... we’re just not sure it’s going to present you with the sort of opportunities that you really deserve.”
My mother baffled me sometimes. “But Mom, weren’t you just the one who called me last week, so excited because your friend Claudia was going to let me have a piece in her next show?”
“What’s this?” my father said.
“Oh, you know Claudia, Claudia Bennet, she’s got that little gallery.” Mom waved her hand dismissively. “I had talked with her about letting Chloe submit some work for the next show, and she agreed.”
“I see.” Dad appeared to mull this over, deciding whether or not this new news was going to change the trajectory of their talk. “We’re not saying that you don’t have talent, Chloe, but we just don’t see a future for you in art.”
I couldn’t look at either of them, so I stared across the street at the Ocean View Realty building. It was a former sea captain’s house, one of those restored, mid-19th century homes, with low ceilings and cramped, drafty rooms. I kept staring across the street, vaguely aware that my mother was saying something to me.
As she talked, I went over the countless ways that I’d always done what I thought was the right thing, the thing that my parents wanted. Had they ever had to fight with me to do my homework? To get up for school in the morning? To make my bed or keep my room picked up? Had I ever been one of those reckless, rebellious teenagers? Did I ever come home with dyed hair or break curfew? Had I ever lied to them, saying I was going to study at the library when really, I was going to hang out with a boy? No. No, no, no. No to all of that, and here they were, giving me a hard time when I was giving my all to art school.
“You know what?” I said abruptly, interrupting my mother. “I’m actually not hungry. And I’m not going to sit here and be part of this conversation anymore, because it’s completely ridiculous. I have worked really hard to get where I am, and I’m not going to stop going the year before I’m supposed to graduate. And if you guys don’t approve, fine, you don’t have to. And if you want to stop paying for my apartment and stop paying for tuition, go right ahead—I will find some other way to make it work. I’m not just going to stop now because you’ve randomly decided that I should.” I stood up.
“Where are you going?” my mother asked. “Chloe, please, sit down.”
“Yes, listen to your mother.” Dad held his hands up. “Listen. We’re not saying you have to stop going. We get that you’re going to graduate next year, and we do know that in and of itself is an achievement of sorts. And maybe you even will be able to do something with that degree—who knows? All we’re saying is, we’d like you to think about exploring other options. It’s not going
to hurt anything to explore your options, is it?”
“Yeah, except I don’t even know what that means.” And I really didn’t, but I also didn’t want to hear them elaborate about it, either. I sat back down. “I’d rather we just didn’t even continue this talk, okay? I don’t see the point if you guys are still going to let me keep going. I have a whole year left, and I think it’d just be better not to think that you guys thought I was completely wasting my time.”
My parents smiled but said nothing, and it was clear that that was exactly what they thought I’d been doing this whole time.
*****