“Archibald, you and Cooper take the bags up and then do go shower. You smell terrible.”
“Uh huh,” he grunted. “C’mon, Frankie, you and Coop can play video games while you wait for me.”
But Mrs. Standish didn’t release my hand. “Ah-ah,” she said. “Francesca and I need to talk.”
“Muriel…” Archie began, but she gave him a cool look and his mouth closed, even as his jaw tensed. I was going to throw up. “Do not be such a pill. Hurry, I’m not having Jeremy hold breakfast for you.” Then with a dismissive look, she headed for the dining room and tugged me with her. Panicked, I threw a look at Coop but he was already following me.
Archie mouthedsorry, I’ll be right backand half ran up the stairs. Once we were in the dining room, Mrs. Standish finally let me go, and she shrugged out of her jacket. She was dressed in a cool cream silk blouse and flowing dark blue pants. Seriously, she looked like she could have walked off the pages of some fashion magazine. Her hair was perfectly coifed and her cosmetics flawless.
She did not look like a woman who could possibly have an almost eighteen-year-old child. Dark hair and eyes so like Archie’s, my guilt turned into ice that left me freezing. She smiled. “Sit down, children, and tell me all about Harvard.” She motioned to the table with a well-manicured hand, the gold bracelets on her wrist jangled a little, and it was impossible to miss the pair of diamond rings on her left ring finger.
“I um…have my application all ready to go, I just have to finish the last essay, and then I can send it on the first.” It sounded pretty weak to my own ears and without even an nth of confidence. Still, with no other choice, I sat down. Thankfully, Coop grabbed the chair next to mine as Mrs. Standish chose the chair at the head of the table to my left.
“Well that sounds dreadfully simple, what do you want to study?”
That was the ten thousand dollar question. “Writing, probably. Journalism is definitely on the list. But I’m a little torn—to be honest. I thought I’d spend the first couple of weeks testing out all the classes and finding the right fit.”
“Well, that’s certainly one strategy,” she said, then glanced at Jeremy as he carried in a tray with mugs of coffee for each of us, me and Coop included.
“Breakfast will be ready in five minutes.”
“Wonderful. You’re such a dear. I’ve had a dreadfully long weekend with such terrible service. Glad to be back where I’m important again.”
Jeremy gave her an indulgent smile, and while I didn’t think the pointed comments were directed at me, they still landed. “You’re home now,” Jeremy soothed. “I’ll make sure everything is just the way you like it.”
I wrapped my hands around the coffee, desperate for any kind of warmth. Then Mrs. Standish focused on me.
“You should have at least a secondary field of study you feel passionate about. Journalism is all sound bytes these days and not much in the way of ethics or class.”
Ouch.
“I don’t think that’s true of all journalists,” I countered. “Granted, it’s a click-bait driven world, but the facts still mean something. They would to me.”
“Which is glorious, darling, but having scruples won’t keep you warm at night. Going after what you want requires drive and conviction. You have to want it more than the next person and not care who it hurts in the process.” She gave me a thoughtful look. “I don’t know that you could handle that.”
“Muriel,” Archie said as he strode back into the room, his voice a warning and one I rarely heard out of him, much less in context with his parents. “Frankie’s got more ethics in her pinky than some people we know, and she’s damned determined. She can do whatever she wants.”
“I’m sure she does.” Though her tone said quite the opposite. “At least she seems prepared for her application, though Harvard is a challenging option for even the best of students. What are your safety schools?”
This was not a conversation I wanted to have. “NYU, Stanford, and UCLA.”
I listed the schools we’d talked about a couple of weeks earlier.
“But Harvard has charm,” Coop said. “We’re all applying. Law of averages says one of us has to get in.”
Mrs. Standish suddenly narrowed her eyes at Archie. “Since when are you applying to Harvard?”
“Since ninth grade,” he told her bluntly and dragged out the chair opposite me, which put him to his mother’s left. Jeremy carried in plates. “Doesn’t mean I’m not applying to MIT or NYU or Stanford or UCLA. We’re keeping our options open.”
“I see,” Mrs. Standish said, tapping a manicured nail against the side of her mug. “What does your mother think about you going so far away, Francesca?”
I froze, but Coop pressed his leg against mine as he leaned back for Jeremy to set a plate of French toast with eggs and bacon in front of him and another in front of me. There was already a ball of butter in a little dish next to the French toast on my plate, but Jeremy added a boat of syrup for us to share. Mrs. Standish was the only one not eating French toast, in fact, all she had was regular toast with some butter and jam.
“Probably the same thing you do, Muriel,” Archie said with smirk. “When will the bother be over so we can get out of the house?”
His mother scoffed. “It is no bother, Archie. We can afford to send you wherever you want to go.”
Oh, that hit landed, and Coop stiffened next to me.