Mom and Dad were waiting in the kitchen. She looked up from her laptop, and he set down a half-finished apple. “How is he?”
“He’ll be okay.” I hung up my coat and joined them at the table.
“I’m glad,” Mom said. “I realize Curtis is important to you, and—”
“Before I left, you told me I didn’t ‘have time’ for this.” The comment still burned.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” Mom looked at the blank screen of her laptop. “I tend to hyper-focus and don’t always have facileness when switching mental gears.”
I didn’t either. Especially when it was to acknowledge something or someone who got in the way of my goals. Adults—my parents, teachers—had always praised me for my ability to ignore distractions, but they were wrong. I’d been wrong. The evidence of that was how everyone—from Lance to each member of Curtis’s family—had praised me for showing up. Because they hadn’t expected me to. Because by being there, I’d made them feel better.
That changed tonight. I wanted people to have different expectations for me. The type that made me a good person, not just a smart one. I lifted my chin. “I will always have time for the people I care about.” Like the Campbells had for me last night. Their names hadn’t been listed beside mine on my Avery abstract, but they might as well have been. It was a team effort—I couldn’t have done it alone.
“That’s a kind goal but maybe not a practical one,” Dad said gently. “Antarctica’s going to make that tricky.”
Mom pressed her lips together. “It’s a nice sentiment, and tonight I was wrong, but there will be times I tell you no and mean it.”
“I know. But I’m not always going to listen.” Before they could look at each other or call Mr. Campbell and ask if this was a “typical teenage rebellion,” I clarified. “I can’t be what you want me to be a hundred percent of the time. Anne wasn’t who Matthew and Marilla wanted her to be either. At least not at first. But she refused to change her identity for them—and they learned to love her for who she was. And no offense to Gregor Mendel, but I’m podcast, not pea plants.”
“Who’s Anne?” asked Dad, while Mom said, “I don’t know any of these people—well, besides Mendel, obviously—and I’m not sure how they’re relevant.”
“Anne of Green Gables. It’s a book. Read it later if you want, but I need you to hear me now. I don’t want to be your project. I want to be your daughter. I want autonomy to make my own choices and learn from my mistakes. Stay up too late and yawn through class, eat too much junk food and get a stomachache. Watch ridiculous TV shows and scoff at the things they get wrong.”
“Why would you want to do any of that?” Mom asked. “It sounds horrible.”
“But if I never get to experience them, how will I discover what I do and don’t like, or learn my limits? How will I get to know myself if I’m never allowed any self-exploration?”
“And that boy, Curtis—he fits in this schema?” Dad was spinning his apple on the tabletop. “Romantically?”
“Maybe—No, that’s a lie. Yes, he does.”
“But he hurt you,” Mom said. “Despite this, you want to experience more heartbreak?”
“I want the chance to try and avoid it.”
“High school relationships rarely last,” Dad said. “Statistically—”
“I’m not a statistic. I’m a person. I’m your daughter. Maybe Curtis and I can overcome statistics, or maybe we won’t want to. We could date for a week, or a year, or a lifetime. We could grow apart or want different things or decide to be friends or have a devastating breakup. But any of those options sounds better than not knowing.”
“Long-distance relationships don’t have great odds either.” Dad sighed. “But you’re not coming with us, are you?”
I shook my head.
“You’re choosing a future with romantic breakups over scientific breakthroughs.” Mom shut her laptop so she could lean forward and study me, disapproval all over her face. “You’re choosing a boy over family.”
Merri would’ve admired the poetry in those statements, but I shook my head. “It’s not about him. It’s about me. I’m choosing myself. I want to see where things go—with Curtis, with school, with friendships, with interests. If I have a breakup—it won’t break me. For every flawed study you’ve sent me about the risks of teenage relationships, I can counter with an experiential anecdote—” Sera reaching for Hannah’s hand before an oral presentation. Toby signing up to perform a piece inspired by Rory at the spring concert. Fielding smiling and laughing while the melting dregs of Merri’s snowball dripped from his mussed hair. They were happier people—better people—because of their partners. Not that anyone needed a romantic partner to be complete, but it wasn’t a barrier to self-actualization either. “I’ve been your experiment for so long. Now it’s my turn.”
Mom pressed her hand to her mouth; Dad slumped back in his chair. I tensed for their response.
“Do you comprehend the effort we’ve put into getting you clearances or the exceptions that have been made for you?” Mom asked. “If you come with us, you could be part of something extraordinary—it will be a stepping-stone to your future success. You’re trading that for high school?”
“I don’t need to be extraordinary.” I flattened my hands on the table to keep them from shaking. “Our definitions of a successful life don’t match. I need to figure out who I am before I figure out what I want.”
“Your mom and I can’t stay.” Dad’s voice was quiet as he tossed his apple into the bucket for compost. “We’ve made commitments—”
“I know. I’m not asking you to. I want to know about your life at South Pole Station, but mine is here.”
“I see.” Mom’s eyes were glassy. “Well, if that’s your choice . . .”
“Are you angry?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear their answer, but if I didn’t ask, the question would haunt me.
“No!” I was grateful Dad replied first, because Mom looked less certain. “You’ve got a life here—we were asking a lot, for you to give that up to be with us . . .”
“Even though we weren’t willing to make that same sacrifice for you,” Mom finished with a sigh and dabbed at her eyes. “But I’m not okay with things reverting to how they were before—reports and clinical conversations. I want to know what’s going on in your life.”
“Good, because I’m done with logs.” I stripped off my iLive band and made a show of dropping it on the counter. “I want you to know me.”
“There’s one problem,” Dad added. “We fired Nancy.”
“That’s okay.” I looked around our showroom kitchen with a schemer’s grin. I wouldn’t miss it.
“You’re a minor,” Mom stated. “Nancy may have been dull as paste, but you need a guardian.”
I held up a hand to stop her. “Just listen. I have an idea . . .”