Page 14 of Lessons in Forgiving
“One source?” I asked. “What kind of article only needs one source?”
“Well.” Edward Smith took a deep breath, like he was preparing for something unpleasant. His eyes diverted. “Maybe a couple more, but not many. It’s more of a profile than an article, you know?”
My brow furrowed as I watched him fidget with the zipper of his jacket. “Sounds like a sweet gig to me.” Which was why I couldn’t explain the miserable expression on his face. “Don’t worry. I can do a profile. On who?”
“Henry Pressley.”
CHAPTER 6
THEN, October: three years and five months ago
It took me a while to come to terms with the fact a business admin degree just wasn’t for me.
Despite Henry’s vigorous efforts, despite his impromptu flashcard business-vocabulary tests during my shifts at Daisy’s, and despite diving headfirst into assignedandunassigned reading about concepts I couldn’t care less about every afternoon: my heart was not in it. My brain clearly wasn’t either.
And I should’ve called my parents to tell them. Discuss the opportunity of changing majors to something that was a little more creativity and a little less numbers.
English, perhaps. Or literature. Journalism. Something I could actually see myself doing for the rest of my life after graduation.
Instead, I was staring at my screen. Had been for the past ten minutes, unable to move. The fan of my laptop was getting louder with every second my mail app was opened, and although I was concerned about the possibility of explosion, I still did not move.
I was physically unable to stop rereading that email.
Congratulations! You’ve successfully transferred from HBU Business School to HBU’s Fine Arts & Communications Campus.
Old: Bachelor of Arts—Business Administration
New: Bachelor of Arts—Journalism
Please talk to your assigned advisor as stated in the next email to get settled as soon as possible. We wish you the very best and cannot wait to see what you might accomplish one day!
– Hall Beck University
The exact reason why I did not trust myself to make decisions was staring right back at me. Impulsive, stupid, and irreversible.
Like the one time I’d went skinny dipping back in high school and I’d decided to try and fit in with the cool kids. Those “friends” had run off with my clothes in the middle of the night. Then, too scared and embarrassed and self-conscious about the curves no one else had developed yet, I’d refused to get out of the water and had almost been eaten by a shark.
Okay, maybe not eaten, but its fin definitely grazed me. In dark, open water, it was almost the same thing.
Then, like two stupid and irreversible consequences to an impulsive decision hadn’t been enough, I’d stepped on an urchin and had to ask the nearest stranger on a beach in Puerto Plata to call an ambulance. They’d taken me to the hospital in nothing but an abandoned towel, barely reaching past my thigh.
So, I was no stranger to impulsively stupid decisions with irreversible consequences. And I’d promptly made one last decision that night. To avoid making any others.
I was also a Libra.
My parents had decided I’d go to college in the United States. My parents had decided I’d study business. My parents had decided living in a shared house was cheaper and safer than sharing a room with a stranger.
Then, I started rolling with my housemates’ dinner plans (“Whatever is fine, really”). My housemates had quickly decided we’d all be best friends, and I’d gone along with that, too. Was really, really happy with it, even.
They’d become friends with the neighbors, on the soccer team like Henry, and so I did, too.
I’d started going to my best friends when I needed help with an outfit, when I knew Henry would stop by Daisy’s, and I couldn’t decide what to do with my hair (“Do I straighten it or keep it natural, girls? I’m not sure!”).
Really, not making any decisions had been quite easy. Like I drew strong-willed, decisive people to me like moths to a flame. Maeve was that way. Henry was, too.
And yet.
I read through that cursed email one last time, then forced my laptop shut. The silence of the missing sound of its fan was eerie, though it only lingered for a second. I’d only spent about two months in this house, and I could already tell by the sound of her footsteps, Maeve was the one who’d burst into my room before I’d even looked up to check.
