Page 41 of Decking the Halls
“Huh?”
He lowers his arms. “DoneyHall. That’s where I lived for three years.”
“Right! Stoney Doney! Hey, whatever happened to that roommate of yours who had the best weed? I think he and I talked about the meaning of life in the stairwell one night.”
“No idea. We never stayed in touch. Why? You still friends with your old roommates from UofO?”
“On social media, anyway. Not that I go on there much anymore.”
We’re quiet again. He starts a pot of coffee we may or may not drink. Either way, I hope he rinsed it out first.
Silence stretches. It’s not angry this time, just… heavy. Full of things we’ve both been avoiding for years. Like how we didn’t go to the same college, me heading to a state school while Nick knew he wanted to go to Willamette University’s law school, so he just went there for undergrad, too. Politics major. Go figure.
Meanwhile, I barely made it to sophomore year as a Duck before deciding I couldn’t take it anymore. Then the ravine between us widened. More.More.Every year, it became more difficult to see the other side.
Finally, Nick exhales. “You didn’t have to come.”
“I know,” I say, “but I needed to.”
He understands more than he wants to admit. “You here to rub it in?”
“No.” I meet his eyes. “I’m here because we can’t keep doing this. I’m tired, Nick. Tired of being angry. Of you looking at me like I’m a failure. One you’ll do anything to not be too.”
Although he doesn’t look away, he squares his jaw. “You think that’s what this is about?”
“Isn’t it?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He walks to the window, watching the rain slide down the glass. His reflection looks older than it should. “You ever think maybe I just wanted more?”
“More than what?”
“More than this.” He gestures toward the river, the wooded hillside with tiny, stilted houses beyond it. “More than being stuck in the same place our whole lives, taking over Dad’s rinky-dink law office to have more of the same.”
It’s too uncomfortable to sit down. Besides, he hasn’t invited me. So I grab my jacket draped over the back of a chair, pressing my fingers into the damp material, wringing rainwater onto the kitchen floor. “We didn’t exactly grow up hard, Nick.”
“I know,” he says quickly, “but that’s the point. Everything we had was fine. Dad’s law practice, Mom at home, Sunday dinners, the same house since we were born. Fine.” He turns to face me. “But I wanted better. Not for me… for my own kids, my family someday. I didn’t want to spend my life arguing about car payments or worrying if we’d save enough for retirement. Do you know how much college tuition has gone up since we wentthere?” He doesn’t say it, but I hear it:“Even if you don’t get your degree, Wren, you still have to pay.”Like I don’t know!
“You call what we had worrying?” I ask, not unkindly.
“You know what I mean. I wanted to build something bigger. A name people respected. A legacy.” He laughs, hollow. “Guess I’ve done a great job with that.”
“You wanted to make sure no one could look down on us.”
He doesn’t deny it.
The rain hits harder, pinging against the metal roof before splashing on the deck out back. I came inside right on time… and I can’t help but envy Edie, who must be in her PJs, cuddled up on her couch watching TV. Somewhere outside, a car splashes down the road, its tires hissing. I think of our parents’ house. The warmth, the scent of cinnamon rolls Mom baked every Christmas morning. I think of us as kids, racing through the hallways, always trying to beat each other to be the first one to open a present under the tree.
“You know,” I say, “I used to think you were the brave one. You had this plan, this picture-perfect idea of how life was supposed to go. You made it happen. Law school, the job, the five-year, ten-year plans. Meanwhile, I dropped out and started fixing bikes in a garage.”
Nick looks at me. Like,reallylooks at me, as if he’s just noticed I’ve been female this whole time. “You think that’s not brave?”
I shrug. “Didn’t at the time. But now I do.”
He considers that.
“You remember when I told Dad I was dropping out?” I ask.
“How could I forget?” His lips twitch. “You two almost broke the dining table.”
