An Off Year (6 page)

“Hmm,” said Jane. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah,” I said. “So. It's been just Dad ever since, which is fine because I think even before they got divorced I liked hanging out with him much more. He gets me or something.”

“And he likes the idea of you taking a year off?” Jane asked.

“I think so. I think he thinks if I think it's a good idea, then it is.”

“And you think it was the right choice?”

I tried to think of what I'd be doing if I were at school that very moment and not sitting with Dr. Stern. An image of high school all over again popped into my head: going to school with, eating with, and worst of all living with people I didn't necessarily like. “I guess . . . how could it be better to be in college and be around all these strangers—and have to blend in with them and get along with them—than to be at home? It might be boring, but I know what's up here. I'm not cool, but nobody's decided I'm uncool.” I wasn't sure if I had made this up just to please her or if it was true.

“Have you always worried about being uncool?”

“No,” I said. “I mean, not that I know of. Maybe. I don't know.” A few uncomfortable flashbacks popped into my head, like finding my one solitary picture in the yearbook, and going to junior prom with Meg, who ended up leaving with a guy, so I had to get home by myself.

“But you think you'll either be cool—or just not care if you're cool—by next year?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Yeah, maybe I won't be as stressed about it.” Jane was asking tougher questions this time, firing back with more questions. “What about you, do
you
think I'll be ready?”

“Well, I don't know you well enough yet,” she said. “Although at first glance I'd say you're probably already more ready than you know. There was a part of me that wanted to tell you to go right back where you came from.”

“Why didn't you?”

Jane smiled. “Because I think just choosing not to go is a bigger deal than you think it is. Even if you're choosing not to do something, you're still making a choice. Maybe it's not a bad thing. But it's something worth taking your time to consider—don't just pretend it didn't happen.”

“Hmm.”

“There's nothing wrong with taking the year off,” Jane said. “But I think you need help making the most of it and using it to prep for what lies ahead—even if it's not school.”

“Fine,” I said. “Sounds good.” I resisted the urge to spin around in my chair.

“Cecily, what I typically offer is something called cognitive-behavioral therapy, which basically means that I give you some exercises to try to make this year a good one, to prepare you to take the next steps, and we see how that works. Eventually I want you to get out of the house more, and I also think down the line it might be interesting to see what happens after some planned one-on-one time with your sister.”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” I said. “Anyway, it's not like we don't spend time together now. Maybe we spend too much time together.”

“Well, that might come later. Right now, I'm going to give you an assignment,” said Jane. “But you need to be willing to work with me. Do you think you can do that?” I nodded and tried to appear cooperative. I was so bored from the last month, I was willing to take orders from a stranger. And even if I still couldn't figure out why I had turned around in August, maybe it wouldn't matter as long as I'd be able to move forward eventually. “I want you to just get in touch with at least one old friend from high school that you haven't yet. Won't your friends be back soon for Thanksgiving break? It's not healthy for you not to hang out with anybody your age. And maybe it'll help you talk to someone you trust. You'll feel better.”

“I'm embarrassed,” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I'm lame and they're in school,” I said. I couldn't believe I was saying this. I wish I at least had a more mature way of getting this across. “I mean, I feel like a baby or something.”

“So what?” she said. “Do you really think they'll think you're a baby?”

“No,” I said. “I guess not.”

“And even if they do, what happens then?”

“Um, I guess I won't have any friends then?”

“And then what?”

“And then what
what
? Then I'd be really screwed and really pathetic. And then I'm sure you'd get really rich because I could come and talk to you about that all the time.”

Jane laughed. “Okay, take it easy. See your friends—I'm sure they'll be happy to hear from you. I'll see you afterward, and we'll discuss what went down.” She wrote on a piece of plain white paper my name, the date, and “Rx: See @ least 1 friend.” Her handwriting was unexpectedly cramped and scrawly.

“Is this an official document?” I asked. “Did they not get you a prescription pad yet?”

“I don't write prescriptions,” she said. “This is just a reminder for you. Or you can toss it when you leave.”

“And what happens next?” I asked.

“We'll see when we meet,” she said. “See you later.”

I had to admit I liked Jane, despite her giving me assignments. Or maybe because she was giving me assignments. It was hard to believe that we had to pay someone to tell me to look up my friends, but I must have done something to deserve needing a professional to remind me to do it instead of sitting at home waiting for
Simpsons
reruns to come on and petting Superhero. I certainly liked Jane more than I liked Gina, who simply left my reminder card on the reception desk and didn't say anything. I slid the card off the counter and headed out without saying anything to her, either.

 

 

Dad was at work when I got home. I went to my room and pinned Jane's “prescription” to my bulletin board, which I had totally cleared off before leaving for college. It felt good to have something up there again. But something was churning in the pit of my stomach, and it was that even though Jane was right about me seeing my friends, I was worried about things with Kate. I had called to complain to her a few times over the past few weeks about how bored I was, and I think she was getting a little sick of me.

“Cecily, it's hot. Everyone here knows someone who decided to take a gap year,” Kate had said. “They go build shelters in Africa or promise to write in a journal every day or work on a pot farm or whatever. And then they're supposed to come back like all worldly and whatnot. Hey, I gotta go, we're heading to the gym.”

The gym? Since when did Kate go to the gym? When we were in high school, we competed for who could get the slower time on the mile run. I had a feeling she wasn't listening to me anyway. I would have felt better if it were “a gap year” and I had some noble pursuit I was going to follow for a year, something to show for myself, something that I knew would make me a more mature person. But I had no idea what I was going to do, and I wasn't sure if I was maybe becoming less mature by the minute.

 

 

As I stared at the bulletin board now, I thought about how calling Mike would go. I didn't want to call him just to sound stupid—I especially didn't want to have him think I had a crush on him or something. This had never worried me before, but now he had a long-distance girlfriend and I was home alone. To get the image out of my head of me stammering on the phone while he and all his college friends (who would be listening in, for some reason) laughed at me, I went into the hall and tossed a tennis ball against Germaine's door until she came out and yelled at me.

I knew Kate would be coming home for Thanksgiving break, and I wanted to see her, just talk to her and feel normal again. After Germaine kicked me out of the hallway, I finally turned on my cell phone (which I had been keeping off lately) and gave Kate a call. I had always assumed that we'd be best friends until we were withered and old and throwing things at young people from our wheelchairs. I worried that the friendship was weakening.

“A-wooga, a-wooga,” she said when she picked up the phone. “Where have you been?”

“Literally?”

“Sure.”

“At the shrink's.”

“Whoa. What was that like?”

“Not as fun as you would think.”

“Anybody want a peanut?” Kate said, a line from
The Princess Bride
that we always used when one of us accidentally rhymed. “Anyway, what did he say? Did he send you to an institution? Is he giving you a lobotomy? Are you taking pills? Did you meet a giant Indian who threw a sink out the window?”

“She said I'm taking this year off because I have some issues and maybe I can work them out.”

“Issues of what? Magazines? That doesn't seem very fair.” I heard a guy yelling in the background and then a muffling sound like she was covering up the phone with her hand. “You better put that away, dickhead, before I call the cops on you! Get out!” Some giggling. Then the muffling sound again. “Sorry,” she said. “Neighbor issues. Seriously, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I said, patting Superhero, who had just trotted up. “I guess my biggest problem is that I just don't know why exactly all this went down. If I needed to explore the world, then I could go do that. If I needed to start off at a community college, I could do that. But I don't know what I need yet.”

“Well,” she said, and her voice changed awkwardly, as it did when she was being serious. “I'm here for you.”

“I know,” I said. “So what's going on with you?”

“Actually,” she said, “I have to get to class. But I'm coming home in a few days and I want to see you. I'll give you a call when I'm in. See you in hell.” She hung up, and I smiled at the phone.

I felt so much better that I put on my coat and went out to the movies by myself, something I'd never done before. I was disappointed that Dad was at work, because I was excited to show him how carefree and independent I was, how I was enjoying my time off and not just lying around the house. When I got to the theater, though, I realized I had been so focused on the task at hand that I had forgotten to see what was playing. I ended up seeing some romantic comedy about a woman who loves a man, but he has to go to the moon on a mission. It was pretty awful.

 

 

I wasn't sure when, but sometime over the last few years the coffeehouses in town had turned into impromptu day cares. The moms had pushed out even the college kids who came with their white laptops to pretend to study even though they were all looking at porn. When I got to the café where I was going to meet Kate, I had to pick my way around toys scattered on the floor and ignore a three-year-old who accidentally tugged on my peacoat and called me “Mommy” as I ordered, before he realized his error and ran off. It was a miracle that I found an open couch that wasn't being used for story time or changing diapers.

I plopped down and started to read an
Us Weekly
magazine I had splurged on. I loved being told how celebrities were just like me. Apparently they leaned on fences, drank coffee, even obeyed the laws of gravity, just like little old me!

“Excuse me, but do you mind if I breast-feed here?” I looked up.

There was Kate. She looked the same, yet different. It took me a second to figure out what it was. She was wearing some makeup, and her clothes were hugging her body a little bit more than they used to. She was wearing a short white puffy parka instead of her old olive wool military topcoat.

“Only if I can watch.” I stood up and gave her a hug, and she almost squeezed the life out of me. I'd forgotten how good and tight her hugs could be, not those floppy one-armed things that most girls gave one another. She set down her drink and sat down with a dramatic sigh. A few actual breast-feeders looked our way, irritated.

“So?” I asked. “How was Thanksgiving? How's your family?”

“Awful,” she said. “My parents have been fighting the whole time. They're going to get divorced now that I'm in school. They don't need to hold it together anymore.”

“Wow, that's terrible. How are you dealing with it?”

She shrugged. “It's no surprise. They've been like this for a while. I'm just taking it as it comes, you know? I can't predict what's going to happen. Maybe they'll actually just stay together and fight for the rest of their lives.”

“That'd be lots of fun,” I said.

“You know it. So what is going on with you?”

“What's going on with
you
?” I asked, not-so-subtly dodging her question. “What are you taking? What's your roommate like? How's your dorm? How's the West Coast? All roller skates and avocado?”

“I'm taking taxidermy, fly-fishing, and home ec,” she said. “My roommate is a little gnome from Belgravia, and my dorm is actually a cardboard box. We have an earthquake every day.”

“Much more interesting than I would have expected.”

“Actually, I'm pre-med,” she said. “It sucks.”

“Since when were you going to be pre-med?” Of all the classes we'd ditch in high school, Kate enjoyed blowing off science the most.

She shrugged. “It was some weird whim. But I'm enjoying it. There's this one class next year, organic chemistry, that makes everyone cry. Everyone. People are lucky to pass with a D in it. I can't wait.”

“Well, good luck with that. You're not operating on me.”

“I'm afraid you're inoperable anyway.” She started rummaging around in her purse, which had begun buzzing, a big cable-knit thing that looked like a sweater with a zipper on it. She pulled out her cell phone, which was actually more like a mini computer. I recognized it from TV commercials.