Smile Is The Best Makeup
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“Hey, guys,” I said when the elevator dinged and we stepped out. “It’s really good to see you both.”
My dad was looking much better since his heart attacks a couple weeks ago. He’d lost about thirty pounds on that diet of only water and kale smoothies, but he looked healthy again—and had even shaved off his bushy beard for a clean-shaven look. It didn’t do as much for his age as it would have in his twenties or thirties, but at least he wasn’t trying to hide the fact anymore.
My mom wore her blonde hair long with bangs cut straight across so they didn’t obscure the scar above one eye where I’m sure she could hear me thinking, ‘You should have gotten the surgery before we went public.’ She had her arms wrapped around my dad’s waist and was holding on tight like she couldn’t get enough of him being back in one piece.
He smiled down at them both. “I feel ten years younger.” Then he hugged each of us in turn. “Welcome home, kids.”
We exchanged hugs and then my parents led the way into the apartment I lived in now since leaving Seattle behind. I’d been living in New York City for two months now, but the place felt more like home than any other place I’d ever been.
Even though I hadn’t told anyone yet about the baby I carried, having these people I loved most in the world around me made this feel like a real home base again after all our time apart.
As we walked through the living room, Dad pointed out various places of interest, like the new flat-screen TV over by the windows where we were planning to set up a PlayStation for my little sister and brother, and the big leather sofa where they would spend hours watching DVDs of their favorite shows.
The old dining table that held a stack of boxes full of photos and memories from the house where my grandparents had raised us suddenly seemed smaller, and I realized how much those childhood memories meant to me.
I glanced up at them both and then reached for Mom’s hand. When she leaned over and kissed my lips gently, she whispered against my mouth, “Thank you for bringing everyone together, dear.”
I nodded. “Thanks. So are you guys ready?”
My dad nodded. “Yeah. We’re just waiting on your brother.”
“Oh, right,” I said as we headed for the door.
When I opened it to find my brother standing in front of the kitchen island with his eyes fixed on the box of donuts I’d bought for the road trip, I couldn’t help laughing.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said when I came forward and gave him an awkward hug. “I was talking to your uncle about a hundred different things he wanted to tell me when we got here.”
“No problem, man,” he said easily. “But now that you’ve finally stopped talking about how great your life is, let’s get this show on the road.”
His voice and face showed no signs of the pain he’d been going through a few weeks ago after his girlfriend died in a horrible accident.
It wasn’t anything we weren’t expecting, since he’d already healed well enough to make the decision not to get any of his scars removed, but I had a hard time not staring at the deep purple lines crossing his jaw and down the left side of his face where they’d taken some of his flesh with them, and where the cuts on his neck were barely hidden under a black bandage.
While we drove up to Boston, he kept quiet, which I appreciated as I tried my best not to stare at him while he sat there in silence and let me drive. But when we pulled into the parking lot near Harvard Square, he finally broke the silence.
“Are you sure you want to go here today? You can take the tour next week if you need to.”
“Yes, I want to go today,” I said firmly. “I’m not sure why you’re asking me, because this is what I’ve wanted for a year now.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Okay. Well, you know I’m still not happy about it.”
He looked down at the car’s interior light as he turned off the engine. The night air was warm despite the rain earlier. As we stepped out onto the sidewalk outside my building, the streetlights illuminated the wet pavement.
It was drizzling now, but nothing serious. A soft patter on the windshield as we waited for a cab. Rain on the hood and windshield wipers as we took a seat and started heading toward campus. My fingers gripping the strap of the shoulder bag I’d brought, the one full of books and notebooks from classes I’d taken since moving to New York City.
And the letter my mother had given me that day last December.
“I think we need to talk,” he began quietly once we arrived at our destination, and then we stood on the grassy quad with the rest of the crowd of tourists and students taking pictures of their friends on the steps of Harvard Yard.
“About what?” I asked as we walked along the path between the brick buildings. I couldn’t see much through the gray clouds except for a few patches of blue sky overhead and the bright yellow leaves on the trees in the distance.
“That letter.” His tone was even softer than usual, but still clear enough. “Why did you wait so long to tell me?”
I swallowed. There were so many words I wanted to say in response, but none came out.
Finally, I shook my head. “I didn’t have a choice,” I admitted softly.
“You could’ve come to us sooner,” he insisted. “We might not be blood-related, but you are our nephew. We love you.”
“Dad—”
“And you knew something happened. Why did you leave me out of all the details before then? If you’d told us about the scholarship when you first got it, maybe we wouldn’t have gone to so many different colleges ourselves.”
I glanced back at him. “Maybe we would’ve.”
“Then why not let us help you with it?” He gestured to the university behind us. “This is the school I wanted you to go to! What’s wrong with me helping you?”
“I thought I needed to figure it out on my own. I mean, this is what I dreamed about all my life—this is the place I wanted to be more than anything else. I just felt like it wasn’t really real until I actually walked these grounds.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “But why?”
A group of people passed us, laughing and chatting among themselves.
The answer hit me like a truck.
“Because when I found out about Harvard, it wasn’t just the acceptance letter. It was the realization that there were thousands of kids out there who looked exactly the same as I did, from other places, and other parts of the country.
They were all smart. They worked hard at everything. Their parents loved them unconditionally. All the cliques were different, but they had a way of coming together and working together because they all shared the common goals.”
My voice was starting to rise, probably in part due to the fact that I hadn’t realized we were almost to the front doors yet and we were attracting attention from several groups around us, so I quickly turned away from the crowd and continued walking down the hall toward the dorms.
When I reached the room, I knocked three times and then opened the door and went inside without waiting for a response.
It was dark in the corridor. No lights on or windows open this late, even though it was still midweek. But I knew where I was headed, and it made no difference anyway.
I was going to see Ivy again.
She was sitting in the bed, her hair pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head. I recognized her right away by the way she was curled up against the pillows on the mattress. She was wearing one of those flannel nightgowns that I’d never seen any of the girls in my school wear. The one that looks like it belonged in an old movie set.
As I approached her, Ivy looked over, blinking in surprise, and then smiled.
“Hey,” she whispered. “Did you have fun today?”
I nodded slowly as I sat down next to her, pulling my knees up beneath me.
“They’re so nice here,” I said simply.
Her smile widened and her eyes lit up. “I can tell.”
We didn’t really speak after that. Just sat there watching each other. Neither of us seemed sure what to say after the conversation we’d just been having with Dad outside. It had only been a couple hours, and already I felt like so much time had passed. Like I was finally able to breathe again.
There was a knock on the door.
“Ivy, are you home?”
I jumped up, startled. It took me a second to realize it was my dad knocking on the door with his phone. He must have called me while I was talking to Ivy.
“Yeah. I’m just going to get dressed, okay?” I held up a hand to keep him from responding as I started looking for some clean clothes to put on.
“Okay. You want to do breakfast with us tomorrow morning?”
“Yes!” Ivy cried happily, turning to me. “Can you come early enough that we can go shopping afterward? We haven’t been anywhere but the grocery store since we arrived.”
I smiled at her. “Sure thing.”
Ivy giggled as she leaned against me. “You know, if we go to the mall and then eat at Denny’s, it’ll be like being in high school all over again. And the only difference will be we’ll have better clothes.”
“Oh my God.” My face was starting to hurt from how much I was grinning now. “Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
The End