I brush my lips against her neck. She shivers, giving me half a mind to toss my phone onto the icy lake. Glancing at the screen, I see it’s my mom. Usually, I’d feel slightly guilty to be reminded of her in a moment like this. Guilty that I’m kissing a beautiful girl in a city hours from home, contemplating a future far away. But the only thing I feel guilty for is not calling her yesterday.
In one distant corner of my mind, I’ve noticed how aside from telling her about extending the trip, I haven’t kept in touch with my mom in the past couple of days quite as often as I normally do. I’m well aware why. Juniper and the genuine interest I’m taking in this tour have distracted me from things back home, for better or worse. It’s liberating, but somewhat unnerving, how easy I’m finding it to put behind me the problems that usually preoccupy me.
“Be right back,” I promise Juniper, then stand and walk a couple feet away. “Hey, Mom,” I say when I pick up.
“Hi, Fitz. You . . . didn’t call yesterday.” She doesn’t sound upset, just curious. Maybe slightly concerned. “Everything okay?” she asks.
“Everything is great,” I reassure her, my eyes fixed on Juniper. She doesn’t notice me as I watch her steal into my bag of fries.
“I’m so glad,” my mom says. I know she means it. Her tone matches the pleased expression I can’t see but know she’s wearing. “Are there any schools you’re considering applying to?” The question comes out delicate and hesitant. I can’t say I don’t know why. I remember my words to her when I left for this trip. My certainty that I would only be applying to SNHU.
“Yeah, actually,” I reply. The declaration feels foreign, in a good way. “I think I want to look into linguistics programs. Possibly Carnegie Mellon.” Just thinking of the day in Pittsburgh with Juniper, the lecture, the books I’ve perused, makes me look forward to next year in a new way. Not to mention, the day we went to Pittsburgh was the day I first kissed Juniper, which gives the whole recollection an irreplaceable luster.
“Linguistics?” she repeats. She sounds startled for a second. “Of course,” she says like she’s just realized how obvious it is. “I’m happy for you, Fitz. Tell me about Carnegie Mellon.”
I describe everything to her. The campus, the class, the city. It’s extraordinarily freeing. This is the kind of conversation I’ve known my friends have had with their parents and college counselors, the kind I overheard when Lewis got home from touring BU with Dad. I just never thought it was one I would care about having. My mom was the main reason I resented this trip, but every day, the resentment has faded a little.
While I’m watching Juniper, she turns in my direction. Our eyes meet for a brief, boundless moment.
Then she gets up to throw out our trash. I know she’s anxious to move on to the next item on our D.C. itinerary. A museum, if I had to guess. I make my way over to her.
“It sounds perfect,” my mom says. It’s nice, how obviously proud she is. “I think you’ll do really great in sociology.”
I pause, halfway to Juniper. “Linguistics,” I say.
“Hm?”
“I said linguistics,” I repeat, ignoring the roaring in my ears.
“When?” Mom sounds confused, if cheerful. “You were just saying how you were interested in sociology. The Carnegie Mellon program.”
The bottom drops out. “I was saying I was interested in the linguistics program, Mom. Remember?” Remember. Remember. Remember.
“Uh. Of course. I misspoke. Linguistics. You were saying you’re interested in Carnegie Mellon’s linguistics program,” she repeats, an automatic stiffness to her voice.
I want to believe her. I want to un-know the things I know. To have never read that one of the earliest symptoms of Alzheimer’s is forgetting recently learned information. Information like appointments, or names. Or what college major your son says he’s interested in.
But I do know those things. They douse my veins in icy worry.