My Dearest Enemy

7| what's my excuse?

❝The most essential factor is persistence - the determination never to allow your energy or enthusiasm to be dampened by the discouragement that must inevitably come.❞

—James Whitcomb Riley

S E V E N

The week flew by in a blink and before I knew it it was Friday — Game Day. Jeremy rarely slept the night before a game and his pre-game ritual usually entailed an early morning practice session on the field at school, so by the time I'd gotten up he was long gone.

Sitting at the island counter in the kitchen, I pushed flakes of cereal around my bowl. The emotional weight of choosing which path I wanted to take was slowly taking its toll on me. I didn't know what to do, and I feared making the wrong choice. It was times like this that I wished he was still here to steer me in the right direction.

"Good morning." My mother swept into the kitchen, startling me. I was so used to her not being here that it took a while to get re-adjusted to her presence. And the minute I did, she was off again.

"Morning," I mumbled.

She threw open the fridge, grabbing a yogurt "Did you sleep well? How's school going?"

I shoveled another spoonful of cereal into my mouth. "Slept alright. School's fine." I spoke around the food in my mouth.

"Don't speak with your mouth full, that's bad-mannered."

I flinched at the criticism. Swallowing, I responded, "Sorry."

"Where's your brother?"

"Pre-game day ritual." She paused with a look of confusion. "He goes to school early to practice the day of a game," I clarified.

"Oh." She nodded. "Of course, right." After setting a kettle of water to boil, she turned to me. "My flight leaves in a few hours and I'll be in Atlanta until Tuesday evening. I left some money in the usual spot for groceries and emergencies."

"Okay."

She crossed her arms. "Anything new with you? You've been pretty quiet all week."

I sent her furtive glances, wondering whether to share what was on my mind. I pushed my cereal around. "Not really. I mean I met with my academic advisor this week."

"Really? What for?"

I hesitated. "I was thinking about pursuing computer science as my major in college and wanted her to put me in a coding class."

Her face brightened. "I like the sound of that."

"Yeah, but she actually suggested I take a dual credit art class at the community college nearby. To improve my artwork, you know."

She pursed her lips. "I see." Uncrossing her arms, she slid open the cutlery drawer to grab a plastic spoon. "Well, what did you tell her?"

"Nothing yet. She gave me the week to think about it."

Closing the drawer, she stared at me. "Well, I don't really see what there is to think about." I furrowed my brow. Catching my expression, she braced her shoulders. "Honey, the art thing was cute when you were little and I'm sure it's a great hobby, but it's not going to lead to a stable career."

"Money doesn't buy happiness."

"Well it sure as hell buys this roof that I put over your head. The food you eat," — she gestured to my cereal bowl — "the electricity bill you and your brother keep running up." She placed her hands on her hips. "Do you think if I wanted to be a ballerina or the lead singer of some band that I'd be able to feed you kids?"