“Iwill?” I gag.
He doesn’t look at me, but his hand pinches on my shoulder. “He’s already been accepted to the program at Yale. I’m very proud.”
Holy shit.
I stare at his profile.
Thisis how he tells me he’s made that choice for me?Thisis how he tells me heenrolled me in grad school? Shit fuck, the doors money can open are truly grotesque, because honestly, with my grades, there’s no way in hell I have any business going near a grad school, let alone one atYale,that Idid not apply to myself.
Not to mentionI do not want to get a master’s, what the fuck.I’ve taken great pains towards not being a disappointment to him and Christmas, and I think I’ve done a pretty damn good job of it—there have been almost no headlines caused by me since the gifts fiasco. So what did I do to deserve this manipulation?
He knows this is messed up. But he smiles at Neo and asks what Lily’s plans are and thorny vines grow in my stomach.
Staff begin opening the boxes of ornaments, and our court shuffles around, lifting those ornaments, hanging them, posing just so. But I can’t move as my father slaps my shoulder in faux camaraderie and I feel that plan sink in.
This has nothing to do with my behavior or a punishment. He’s trying to turn me into him. And I get an image of what that will be like as I watch my father smile too broadly, laugh too loudly, every movement honed to paint a flawless portrait of our ruling family that will be displayed to our people and other Holidays, look how mighty Christmas is, look howjollyandjoyful.
When was the last time anyone in this family felt actual joy?
An echo of a conversation scurries across my brain.
Maybe you’ve been putting your weight on the wrong things.
That’s what happiness is, at the root. A foundation.
I shrug it off like I usually do. A drunken night, too fogged to really remember, I don’tactuallyknow what happened—but I’m only lying to myself, and doing a piss poor job of it, considering I think about that conversation a lot. And that guy. And that kiss.
How he felt. How he tasted. The way he’d moaned.
But I can’t admit all that to myself so I’m going to keep living in my delusions about notreallyremembering where those nuggets of wisdom came from.
They don’t matter, anyway. Because I’m going to grad school, then eventually taking over the family business of bringing quote-unquote joy to the world, behold my future.
It’s suddenly very, very hot in here. This suit is too tight. The collar is too high—
Someone hands me an ornament. I go into the motion, step across to hang it on the tree; a photo snaps.
Okay, duty done, right? I can leave—
Iris eases up next to me. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Great. Going to grad school, apparently.”
She scoffs. “With your grades?”
“Thank you, I know, right?”
She looks back at our fathers, talking, sipping their drinks. “For what?”
“Global Affairs, because it isn’t enough to have an undergrad degree I don’t understand, let’s add a master’s too.” I tip my head back, looking up at the massive tree. “God fucking damn it.Grad school.Why didn’t I see it coming? I always underestimate him.”
“I’ve stopped trying to estimate my father at all,” Iris says. She hangs a red bulb on a branch that bends, too thin. “It’s made everything way easier.”
“Easier?” I frown at her. “Did something happen?”
“I’ve switched to taking mostly online courses. I didn’t tell you?”
“You definitely didnot.Why? You’re still on campus, right?”
