“Still wouldn’t hurt to go at least look at dresses and maybe try a few on.” She shrugs and towel dries one of the pans. “You can always ask the boy who took you to Homecoming.”

It’s not like my mom to use suggestive sentences like that.

She’s usually very direct in what she wants from me, especially when it’s about how she wants to spend her weekends, the precious time set aside to not worry about work. My planning gene did come from somewhere, after all.

Still, I’m not buying the air of innocence she has on this topic. It’s confirmed when I notice that she’s biting back a smile.

“Mom,” I say.

She reaches in the sink to pull the plug.

“Mom,” I repeat.

When she ignores me again, I flick the water from my hand at her, making her laugh and hold up the towel in defense.

“What did Audrey tell you?” I demand.

“Your sister? What does she have to do with this? I just have the feeling you’re going to have a date, and we want to be prepared, don’t we?”

I groan and head upstairs to call Audrey, but she sends me right to voicemail.

My mom keeps up the ruse of innocence through the next day, occasionally asking me who I’m texting as we drive on the highway. Sadly, it’s only Audrey.

Dylan is spending the day at some yacht club—because apparently those aren’t things that only exist in movies—with some of his father’s business associates and would earn some glares if he was on his phone the entire time.

“What is your sister up to today?”

“Being really hungover and mad that we’re going shopping before noon,” I tell her before I can stop myself.

“Tell her to get a mimosa and get over it,” my mom says.

I feel my eyes widen in my skull. “Since when did you get so laissez-faire about underage drinking?” I ask her.

“She’s in college, and it’s the weekend. I know how these things go.”

I sputter for a response.

“It’s not like we didn’t have cheap beer when I was in school.”

“Mom!” I say.

“What else do you think you’re going to do during winters in Ithaca? I know you can read until your brain gives out, but I’m sure James will do an adequate job of getting you to at least one party before Thanksgiving. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that bottle of champagne in your room...”

She laughs as she finds us a space near the entrance to the dress store. It’s a monstrosity, like a full-size department store but just filled with prom dresses and other special occasion wear according to the sign out front.

Apparently this is the best store within an hour drive of our house because they make you provide your name and school at checkout to ensure that no one will show up in the same dress. It’s kind of genius given their clientele.

My mom turns off the car and reaches to grab her purse from the backseat but stops when she sees the expression on my face.

She eyes me, curious as to what is going on in my head. “You okay?”

I should have told them all—my mom, my dad, my sister—all at once. Just declared what school I wanted to pick when they were in celebration mode instead of dragging it out. I was resolved to not care about their opinions and go for what I want, but as I’m about to do it, I’m nervous about disappointing them.

“What if that’s not what I want?” I can barely get the words out.

“I’m only joking, sweetheart,” she says delicately. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

I shake my head. “What if I don’t want to go to Cornell?” I ask.

This one little question opens the floodgate to all the things I have been holding in for months.

Dylan still is the only person I’ve told about Columbia—well, aside from the older couple from Books & Beans. But if I had known how things would turn out between us, I’m not sure I would have told him.

I thought that I could be honest with someone I’d never see after graduation. That my hidden truth would come out, and that memory would disappear from his mind along with everything else about me.

But instead, it turned into a tangible thing. Not just Dylan, but the realization that the future I once planned for myself was not the one I wanted.

For so many years, I clung to James like a life raft. I made his wants my wants because it was convenient and easy, not because it was my choice. My parents enabled this behavior, whether they knew or not, and now, I wanted to escape from that.

I just had to get through the hard part, which was actually making it happen.

“What if I don’t want to go to college with James?” I ask. “Or date him? Or end up together? Or stay in Pittsburgh or do anything that I once told you I wanted to do?”

She sits back against the seat, angling herself so she can speak to me head on.

I hold my hands together, squeezing my fingers tightly to brace for whatever she’s going to say to voice her disappointment, but she surprises me when she reaches over and gently brushes my hair behind my ears.

I honestly hate when she does this. It makes my head look like a weird puffy jack-o’-lantern, but I’m so relieved that she’s comforting me instead of making me sob with guilt that I almost cry in relief.

“Your father and I just want what’s best for you, Harper.”

“I know,” I say because I’ve heard it one thousand times. “But don’t you think going to Cornell and dating James is what’s best for me?”

She laughs. “Not if you don’t.”

I frown. “That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t want to tell you what to do because it’s your life. As much as I love being a mom and being a part of it, soon you’re turning eighteen and are going to be making all sorts of life decisions. Of course, I’m here to help you whenever you need me. But you’ve gotten more scholarships to all three schools than we could have hoped for, so everything is taken care of except for your decision to pick what you want to do.”

It’s logic.

But it’s still not an answer.

Just as I’m about to tell her that, she adds, “But did I really think my little obsessive planner applied to the best writing school in the middle of New York City for no reason?”

I can’t help but offer her my biggest, genuine smile.

“Now, let’s go find the dress of your dreams,” she says, squeezing my hand a final time. “Only the best for my favorite child.”

I can’t help but squeal at her admission.

And again when we finally find the dress.

18

“You’ve got this, Kyle?” I ask.

If there’s anything that shows how much I’ve changed recently, it’s that question I just asked.

We just jammed the entire yearbook staff in the office to celebrate that we’ve finally pulled everything together and are ready to ship it out to the printer. But now it’s back to our normal skeleton crew for the official file transfer.

And I’m letting Kyle have the glory of pressing “enter” on the computer.

When he does, we’re all smiles and high fives, a simple act given the months and hours we poured into this.