Epic Adventures of Lydia Bennet (9781476763248) (40 page)

“With that extreme lack of self-awareness?” Mary shot back. “Definitely not.”

“Figured. So, Lydia,” Violet transitioned, pushing the final drink over toward me. “I was thinking, my favorite professor from New Amsterdam just got promoted to head of the department last year and we still talk sometimes. I could put in a good word for you, if you want.”

I took a sip of the drink: amaretto sour, just like my last one. If this wasn't just luck and Violet could identify drinks on sight, I was definitely making Mary keep her around. Any party tricks involving
alcohol were the best kinds of party tricks in my book. And yes, I was stalling my response, which Violet seemed to catch on to.

“I don't wanna overstep any bounds,” she went on. “I will take zero offense if you want me to stay out of it, promise. I just respect seeing people figure out what they want to do, and supporting it when I can. And from what Mary says, you're pretty smart at this kind of stuff.”

I thought back to missing the deadline for Central Bay College. I didn't think something like that would happen again. Things felt different now. I felt different. Sure, it was just a feeling, but that's a start, right? But I couldn't help wondering if I had asked someone for help instead of hiding the problems I was having and pretending everything was fine—Mary, Ms. W, even Darcy—if things would have turned out differently. I wasn't sure I wanted that, not now, but I guess learning to ask for help was a lesson I needed to learn. Again. How many times do you have to learn the same thing?

Until it sticks, I guess.

And anyway, this wasn't asking for anything. Violet was offering. And I got the feeling it really wasn't out of pity or obligation to Mary or something like that.

“Thanks,” I told Violet. “That would be awesome of you.”

“Great!” she said. “Let me know when you're submitting and I'll let Professor Malikov know he's got an application coming his way he should pay extra attention to.”

I groaned. “Professor Malikov?”

“Yeah . . .” Violet responded, clearly confused. “Do you know him?”

“It's a long story.” I sighed. “Better if you don't ask.

“Now, I hate to be this person,” I started, not giving them a chance to interject. “Actually, I don't. I love to be this person: I think this night deserves a toast!”

“Ugh, toasts are so lame and overtly cheerful,” Mary said. “Can't we just show our happiness for you by buying you drinks?”

“Aw, you both know the way to my heart so well!” I said. “But no. This isn't just a toast for me. It's for all of us! There are a lot of epic new things going on in our lives, and we need to acknowledge them and celebrate. It won't kill you, Mary, I promise.”

“She's right about that. I can't say I've ever heard of a toast causing anyone to drop dead,” Violet said.

“See? Of course I'm right. And I'll start.” I raised my glass. “To me for picking out a new college, and confronting my douchebag ex, and coming back from New York without accidentally joining a weird sex orgy cult while there.”

Mary shot me a look but let it slide.

Violet lifted her glass up as well, adding: “To the Mechanics getting an awesome new bassist.”

“To Mary dating someone who has way better hair than Eddie,” I threw in, and she laughed.

“Seems like a general ‘out with the old, in with the new' sentiment would've worked just fine for this whole toast, if you ask me,” Mary pointed out.

“To getting rid of the old stuff that sucks and starting cool new adventures without ever forgetting the old stuff that's still pretty awesome to have around,” I said, looking over at my cousin. She shifted uncomfortably as a smile forced its way onto her grumpypants face, and finally raised her drink as well.

“Yeah, I guess that's good enough,” she agreed, and we all clinked our glasses together.

There was still a lot to do. Tomorrow, I had to go talk to Lizzie and tell her about George, about school, and do my absolute best to not tell her about Mary and Violet because that wasn't my place. I had to go home and do the same thing over with my parents. I had to spend the rest of the year figuring out a lot of things about my life and myself. And I had to actually, you know, write my application essay this time.

But it was nice to just enjoy this night. And for the first time in a
while, even with so much to do, I didn't feel like I was burying my head in the sand and avoiding everything. Now when I thought to myself,
Tomorrow
, I didn't feel some looming sense of dread. In fact, I felt pretty freakin' excited.

*  *  *

Recount an incident or time when you experienced failure. How did it affect you? What lessons did you learn? What would you do differently now?

I've tried to write this essay many times.

The first time I tried, I would have told you my failure was having judgment poor enough to not be able to see that somebody I trusted was only using me for his own game.

Another time I tried, I would have told you my failure was letting that situation impact me so deeply that I couldn't keep my life on track, couldn't even write this essay and get into college and move on from my past, and it cost all the faith other people had put in me.

A lot has changed since then. I've changed, even if you can't always see those changes on the outside.

I'm writing this essay now, aren't I?

I can be loud, and obnoxious. I enjoy partying, occasionally too much, and I don't always avoid trouble very well. I nag on my sister, and my cousin, too, and sometimes I forget that the world doesn't revolve around me. I think I'm getting better at that.

Sometimes I'm afraid I don't have the right thing to say. Sometimes I try anyway, and I'm right. Other times, I'm wrong. I'm learning that sometimes, the best thing to do is to say nothing at all.

Everything that I am is made up of both my failures and my successes. My attempts and my stumbles. I've learned that in order to rise up from failure, and move forward, you have to acknowledge when you've failed to begin with.

But here's the thing about all of those failures: they're mine.

The person who betrayed my trust did so because he'd already betrayed himself years ago, by not examining his own shortcomings, and still refusing to, even when they stand in the way of his entire life.

That, and everything else he did that hurt me, was not my failure. It was his.

It sounds obvious, when you lay it out straight on paper like that. It's basic sentence structure—the subject verbed the object. But sometimes what seems really obvious in hindsight is impossible to see when you're in the center of it.

I know that now.

And I know that, for all the things that are within my control, this wasn't. This was not my fault. And taking it upon myself didn't change anything, it couldn't. It isn't something to be fixed, it's simply something that has been, and is now a part of me.

My greatest failure was the time I tried to hold myself accountable for somebody else's failures. My greatest failure was the time I failed myself.

I've learned to ask for help. I've learned falling down doesn't mean you can't get back up again.

But as for that relationship, I wouldn't do anything differently, because I wasn't the reason it failed.

If you Google my name, you'll find my story.

Lydia Bennet.

I don't tell you that so you'll feel sorry for me, or so that you'll think I have some sort of extra insight because of the things I went through.

In fact, I'd rather you didn't. Not because I'm ashamed of what you'll see. But because that's not who I am anymore. It's a part of me, and it always will be, but it isn't
me.

But you can if you want.

Because another thing he has failed at doing is taking my identity, and taking my voice. Those are mine. And with them, I can always turn my failures into strengths.

That's kind of the point, isn't it?

“Welcome to Books Beans and Buds. Go, Pioneers. We. Do. Not. Sell. Pot. Here. Can I interest you in a budding beverage?”

“I'm not here for pot, dummy,” Mary said, staring at me.

“Really?” I asked, all innocent. “The twenty you're going to put in the tip jar says otherwise.”

Mary just crossed her arms over her chest. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because I'm your cousin, you love me, and you happen to be in the unique position of knowing how much I get paid.”

Hey, you know how I said that the idea of working in a coffee shop on the campus of the community college you graduated from was really super depressing?

Actually, it's not that bad. Sure, I have to say the stupid line, and sometimes people look like they recognize me, but then I realize I just had psych class with them or saw them around campus over the summer.

But now that it was the holidays, people kept filtering back in who might recognize me from other things. And might think it's depressing to be working in the coffee shop on campus.

But hey, all the mochaccinos I can drink.

“Black coffee. And please tell me you're not really selling pot.”

I just gave her a patented Mary-stare. Of course I wasn't. But the funny thing was, some of our customers didn't seem to know that. About once a week or so, someone would come in, put a twenty in the tip jar, and order a small black coffee.

I have to ask Mrs. B what she puts in the house blend.

I'm working here to pump up my savings account, but it (and other things) also helps pass the time. While I wait.

“Are you excited?” Mary asked, as I poured her coffee.

“About your bass rendition of ‘Jingle Bells' this year? Of course. It's gonna be epic,” I said, nodding. “Especially since you brought a collaborator.”

“Temper your expectations, please,” Mary said, blushing. Aw, she and Violet have been dating for months now and she's still blushing. “Vi's not getting here until tomorrow, so you'll have to wait. I meant are you excited about NAU?”

My stomach flipped over as she said the letters. “I haven't heard anything yet.”

“Yeah, but you're going to get in.”

“We don't know that.” And this time I'm not getting my hopes up. I mean, yeah, Violet put a good word in for me with her old professor. And Darcy placed a call (even though he's not a benefactor of NAU), and Bing did, too (he managed to leverage his contacts to get the Teen Crisis Center a write up in the
Times
, so he figured why not use it for me, too),
and
Ms. W cold-called their psych department, but I have no idea if it did any good. The only thing that's going to really get me in are my transcripts (eep) and my application.

And if I don't, it's not the end of the world—this time. There would be a plan C. Don't know what it is yet, obvs, but this time, I know I've done absolutely everything I can.

So yeah. Waiting. And making coffee. Because that's what you do while you're waiting.

“So did you come straight here or stop at the house?” I asked. “Because Mom was on a present-wrapping binge this morning, and if you walked in on that I fear for your mortal soul.”

“Nah, we knew better and came straight here.”

“We?” My head came up as I was getting Mary's change (sadly, she had not tipped me a twenty). “I thought you said Violet wasn't coming until—”

“Hey, sis!” Lizzie's voice rang through the shop as she walked in. “Good to see you!”

“Lizzie!” I squeed. “You weren't supposed to come down for two more days!”

“Well, I gave my CFO the time off, so I figured, why couldn't I take it, too?”

If there wasn't a refrigerator case full of holiday-themed cake pops in our way, I would have hugged her. As it was, she hopped up on the counter to quasi-strangle me.

“Darcy isn't going to come through the door, too, is he?” I asked.

“He's coming down with his sister, Gigi, tomorrow. I need a night to prep Mom—you know, get her to lay off any marriage and kids talk,” Lizzie replied. “So . . . are you excited? NAU?”

“I'm excited for you to order a coffee,” I said, and nodded to the line forming behind my sister.

“Oh, right! Sorry,” she said sheepishly, and put in an order for a peppermint latte—someone was getting in the holiday spirit. Then she stepped aside to let the line progress as I made her drink.

“So . . . have you heard anything? Mom said the admissions office told her that they'd be sending out acceptance or rejection letters this week.”

My mom called the admissions office. And told everyone. Of course. “Nope, haven't heard,” I replied. “Man, all we need is Bing and Jane and we'll have hit the worry-button trifecta.”

“Well . . .” Lizzie said, her forehead wrinkling in an attempt to make her look innocent.

“No. Way.”

“They're getting in tonight. Sorry, we're just all excited.”

“There's nothing to be excited about,” I said.
Yet
, my brain whispered.

Stop it, brain. You're getting ahead of yourself again.

“At least we can engage in that most Bennet of traditions tonight,” Lizzie offered. “Eating our feelings while watching bad movies. Usually romantic comedies, but you can pick.”

Mary looked at Lizzie, horrified. “Please don't make me watch a romantic comedy.”

“Can't tonight,” I said. “I'm on duty.”

“On duty?” Lizzie's forehead wrinkled. If she kept doing that, there would be sad, sad consequences.

“At the crisis hotline,” I said, and watched Lizzie's jaw drop.

“Since when have you been working at a crisis hotline?”

I shrugged, super nonchalant. “The past couple of weeks. It's kinda cool. I like it.”