Mom elbows him. “It’s Hazel.”
“I know that.” He flinches in his seat, throwing me an apologetic look. “I swear I do. I’m just bad with names.”
“She doesn’t snore, Dad.”
“So you moved in with Hazel. Go on.” Squaring his shoulders, a sharp breath whooshes out of him. He suddenly looks very business-like. I imagine this is how he used to be in meetings, recapping what had been discussed and prompting everyone to move forward. Since he got out of the hospital, he alternates between trying to play the cool dad and moments of lucidity when he realizes he has no idea how to do that. For some reason, this puts me at ease from my own difficulties in communicating with them. Even adults have to wing it sometimes.
I grin and start telling them about the classes, my crazy schedule.
"Wait, why are you taking so many classes?" Mom asks.
"Well, I just want to try out as many as I can, so I figure out what I like."
"Oh, I see," Dad says. "It's time you lost that chip on your shoulder. You dropped out of your London Uni after one semester because you didn't like your subject; so what?" When I don't answer, he continues, "Dani, listen. Everyone goes through a soul-searching period at some point in their lives. Don't sweat over this. You’re young; you have time to figure things out."
"But—”
"You are the most responsible kid I know,” he says. “You have a huge trust fund and chose to live in a dorm and drive a cheap car. Ask James what he was doing when he was your age."
"I know what he was doing," I say. James was the only person in our family to burn his trust fund, and he managed that in three years. "But I missed my grades for Oxford, all because I was too busy rebelling against you and Mom," I challenge.
Mom folds her arms, leaning back in her chair. "Well, you were bound to rebel. Most teenagers do that for years. I was one of them. I gave my mom hell. Your months of rebellion were nothing in comparison, really."
I eye her suspiciously. "You were very alarmed at the time."
"We'd become used to you being a good kid. You just threw us in for a loop." She and Dad exchange a gloomy look that tells me they haven’t fully forgotten those months, but want to let the past go.
"Just enjoy college." Dad winks at me and Mom nods in approval. "Anyone up for a game of charades?"
"Sure." As Mom brings the game, I add, "Damon's back. He's at Stanford, too." Dad goes rigid, and Mom pauses in the act of reaching for her chair.
“He’s not fighting anymore,” I add quickly. “At all.” My throat goes dry as the silence stretches and my parents exchange furtive glances.
“Good for him,” Mom says eventually. As she drops in her seat, I grow uneasy.
“What are your intentions regarding him?” Dad asks. His tone is now all business.
“We went on a date. He seems changed,” I say. When skepticism stretches on both their faces, I add one last piece of information, hoping to soften them. “He works for James.” Instantly, their eyes widen. I bite my lip, imagining how they will grill my brother about this.
“We can’t tell you what to do or not.” Uncertainty tinges Dad’s tone.
“Just be careful,” Mom says.
Well, all in all, not the worst reaction.
We focus on the game of charades after that, playing it for hours. Mom babbles about her newly discovered love for reading—she’s devoured most of my steamy collection—then tells me all about organizing James and Serena's wedding. She pretends to be upset they don't help her much, but I know she's secretly happy they're letting her do whatever she wants. The sun is almost setting when they walk me back to the car. I'm still wearing my hoodie and sweatpants, and I've decided to keep them on so I won't freeze my butt off.
"Hey, we should all go to the factory soon, like we did when I was little."
"Your dad still tires very quickly, so he won't leave the house for a while," Mom says apologetically.
"But we can give you a set of keys. Maybe you can go with some friends,” Dad suggests. “It closes to the public at eight o'clock; I can tell the guards to keep it open for you and your friends."
"Okay, I don't need keys then."
"No, you should have your set,” he insists. “It's yours, too, after all."
I'm grinning ear to ear when Mom brings me a set of keys. "Is there any chance you can visit me on campus any time soon?"