Fate Sealed
"I thought you wanted to study business, like your sister," my mother says randomly over dinner a few days after I inform her of my decision to pursue a degree in Criminology.
"No, that was your idea," I remind her. She swirls her wine around in her glass, the movement mirrored in the reflective surface of the dinner table.
"There's a better career outlook," she points out after a few minutes.
I take a bite of caprese salad and try to ignore the bland taste of raw mozzarella and watery tomatoes. My mother's cooking has not improved since I've been gone—I can't wait to get back to the overly sauced and fried food of the school cafeteria.
"Not necessarily," I counter, pushing the bowl aside and reaching for a piece of half-burnt garlic bread. "If I go the pre-law track and aim for a JD, I'll have plenty of options."
My mother shakes her head and lets her breath out in a little huff.
"No, you won't. Chances are you'll end up a paralegal or a court ordered attorney, neither of which pay very well. You know options are limited for women in law."
"And they're not limited in business?" I counter.
This isn't a conversation I want to have. I only told her my plan as a courtesy—with the full ride from UT Austin (the fight over my choice to attend a state school had been a whole other saga) she has very little say in my education, a fact which causes her endless frustration.
"I might do a business minor. But I'm not going to put in hundreds of hours of studying to something I don't care about."
When my mother is upset, she sucks in her lips so that her mouth forms a straight line. Growing up, Abby and I jokingly called it "the face". As my mother makes this face now, I cover my own mouth and fake a cough to cover up my compulsive smile.
She glares at me.
I wait patiently as she collects her thoughts, giving my attention to the tasteless, gluten free pasta and pesto that's our main course. I swear the moment I step back on campus I'm heading straight for the café to order the greasiest burger and fries they'll serve me.
"Okay," she says finally. "I get it. You grew up inhaling all those procedural dramas and crime shows, and you read all of Agatha Christie's books before your 11th birthday. I should have seen this coming, and I suppose..." she says, the effort of compromising clearly causing her physical pain, "it's better than liberal arts, or god forbid becoming an actress."
"I was in middle school."
"Yes, exactly. You're growing up now, and you need to think in terms of the future. Where you're going to be, how you'll support yourself."
"Agreed," I say. "I have a plan, and I really think I can make it work. But if it doesn't...I'll reconsider your suggestion."
She stares at me, gauging my sincerity. She taps her manicured nails on the table top and sighs, reaches for the bottle of cabernet and refills her glass.
"Good. Now finish your food. You've barely eaten. I can't understand how you've put on this much weight if your appetite is so small."
I grit my teeth and take another bite of the pasta.
"Freshman 15. Don't you know every student instantly gains weight their first year?"
She blinks, and then laughs, louder than usual. Her cheeks are flushed with wine, and her mood is improving now that she's said her piece.
"As long as it goes away by the time you're a Sophomore. You'll never make it as a lawyer if you can't fit into your clothes."
I twist angel hair noodles around my fork and smile. I'm still wary, but if my mother is willing to play nice, I will too. I finish off the rest of the caprese salad and wash it down with garlic bread, and the glass of wine she generously offers—what's left of the bottle.
"What is it exactly that appeals to you?"
I blink, confused.
"Do you mean in life? Existentially? Or something more specific?"
"Crime." She elaborates, waving a vague hand. "Law."
"Well..." I abandon the last piece of blackened garlic bread on my plate and wipe my greasy fingers clean on the cloth napkin.
"Hm. For one, it's more interesting than business. No offense."
"Of course."
"But it's not necessarily the idea of being a lawyer that's in itself appealing. I guess it's...understanding how and why people do the things they do."
"People?"
"I want to know what drives a person to commit a crime. The factors that influence whether a person will be a criminal, or a law-abiding citizen."
"So, you want to be a defense attorney." She concludes.
"Maybe? Or a criminal pathologist. Or a researcher...a professor? Who knows. I still have time to decide. All I know right now is that I want to study people, and understand why some of them go bad, while others don't."
To my surprise, my mother smiles. Not a tight-lipped grimace or the falsely sweet kind that shows off her dimples—the one she reserves for clients—but a real, genuine smile.
"What?" I say, concerned.
She shakes her head, the corners of her mouth widening further.
"Oh, nothing. I just always knew you'd find your own way. Your sister may be the gold star, but you're the ambitious one."
My mouth falls open.
"Was that...a compliment?" I ask.
She laughs merrily.
"Don't get used to it."
