Wild Swans by Jessica Spotswood Page B

who’s down for anything. She said their ignorance only made her more passionate about sex education, so this summer she’s volunteering at the women’s clinic outside town, even though it means getting insulted and having to walk past posters of fetuses coming and going.
    It sucks that Claire had to deal with any of that. But sometimes I envy that she knows what she wants. Sometimes it feels like everybody knows but me. Claire wants to get the hell out of Cecil, to go to American University in DC and major in women’s, gender, and sexuality studies. Spend a year abroad in London or Paris or Rome. Abby wants to go to the University of Maryland and study elementary education while Ty gets his degree in business. Then they’ll get married and come back to Cecil, where he’ll help run his dad’s hardware store and she’ll teach first grade and they’ll have three kids. She even has the names picked out! Alex doesn’t have his future quite as mapped out, but he wants to stay in Cecil and play baseball.
    And Connor—I remember how passionate Connor was as he recited the Millay poem.
    The only thing that turns me on that much is him .
    â€¢ • •
    When I fit my key into the back door, it’s ten minutes after twelve. The only sounds are the cicadas in the trees and the soft lap of waves against the shore. The house is dark and quiet, and I’m relieved that no one’s waited up for me.
    Inside, I kick off my flip-flops and pour a glass of water by the light of the stove.
    â€œYou’re late.” Granddad’s voice floats out of the darkness.
    Startled, I smack my hip on the counter and cuss, then walk down the hall into the library. The lights are all off and I can barely make him out in the gloom, his white polo shirt stark against his leather recliner. I lean over and switch on the lamp. “You waited up for me?” He’s hardly a night owl, and by the end of last summer, I thought he trusted me.
    â€œWanted to make sure you were all right. We didn’t get a chance to talk, just the two of us, before you left.” A book is propped open on his chest, like he drifted off at some point. He’s still wearing his reading glasses.
    â€œI’m fine. Sorry I’m late.” It’s not like I rolled in at dawn, but Granddad’s a stickler for curfew. “Claire walked me home and we ran into a heron. You know how she is about birds.”
    Granddad returns the recliner to its upright position and sets his book on the end table. “Claire? Where’s Alex?”
    â€œStill at the party.” I lean against the doorjamb, arms crossed over my chest.
    Granddad doesn’t let it go. “You two have a fight?”
    â€œSort of. It was nice of you to wait up, but I’m tired. Can we talk tomorrow?” I am skirting the edge of politeness, but I cannot bear another confrontation or another discussion about my mother.
    Granddad stands, stretches, and strides toward me. “I know this wasn’t an easy day, Ivy. It will get better. Erica just needs some time to settle in, feel accepted.”
    I bite my lip, stung by the implied criticism. “I’m trying .”
    â€œNot you, honey. That’s not what I meant. It’s me. She feels I’m still treating her like a child, and here she is with children of her own. She doesn’t want me coming between her and the girls. So she’s trying to assert herself.”
    â€œAssert herself?” I let out a little laugh. “She was a straight-up bitch to everyone.”
    â€œLanguage, Ivy,” Granddad chides. “I’m not asking you to like her or even respect her. But we need to keep things civil, at least in front of the girls. She’s their mother and… Well, I really do think she’s doing her best.”
    â€œWhat if her best isn’t good enough?” I ask. “What if they’d be better off with her