Future Perfect by Jen Larsen Read Free Book Online Page A

bin. “You couldn’t. You are physically, emotionally, and spiritually incapable of it.”
    She’s right. The idea is hilarious. Just the idea of skipping makes me physically uncomfortable, twitchy, unsettled.
    â€œThe East Coast sounds so far away, doesn’t it?” I say. “Jolene gets into Sarah Lawrence, and you’ll be, like, an hour away. I’ll be at Harvard, and everyone else will be three thousand miles away.”
    â€œThree thousand miles isn’t that far. I can still come visit,” she says. “Here.” She hands me a stack of fresh baskets, and I start draping them with napkins. She picks up hunks of sourdough and starts tossing them in.
    â€œUnsanitary,” I say.
    She rolls her eyes at me and stabs the tongs into the platter full of bread and thrusts it at me. “Could you bring this to them?”
    I take it from her, but I don’t move, because “visit”?
    â€œWhat?” she says.
    â€œYou’re going to RISD, right?” I ask.
    â€œRhode Island,” she says. “Can you imagine spending four years in Rhode Island ?” She grabs the basket back out of my hand and kisses my shoulder as she passes by.
    â€œYou’re going to get your MFA,” I say. “You have that whole college fund thing!” I ignore that twist of envy in my stomach that happens every single time I think about how easy it’ll be for her to afford college. She won’t need to default to community college if she doesn’t get a scholarship because her parents have allthe dollars. I’m following her back out onto the floor like a baby duck, and I watch her smile at the Smiths, who beam up at her like she’s just produced their first grandchild for them.
    â€œIt’s really not a college fund,” Laura says over her shoulder.
    â€œAshley,” Mrs. Tam calls. She holds up her empty basket. She sounds hurt and betrayed. I have always suspected she just dumps the bread in her purse but now I know it.
    â€œWe’re baking fresh right now,” Laura says to her, and Mr. Monroe grunts and shoves his basket back across the table.
    â€œThis isn’t fresh,” he says.
    â€œYou haven’t tried it yet,” Laura says sweetly. “It just came out a second ago.”
    â€œIt’s not hot,” he says.
    â€œIt’s plenty hot,” Mrs. Monroe says. “Look at how soft this butter is.” Mr. Monroe is poking at the loaf and grumbling while Laura makes soothing noises and Mrs. Tam leans over to tell them to be grateful they have any bread at all.
    I try to settle them down and smooth everything over, but I’m doing it even less diplomatically than usual. When I’m back from changing out their bread, I see Laura tucked at the end of the room with her arms crossed, leaning against the giant fiberglass swordfish that takes up most of the wall.
    I lean against the wall next to her, wiping my hands on my apron.
    â€œSan Francisco,” she says quietly, not looking at me.
    â€œInstead of college,” I say.
    Omar has been telling Laura to come live in San Francisco since they met. It’s where art lives, he says. Unchained, he says. Laura doesn’t even seem to mind when he starts talking like that.
    â€œAnything instead of college,” she says. “Instead of knocking myself out. Instead of staying up all night and worrying.”
    â€œYou’re just going to work for a few months then? Hang out in the city for a while and then go to RISD after a semester or something?”
    She shakes her head. “I turned them down,” she says. She’s not looking at me. She’s watching everyone eat their bread like she’s going to spring into action the moment a basket is empty. “I don’t know if you’re supposed to do something like that, call them up and say, Oh hey, yeah, thank you and everything but unfortunately your goals and mine do not currently