A more petty man would have been pissed off that all the attention of his last night free of destiny’s designs had been stolen by his sister getting her first tick mark. I, however, just felt relieved that someone else was there to soak up Mom’s incessant questions. Dad had retreated into himself a bit, as he usually did when things were changing too quickly for him to keep up with. He was eating mechanically, probably not even tasting Mom’s chicken paprikash despite it being both of our favorites. He’d never shared the exact wording, but I knew the current point on his List was something like exemplify stability. I thought he took it way too far with just how stubborn and slow to react he could be, but at least he was consistent.
Mom, on the other hand, was a chronic worrier that bordered on the hypochondriac. I had no idea if it was related to her List, as she’d refused to share even a hint about her current point after she saw a Dateline special about a family who shared their Lists with each other but were being spied on by their neighbor who manipulated them all with vague clues and murdered them one after another. Admittedly a gruesome story, but she was convinced the murderer was part of an anti-List cult spreading across the country and that it could happen to us if we dropped our guard. Alyssa had blurted hers out two years ago and Mom had practically kidnapped her for a weeklong road trip with a different hotel every night, switching out rental cars to throw off any potential murderous stalkers. For Debra Blakely, there was no kill quite like overkill. Best not to mention that phrase to her, though, unless you wanted to hear in detail how the latest victim featured on Dateline actually had been killed.
“I’m just so proud of you, Alyssa!” I tuned back into the conversation between Mom and Alyssa, the latter looking worn out by the number of congratulations she’d already endured. “I hope your next point is something just as meaningful, oh, but don’t tell us what it is! You never know if someone might be listening!”
Alyssa gave an awkward chuckle and met my eyes, her own pleading for help. As much as I wanted to do my sacred brotherly duty and leave her to the wolves, I did owe her for the milkshake and advice, and for soaking up so much of Mom’s attention until now. I cleared my throat and tried to throw her a bone.
“So, what’s next?” Not my best conversation segue, but if it could steer Mom away from summarizing Dateline, anything goes. “You gonna look into transferring now that your first point’s ticked off?”
Alyssa shrugged. “Maybe? I feel like I need a little time to process, but I would like to see the world beyond Glenbrook, Virginia at some point. If there’s one thing my first point taught me though, it’s that there’s no rush. I’ll finish out the semester, look into things in the meantime, and see which way the wind blows me.”
Dad nodded at this, momentarily breaking out of his stupor. “Always good to consider all your options. Rushing gets people in trouble. Remember, slow is smooth-”
“Smooth is fast.” Alyssa, Mom, and I said in unison. We’d heard Dad’s favorite phrase far too many times to not know it by heart.
“And I’ll keep saying it as long as it’s true.” Dad said, a hint of pride in his voice. For all he could be an absolute rock sometimes, that wasn’t without its benefits. I’d never had to doubt how much he cared, always providing a fallback option for any risks, ready to wipe away Alyssa’s tears after a bad breakup or console me after I didn’t get the lead in the school play. He turned to face me, now re-engaged in the conversation. “That goes for you too, Connor. No matter what tomorrow brings, taking it slow will almost always make things go smoother.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but smile. “I know, Dad. If at all possible, I will stop and consider what I’m doing before I do anything. Even if my first point is something urgent, I promise I’ll plan as much as I can before starting. Measure twice, cut once, right?”
Alyssa wobbled her hand back and forth. “Are you trying for a catchphrase like Dad’s? Cause that one’s not really doing it for me.”
“Everyone’s a critic.” I grumbled, and Mom laughed.
“It’ll come with time, dear. Don’t try to force it. Now finish your chicken, I’ve got a surprise for you!” That was enough to have me shoveling the last few bites into my mouth. Everybody celebrated Fate’s Eve and Fool’s Day a little differently; some would do their big family celebrations on the day of as a rite of passage into adulthood, but others like mine would have the party the night before as a capstone to childhood. I was undoubtedly biased, but I liked this way better. I felt like I’d probably be too obsessed with ruminating on my new destiny tomorrow to enjoy anything. Not that I wasn’t currently anxious and sleep-deprived, but at least it was out of anticipation.
Mom and Alyssa disappeared into the kitchen, and Dad gave a little sigh and leaned forward onto the table, taking up the classic thinking pose with his hands in front of his mouth. I mirrored him, all but daring him to start the slightly awkward but endearing fatherly advice portion of tonight’s broadcast. He raised his eyebrows in faux innocence, and I narrowed my own. I wouldn’t win this contest of wills, not against the stubbornest man alive, but I refused to give up at the first hurdle.
After a solid minute, Dad gave a grudging nod of respect and leaned back again. “Son,” He started. “I remember being in your shoes, god, feels like it was just a few years ago. Staring down your grandpa Steve, trying to get him to give me the secrets of what life with a List would be like. He didn’t then, and I’m not going to now either.” I sat up, ready to protest, but he cut me off with a raised hand. “That’s because there are no secrets. Your grandpa never told me that bit, said it was tradition, but traditions are meant to grow with the people living them. So, that’s the big reveal. There are no secrets. Life probably won’t change all that much. Maybe you’ll find some part of yourself that you’ve been neglecting to nurture and find you really enjoy it. Maybe you’ll have your vision pointed towards a blind spot. You’ll probably get frustrated. Took me ten months to get my first tick mark, and those are supposed to be the easy ones. I was spitting mad for a lot of that time.” This was news to me. Dad was an even keel, hardly ever raising his voice, the picture of a calm, collected customer. “I think that’s the lesson the first point on my List was trying to teach me. Going through life angry is no way to live, and it just brings more problems.”
Dad shook his head. “But that’s me. You’re not full of piss and vinegar like I was at your age. I have no idea what your List will say or what lessons fate will try to teach you using it. But I do know it will be yours. Try to let it happen as much as you can, no matter what form that takes. Whether you feel the urge to go out and try to fulfill it or you want to break your fate, trust your instincts. The people who get stuck and suffer the most are those that try to offload the responsibility for their List to someone else. It’s yours, it’s meant for you, and you decide what to do with it. Do that, and I can guarantee that at the very least, I’ll be proud of you.”
He’d timed the end of his speech well, as Mom waltzed back in bearing a cake that looked far fancier than anything that belonged in our humble abode. A grinning Alyssa followed behind her with an armful of presents, and I was simultaneously blushing and smiling. My birthday hadn’t even been that long ago, and they still wanted to pull out all the stops today. I guess birthdays are once a year, but getting your List only happens once in a lifetime. We’d done almost the same when it was Alyssa’s turn two years back, though her cake was far less elaborate.
She was the one to explain the discrepancy. “So… Mom and I might’ve gotten a little too into that one baking show? And decided we could do better? Um, surprise! Vanilla and almond sponge with chocolate ganache and hazelnut buttercream frosting! Decorated by yours truly, mostly baked by Mom.”
“And most importantly, it looks and tastes better than that abomination Candace tried to present in the second series! Honestly, that was a disaster.”
“We also weren’t being filmed or timed, Mom.”
“That’s not the point, Allie dear.”
I laughed. “Well, whatever it took to motivate you, thanks! It looks fantastic.”
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Mom turned her nose up and sniffed haughtily. “Of course it does, your mother made it.”
“And sister.” Allie coughed.
“Thank you both.” Dad played peacekeeper. “It looks absolutely fantastic and I know it’ll taste even better.”
The next few minutes proved his words absolutely prophetic.
“I never want to move again. I am full of cake and contentment.” I drawled.
“You’re gonna have to eventually.” Mom chided.
“Nope, I’ve decided, my List begins with staying right here. Alyssa had the right idea.”
“I usually do.” My sister agreed airily.
Dad rolled his eyes. “I guess you don’t need your presents then?”
I blinked. “I never said that. I can both receive gifts and be sedentary. I’m multi-talented.”
“Sure, kiddo.” He chuckled and passed over a small box. “We’ll see if this lasts longer than you wanting to be a dragon when you were six.”
“Bold of you to assume that dream ever died.” I started peeling away the constellation-themed wrapping paper, opening the box to reveal a new wallet. I looked up at Dad, confused, and he mimed opening his hands. Hint received. I opened the wallet to reveal a few gift cards and what a brief count revealed to be $300.
Dad spread his hands in a what can you do gesture. “Don’t know what the future holds, but a bit more money and a nice place to keep it never goes amiss. You take care of that wallet and it’ll last you decades, too.”
I smiled. “Thanks Dad. I’ll put it to good use.”
He nodded, content. “I know you will.”
“Here you go, dear. Alyssa insisted on saving hers for last.” Mom passed me a slightly larger gift bag stuffed with brightly colored tissue paper.
“I don’t know if I should be anticipating or dreading her gift, then.” I said absently.
“No respect in this family, I swear.” Alyssa muttered petulantly.
Below the ocean of tissue paper, I pulled out a rugged-looking canvas backpack colored a deep olive green. It would have looked almost military if not for the strip of bright red surrounding the zipper and a silver crescent moon embroidered on the outermost pocket. Still, it was miles better than my current one, but as I looked up to thank her, Mom repeated Dad’s hand-opening gesture from a few minutes ago. My fingers found the zipper and I reached inside to reveal the exact thing a vaguely hypochondriac woman obsessed with Dateline and true crime to give me.
“It’s a dangerous world out there!” Mom began, clearly having practiced this little spiel. “That emergency kit is top of the line, with everything from first aid to road flares to emergency food rations and a water filter! I really hope you don’t ever need it, but when I was watching Dateline last week I just got to thinking if half these people had a good emergency kit, they’d still be here. Promise me you’ll keep it with you whenever you can?”
“Er, of course, Mom.” I promised awkwardly. I wasn’t gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, even if I knew half the stuff in here would get thrown out by the TSA if I ever tried to fly with it. Still, it was the thought that counted, and the thought was to keep me safe. “Thank you so much. I know it’ll help out if I’m ever in a tight spot.” Mom beamed at this, though the ever-present worry was still obvious behind her eyes. Once again I had to wonder if her Dateline addiction had led to her worry or if it was the other way around. Truly the greatest question of our time.
“My turn! Conman, prepare to be wowed!” Alyssa cried out, all but throwing three bundles at me. I squawked, dropping the backpack to juggle the new challengers, each of them soft and pliable under my fingers. Too soft and pliable, as I immediately ripped through the wrapping on one of them and felt fabric under my fingers. It was the work of a moment to liberate that first bundle from its remaining wrapping paper, and wow, Alyssa had outdone herself. It was a shirt, straddling the line between casual and semi-formal, colored mostly forest green with subtle, lighter green vine-like detailing around the cuffs and collar. It had instantly vaulted into the position of my favorite shirt. I looked up at Alyssa, trying to convey my gratitude with my eyes alone, but she just rolled her own fondly and gestured to the other two packages I had entirely failed to keep juggling.
It was a full outfit, I quickly realized. The jeans were fairly basic, but somehow felt both softer and more durable than any pair I already owned. The real gem was the light jacket. It was a leather bomber jacket in a warm brown color that reminded me of nothing more than pumpkin pie. Simple in design to my untrained eye, but as I slid it on it was perfectly fitted to my shoulders in a way that no other jacket ever had been. I couldn’t hold back a smile at the thought of wearing it with the new shirt - it would be like an inverted tree, a green trunk with brown foliage. Clearly nature-inspired, but not to the point of base mimicry. I didn’t know much of anything about fashion design, but Alyssa had scored an A+ in my book. When I managed to relay that to her, she stuck her nose in the air haughtily just like Mom had a few minutes ago.
“Of course it’s fantastic.” She scoffed with a smile behind her eyes. “I wouldn’t let my baby brother meet his fate in rags.”
“We are unworthy, oh style queen.” I prostrated myself verbally. “Seriously, this is officially the coolest thing I own.”
“Excuse you, the three coolest things you own.” She protested.
“Of course, of course.”
“Well,” Dad got up slowly from his chair, stretching the whole way. “It’s just about time. How about some tea and TV, see if we can’t wind down a bit and get you to actually sleep tonight?”
I had somehow almost forgotten it was Fate’s Eve by that point, having unconsciously slotted the memories of dinner and presents as one of my best birthdays ever, not the once in a lifetime event that it was. Dad’s words, meant to be calming, brought the anxiety crashing back all at once in a huge wave. No matter how many people told me about getting their List, that advice wasn’t registering itself emotionally. Sure, I knew that it would probably be no big deal and that I’d eventually look back and laugh about how nervous I felt, but that didn’t help me not feel nervous. It was the hour before opening night of every play I’d ever been in, with the curtain about to rise and nothing more I could do to prepare, just enough time to get into my own head again and imagine the worst outcomes. What if my first point was something impossible? What if it was so mundane that I spent years going in circles with the same routine hoping for a tick mark to appear? What if it took me away from my family? What if it was just like Alyssa’s and made me stick around while all my friends moved on?
I must have spaced out at some point, as the next thing I knew I was sitting on the couch with Mom and Alyssa’s favorite baking show providing background noise, a mug of chamomile and mint tea gripped in my hands. I took a sip mechanically, willing those promises of calming the box purported to hurry up and get working already. Someone on screen had just had their buttercream curdle, and that was apparently terrible news with how little time was left before the cake had to be done. Mom and Alyssa were quietly bickering over someone’s flavor choice, Mom expressing disbelief that tahini could be used effectively in a cake. I took another sip, more for warmth and flavor than the calming benefits that probably weren’t coming. Or maybe they already had, and that’s why my body felt so sluggish while my mind continued to race through every possible variation of what my first point might say. I wasn’t a doctor, and I was pretty sure the supposed calming benefits of the tea weren’t verified by the FDA.
I tried to distract myself, I really did. I made snarky commentary on the baking show, chiding some poor old man for his messy presentation that was still about a hundred times better than anything I could do with double the time. I arbitrarily picked a favorite baker and yelled encouragement at the TV as Dad did the same and declared his pick the rival to my own. Much to my eternal shame, his middle-aged Scotsman was doing much better than my chosen sassy lady. I consoled myself that her entertainment value was better, and for a few minutes was genuinely able to put my List out of mind. Then it came roaring back as one of the better bakers received some genuine praise from the judges and had a tick mark fill in that they exuberantly showed off to the camera. I should have expected as much, really. Any sort of reality or competition show had at least one or two contestants knock off a point on their List per season, even that novelty show they’d made a few years back where the whole point was to try to go the whole season without that happening. I guess the kinds of people who enter to be in shows like that are naturally predisposed to something like that happening. Fate works in both mysterious and entirely predictable ways.
Despite that little fresh injection of anxiety, I was feeling better when the episode ended and I was unceremoniously shuffled upstairs to prepare for bed. A long, hot shower later, I was sitting on my bed flicking through various apps on my phone, waiting for the melatonin I’d taken to make me drowsy enough to close my eyes. I sighed, setting the phone aside to charge, and stared at the glow in the dark stars that I’d glued to my ceiling a decade ago on my eighth birthday during my astronaut phase.
“Hey… Fate.” I mumbled. “Don’t really know how to address you, we’ve never been a religious family. Goes with the whole no proof of your existence except the List. You’re probably fielding a lot of desperate prayers like this right now if you do exist, huh?” I chuckled weakly. “Well, here’s one more. It isn’t special, but it is mine. I probably don’t want the usual things people beg you about, maybe that’ll help my case. No requests for fulfillment or riches here. Just let it be something that suits me and gives me at least a little freedom. And maybe,” I yawned, starting to close my eyes. “Maybe something kinda interesting.”
As my eyes fluttered shut, I could have sworn that those glow in the dark stars twinkled just like real ones.