Free Commencement by J. Courtney Sullivan Page A

fifteen years old, Bree bought a two-foot stack of bridal magazines at the A&P and hid them under her bed like porn, so her brothers wouldn’t make fun. At night, she folded down the edges of each page that featured a dress like the one she wanted—ivory, with a full-on Bo Peep skirt and a row of silk-covered buttons from the base of her spine to the top of her neck.
    She and Doug Anderson got engaged right after high school graduation. All through the ceremony, across the rows of bleachers, she could see that he was sweating. Anyone else might have thought it was from wearing a black cap and gown in the Savannah heat, but Bree knew better—something had him terrified. A few hours later, at the picnic their fathers threw at Forsyth Park, Doug took her over to a row of oak trees and propped her up against one as though she might lose control of her bones. He still looked afraid, even after drinking two beers.
    “You okay?” she asked him, and just as the words came out of her mouth, he fell to one knee. He didn’t have the ring in a velvet box, the way she had pictured. Instead, he uncurled his fingers and the diamond band sat right in the palm of his hand. He reminded Bree of a little boy bringing his mama a treasure from the garden, a lady-bug or a double-headed acorn.
    She said yes before he could even ask. Doug jumped to his feet and squeezed her tight. He kissed her until she felt like the sun was shining out from inside of her and she might actually burst into a thousand glittering shards of light. And then their families gathered around them, and everyone toasted with good champagne, and Bree realized that they had all known. This was meant to be her engagement party. She could still remember the proud look on her daddy’s face, her grandmother’s giddy chatter about whether Bree ought to carry red roses or calla lilies when she walked down the aisle. Only her mother stood back from the crowd, her lips pressedtightly together, a gesture that she had once told Bree was the true secret to a happy marriage. Later though, when plans were being ironed out, she spoke up. While Doug thought Bree ought to transfer to the University of Georgia so that they could be married within the year, her mother insisted that she give Smith a fair shot, and that they make the engagement a long one.
    When Bree was in grade school, she and her mother would go to Northampton for a few days every summer. They’d walk around campus, eat fancy dinners downtown, get manicures and blowouts, buy tiny soaps in the shape of fish or hearts or elephants at the Cedar Chest on Main Street. Her brothers would have to stay behind.
    Bree had been romanticizing the Smith Sisterhood ever since. She loved the idea of living in a land of women, rich in tradition. Tea parties and candlelight dinners and friends you’d keep for a lifetime. When it came time to think about college, she applied only to Smith, early decision, and was accepted within a week.
    Doug and Bree both wanted to be lawyers, someday going into practice together. Her secret wish was to go to Stanford Law, and not wanting to jinx herself, she had told no one but Doug.
    He teased her, saying over and over, “No trusting Southerner is gonna want a lawyer who ran off to some Yankee college and then got a law degree in hippie-dippy California.”
    Bree knew he was scared. He didn’t want her to go so far away. She tried to reassure him, even though all summer long she felt like a pioneer: She was the only person they knew who was leaving the South for college.
    But when it came time to say good-bye, Bree suddenly grew terrified. She held his hands so tight that her fingernails left ten perfect moons on his palms when she let go.
    Her parents had the car all loaded up and were sitting in the front seat trying to give them their privacy. Eventually, her father beeped the horn, and she and Doug embraced long and hard. He kissed the diamond on her hand as a sort of seal on the promise