“You want to be the best,” Colonel says. “It’s normal to need to think about how to get there.”

“That’s not what you said at dinner,” she mutters. Louder she says, “I’ll figure it out.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I know you will. Is that what you came to talk about?”

Grace stares at her knees. “I talked to Professor MacMillan,” she says quietly. “We talked about how I’ve been doing this for so long.”

“This?”

“School,” she clarifies. “Studying. Pursuing this goal. Research. Working.”

Colonel makes a small, questioning noise. “You’re committed. You create goals, and you reach them. That’s how I raised you.” You’re a Porter. That’s what Porters do.

“Yeah.” Grace sighs. “But did you ever think that maybe one person isn’t meant to go so hard for that long? That maybe—” She looks down and steels herself. “Maybe I need time now because I never had a chance to do anything else but my studies. Be anything else.”

“Porter—”

“Listen,” she demands. Her knuckles go tense around the arms of the chair. “I’ve been fighting for this since I was eighteen. I’m turning twenty-nine this year, and I’ve never taken a damn day off. Not even on weekends.”

“Okay,” he cuts in, hand up. “Let’s try to keep this civil. Now, let me see if I can break this down.”

She opens her mouth to argue, and Colonel raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t I let you talk?” She shuts her mouth. “You chose a course of study. You pursued that course of study as you were expected. You became a doctor in the field. How am I doing so far?”

Grace blows out a breath through her nose. She stays quiet.

“You didn’t want to do medicine, so you didn’t do medicine. The only expectation I had was that you see astronomy through to the end of its course and find a stable career in that field. It seems our expectations are no longer aligned. So, explain it to me. You’d like a vacation instead of a job?”

Grace can feel her entire body pull taut and tense, like a rubber band stretched to its limit. One wrong move, and it turns into a stinging weapon. “I didn’t say anything about a vacation. I just think maybe I could use a break. I know it’ll be a fight to get in the door. I just want some time to breathe before then.”

“You knew this when you decided to pursue astronomy, yes?”

She bites her tongue hard. “Yes, sir.”

Colonel runs a hand over his face. He turns his back to her and stares out his huge window. There’s nothing out there that will give him any answers, but he turns away regardless. “You know,” he says quietly, “I think there was a part of me that always knew this would happen.”

“There’s nothing happening.” She feels frustration simmer like heat in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not doing anything wrong. It’s just hard and frustrating and—”

“I knew this would happen,” he repeats. He turns back around, and he looks at Grace like she is a stranger. “Things get hard, and you want to give up. You want to flee. There is more of your mother in you than you know, Porter.”

It hurts like a punch in the gut. He says it with such shame, such disappointment.

“Is it so terrible to be like Mom in some ways?” She stares up at Colonel, eyes burning. She lifts her chin in defiance, like a stubborn, jutting coastal cliff. “Is it so terrible to be like someone you loved once?”

Another standoff. She refuses to break, refuses to cave, refuses to give in. Colonel deflates. It’s nothing noticeable, but Grace has seen the proud stature of his shoulders enough to know when they come back down to earth.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks wearily. He rubs his leg, aching again, and he looks older and more tired than Grace has ever seen. He looks like a Black man who has been going and going for a long time and never, ever stopped. Someone who never wavered from the path they were put on.

“Mom sent me some money,” she says suddenly. “Maybe I could—” She falters, trying to find the words. “Maybe I could visit her for a little bit.” Colonel barks out a dry, disbelieving laugh. Grace flinches and has to catch herself. “It’s been a while since I—”

“I know how long it’s been,” he cuts in. His arms come free of their crossed grip. “Is she even in Florida? Or is she doing some candle retreat in Tibet again? Or was that sheep farming in Iceland?”

Grace shakes her head. “I think she’s home,” she says. “I could stay until harvest season. Maybe help her with the groves and recharge and clear my head. It’s honest work.”

Colonel nods, as if things he already foresaw are being confirmed. He walks across the office, leg held stiff and his teeth gritted. He opens his office door, a clear dismissal.

“It is honest work,” he says, his voice as quiet as Grace has ever heard it. “But, it’s not your work. Dismissed, Porter.”

“Yes, sir.” She walks out, flicking her scrunchie against her wrist. The sting of this distracts from the one in her father’s words.

Colonel closes his door. She slinks through the aisles of the office, and no one gives her a second glance. Not even Miss Debbie.