37 Things I Love (In No Particular Order) (14 page)

To the rest of the world, Dad was as good as dead a long time ago.

*   *   *

ALONE IN MY ROOM,
I dial Abby. It goes straight to voice mail. That’s strange. I dial her home number instead.

After several rings, Mrs. Duncan answers. “Hi, Ellis. Abby’s grounded, remember? No phone privileges.”

“Oh, right.” I remember. “Um. It’s sort of an emergency. If I let you talk to my mom first, can I talk to her after?”

“What’s wrong, Ellis?” Mrs. Duncan says. Her familiar voice goes low and soothing, like when one of us scrapes a knee or slams a finger in the door.

“Can I just…”

Maybe she hears it in my voice. Maybe it’s not that hard to guess, or maybe she’s just smart like that.

“Hold on, honey.”

I’m holding. Moments pass. I’m holding on damn tight.

Abby breathes into the receiver. “Wow. How’d you get her to let me on the phone? They’re playing this grounded thing hard core this time.”

“I told her my dad died.”

Abby laughs. “That’s brilliant. But a little too obvious. They’re going to be mad when they find out—”

“Abby.”

“What?”

“Abby.” I say her name over again. Much easier than saying IT again.

“Oh, God,” she says finally. “He really died? Like, for real?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“I don’t know.” But I do know. “No, not right now.”

“Oh,” she says. “Well, I’m grounded anyway. But in a crisis…” her voice trails off. Just then I feel how far away she is, in so many ways.

“I’m really sorry,” Abby says, softly. “Um … is there something else I can do?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” I tell her. “Thanks, though.”

“Oh,” she says.

“I’m just going to call and tell Colin.”

“Okay. Well, bye.”

“Bye.”

The earpiece echoes with silence. I roll over and hit speed dial 2.

“What a day, huh?” he says in lieu of hello. “Thank God we only have one more to go before finals. I can’t take much more of this.”

Part of me wants to answer him like there’s nothing more going on. Just accept a few more minutes of the drama that now seems stupid but took up practically the whole day.

“Yeah, me either.”

Colin starts venting about the Abby situation, and I half listen, but half wish today had been a more normal day. Is this what I’ll have to remember for the rest of my life, every time I think of Dad dying: Jell-O boobs and the Yearbook Day of Torture?

Colin sighs, ending his rant. “Sorry for going off like that. Today sucked.”

“It’s okay. Changing the subject, though—”

“Good.”

“Because I just have to tell you…”

“What?”

“My dad died today.”

Silence.

“You decided…?” he pauses, like he knows it can’t be true.

“He had a stroke,” I say, to save him.

“Oh, my God. I’ll come over,” he says. I hear him fumbling in his room, before he blurts, “Today totally sucks.”

I kinda want to laugh, but I put it away. “Yeah. But you don’t have to come now. I think I want to be alone for a while.”

“Are you sure?” he says, skeptical.

“Yeah. Will you come over tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.”

We click off. Silence abounds.

My eyes are all blurry. The room pulses around me like a beating heart. I know these walls, and I know this air, but everything is different now. Hard to see. Hard to breathe.

I don’t know how much time has passed. The clock on my desk is tilted away from me. I could have been lying here minutes, hours. I can’t tell except to say that the light in the room is lower. Somewhere beyond the window the sun is sinking, taking with it all that I have ever known.

This alone feeling is wrecking me. I’m covered in it, from head to toe, and it’s pressing me deeper into miserable.

I don’t know what else to do.

I fumble for my cell phone. Recent calls:
COLIN
.
ABBY
. I click past them to the one I really want, no matter that I can’t explain it.

I text her fast, before I change my mind:

If you were ever my friend. If you care about me at all. Please come over ASAP.

31

Making the Call

No, not making it. Having it answered.

THE DOORBELL RINGS
, far in the distance.

I lie motionless, with my face buried in a mound of my bed pillows. The only answer to misery seems to be to cover my face and shut out all the light. As long as I keep one nostril exposed, I figure I won’t suffocate.

A soft knock at my bedroom door, then it glides open, whispering across the carpet. I roll onto my back.

My heart lifts. Something I wouldn’t have thought possible.

“Your mom’s crying in the living room,” Cara says, uncertain. She lowers a small purse off her shoulder and hangs it on my doorknob. “She opened the door fine, but then … I mean, all I said was that I was here to see you—”

“You came,” I murmur, suddenly embarrassed for having summoned her. I smooth my fingers over my hair.

Cara looks worried, glances back down the hall. “Do you think she’s all right?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “We’re having a really bad day.”

She draws her attention back around. Looks at me. Really looks at me—my puffy eyes and flyaway hair, the tangle of sheets where I’ve tossed restlessly all evening. “Ellis…”

The question hangs in her eyes and in her tone of voice. I can’t gather the right words. They roll over and over in my mind, reminding me what has happened, but I can’t bring myself to speak it.

Cara steps into the room and eases the door shut behind her. Maybe she senses me trying to escape, if only in my mind.

“I can’t believe you came,” is what I say, a moment later.

She slips off her sandals and toes her way toward me, kneeling at the side of my mattress. Her voice comes softly. “Tell me why I’m here.”

“He died.” I turn my face into the pillows to stifle the return of the overwhelming ache. I tuck my knees in.

“Oh, no.” Cara rests her hand on my arm. I shake and cry, and after a while, I hear her whisper, “I don’t know what to do,” so soft it’s almost to herself.

I feel her weight pass over me. She lands in the middle of my bed, leaning over top of me, hugging me with her forehead on my hair. I can’t help it—I curl tighter.

I don’t care why. I don’t care what it means. I just know that if she takes away her arms, I will be nowhere.

32

First Times

When something good begins, the world is new. No matter what.

I CRY FOR
what feels like hours, until I am utterly dry inside. Cara hugs me with warm and gentle strength, so well that I don’t understand how I’ve made it this long without her.

I roll toward her and see that she has tears in her eyes, and she’s looking down at me in this
way
that makes me shake a little. She pulls away a bit, like maybe the moment is over and it’s time for her to go. I see her face, uncertain, teary. She doesn’t know what to do, or why she’s here at all.

I’ve trapped her one arm under me; she tugs it free. She lifts her other arm from my stomach, leaving a spot that tingles. She goes to touch her cheek, maybe to dry it, but I grab her hand.

Cara stares at me, confused.

I don’t know what I’m doing, what I’m thinking. What I know is that my head is pounding from the tears. My heart is pounding from her nearness.

I’ve never cried with anyone before.

I sit up, kind of awkward, and lean against the wall that serves as my headboard. I’m holding the hand I just lifted from Cara’s face. I spread out her fingers with mine until our palms press together like we’re touching a mirror. But there’s nothing in between.

I manage to catch her by surprise, which is only fair, I guess. All I do is lean forward till our lips touch. Just a little. Just enough.

*   *   *

THE DOORBELL RINGS
a while later. I’m lying alone on the bed, thinking. Partly about this kissing thing, and wondering why I waited so long to try it. Partly about the girl who slid away from me moments ago, and wondering why I still feel her beside me. Partly about Dad, and how he will never know any of this, and I’ll never get to tell him.

The bell rings a second time, and I wonder where Mom is. I climb out of bed and dash through the living room. Mom’s door is closed when I pass it in the hall. She would be leaving for work about now, but I’m sure she’s not going tonight.

I open the door, and there’s Evan. He shuffles from foot to foot, looking less like himself than usual. “Sorry to hear about your dad,” he says.

“Thanks.” It feels weird that he knows already, but Cara had to call home to explain why she was late.

“Um … I’m here to pick up Cara. This is from my mom.” He thrusts a large Tupperware package at me. “She says she’ll send over a proper meal tomorrow.”

“Cara’s in the bathroom,” I say. “Do you want to come in?”

“Naw. I’ll just wait,” he says. “Don’t want to bother you.”

“Oh, okay. Well, thanks.” I raise the Tupperware lid briefly. It’s full of crackers, cheese, and fruit. “Looks good.”

“Is there anything … Can I do anything?” he says.

I don’t know how to respond to that. I stand there clutching the Tupperware, wondering why I’m not already digging into it. Can’t remember the last time I ate. I don’t think we had dinner, so I should be hungrier by now. I peek under the lid again.

Evan starts to back down the steps toward the driveway. He clears his throat. “So … I guess you’re not going to the graduation dance, huh?”

“Oh.” I totally forgot about that. “Yeah, no. The funeral and everything is that day. So I can’t.”

He nods, perhaps a bit relieved. Not like I blame him. The graduation dance is supposed to be a celebration—the best night of the year. Who wants to be arm in arm with Tragic Girl?

“Abby doesn’t want to go with Dennis,” I say. “Maybe you could take her.”

Evan nods again, considering.

“Well, maybe you and I can do something else sometime,” he says. His tone is vaguely hopeful, mostly awkward. It’s exactly enough to let me know that we’re not friends, and he’s not really that interested. Not in the hard stuff.

“Sure.” Thing is, I remember how he looked at me the last time we stood in this spot. The night of the party, when he first noticed me. He saw a one-night, arms-to-the-sky, fun time at the dance with the girl in the tube top. Maybe even a summer fling with the curvy girl in the tankini. And she’s not me. He sees that now. I washed my face, but I can still feel the tear tracks—etchings of the real me, the sad me, in plain view on my cheeks.

“I’ll be around until August. I’ll give you a call sometime.” Evan leans forward and kisses me. Gentle. On the lips.

Nothing surprises me anymore.

“Sure,” I repeat, nearly certain that if it’s up to him, “sometime” will never happen. And that’s okay with me.

So I smile and step back inside. I wonder what he would say if he knew I just made out with his sister.

33

The Truth

Sometimes, I even let myself believe it.

I SCREAM MYSELF
out of the dream. The sky is falling. Rushing up around me, flooding me hot and cold. I grip the edge of the mattress, feel for the floor beyond it. My skin stings with pulses of terror.

Mom’s there before I know it. She’s there, and she’s
with
me, in a way I can’t describe. A way that’s different from usual. The pattern is changed. I struggle to catch my breath, trying to hold myself still.

She hugs me, all awkward, right where I am. My mouth smashes in the crook of her elbow, my ear against her chest. I can hear both our hearts pounding. She strokes my hair. Awkward, but also perfect. So perfect that I can’t help my little cries. She holds me tighter.

Mom’s talking to me now, but then I realize it’s not her talking over my head, it’s her voice on the radio, a rerun show. She holds my head against her, and we listen.

I try to remember the last time Mom had me so tight in her arms, but nothing comes to mind.

Dad hugs me. Hugged me. Dad was the one who put out his arms for me to run into. Dad’s was the knee where I could perch forever and always come back for more. Mom’s different. Mom is the bird you can never quite catch, no matter how much time you spend with your palms out.

“I love you,” she says, not on the radio. “I will never let you fall.”

*   *   *

WHEN I CAN’T
get back to sleep, light tingeing the bedroom windows, Mom pulls me out of bed and takes me to the kitchen.

“I don’t know what it is about hot chocolate,” she says. “But it always makes me feel better.” She brews a pan of it from scratch, warming the milk and melting the chocolate and measuring out spoonfuls of sugar. None of this cocoa powder from a pouch nonsense for us.

I tap my thumbs on the rim of my mug, waiting. Mom watches me like something’s about to happen.

“We’re going to be okay,” she says, out of nowhere.

“You think?”

“You and me,” she says, taking my chin between her fingers. “We’re going to be okay.”

34

Scars

First they hurt. Then they’re interesting to look at. But given time, they heal.

I OPEN THE DOOR
to find Colin and Abby waiting on the porch. I asked them to come today, I remember. So they came.

I step aside, and they enter, but it doesn’t feel as simple as it should.

“Hi,” Abby says, uncertain.

“Hi.”

She jumps forward and hugs me. I don’t know if this means she does care, or if she just wants me to forgive her. She leaves her arms around me for a long time, but it only makes me sadder. We’ve been friends for so long, and yet there’s no softness here.

“Let’s go to my room, okay?” I tug free of her hug. Colin slings his arm around my shoulders as we walk.

“How you doing?” he says.

“I’m good. Considering.” Which I guess is true.