October 1
Chez Howard, 6 p.m.–midnite
Please do not contact the host with your dietary restrictions or food allergies
They will not be accommodated
Hahahahaha!
GET READY TO PARTYYYYYY!!!!!
Bee sends the Evite to Frankie, Abby, Coco, Shanice, and Aditi. Screw Marley. She’s fifteen years old and she’s not going to be pressured into inviting her to her party. She and Marley have barely talked since the talent show. During their three-day suspension, the SLUTZ spread rumors about how they’d kicked Marley off the crew because she was such a lame dancer and a wuss, unwilling to risk the punishment—but the punishment was SO WORTH IT. Just as Bee predicted, they’d become celebrities. The mothers were furious, but that fury quickly transformed into a grudging kind of pride. Their daughters were feminists! They were firebrands! This was perfect college app essay material!
They nodded along to keep the peace but they were not feminists. They were something else that didn’t have a name yet, something that Bee would invent. She would be the leader of this new movement; this was her destiny.
Kids actually call her Queen B now, and she loves it. She walks through the hallways and gets high-fived and fist-bumped. And Marley—Marley has vanished. Who knows where Marley is. Probably in the library studying for their geometry test.
A few minutes later, Bee is swamped with guilt. Bee suspects it was Ruth who made Marley back out of the talent show. Not feeling it? That’s something adults say. Ruth had either forced her to send that text or sent it for her. Marley could have come back from it, if only she’d turned on her mother (like any normal teenager would) and blamed her. But Marley was a goody-goody. She’d never sell Ruth out.
Bee cranks her music. She stands in front of the mirror and grinds and twerks. She thinks of Dylan Rorback. He’s so hot; she so desperately wants a boyfriend. Boys think she’s cool, but they don’t lust after her the way they lust after Coco and Aditi. They give her the bro treatment. She’s never had a boy’s eyes scan her body, linger on her boobs and ass.
Bee’s nothing. Yes, she’s popular, but she’s ugly. Her hair is a rat’s nest. She sits on the bed, her head in her hands.
MARLEY
September 28, 4:30 p.m.
Hi Marley. Soleil here. Confetti popping! Champagne glass! Just checking in. Haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks. Were you guys a big hit at the talent show?
Marley stares at her phone. Weird. Soleil has never reached out to her before. It’s a break in text therapy protocol. She must be worried about her. Marley lets herself take that in. She has the urge to ask Soleil if she likes her. Likes her likes her, in a favorite patient sort of way.
I wouldn’t say that
Oh? What happened?
I quit
You did? Why? You were so excited. Sad face. Yellow heart.
I decided not to do it
Interesting. Was that the right decision for you?
I guess. The rest of the girls got suspended for three days
Whoa. That must have been some dance. So when did you quit?
The night before the talent show
Hmm. You didn’t give your friends much notice.
Nope
May I ask why?
It’s just when I did it
Were they upset with you?
Eye roll face
Marley, that must have been really hard. But it sounds like you made the right decision for you and that’s progress.
Thumbs up
Was there fallout?
You mean am I wandering the halls at lunchtime alone looking for a place to go—yes I am
But I’m kinda relieved tbh. Now I can get back to Infinite Jest. I’ve only got 582 pages left haha
I understand the urge to joke about this, but I’d like to invite you to go deeper. Let’s talk about what you’re feeling. I hope you’re not isolating.
No worries. I’m not alone. Mom’s here. Winky face
RUTH
Ruth awakens in the middle of the night, panicked; she’s just remembered that Bee’s birthday is on Saturday. She runs to Marley’s room, sits on the side of her bed, and pokes her gently on the shoulder. Marley moans but doesn’t wake. She blows on Marley’s face. What she really wants to do is yank her upright and shake her, but she doesn’t want Marley to see her desperation.
“Wake up, Marley bear, wake up. Did you get an invite to Bee’s birthday party?”
Marley blinks. She shakes her head no. It’s like the seconds before an earthquake, the roar before the shaking.
“Is she having a party? Maybe she’s not having a party this year. Maybe she’s outgrown birthday parties, she is fifteen at all,” Ruth says hopefully.
“She’s having a party, she just didn’t invite me. No biggie.”
No biggie? Bee said she was going to invite Marley to her party. She promised!
Ruth looks down at her daughter. Marley’s imperfections are glaring. A whitehead on the side of her nose. Greasy forehead. A stumpy neck.
“What did you do? And don’t you dare lie to me.”
“Um, I didn’t do anything, she just doesn’t like me anymore.”
“But you made up at Gemma’s.”
“She’s still mad at me for backing out of the talent show.”
Marley’s going to blame this on her? Ruth sits on her hands, trying to calm herself, but it’s too late. Anger comes barreling into the station. She welcomes it, she’s deserving of it. Her dear old friend, rage.
“It’s no wonder she dumped you. Look at you! I bought you that grapefruit Neutrogena face wash with the exfoliant beads, and are you using it? No, obviously not. You have to try harder. Take care of yourself. Dress better. Act confident.”
Marley covers her face with her arm.
“You’re always so needy. Please, oh, please, like me. That’s the air you give off. It repulses people.”
Marley cries and now Ruth cries, too. Not for her daughter but for herself.
* * *
Ruth’s father took a curve of the Pacific Coast Highway too fast. They swerved off the road and plummeted down a thousand-foot cliff. Approximately five seconds later, the Chevette smashed into the ocean, nose first.
Lou insisted Ruth be apprised of the details. “You need to know exactly what happened,” she said. “It will hurt now but it will help you move on. Otherwise you’ll just invent something that will be far worse than the truth.”
The truth was far worse than anything Ruth could have invented. She couldn’t stop imagining those last five seconds when her parents knew they were about to die. Did they reach for each other’s hands? Did they cry out in fear? Was her name the last word they spoke?
After the funeral, Ruth asked when she could go home.
“You won’t be going home,” said Lou.
“Can I move in with Lindy, then?” It made sense to her. Lindy was her best friend. Her grandparents were strangers.
“We’ll talk about that later.”
“We have to take her. There’s nobody else,” Ruth overheard Lou say to Charlie that night.
“You’ll move in with us,” her grandfather said the next morning.
* * *
Ruth’s grandparents led a regimented life. Martinis at five in the library along with a wedge of Brie and a small dish of green olives stuffed with pimento. Ruth was not invited to cocktail hour, so she pressed her ear against the closed door and listened. Murmured conversations turned to soft giggles turned to laughter; they never ran out of things to say to each other. Her grandmother was the moon. Her grandfather was the sun that orbited around her. There were no other planets in their galaxy.
Once, Ruth grew so jealous she burst into the library. “I know how to make a martini.” This was a lie, she only knew how to make a gin and tonic.
Lou’s lip curled up in anger. “This is grown-up time.”
“You have a room full of toys,” said Charlie. “Go play.”
A few wee
ks after she’d moved in, a delivery truck arrived bearing gifts. A four-poster bed with a sheer pink canopy. Brand-new clothes and shoes and underwear. Care Bears and My Little Ponys. Teddy Ruxpin and Lite-Brite. Spirograph and a Magic 8 Ball.
Ruth felt like she’d stepped into a fairy tale. Until she realized they’d bought her off. Gifts in exchange for keeping out of their way. Her grandparents were selfish people. They never wanted to be parents, they wanted even less to be grandparents. They started locking the library door at cocktail hour so she couldn’t interrupt them.
* * *
They ate dinner late, at eight. Ruth tried to contribute, to be interesting, to charm. She remembered dinner with her parents, where she was the center of the conversation. What did you do today at recess, Ruth? Do you like the meat loaf? Did you make your Christmas list for Santa yet?
Her grandparents didn’t ask her questions. By the time dinner came around, they were soused. They couldn’t fake interest in her. They were stuck with Ruth. They were stuck with each other.
The dinners became unbearable; they made Ruth achingly lonely. She asked if she could eat earlier in the kitchen, and her grandmother was happy to grant her request. Maybe she was a ghost. Maybe she had sailed over that cliff with her parents.
Ruth struggled at her new school. The stench of neediness leached her off, like sewage. She made friends but they’d abandon her within weeks, like a diet that didn’t result in fast-enough weight loss. She exhausted them. She wore everybody out.
As she grew older she grew bitter. Every time she saw one of her classmates with their parents, she thought fuck you. When the teacher asked them to make a family tree she thought you son of a bitch. When she was the only kid not invited to the end-of-the-year barbecue at Vera Velazquez’s house she muttered whore under her breath as they passed each other in the hallway.
In middle school, she went on the offensive. She targeted the weak girls, the scapegoats, the scholarship kids. She’d taunt them, expose their vulnerabilities for everybody to see, and for a while she’d feel like a giant. But eventually the high would recede and she’d become invisible again.
When she was in ninth grade, she found a package of Dexatrim in her bathroom, put there by Lou, no doubt. She was getting chunky; she came home every day from school and ate two packages of Pop-Tarts. She took the pills and soon she was svelte and turning heads. Finally, she had some power.
She lost her virginity at fourteen. After that, she sneaked a steady stream of boys onto the grounds of Lou’s estate. They had sex in the stables, the fecund scent of oats and hay lingering in the air.
On the day she left for college, she found her grandmother in the garden, sipping her morning cup of Earl Grey. Often, they went weeks without speaking to each other. Ruth was like a boarder, except she didn’t pay rent.
“Well, goodbye,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” said her grandmother.
“Thank you,” said Ruth.
Her grandmother put down her tea. “Just so we’re clear. You’re not rich, we are.”
Eight years later, Lou would die of breast cancer. A few months after that, Charlie would die of heartbreak (liver failure—he literally drank himself to death).
Ruth inherited everything.
GEMMA
Gemma wheels her cart through Costco, Bee’s list in hand. Diet Mountain Dew and Flaming Hot Cheetos. Check. Froot Loops and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Check. Totino’s Pizza Rolls and Ling Ling potstickers. She does a U-turn and heads for the frozen food section.
Her phone chimes. A text from Ruth.
Hope Bee has a wonderful birthday! Can’t believe she’s 15 already. Marley and I will raise a toast to her tonight.
Confused, Gemma stops in the aisle and tries to make sense of the text. Is Marley sick? Did Marley have other plans that prevented her from coming to the party? Did Marley RSVP no?
It’s Bee’s fifteenth birthday! How could Marley miss it? Gemma loves Marley, but she’s such a scaredy cat. So afraid to try new things. She thinks about the first time Ruth took them to Aspen for Christmas. The girls were young, Marley six, Bee seven.
* * *
It was a bluebird day. Fresh powder. A balmy fifty degrees. Gemma and Ruth stood at the bottom of the bunny hill, watching Bee bomb down the slope fearlessly. She was so graceful. Built for speed. She wore a look of unadulterated joy on her face.
Paddy, the girls’ twentysomething, bearded, absolutely adorable skiing instructor, threw his hands up in the air and roared, “Beeeee!” And Gemma was filled with pride, as well as the private pleasure that came from knowing your kid was better than everybody else’s. It was the kind of pleasure that makes a parent magnanimous.
“Marley’s doing so well!” said Gemma. “She’s such a trouper.”
“Mmm,” said Ruth.
Marley’s helmet had slipped to the side. She’d lost one of her mittens. Even from a distance Gemma could see her nose was running. Marley wasn’t made for speed. Speed-reading, maybe. She plopped down on her butt, her shoulders heaving.
“Is she crying?” huffed Ruth.
Paddy sat down beside her. “What’s wrong, darlin?” His thick Irish brogue carried down the bunny hill.
Ruth grunted with displeasure. “Kindness is the last thing she needs. He needs to be tough with her. Tell her to man up.”
“Girl up,” said Gemma. “And I think you’re being hard on her. It’s her first day. She’s never skied before.”
“That’s no excuse. Bee hasn’t skied before either.”
Marley buried her head in Paddy’s shoulder and sobbed.
“I can’t believe it. She’s just given up. I can’t watch this.” Ruth stomped away.
Bee sidestepped to Gemma, grinning.
“You were incredible, honey,” said Gemma.
“Where’s Ruth going?”
“To the bathroom.”
“Did she see me?”
“She saw you. She was so proud.”
Bee glanced at the bunny hill and caught sight of Marley weeping. “Oh, no!” Bee was Marley’s self-appointed protector.
“Paddy has it under control, sweetheart. Don’t worry. He’ll take care of her.”
A few minutes later Paddy skied down with Marley on his back, her skis tucked under his arm.
“Here you go, luv.” He deposited her gently on the ground. Her snow pants were soaked. She was so scared she’d urinated right through them.
Bee’s eyes filled when she saw Marley’s tearstained face. In first grade, friendship was a simple calculus. If Marley was hurt, Bee was hurt.
Bee threw her arms around Marley. “You did good, you were so, so brave,” she said.
* * *
The girls were polar opposites even back then. Bee attacked the hill and Marley just gave up. Bee was a doer, and Gemma hated to say it, but Marley was a sit-on-your-butt-and-cry-er. However, Marley excelled in other areas where Bee didn’t. Academics, for instance. When Bee got kicked out of Wings, Marley took her slot. In the unofficial class rankings (Hillside didn’t believe in class rankings, but the mothers did) Marley was consistently at the top. That did not help to bring Bee and Marley together, no, it did not.
But the real truth was that their relationship hadn’t recovered from the talent show hair-pulling incident. And now, Marley had rejected Bee’s invitation.
Gemma texts Bee. Heard Marley isn’t coming tonight. Are you okay?
Bee texts back right away. I thought you’d be mad
I am mad but I’m trying not to be. I can’t believe she RSVP’d no.
The three little bubbles appear but quickly vanish. Gemma hasn’t viewed the Evite. She left it up to Bee.
Her phone pings. Ruth again. There’s a little present on the doorstep. Tucked behind the planter. Hope she likes it.
Gemma can fix this. She texts Ruth. Please won’t Marley reconsider. Bee really, really wants her there tonight at the party.
Ruth’s reply comes quickly. She wasn’t inv
ited.
* * *
Gemma and Bee get into a huge fight when she gets home. A screaming match in which Gemma tries to keep her worry in check: something is seriously off with her daughter.
Last winter, Bee was caught shoplifting a package of gummy bears at Rite Aid. Bee insisted she intended to pay, she just forgot to. They let her go with a warning. Then in March, she got called into Mr. Nunez’s office for cheating. There was no denying that. Beneath the sleeve of her sweatshirt, on the inside of her left forearm, the dates and locations of all the Civil War battles. Bee’s excuse? Her history teacher hadn’t given them enough time to prepare for the test. Everybody said so. Everybody cheated, she was just the only one stupid enough to be caught. She’d gotten a week of detention.
And then last week they had a fight over the purchase of a pair of sweatpants that had DO ME appliquéd on the bum.
“I’ll only wear them in the house,” Bee promised. “Come on, Mom, it’s funny. I’m wearing them ironically, not because I want some dude to actually do me. I’m taking back my power. It’s the ultimate feminist statement.”
Bee had a way of twisting everything around and making Gemma question herself. Was she so out of it? Was she just being a prude?
It was at times like this that she missed Ash the most. He and Gemma would have discussed this on the back stoop, beers in hand. He would have talked her down. He would have gotten her laughing. They would have shared the burden of Bee’s rocky adolescence. He would have held her and told her they’d get through this phase, Bee would get through this phase, they’d come out the other side and now please could they bring this to the bedroom so he could do her?
Instead Gemma is a widow and she feels so brittle. As far as blood family, it’s only her and Bee on the West Coast. Ash’s parents, Sunite and Nigel, used to live in Marin, but after Ash died they moved back to London to take care of Sunite’s ailing mother. They kept in touch—calls, letters, emails—but it wasn’t the same as having them a bridge away.
Did I Say You Could Go Page 8