by M. A. Foster
“How?” Carter asks. …
“Well, when a boy and a girl—”
“I know how, jackass. I mean who? I know the girls you hooked up with over the summer.”
“Well, obviously it wasn’t anyone over the summer, jackass”—I gesture to Willow—“or she wouldn’t be here. It was the girl from the fraternity party. You know….” I wave my hand around. They know exactly what I’m talking about.
Zach’s face pales. He lost his virginity that night, too. I see the wheels spinning. He’s imagining how easily this could’ve been him; we both snagged a condom from Dylan’s stash that night.
“Ironically, I ran into her at the doctor’s office while I was getting a check-up and the last of my HPV vaccine. I didn’t even recognize her. I even congratulated her on being pregnant.” I shake my head at the irony. “A couple days later she showed up here.” I tell them how Jade showed up and confronted me for lying about my age and then proceeded to tell me the baby she was carrying was mine. And then about the phone call I got a couple of weeks later.
“Shit,” Carter hisses.
“What about her family?” Zach asks.
“We were told she had a younger sister. I don’t know how much younger or what happened to her, just that she would be taken care of. That’s all I know.”
“So you didn’t meet her?” Carter asks.
I shake my head, again. “Privacy laws. And I’m not sure I want to meet her. What if I know her?”
Zach’s eyes widen. “What if she goes to our school?”
“Exactly.” I point at him. “What if I hooked up with her? I can’t risk it getting out. Do you think any college is gonna want me if they find out I have a kid?”
“Don’t sweat it. The sister’s probably in foster care,” Carter says. “I doubt her new guardian can afford to send her to Heritage Academy.”
“What’s gonna happen when you go to college?” Zach asks. “Are your parents gonna keep her?”
That’s the million-dollar question.
EVER SINCE OUR mom died, Dr. Graham has been a staple in our lives. Jade started out working for her as a receptionist, while she was in nursing school, Dr. Graham gave her the flexibility to work around her school schedule. She also hooked me up with some of the parents of her patients who were looking for a reputable babysitter.
The money I earned from babysitting supplemented the money Jade wasn’t making while she was in school. It’s not that Jade and I were struggling financially. Our mom had left us a decent chunk of money to get by on while getting on our feet. We just had to live within our means.
And when Jade died, Dr. Graham offered to take me in. She and her new husband had just moved into their dream home. Jade told me they were trying to start a family. The thought of living with newlyweds, in their dream home, who were trying to start a family was awkward.
So when Mia offered to take me in, I accepted.
“Harper, we can do this another time if you’re not ready,” Mia says from behind me as I push open the door with my hip, step inside the small apartment I shared with Jade, and drop the empty boxes to the floor.
I’ve only been back here twice since the day of Jade’s accident, once to grab some clothes for myself and once to pick out something to bury her in.
“It’s not too late to call the movers to come in and pack everything up. We can have everything put in storage until you’re ready to go through it,” Holly offers as she trails in behind us.
I look over at Mia as she drops her boxes to the floor beside mine and blows out a breath. Then to Holly, who looks like she’s ready to burst into tears.
Jade met Mia and Holly while working at the Heritage Bay Medical Center. Holly and Jade worked together in Dr. Graham’s office, and Mia is what you call a floater. Mia and Holly are best friends, a few years older than Jade, but they took to her like a little sister.
Yesterday, Jade was laid to rest. Dr. Graham, Mia, Holly, and staff from the Heritage Bay Medical Center came to pay their respects. It was nice to see that so many people cared about Jade. Some brought flowers, and others gave me cards. I hugged more people yesterday than I had in my entire life.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, so there’s no point in delaying the inevitable.” I grab two empty boxes from the floor and start for Jade’s room. “You guys take the kitchen.”
“Harper,” Mia calls out to me. I hear the worry in her tone.
“It’s fine,” I lie over my shoulder.
As I step through the doorway, Jade’s familiar scent hits me like an arrow straight through what’s left of my shattered heart. The morning she died, I came into her bedroom, but she’d already left for work. The smell of her perfume still lingered in the room, and I knew I’d just missed her.
Our last conversation was about our mom and how we wished she were here to meet Willow. When Jade and I lost our mom a couple of years ago, we were both prepared but devastated at the same time. We knew she was fading, surviving on borrowed time, and we grieved every day from the moment we found out she was sick. But when she passed, there was also a sense of relief, because she was no longer in pain. It still didn’t stop us from missing her.
Losing Jade is different. The pain is raw. Maybe it’s because there was no time to prepare. Maybe it’s because I never got to tell her goodbye before she was ripped away from me.
My eyes flick over to the bassinet filled with gifts from the baby shower Mia and Holly threw for Jade the Saturday before the accident. Evidence that not only did I lose Jade that day, but I lost Willow, too. I don’t even know if they named her Willow. To me that will always be her name because that’s what Jade wanted.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I force myself to look away from the painful reminder of how cruel and unfair life can be and carry two boxes over to the closet. One for Jade’s things I want to keep, and the other for things I want to donate, which is mostly Jade’s clothes and shoes.
Jade and I couldn’t have been more different in appearance, except for our eyes. Our mother’s eyes. Jade was petite at five foot four, with black hair, olive skin, and green eyes. I’m five foot seven, with red hair, smooth, pale, freckle-free skin, and green eyes.
We had different fathers. Our mother was an Army brat who married the love of her life: a soldier, Jaden Price, whom Jade was named after. They were only married for two years before he was killed overseas. A few years later, she hooked up with my father, another military man. She didn’t know much about him, other than his name was Sergeant Patrick Avery and he was being deployed the next day. She never saw him again.
I slide the closet doors open and take in the contents. There isn’t much, since Jade lived in either scrubs or yoga pants, T-shirts, and flip-flops.
After tossing most of the contents from her closet into the ‘donate’ box, I reach for the two shoeboxes on the top shelf, stacked on top of each other.
I see it happening before I can do anything to stop the top one from sliding toward my face and slamming into my mouth. “Ow!” I cry as both boxes fall to the floor, and I bring my fingers to my lips to check for blood.
The pain is short-lived and I look down to see the contents of the shoe boxes scattered on the floor: a pair of heels—the only pair of heels Jade ever owned—and a leather-bound journal with a piece of paper sticking out of it.
Picking up the notebook, I pull out the paper, which is actually a small envelope addressed to my mom. At the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, I make a mental note to look at it later, then quickly slip the envelope between the pages of the journal and shove it back inside the shoebox before tossing it into the box marked ‘keep.’
“What happened?” Mia asks as she steps inside the room while Holly lingers in the doorway.
“No big deal.” I smile over my shoulder as I bend to stuff the heels back into the shoebox. “I was pulling this box down from the top shelf,” I say as I toss it into the box marked ‘donate,’ “and it hit
me in the mouth.”
“You okay?” Her mouth twists to the side to mask her amusement. “Your lip is a little swollen.”
I huff out a small laugh and nod. “I’m fine.”
Mia scans Jade’s bedroom, stopping on the pile of baby gifts in the corner. She blows out a breath before she asks, “What do you want to do with that stuff?”
“Donate it.” I shrug. “Or give it to ‘Baby Girl Price’s’ new family,” I snap bitterly.
“Harper.” Holly sighs. “Give it time. This was probably a shock to them as well. When they’re ready, they’ll reach out. Until then, we’re here for you, for however long you need us to be.”
Because of the privacy laws, I wasn’t allowed to know the name of Willow’s father and, because I’m a minor, Dr. Graham wasn’t allowed to share my information with him either. I gave her permission to pass my information on to him in case he’d like to contact me in the future.
He declined.
“And by the way, her name is Willow Jade,” Holly adds with a wink. “Dr. Graham told me.”
“I CAN DO this. I can do this.” My eyes shift from the picture of Jade down to the tiny infant lying on the changing table. “Jesus, Willow. What the heck do they put in that formula?”
A few days ago, Dr. Graham stopped by with a box of baby gifts that had been given to Jade at a baby shower thrown by her friends and coworkers. There was also a gift addressed to ‘Willow’s new family’ from Jade’s little sister. Inside was a photo album filled with pictures of Jade, ranging from when she was a baby to ones taken at the shower. There were also a few of Jade in frames, which are now displayed on Willow’s dresser.
It’s obvious that Jade’s sister put a lot of thought into that gift. I can’t imagine it was easy for her, but I know she did it for Willow. I’ve been thinking a lot about Jade’s sister lately and if I’m being honest, I feel guilty that I’ve let my pride and the fear of ruining my reputation be the deciding factors for not wanting to meet her. I could easily make a call to Dr. Graham and get her number, but I’m just not ready to face the unknown. But one day, I will reach out to her. I promise, for Willow.
“Holy shit! What is that smell?”
I look over my shoulder to see Zach and Carter standing in the doorway, both of their faces half-covered with their T-shirts, and roll my eyes. As if the thin cotton could mask the smell of the toxic waste inside Willow’s diaper. I’m not even sure a hazmat suit would help at this point.
“It’s shit,” I tell them through a gag. I can do this.
“What have you been feeding her?” Zach asks at the same time Carter says, “How can something so foul come out of something so cute and small?”
“I don’t know,” I huff. “Just get over here and help me.”
Being the best friends that they are, both step forward.
“What do you need us to do?” Zach asks.
I jerk my chin to the best invention ever, the wipe warmer. “Pull some wipes from there and hold on to them until I’m ready. Carter, drag the garbage can over here, and when I say ‘diaper,’ pass me one. We’re gonna make this quick. On the count of three. Ready? One.” I peel the tape from one side. “Two.” I peel back the other side. “Three!” I lift the diaper.
“Oh!” the three of us shout at the same time. Willow’s tiny body jerks, as I quickly move the diaper back in place.
“Dude, she’s gonna blow,” Carter says.
I look down at Willow, her bright eyes wide as her chest moves up and down at a rapid pace, and my heart breaks a little when her bottom lip pushes out.
Horrible smell forgotten, I bend down, putting my face over hers and lightening my tone to soothe her. “I’m sorry, baby girl,” I coo. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” I pepper kisses all over her face.
When I’m convinced all is forgiven, I straighten and brave the shitty diaper once again. “Okay, this is it. Don’t make a sound. One. Two. Three.” I peel back the diaper and tuck the front side under her bottom, just like my mom taught me. “Wipes.” I hold out my hand. “And keep ’em coming.”
‘DAVID AVERY’ IS engraved on the brass nameplate centered on the principal’s desk. My eyes move to the framed photos lined up on the credenza behind him.
There are three.
One is of Principal Avery and his wife, Ms. Patty. That’s what she insisted I call her when I came into the office this morning. She’s a nice lady.
The second is a headshot of a soldier dressed in full uniform. His blond hair is shaved close to his scalp underneath his hat. His piercing blue eyes reflect intelligence mixed with an eagerness to take on the world. ‘Sergeant Avery’ is etched into the name tag just above the right pocket. Patrick Avery.
My father.
How do I know this? Because I found the exact same picture inside the envelope, tucked inside the black journal from Jade’s closet, and written on the back was “To Sarah, from Patrick.”
After we finished packing up the apartment, Mia’s brother, Brian, loaded the boxes marked ‘donate’ in his truck while Mia and I put the remaining boxes into her BMW SUV and my mother’s hope chest in Holly’s car. Between the two, we were able to get it all over to Mia’s in one trip.
Curiosity had been burning a hole in my brain ever since I found that black book, so later that night, after my shower, I dug out the mysterious journal and climbed into bed. Turns out it had originally belonged to my mom. The first twenty pages were about her night with my father. I quickly bypassed those particular details because ew.
Apparently, after my mom found out about her breast cancer, she started looking for my father. She tried reaching out to a few of her old friends she knew from the Army, but her attempts to find him before she died had failed.
I pulled out the small envelope addressed to my mom. The return address was from an Army base in Germany, postmarked just a few weeks after she passed. Inside was a short note folded around a small picture of a soldier, who I’d come to learn was my father. The note was from an old friend of my mother’s named Jenny.
Sarah,
I was going through some old papers and came across this. Patrick asked me to give this to you the day he and Steven were deployed. I completely forgot about it and somehow it got mixed up in some papers. I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get it to you. Steven hasn’t seen or heard from Patrick in over fifteen years, but he remembers that Patrick Avery was from Heritage Bay, Florida. I hope this helps. Godspeed, my friend. I wish I could be there for you and your girls.
With all my love,
Jenny
Obviously the letter came too late for my mother. It made me a little sad that she died without getting the answers she needed, but Jade had them. She knew about my father, about my grandparents. So many things had started to make sense: why Jade was adamant about moving to Heritage Bay and willing to pay double the rent for an apartment the size of a walk-in closet, why she enrolled me in a private school with a tuition that cost more than what she made in a year. Jade claimed it was because she wanted to live closer to work, and the private school was one of the best in the state and would open the doors to some of the top colleges for fine arts.
I’m not mad at Jade for wanting to bring me closer to a family I didn’t even know existed. She was doing it because she loved me. Jade was a good person with a heart of gold who always wanted to do the right thing. I just wish she’d told me. Why didn’t she tell me? Maybe she was planning to tell me when the time was right. But then what? Tell the Averys I’m their illegitimate granddaughter; the product of their son’s one-night stand before deployment? It’s not like I have any proof other than a photograph and his name on a letter. His name isn’t even on my birth certificate—Murphy is my mother’s maiden name.
Which brings me to the third photo, the one on the end of Patrick and his family, a wife and two kids. Boys. The picture seems a bit dated, so I’m not sure how old they are, but… I have little brothers.
“I spoke with Amy Graham
this morning,” Principal Avery says, drawing my attention back to him. His arms are resting on top of his desk, hands clasped. “She mentioned your love of art and photography, and that you take beautiful pictures.” He smiles, and for a moment I pretend it’s because he’s proud of me. “I made some calls and arranged for you to receive a scholarship under the arts program. It requires a schedule change, but since we’re less than a month into the school year, you should be fine. The arts program isn’t what it used to be, but we’re hoping that’s going to change soon.” He winks. “The monies paid toward your tuition will be refunded to you.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I genuinely mean it.
Between the money left over from my mother, what my sister had saved, and the bills stuffed inside all those sympathy cards given to me at Jade’s funeral, I have enough to buy myself a decent car and pay my own way until I get a job. Even though Mia says she won’t take my money, I’ll find another way to contribute.
Principal Avery picks up his pen, flips open the manila folder on the desk in front of him, and begins writing something on a yellow slip of paper. “Would you be interested in joining the yearbook committee?”
“Absolutely.” The man just gave me a free ride to the most expensive private school this side of the Bay. I’ll join whatever committee he wants.
“Here’s your new schedule.” He slides the slip across the desk. “I’m sorry about your sister, Harper.”
I nod as I rise from the chair. “Me, too,” I say as I pick up the paper and take one last glance at the handsome soldier and his family. “Thank you, Principal Avery. You have no idea how much this means to me.” No idea whatsoever.
“It’s the least I can do, Harper. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
If only it were that simple.
MY HEAD IS a boggled mess of confusion and gratitude as I leave the principal’s office. Stepping out into the main hallway, I collide with another student. “Oomph!”