The next day, I feel the need to be with Mom and Larry, as opposed to avoiding them. Larry and I take turns doting on Mom, and none of us say much, but our actions are speaking louder than words can. We both love her, and she is grateful to have us, even if she’s still giving me a bit of the silent treatment. She recovers quickly, and by the end of the day, she looks more like herself.
I tell my mom about training, about Edge, my applications, and what I’m packing for California. I usually despise my mother’s incessant questions, but now that she’s not asking them, I want to talk because it feels good to be with family—the family that I’ve got, at least. The people I know, who know me as Tegan, not some weird clairvoyant outlaw. And even though my mom doesn’t respond much, I think my opening up to her makes her happy. Larry also listens intently, which is a quality I never used to see in him. But I’m looking at things differently.
That night I get another notification, this time to check in for my flight tomorrow evening. I check the weather in California and start to pack. I don’t want to leave Edge, especially when I haven’t even seen him in so long, and I don’t particularly want to fill in Jenna with everything that has happened this summer, so the trip may be weird, but I have to go. A growing experience and all. Maybe it will be a good thing. Maybe.
19.
always remember
The next morning at the pool, Sharon hugs me again, really tight.
“I still can’t thank you enough. You really saved me.” She lets me go, then adds, “And are you going to tell me?”
“What?”
“How you knew.”
“Look, Sharon, you like me, right?”
“Yes.”
“If I tell you, your whole opinion of me is going to change, and I’d rather not risk it changing for the worse.”
She gives me a pleading look.
“Just give me some time.”
“Okay,” she says. “But I’ve been meaning to ask, where’s Gwen?”
“She was injured, and now she’s boy crazy.”
“Ah. Well, if you train with someone next to you, you will train harder. It’s how it is. If you want me…”
“Really?”
“I could come an hour early on Tuesday and Thursday shifts. You know, when you get back from California.”
“Sounds great.”
As I walk over to my lane, I see Coach already there with the notebook. It seems like good timing, so I tell him about Sharon. “You know, she used to compete?”
“No.”
“And she wants to train with me. On the days you or Gwen aren’t here.”
“That’s fantastic.”
“Listen, I’m going to stretch a bit, but can you talk to her, you know, get her up to speed on my training?”
“Up to speed, I like that.” He considers for a second, then gives a why not face. “Sure, sure.”
As I stretch, Coach approaches Sharon. She smiles at him right away. Their body language is stern at first, but both of them slowly loosen up, and I can hear them laugh about something one of them says. It looks like my idea is working. Coach’s wife left him a few years ago, and as far as I know, it’s been him and his pug. He’s a little older than Sharon, but they seem like a great match. Miles away from what the internet brought her last night.
I get in the water and adjust my cap and goggles. This will be my last swim before my trip, so I better make it good.
Coach comes back over, an ear-to-ear smile on his face.
“She’s great, right?” I say.
“Nice gal. I knew I’d seen her before; I didn’t make the connection.”
“That was my job.”
He smiles. “Anyway, I got her ‘up to speed’ as you said.”
“Maybe you could get her up to speed on some other stuff, too.”
Coach turns red, which I’ve never seen before.
“Okay,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get started.”
During my first laps, my back starts hurting from falling so hard on that old couch last night, but I try and swim through it. I picture Sharon and Coach walking down a beach, sharing a bottle of wine, splashing each other in a hotel pool. Then I picture the same, but with me and Edge. We haven’t texted in what seems like a lifetime (but it’s really only been ten hours). Going to California will put us farther apart. Gwen told me the first guy you fall in love with won’t last, but I’m bent on proving her wrong.
After training, Coach leaves first, and I wait as he lingers at the gate with Sharon. After he leaves, I gather my stuff and head to the changing room.
When I get to the gate, Sharon is trying not to smile.
“What did he say to you?”
“Nothing. He said I inspired him.”
“You inspire me too!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t make it as a professional swimmer.”
“You can still inspire at many levels.”
“No, you can inspire, Tegan. Not only are your fire-jabber skills top notch, but I’ve been watching you swim. And your coach knows his stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if you actually make the Olympic team.”
“Well, for now I’m trying for regionals, not worrying about the bigger stuff. I mean, it’s in my head as the end goal, but I’m focused on the present. You have to be to survive, right?”
“Right.”
“So, did he ask you out?” I can’t resist asking.
“Your coach? No!” She shakes her head, but I can tell she’s actually pondering that idea.
“If he does, he likes jazz. And he has a cute pug named Julie.”
“I love dogs. My son has always wanted one, too.”
“Well, you never know…”
“Shhh. Don’t jinx it.”
* * *
When I get home, at my mother’s billionth request, I work more on my college essay.
What makes me unique is swimming. When I’m in the water, it feels like coming home. And I am really fast. When my father died in a helicopter crash, everything changed. I felt suffocated, numb. I wasn’t motivated to do anything. I was ready to crawl into a hole forever. Then something miraculous happened.
I became chosen.
I saw signs.
I saved a life.
I woke up.
I met a boy.
I started to see things differently. People, too.
I know my father is with me, and that there are things I must do. Like when you can sense something is different in a room, as if something has been moved, but you don’t know what. I believe my father is speaking to me, even though I can’t hear him. I know I’m supposed to do more than hide away. Even when he’s not here, he’s still teaching me.
It’s been amazing to come out of hiding and change myself and the world around me. I’m training again, too, and I’m eventually going to try out for the Olympics. It seems incredible to think of how far I’ve come, from learning to swim with my father in the ocean as a five-year-old, to getting the best times in the 200 meter for our state.
But what really makes someone unique?
Being in the Olympics? Yes and no.
Getting good grades? Yes and no.
More so, I believe, it’s being able to move on from hardships and be a better person. To learn the preciousness of life, to forgive, to open up your heart, to make the most of the time you have.
To eat life, not just taste it.
* * *
I go back to the box my mother gave me and look through the receipts again, picturing my father’s face, the way he smiled, the way his strong arms felt around me. There’s a fold in the bottom of the box where an envelope is sticking out. I didn’t notice it before.
I pull it out, and a gasp escapes me when I see the lowercase handwriting on the outside of the envelope: for tegan.
; I hold it in my hands like it’s appeared from fairy dust. I hold it up to the light to make sure it’s actually real. I shake my head a little. I’m not dreaming. I open it slowly.
dear tegan—
some thoughts and rules to live by, from your loving dad.
—i am with you
—there are no coincidences
—there will be ones that get away
—take chances
—find courage
—think of the possibilities
—give comfort
—be focused
—put yourself in unlikely situations
—go with your gut
—do the best you can
—i got your back
—the people you need are right in front of you
—take more chances
—keep me close
—keep your enemies close
—stay afloat
—speak your truth
—always remember
—fly
—reinvent
i love you
dad
Now I’m in full-blown sob mode. Like, barely breathing sobbing. My phone buzzes, and it’s Jenna and Gwen checking in at the same time. Then my mother texts from upstairs, asking if I’m packed for my trip, but I ignore them all. I go into the bathroom and turn on the water. After I calm down a little, I read it again. There is a pattern there. It must be him. It has to be. The items on his list feel as if they align with the names and the experiences I’ve been having. I read it again, thinking of each one. The people who died and the people I saved and the people whose status is unknown.
Back in my room, I slide the letter under my mattress. My mother calls from the hall, asking if I’m ready. We’re supposed to leave in twenty minutes. I tell her I am, but I’m not so sure. One of the last items on my father’s list is fly. Does this have something to do with me getting on a plane? Or is it metaphorical?
I can’t help it. I text Edge.
Found a letter from my dad…I think he’s behind all of this.
No response, but I continue.
Does that sound weird?
Still nothing, so I change subjects.
How’s your mom?
I start throwing things into my suitcase, trying to remember Jenna’s texts about what to bring. Something about jeans, sandals, and crop tops. I don’t have any crop tops, but I do have a few slightly more revealing T-shirts, which I include. Fifteen minutes go by, and absolutely nothing from Edge. I text him again.
Leaving on Delta from DCA at 6 p.m.
My mother calls from downstairs. I try one last text.
This is going to sound strange, but send me a sign.
You know, that you’re all right.
I think of the letter, of Gwen and J-Rod, of the skydiver with the crazy wife, the old lady and the poems, the sailor and his tall tale, Julie the dog and her sweet face, Tom Elliot’s pain I’ll never know about. Sharon and how happy she seemed after talking to Coach. One of the Jasons used to always tell me that things happen for a reason. It always sounded like a big cliché, but I’m beginning to think he’s right. You can’t always make sense of the bad things, but you can try to trust that there’s a balance to the world. It’s important to be ambitious and proactive, but some things we have to let go, things that are beyond our control.
I have been through so much chaos, but I actually feel more grounded than ever.
I try to think of every memory of my father I have in my head: the beach, the boat, the ice cream, singing in the car, the movies, the park. There are so many, and they used to fill me with emptiness because they were experiences that we could never share again. But now they fill me with something bigger, warmer, brighter. Something like hope.
Before I leave for the airport, I tell my mom I’ll meet her outside. I run down to the basement where the painters stashed the extra paint. I bring a can and brush up to my room and messily paint over all the Xs on my wall. I don’t need to mark how long my dad’s been gone, because the thing is, he never really left. He is with me and always will be. I have to be strong enough to carry him with me, and to believe. And to always, always remember.
20.
fly
On the curb, my mother kisses me at least ten times before I get into the UberBLACK car Larry ordered me. I know my mom is still mad at me, and frustrated that I couldn’t tell her why I missed the surgery, but she’s very emotional. In fact, both of them are acting as if I’m going to Antarctica forever.
“It’s only California for a week,” I tell them.
“Text me when you land, and call at least once a day, okay?” my mother says. Larry nods behind her.
“Okay.”
The car smells super clean. My driver puts on reggae and starts bopping his head. It reminds me of the first day I met Edge in the church. I look at my phone once more. Still nothing. Did his phone break again? Did something happen with his aunt?
There is a feeling of unease I always get at airports. I can feel it even as we pull up.
“Have a wonderful flight,” my driver says. I like his choice of words. Most people would say good flight or safe flight.
I smile and thank him, then get out and head toward security. I have time, so I decide to stop for a smoothie. I drink it in the corner on one of the high, red plastic stools. The seat doesn’t turn, which is mildly disappointing. When I was little, my father would spin me in the tire swing and then let it go. There was always that release, somewhere in the middle of becoming unspun, when I’d get fearful. It was the rush of teetering on the edge. It’s kind of how I feel right now. I’m going to California. Does this mean the signs are finally going to be over? I can go back to being a regular teenager? Should I get an Uber back to my house and not go? Jenna would kill me.
Right as I’m about to enter security, I hear a voice behind me, real close.
“There she is.”
I turn and find myself staring into those laser-green eyes I know so well. It’s Edge, and he’s carrying one of those miniature parachutes you get in cereal boxes. He hands it to me.
“In case anything happens, you know.”
I hug him, and he smells just like I remember. Fresh-cut grass with a hint of citrus. I want to put him in my pocket, keep him there like a stone I can take out and hold on to for comfort. I could explode with happiness. I’m sure my face is super red.
“I was so worried about you,” I say.
“I’m sorry. I feel like so much has happened in the last day or so; I haven’t had time to do anything.”
I want to throw away my boarding pass and grab his hand and run with him, outside, into the world, somewhere far, anywhere.
“It’s cool. I only checked my phone, like, twice.”
We both smile, knowing that’s not the case. The security line is getting longer. A little kid starts crying.
“Listen, Tegan, there’s something I need to tell you, and I needed it to be in person—I’m sorry I didn’t text back recently.”
“It’s okay, but what? What is it? Your aunt?”
“Yeah, my aunt’s in rehab. She no longer has any control of my mother’s finances. I got a cop involved.”
“Good for you.”
“Thanks. But none of that’s why I’m here…” He starts to pace a little, and it’s completely adorable. Then he starts talking, using his hands to accentuate certain points. “Okay. I was thinking. The reason I like alien life and stuff, is because the one I’ve been given on Earth kinda sucks…that is, until I met you. And I thought I couldn’t handle it, like you didn’t fit into my world or me into yours or whatever. And now I realize that’s the whole point. We are puzzle pieces, like you wrote. We’re different shapes, but we work together. And no matter how imperfect my life is, it feels perfect when I’m
with you. Ever since we met at the funeral of someone you didn’t know. What are the chances of that?”
I try to rein in my tears, but they have their own force. They seem to be dropping at a rapid pace. Fast enough that my swiping can’t keep up.
“I know,” I say, hugging him again. Then he dabs at my cheeks with his sleeve.
I look down at the time on my phone.
“Edge, I’m boarding soon, I have to…”
“It’s cool. Go to California, have fun, but know that I’ll be here when you get back. Scars and all.”
“Me, too. Scars and all.”
We kiss, and everything around me becomes a bright, blinding light. We’re standing at DCA airport outside of security, but it might as well be the center of the universe.
He waits till I get to the scanner that I have to walk through and hold up my arms. He blows me one last kiss.
On the other side of security, I go into a little bookstore and buy a paperback. It looks light and breezy, perfect for a plane ride to LA where I need to not think about how much I’m missing Edge. I get to the gate as they’re boarding, remembering my dad’s second to last item on the list: fly.
I get settled into 9A. The woman in 9B has brought her own food in small Tupperware containers and keeps smiling at me. Something about her eyes is unnerving. As if she knows something about me, or is planning something secretive.
I look out the window at workers in orange vests laughing at some joke. I check my phone. There are a bunch of texts. Jenna says, Safe flight! Gwen says, Be careful in Hollywood and come back soon. My mother says, Make sure you eat before your flight because they don’t serve diddly-squat.
Don’t say diddly-squat, I text back.
Adding to list! she texts back with a smiley face.
There’s one more from Edge.
I wish I could go to sleep and wake up in 7 days
I text back.
I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever texted me.
And it is.
As the plane ascends into a mostly blue sky, I take out the paperback. Once again, I feel it before I see it, like a dark wave pushing through my chest and into my stomach. On the receipt, there are certain letters in bold, and put together, they spell a name.
Look Closer Page 17