by Laura Steven
A lump bobs in my throat. ‘I think . . . I think I need some time. Just to think.’
He studies my face. ‘Are you upset with us for keeping this from you?’
There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that I’ve never seen before, and that’s what finally caused my tear ducts to erupt.
‘No! No, of course not. I-I . . . don’t think it’s something I could bear to know unless I was mentally prepared for it.’
Dad nods softly. ‘I am glad we made the right call.’
I can’t imagine what this has been like for him – for both of them. Keeping this unimaginably painful secret from the one person it has impacted the most, and having to believe, every single day, that it’s is the right thing to do.
Do they ever feel guilty? That they got to live, got to raise me, when Annie didn’t? I hope not. I hope they’re only ever happy to have me in my life, in the purest way it’s possible to be happy, even though I understand that life is more complicated than that.
‘You always make the right call,’ I say, surprised by the ferocity in my voice. I need him to believe me. ‘Both of you. And I will never not be grateful for it.’
Dad’s face crumples, and he instantly covers it with his hands. His shoulders shake, and I know he’s crying too. Despite the situation, I laugh and wrap my hands around his waist.
‘Dad. It’s okay,‘ I say, as Vati bounds over and joins in the hug. ‘You’re allowed to show emotion. You don’t have to maintain the robot façade at all times.’
Dad sniffs into my hair. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about. I am an extremely expressive person. Hollywood could write a soap opera about me.’
‘I love you both so much,’ I mumble through a combination of laughter and hot tears.
Dad kisses my head. ‘We love you too. You have no idea how much.’
‘Vrshmnrn,’ says Vati through the tape.
We stay like that in a group hug for a few moments, none of us speaking or moving; just being.
And to be fair to Vati, he really does smell like ranch.
19
Lying in bed, I gaze at a picture I have of the three of us – Dad, Vati and me – on my phone. They are the best parents I could ever ask for. But they are not my only parents. And somehow, that makes my life richer. It makes me richer.
I will never, ever know my mom. Yet knowing her story has already cast my life into a new light. It has provided a new filter, a new context, that I so desperately needed.
Now, I can picture myself as an extension of her. I’ve never been able to do that before. My thoughts when I saw that picture were that she was beautiful, and that she also looked like me. I no longer see those things as mutually exclusive. There are a few things that have culminated in this epiphany, but I know seeing my mom for the first time is what really brought the belief home. I’m beautiful because I have her in me.
Another penny drops. Dad’s obsession with my supposed alcohol addiction – it’s rooted in the very primal fear that I’ll meet the same fate as my mom. This new understanding fills me with love for him.
The thought crosses my mind that this is the kind of thing I should talk to my boyfriend about. He cares about me and my family and my past, and . . . he loves me. This is something he would want to know.
Something else clicks. Something so horrifying and dark that it makes me want to roar in self-loathing. Something I think I already knew, deep down in my bones, but that hasn’t surfaced until now, until I finally had this context, this lens, this filter.
I’m also taking drugs, with no real knowledge of the long-term effects, no clue how addictive they are, no idea how they’re impacting my life beyond the obvious. No idea how they really affect other people. Worse, I’m dragging someone else down with me. Someone who did not make this choice. I never gave him the chance.
My mind races like a helter-skelter.
Is Haruki really consenting to be with me if I’m basically using drugs to lure him in?
Okay, so I’m not drugging him, just myself. I’m boosting my natural pheromones to make him more attracted to me. Up until now, I’ve managed to convince myself it’s no different to perfume, or make-up, or a really great haircut.
Where are the lines?
I rethink every romantic encounter I’ve ever had. Kevin only ever wanted to have sex with me while drunk. Sober, he wasn’t interested. So . . . was he really consenting? Is it even possible to give consent when there’s an external substance influencing your judgment?
It seems extreme to say all drunk sex is non-consensual. As Vati so often horrifyingly tells me, red wine makes him horny. Do I really think he’s fundamentally incapable of giving consent after a glass or two?
Like I say, it seems like an extreme statement, but . . . god, I don’t even know anymore. I guess all we can do is draw our own lines, then give other people the chance to draw theirs – and honor them accordingly, without trying to influence or shift them one way or another.
That’s something I haven’t afforded Haruki, and I hate myself for it.
‘I never felt like I wanted a girlfriend. Not until we got close.’
I didn’t respect his lines. He had decided that he wasn’t attracted to me, and he let me down accordingly, but I was too humiliated to honor that.
Kevin didn’t want to answer my texts. I didn’t honor that either.
Fuck.
I was so convinced I was the victim.
Throwing my blanket off me with a new sense of resolve, I do what I should’ve done a long time ago.
I take the pheromone pills to the toilet, and I flush them all away.
Then I look at myself in the mirror. Really, really look at myself. At the good, the bad, and the ugly. And I realize that for so long, I was so busy obsessing about what was on the outside that I didn’t look any deeper.
Later that night, Vati comes into my room to tell me where my mom’s ashes are scattered – he’d asked the adoption agency for some information on my past, in case I ever asked. Anyway, they’re spread at a run-down amusement park near the coast – Annie had once told her brother it’d be funny to scatter her ashes from the top of the Ferris wheel, so the ashes would get into the candyfloss and a bunch of sticky fairground kids would end up eating her. So that’s what they did.
‘She sounds hilarious,’ I laugh through fresh tears. ‘I wish . . . ’
I start to say that I wish I could’ve known her, but I stop myself. That’s basically like saying I wish I’d been raised by her instead of my dads, and the sight of Vati’s goofy face makes it an intolerable thought.
Turns out he reads my mind anyway. Perched on the edge of the bed, he squeezes my foot through the duvet, which is a bit weird, but then again he is a bit weird so it makes sense. ‘Bärchen, it is okay. You are allowed to wish that, while also being happy that you have us. Our minds, they are complicated. That is the mustard I wish to add.’
‘What?’ I snort.
‘My two cents, I suppose you Americans would say. You have no originality. Although Annie, she did. An amusement park. So funny. An inspiration to us all, Bärchen. Just like you. Anyway, this is the address of the park, if you ever want to visit her.’
After he leaves, I fondle the piece of paper. It’s old, I think, the blue ink faded and the paper soft. I run my thumb over the zip code like it’s a magic portal to wherever my mom is now.
I remember what I told Haruki in the diner. If I could access the sixth dimension, where you could see all possible futures, presents, and pasts in universes with the same start conditions as ours, I could theoretically move along those timelines like walking up and down a hallway, and essentially live two lives. The one I have now, with my dads and my brother and Sirius. And the one where I still have Annie. The one where she had a straightforward birth and didn’t get addicted to painkillers and never overdosed.
Maybe one day we’ll achieve the breakthroughs we need that will make accessing those dimensions a reality. Maybe I’ll
be the one pioneering those breakthroughs, and in my Nobel Prize acceptance speech, I’ll tell this exact story.
And maybe none of this will happen in my lifetime. I have to learn to be okay with that too.
Suddenly, the urge to talk this through with Keiko is overwhelming. She’s exactly who I need right now.
Hey. Can you come over?
It takes her a few minutes to reply.
Yo! I’m hanging with Marieke right now, but I’ll be there soon as we’re done
Everything okay??
The sinking disappointment is heavier than it should be. It’s not just that I’m sad she can’t come over, it’s . . . something else.
It’s the feeling of having to share her. The very same thing I yelled at her for, not so long ago.
Okay. Okay, I get it now. It’s irrational and petty and it makes you feel like an actual literal toddler, but I get it. It’s a primal, territorial thing. I want Keiko to just be mine.
But she’s allowed to date. She’s young and hot and talented and this is such an exciting time for her, so why shouldn’t she be going out and having fun and sharing all this stuff with someone?
Because I want her to be doing all that with me, a small voice whispers. I shake it away, afraid to look at it head-on, afraid to ask it any more questions because truth be told, I’m scared of the answer. Especially in light of the fact that I recently learned – really, truly learned – that wanting someone doesn’t mean you’re entitled to them.
Oh yeah don’t worry dude! I just found out some stuff about my birth mom and it’s thrown me a little. Are you up for skipping school tomorrow? For a road trip out to the coast? That’s where her ashes are scattered. In a theme park because she’s baller.
This time, it takes forever for her to reply, and the primal, territorial feeling intensifies into a desperation I don’t like one bit. I just want to be talking to her. It’s a physical yearning.
But I have to stop forcing myself on people. I have to respect the lines they set themselves.
So I do the extremely mature and rational thing of trying to trick my phone into receiving a message. Leaving it lying on my bed, I go and shower, finish my essay, help Dad cook dinner, and play chess with Vati. He is truly appalling. Like imagine a chimp trying to formulate an endgame strategy that doesn’t involve its opponent slipping on a banana peel. He just doesn’t have the mental capacity.
Vati also keeps abandoning the game to practice his Zumba moves, complete with ad-libbed vocals from Dad, who I’m pretty sure is just repurposing Despacito. It’s the silliest Dad has been in forever, and I wonder if lifting the burden of my mom’s secret has left him feeling lighter. Anyway, I win the chess game and get a good laugh out of the festivities, so it’s a successful evening all round.
I climb the stairs back up to my room, and my heart starts to pound as I anticipate checking my phone.
Sinking into my duvet, I take a deep breath and press the home button.
She replied. A lot. I beam into the fairy-lit room.
Oh wow okay
Your birth mom! That’s so exciting and such a big step
How are you feeling??
And are you sure you don’t want me to come over?
Also count me the hell in for a road trip although you seem to be overlooking the fact we don’t have a car
If you mean ‘walk’ then I will disown you, don’t put me down for cardio
I know you like running now which is a serious character flaw but please know I am currently arranging a lobotomy before you go full Forrest Gump
Then, when I didn’t reply to any of her messages within 0.2 seconds:
Bitch if you’re punishing me for being on a date right now then I swear to god I will have you arrested for the sheer HYPOCRISY and AUDACITY
Chuckling aloud to myself, I type out a response.
Okay so I’m feeling okay just kinda . . . sad, I guess. I don’t know why I’m grieving for a woman I don’t really remember. It just hurts and I don’t understand it. But anyway. Oh yeah I didn’t think the car thing through. I guess we need Gabriela, but it doesn’t seem like she’s super into hanging out with us at the moment. AND I’M NOT PUNISHING YOU. Get over yourself before I have you arrested for the sheer NARCISSISM and SELF-OBSESSION
The blue ticks appear immediately, then she’s typing.
Dude I am so glad you just said that about Gabs
I thought it was just me being paranoid
Is it wrong that I’m upset at her for bailing on the gig?
And just like not being that enthusiastic about me signing with Bella
Like you say I do veer on the side of narcissism at all times so literally just tell me if I’m being a Mariah about it
I snort with laughter.
In 98% of cases you are in fact being a Mariah, but you’re off the hook here. I was pissed at her too. She’s been so distant with us lately. Maybe a road trip just the three of us tomorrow is exactly what we all need?
Her first reply is:
Roger that, amigo
Then she writes in the group chat:
Okay Gabs, we are shotgunning your presence tomorrow please
I don’t care if you have to bail Lizzie out of jail or whatever
Also don’t be lame and point out it’s a school day
We’re going on a mandatory road trip to where Caro’s mom’s ashes are scattered
It sounds supes morbid but her mom was actually legendary and had herself disseminated all over an amusement park so?? Hilarious
You in?
Fluffing the pillow up under my head, I can’t stop smiling. Keiko just has this ability to find the levity in any situation. Nothing is too dark to laugh at. And while she does take herself and her work seriously, she’s always willing to laugh at how seriously she takes it.
oh hey girl! this sounds so fun, can lizzie tag along?
A bubble of anger rises in my throat. When did we stop being enough for Gabriela? Luckily, Keiko has my back.
Like fuck she can
This is a big deal for Caro, like a really really big deal, and she needs her best friends
You are her best friend
Lizzie is not
Capiche?
After a few seconds, Gabriela replies.
lol chill that’s fine i was only asking. all good. what time shall i pick you guys up?
20
The next morning, I lie to my dads about getting a ride to school, and Keiko meets me outside my place to wait for Gabriela to pick us up. The weekend’s rain has left everything fresh and cleansed, and the rosebushes at either side of our front door glisten with the lingering dew. I am fairly sure they’re fake rosebushes, actually. There is no way Vati kept real ones alive until October.
Keiko’s wearing massive sunglasses, hoop earrings, and a blue-and-white striped jumpsuit that would look like shepherd pyjamas on anyone else, but on her looks effortlessly cool. She grins at me as she strolls up the driveway.
‘What’s up?’ she says, voice full of bounce. She loves road trips, and her giant tote bags rustles with an impressive plethora of snacks.
‘Um, a whole lot !’
Keiko laughs at my enthusiasm. ‘I’ve never seen anyone so excited about a dead parent and/or a ride on some old dodgems.’
‘No, not that. Did you not see the news?’
We perch ourselves on the bonnet of Vati’s SUV, which is the only dry surface in sight. I can just about hear him in the living room, tapping out distress signals in Morse code.
‘You’ll have to be more specific, babe,’ Keiko says. ‘Our definitions of news differ wildly. If it didn’t happen on Real Housewives I’m probably not up to date.’
I pull my denim jacket tighter around me. The air has a hint of fall crispness, and it’s delicious. ‘The twin detectors at the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory just reported a burst of gravitational waves that could be the first detection of a black hole devouring a neutron star.’
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‘That sounds wild,’ Keiko says, ‘even to a bonafide science moron like me. What does it mean?’
‘Maybe nothing.’ I shrug, but there’s a flicker of excitement in my belly which begs to differ. ‘But it could lead to a whole bunch of new cosmic information, from precise tests of the general theory of relativity to measuring the universe’s rate of expansion.’
‘Man,’ Keiko murmurs, looking up at the blue sky as though she might catch a glimpse right now. ‘Sometimes I forget how smart you are.’
‘Really? I think about how smart I am all the time.’
Keiko cackles her witchy cackle, then pulls a can of grape soda from her tote. She taps the aluminum lid with her white acrylic nail, then opens it with a puh-tsssssh. She hands me first swig. ‘You’re different lately.’
‘Different how?’ I ask, taking a sip of grape soda.
‘Just more . . . Caro.’
I laugh and hand her the can back. ‘That makes no sense.’
She takes it but doesn’t drink, instead lowering her sunglasses and studying me over them like a stern fashion editor. ‘I can’t put my finger on it. You’re walking taller or something. And when you talk about stuff . . . you’re more passionate. Before when you chatted about science and whatnot, it’s like you rushed through it in case you were boring us. And you’re funnier. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve always been funny. But you could tell you were holding back in case people didn’t laugh.’
The words glow like fireflies, and I hold them in my head to study later, when I’m alone and can appreciate them properly.
I’d intended to tell her about the observatory, about the words Haruki and I exchanged, but for some reason, it feels like the wrong thing to share. I keep it to myself.