She finally texts me several heart emojis along with a picture of Finn surfing. I roll my eyes and text her back. You coming over soon?
We usually jog to the wharf or even the harbor and back, or sometimes we run the roads around State Street. But the longer Brittany takes to get here, the less time we’ll be able to run. She calls me and without preamble starts telling me how great it went with Finn.
“When I was leaving just now, he walked me to my car! I couldn’t wait to see you; I had to call and tell you now,” Brittany exclaims.
My shoulders ease. I need to trust that she’ll listen if I have to say something to her because Brittany’s still the same Brittany, the overeager dork who gets excited about boys but still always makes time for me. “That’s great, Brittany.”
“It’s kind of late to run anyway, and a few minutes ago my mom called me. She invited you over. She reminded me you haven’t come to our house in a while.”
I agree to go with her, and Brittany tells me she’ll see me in a few.
“You’re still wearing your running clothes?” Brittany asks as I open her car door to get inside several minutes later.
I shrug. “I didn’t feel like changing.”
She snorts. “Lazy.”
“Says the person who honked the horn rather than texting me to let me know she arrived.”
Brittany laughs and hits the gas. Soon we’re on the winding road heading up the hill that overlooks the neighborhoods of red-tiled roofs below, surrounded by palm trees and then beyond them, the ocean. The fading sunlight hits my shoulders through the window. I love this part of the day, when the sun streaks through the clouds, the yellow and orange poking through the sea of blue, and the wind rustles the leaves in the trees.
“My mom’s being weird,” Brittany says. “She said she wanted to hang out with me tonight, and when I told her we had plans to run, she basically jumped at the chance to invite you over. I have a feeling she wants something.”
I mull that over. Brittany pretends not to care so much anymore, but I know she wishes her mom paid more attention to her. She wishes her mom took an interest in the real her, rather than the version she thinks she should be. I can relate, of course.
“Maybe she misses you,” I offer. “You’ve said she’s been gone a lot lately, always out with her friends. She wants some quality time.”
Brittany shrugs noncommittally. I hold off bringing up how I’m ready to plan our trip to Oxnard to see my mom. It can wait until we figure out what’s up with Brittany’s mom.
The roads become windier and the trees taller and thicker as we near Brittany’s massive, ancient house with a pointed roof and stucco exterior. She slows the Mercedes to park in front of the old oak tree out front—her mom’s Lexus and dad’s Range Rover taking up the real parking spots in the garage.
The car beeps locked as we head for her front door, and we both slip our shoes off in the foyer, per usual.
“Hey, girls!” Brittany’s mom, Tara, calls from the den. Brittany nods for me to follow her, even though we usually go straight to her room when I come over.
We pass through the recently remodeled kitchen, the granite island spotless like the countertops and everything else in this house. In the den, the lights are dim, and we find Brittany’s mom lazing on the couch. Tara’s bare feet are propped up on the glass table in front of her, and she has a glass of red wine in her hand. She’s done up like she spent the day out, blown-out hair, perfect makeup. Her red lipstick stains the wineglass in her hand. “It’s been soooooo long since I’ve seen you, Ri. You haven’t been hiding from me, have you?”
I laugh awkwardly. Her mom is definitely tipsy.
“Sit, sit,” Tara says, gesturing wide with her arm, the faux fire crackling in the fireplace across from her.
Brittany and I sink into the love seat across from her mom.
“Now that we’re all together, I have a proposition for you girls.” Tara sits up and leans closer to us. Her amber eyes glitter as the light from the fire flicks. Brittany gives me a knowing look and my stomach sinks.
Tara doesn’t seem to notice. “Since you both aren’t on the cross-country team, I was thinking you might need a productive way to spend your free time,” she says, her eyes glazed and animated. “I could sign you up for golf lessons at the club.”
Brittany slumps down in her seat. I tense, feeling my best friend’s discomfort. She hasn’t mentioned wanting golf lessons to me, but her mom is always trying to get her to sign up for stuff at the club that Brittany has no interest in.
Tara doesn’t notice her daughter’s reaction. Instead, she looks at me. Realization dawns. Tara wants an ally, wants to use me to coax Brittany into this.
I plaster on a fake smile. “That is so thoughtful of you, Tara, but money’s a little tight at home at the moment, so it’s just not a good time for me to sign up for any new activities.”
“Of course I’d pay for them, Ri,” Tara says, brightening as if she’s fixed the only obstacle to getting her way, “and if you two like it, you can try out for the team at your school!”
I take a deep breath. Money isn’t a concern for Tara. But that doesn’t mean Grandma and me would just take her money, like a handout or something. Grandma works hard for what we have, even if it’s nothing like the fancy furniture and fixtures all around me in Brittany’s home.
Brittany opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something. But Tara continues, “I know you said you didn’t want to take lessons, Britt, but if Ri joined you, wouldn’t that be fun? And then we could all play together—we’d even be able to sign up for the big mother-daughter tournament later this year!” Tara reaches her free hand to rest on Brittany’s knee. Her eyes are big and round like a silver dollar as she smiles at both of us.
Tara takes her hand back and sips her wine. Brittany twists a piece of her hair, circling it around her finger quickly.
I reach my hand to pull Brittany’s down to the couch.
She leaves the hair but then starts picking at her nails roughly. “You know I don’t like hanging out at the club. The girls from Cate—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, honey, they don’t all go to Cate. Amy, Stephanie, and Tasha all go to Riviera High.” She smiles at me curtly before looking back at her daughter. “And it would be great if you made an effort to spend time with them.”
Brittany watches her mom carefully. Sometimes I wonder if Tara thinks I’m the reason Brittany doesn’t hang out with her friends’ daughters.
“Ashley, Katherine, and everyone are always saying you should come around more often.” Tara’s voice comes out flat. “I’m the only one who doesn’t bring her daughter to club activities.” Tara frowns at Brittany, who has gone quiet.
I shift in my seat. This might not be the way Brittany wants to spend time with her mom, but at least she has a mom who wants to spend time with her. Sort of. Maybe I could too, if I went to Oxnard. When I go to Oxnard.
I look at Brittany. “Golf might not be that bad.” For you that is, not me.
Brittany glares at me.
Tara brightens. “Don’t knock it until you try it, right, Britt?”
“Mom,” Brittany cuts in, “seriously, we don’t need to be spending more money on golf lessons, right? You’re always talking about how expensive club dues are, and—”
Tara stands abruptly. “I do no such thing, Brittany. Of course we can afford going to the club, otherwise we wouldn’t.”
I purse my lips to keep from smirking. Tara’s perfect life isn’t as perfect as it seems? She would never want anyone to know their family worries about money too.
“Why don’t we spend the weekend together, Mom, just me and you?” Brittany looks hopeful as her mom takes a long gulp of her wine and sets it back on the table, the glass clicking against glass. “Dad’s going out of town on that business trip, right? We can watch movies and make popcorn. Or salad, you can eat salad, and I’ll eat the popcorn.” She laughs too loudly, and I reach my hand out refle
xively to keep her from going to town picking at her nails ferociously.
Tara takes the wineglass and strides toward the den’s entryway. Brittany and I have to turn to look at her.
“I thought I told you this, honey, but I’ll be out of town too. The girls and I are doing a spa weekend in La Jolla. A road trip.” Tara seems to sense Brittany’s disappointment. “Next time, we can go together. We can get massages, facials, and pedicures. It’ll be fun.”
Brittany gives her mom a sad smile. Like she wishes her mom would choose her this time.
I suck in a breath. What I would give to have a weekend like that with my mom, or any weekend at all. I keep my hand steady on Brittany’s, wishing she’d see how lucky she is, even if her life isn’t perfect.
Tara finishes her wine. “You two have fun tonight.” Tara disappears down the hallway, toward her bedroom. From a distance, we hear her call out. “And have that popcorn and watch those movies over here this weekend, the two of you. Good seeing you, Ri!”
“Mom, wait!” Brittany calls, shocking me enough that I sit up straight. She looks at me sheepishly. “Maybe golf wouldn’t be so bad. If Ri comes, too, that is. You’ll come with, won’t you, Ri?”
I stare at my best friend, the sadness and loneliness I see in her eyes. The last thing I want is charity from Tara. Grandma has built a good life for us, and I’m proud of that. But . . .
Brittany’s my best friend. And she needs me, so I nod. “Of course. Sounds fun.”
Tara reappears in the doorway, her eyes gleaming and her lips grinning. “Perfect! Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”
Brittany looks at her hopefully enough that it makes the thought of doing golf lessons worth it. Almost.
“I can’t wait to tell Katherine and the girls. They’re going to be thrilled!”
Brittany’s smile falls off her face as soon as her mom finishes the thought.
As Tara’s form retreats, Brittany sighs bitterly. “I guess we know why she wanted me to invite you over now. Golf lessons at the country club.” She uses her hands to push herself up off the love seat. “Mother of the year, that one.”
I stand too. “She tries.”
“Not hard enough.” Brittany scoffs. “Honestly, those two should have at least given me a sibling if they didn’t want to spend any time with me. If I didn’t have you, I’d lose it.”
My shoulders sag, seeing how hurt Brittany is. Her feelings about her mom are real, even if I don’t always agree with them. I put my hand on Brittany’s shoulder. “Good thing you don’t have to worry about that. You’ll always have me.”
Many of the late nights Grandma works and I otherwise would eat leftovers alone, Brittany’s with me. Or when she’s at home and would otherwise be by herself in her huge house, eating takeout, I’m right here with her. She’s been there for me when Grandma wasn’t. And I’ve done the same for her. Even when Brittany doesn’t understand me and makes mistakes, we’re family.
Brittany exhales unevenly. “Thanks.” She pauses a beat before looking at me. “Speaking of moms, don’t think I forgot about Oxnard. We need to go. I mean, we can. As soon as you’re ready.”
She looks at me.
My insides warm. Even with drama in her own family, Brittany still wants to help me with mine.
“Yeah, I am. I was thinking we could go tomorrow, if you don’t mind driving me?”
Brittany’s eyes widen and she nods aggressively. “Of course I’ll take you! There’s literally nowhere else I’d rather be.”
I hug her. “I’m so glad I’m not alone in this, Brittany. Thank you.”
When Brittany pulls away, her eyes are watery, and I can’t tell if it’s from what I said or what happened with her mom. She looks back toward the hallway. “It looks like my mom is done with anything that isn’t that glass of wine for the night, so . . .”
Brittany’s eyes meet mine.
“I think we could use something mindless, some trashy reality TV or something,” I offer.
Brittany exhales, looking relieved. “Want to go back to your place?”
I nod. “Sounds perfect.”
I give her a reassuring smile and Brittany brightens. “Bye, Mom!” she calls, but the TV is already on loud in her parents’ bedroom. Tara probably doesn’t hear as Brittany slams the front door behind us.
Chapter
Five
Before reading the letter, when I thought of Mom, I told myself she’d be with me if she could. Sometimes I wondered how her life turned out, wondered if she missed me. But mostly I tried to focus on memories of bath time and good-night kisses, to remember the good times. But now that I know Mom’s back, I can’t help but wonder why she left. I’m remembering before, not knowing where Mom was when she was gone for days at a time. Grandpa yelling at her behind a closed door while Grandma said nothing.
I remember one time Mom came home after being gone for weeks. I played with my favorite doll, waiting for their fight to be over. Mom burst into our room, scooped me into her arms, and wiped the tears from my eyes. “Shhh, mija, it’s okay. I’m here,” Mom said quickly, and I smelled something sickly sweet on her breath. I didn’t like it. Mom’s eyes were red and puffy. Grandpa must have made her cry, with all that yelling.
Now, all these years later, I’m going to face Mom again. What will I say?
Oh, hey, it’s me, your long-lost daughter? Sorry I haven’t reached out sooner but Grandma is a liar? Oh, and by the way, why haven’t you come for me?
After last period, Brittany and I walk to her Mercedes silently and climb inside. I lean into the leather seat and roll down my window, letting the cool California breeze wash over me. Moments later, once we’re on the Pacific Coast Highway, I taste the salt in the air as we drive by the ocean on this short trip my mom could have easily taken to see me.
But hasn’t.
I push the thought away.
Brittany’s GPS tells us to get off on the North Rose Avenue exit in Oxnard, and after a few turns, we pull into a parking of an old apartment complex, several identical beige buildings standing side by side.
“Number four.” I look around until I find it. It’s on the first floor, apparently, next to a staircase on one side and an overflowing dumpster on the other.
As we reach the door, Brittany grabs my hand and squeezes it. I let go to knock, my other hand clutching Mom’s letter.
The knot in my chest tightens, tightens, tightens as long, agonizing seconds pass. “Maybe no one’s home.”
Brittany shakes her head. “Shhh, listen.”
I hear it too. A few footfalls on the other side of the door, and then the rustling of blinds. Some short, sausage-like fingers tilt one of them, and a set of narrowed eyes peep through to look at us.
I hold my breath. The door opens a crack.
“Whatever you’re selling—”
“We’re not selling anything,” Brittany cuts in. “We’re here to see Marisol.”
My voice doesn’t work anymore, and my lips don’t move.
Brittany nudges me.
I shake my head and let out a weak exhale.
She calls out, “I’m Brittany, and this is my friend Ri, um, Maria. We’re looking for her mom.”
“Marisol!” I choke out, finally. “We’re looking for my mom, Marisol.” As I start to push her letter toward the opening, the door swings open.
A short and stocky white man steps outside. His San Francisco 49ers jersey, tight around his belly, hangs low over Dickies. His blue eyes light up as a smile of recognition crosses his face. “Maria! I’ve heard so much about you!”
I blink. He knows who I am. He knows my mom.
“Y-y-you have?”
“Of course I have. You look like her, you know. Your hair is different and you’re a bit lighter, but you’ve got her eyes. I’m going to call your mom right now.”
The man, still grinning, pulls his cell out of his back pocket and makes the call. He waits for an answer but then mouths “voicemail” to us.
“Marisol!” he exclaims as he shifts from foot to foot. “You have to come back home right now. You won’t believe this, but your little girl is here! She came and found you and she’s here right now. Call me when you hear this.”
He hangs up. “She went on an errand but should be back any minute.”
I look at Brittany. “We can wait a little while,” she says to me, but it comes out like a question. “If it’s okay with . . . ?” Brittany trails off.
The man barks out a laugh. “I was so excited I forgot to tell you my name. I’m John, Marisol’s boyfriend.”
He reaches my hand to shake and then after I do, he takes Brittany’s to do the same.
John’s light eyebrows furrow as he looks down at his phone. “I’m sorry she’s not here. We never heard from your grandma after we moved to Oxnard, so we just figured she wasn’t going to let Marisol see you.”
John shoots a quick text and then looks back at us.
I look down at my feet. “Oh . . . um, well, she never told me. I found the letter in her room recently.”
John shakes his head and chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, we thought that might have been the case.”
I lift my head, and he gives a small smile. “Do you girls want to come in while you wait?”
Brittany and I hesitate, and then he puts both hands up. “Oh! Never mind. Stranger danger. I got you.”
He looks behind him into this apartment and back at us. “In fact, if your mom heard you weren’t being careful, she’d probably be mad! Glad you two are safe, coming in numbers too. Good on you.”
Even though I’m disappointed that my mom’s not home, I’m still giddy that she’s here in Oxnard. Not something I dreamed up because I wanted it so bad. She’s real. John proves it.
Everything Within and In Between Page 5