Sometimes I imagine what life will be like on the other side and all the shapes my life could take, but mostly I’m scared to even think about it. Because if I do, all the possible futures start to shift like a kaleidoscope, each one falling into place, forming a single dream. I want to marry a sweet girl who I’m in love with. And I want us to have kids; I don’t even know how many. Two? Three? Seven plus a menagerie of pets? I don’t even know how the baby-having part would work exactly, but who cares as long as they’re ours? And she and I will walk down the street holding hands and we’ll sit together in church on Sundays, each holding up one-half of the same hymnal.
That’s about where the future starts to fall apart. Because I already know I’ll never be able to have all those things at the same time.
I realize I’m still staring at the stairs, so I go outside, because I don’t want to seem like I’m creeping around Scarlett’s kitchen waiting for her. Skyler is dancing circles around a woman I recognize as my aunt Seema, and her daughter, Ellie. I remember playing with her brother, Zakir, when I was little. I haven’t seen them since Mom married Jay and moved to Tennessee. We stopped seeing all the aunts after that.
I walk up to the group of them, everyone talking at once. I say hi to Ellie, who is impossibly gorgeous and who gives me a hesitant side-hug like she isn’t sure what else to do.
Seema beams at me. “Amelia Grace, love, you look beautiful.”
I smile and allow myself to be scrunched into a hug. I remember that about her from when I was little—she gives the best hugs.
A tan SUV pulls up next to us. There’s not exactly a driveway, more just a dirt road that makes a circle in front of the house. A tall, Latinx woman with golden brown skin and glossy hair gets out. She has a piercing through one eyebrow and a flower tucked behind one ear. Definitely Val.
“I’m here, and I have everything we need!” she hollers. She pulls out a cardboard box from the passenger seat. “My ‘fasten seat belt’ alarm has been going off since the liquor store. You know it’s a good day when you have enough alcohol in your seat that your car thinks it’s a person.”
She sets down the box so she can give Seema a hug. It’s like watching family members get reunited at the airport.
“How are you, Seema?”
“Good.” Seema smiles slyly. “I’m good. Because I have everything we need.”
“Wh—? Excuse me? I have wine, whiskey, bourbon, and tequila. I’m not sure there’s anything else a person could need.”
Seema swings a wrinkled brown paper bag. If she has weed in there, just, I don’t know, shoot me dead. I am so not prepared for this.
“Every kind of Cadbury you can imagine from when I visited my mother in Canada.”
Val clutches her heart. “You brought Cadbury? Did you bring—”
“Coconut cashew? Yes, five bars of it, one of which I instructed Ellie to write your name on in Sharpie.”
“God bless you.”
I used to think Cadbury was just those eggs you get at Easter, but it turns out Canada has a whole new level of chocolate going on. I remember I would totally freak out every time a care package from Aunt Seema came in the mail.
“Is that whole bag really filled with chocolate?” I ask.
Seema smiles. “About three kilograms.”
“I love it when you talk metric to me,” says Val, and Seema cackles.
And then it’s like they both remember why they’re here at exactly the same time.
“I am going to kill Jimmy Gable,” says Aunt Val.
“You’ll have to arm wrestle me for it, jaan, because I’m going to kill him first.”
I stare up at the blue house with the white wraparound porch, where my mom is no doubt holding my aunt Adeline like she’s trying to put her back together. Scarlett stands in the second window from the left, looking down at the lawn. The way the light hits her makes her look like a ghost. She’s never even talked about liking a girl, so I know she’ll probably never feel the same way, but the things I’m feeling, they’re so big, it doesn’t even matter. I look at her, and I feel lucky just to feel this way.
The great truth finally takes shape inside my head: If I was ever thinking about doing what they want, of going back to the way I was before and locking away the part of me that likes girls and hiding the key until college—seeing her makes me realize that is no longer an option.
Ellie
This is it. The moment when real life finally gets to be like Instagram. Skyler seems sweet as can be with her huge blue eyes and her bubbliness. Amelia Grace hangs back, quieter, so I tell her I adore her pixie cut and ask her how long she’s had it. And then there’s Scarlett. She stalks out of the house wearing combat boots and black tights under jean shorts, looking so freaking cool. I bounce over and give her a hug.
“Hi!” I say.
She stiffens, and I pull away.
“Hi,” she says back. Her “hi” feels like a wall I have to get over. It only makes me more determined to be her best friend. All of their friends. Because they’re all even more perfect than I could have hoped for. And watching our moms together—I want that. I want friendship that feels as easy as breathing and stretches over years and miles.
Two hours later, and I have made approximately zero progress. For someone who just Instagrammed an unbelievably picturesque #nofilter photo of the sun setting over the lake, I am not feeling so good about things right now. Maybe it’s the way Scarlett alternates between looking at me judgmentally and not looking at me at all. Or maybe I’m imagining that.
I’ve mostly been helping out (read: hiding) in the kitchen. Preparing the mountain of food required to feed nine people. Making sure there are at least a few healthy things on the menu. I’m making my nani’s gosht biryani, except with butternut squash and chickpeas instead of mutton because I’m feeling vegetable deprived. Also, this recipe takes kind of a while, and frying up the onions and simmering the veggies with the yogurt and spices relaxes me (plus, there’s the hiding).
My brother wouldn’t be able to make biryani if his life depended on it. And it’s not a sexist thing—my parents are big on that. More like: I’ve always felt the need to be at Nani’s elbow when she is in the kitchen, soaking up everything she is saying and showing her that I can make everything just so. Sometimes there’s this little voice telling me that I’m not as Muslim or as Indian as the rest my family. Food makes me feel like I belong.
I pour saffron milk over the rice/veggies/gravy mixture and cover the pan. “Done!”
Val’s wife, Heidi, is cooking some kind of ginger chicken that smells ungodly good, and Momma is making world peace cookies, which are so ridiculously delicious but so full of sugar and butter. There was a time when I would have passed them up. A part of me still wants to, and I have to remind myself there are reasons to eat food other than macros. My stomach growls, and Aunt Val hears it.
“Here.” She hands me a serving plate of hummus, carrots, and pita chips. “Why don’t you see if the girls want some of these?”
“Um, sure.”
I take the plate. Her smile is too big. She is definitely trying to give me an excuse to go out there and talk to the other girls. I think I’d be insulted if I weren’t so grateful. Plus, I’m about to devour this hummus.
When I get to the door, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I have to try harder to be the kind of person they’ll like. To be cool. Confident. Confident Ellie skips out to the deck and places the plate on the table. “I come bearing snacks!”
I wince at the perkiness in my voice. So does Scarlett. I freaking knew it! She hates me.
I sit down anyway, but I don’t reach for a carrot. I don’t feel so hungry anymore.
Scarlett
Ellie of the anemic side-hugs plops down next to me like being at this lake house is the absolute worst thing that has ever happened to her. (Spoiler alert: It probably is.)
She’s pretty. Too pretty. Mean pretty. It’s like a law of physics: People who are that b
eautiful cannot also be nice. I cross my arms so that my scars don’t show. I used to wear long-sleeved shirts all the time, even in summer, to hide them, and I may be a lot more confident now, but something about this girl puts me in protection mode.
“Do you want some?”
“What?” I realize Amelia Grace is pushing the snack plate in my direction. “Oh, um, sure.”
I take some pita and rake it through the hummus. Mmm, somebody got the roasted red pepper kind.
I check my phone. Dad called me again. Twice. So now the constant loop of what’s-happening-to-us, how-am-I-going-to-survive-this gets some extra stress stirred in: What is Dad doing right now? Is he gonna drive out here since we’re not answering? Is Mama gonna freak out on him? I can’t handle this.
Skyler
Maybe I’ll write a book this summer.
Ellie
I cross my legs. Then uncross them. Then cross them again.
Nope. This isn’t awkward at all.
Skyler
Or start a podcast.
Amelia Grace
Holy crap, my hand just touched Scarlett’s when we both went for a carrot just now. Not that she noticed. Or cared. Or even looked up from her phone.
Scarlett
WHY IS REESE HANGING OUT WITH CARTER RIGHT NOW? She just posted a selfie of them at the bowling alley with the caption Careful. This guy’s a shark. I bite down hard on the insides of my cheeks, but I manage to stop before I break the skin. Calm down. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. When I do, I notice that Sky’s friend, Paige, is eating nachos behind them.
Paige is a notorious over-poster. And I have never been more grateful. I go to her account. There they are. Not just Reese and Carter, but at least seven people from school. They’ve got two whole lanes to themselves.
So, okay. It’s not like he’s on a date, and he’s allowed to have friends. I pop back to the photo of him with Carter. But do they have to be sitting so close together?
Skyler
I’d need a topic for the podcast. How to Cope with Your Parents’ Divorce? Meh. I don’t know if that’s something I’m ready to talk about on the interwebs yet. I just—I’m tired of feeling crappy about losing softball, and I want to use all that extra time to do something big, you know?
Ellie
I can’t take it anymore.
“So, do you guys come here a lot?”
Skyler is staring blankly at the sunset, but Scarlett looks up from her phone. Holy resting bitch face, her eyebrows are intense.
“I mean, yeah. It’s our lake house.”
Right. Guess I deserved that one. I laugh and try to make my voice even brighter. “Yeah, I guess I just meant, like, do you guys have friends that you hang out with around here? Like, lake friends?”
OMG, every time I say the word “like,” I swear her eye twitches.
“Yes.” She says it almost indignantly.
“Oh! Are any of them boys?”
Is it possible to roll your eyes at someone telepathically? Because that is totally what she does.
“I have a boyfriend at home.” Again with the indignance. She goes back to her phone.
I dial up my smile until it hurts. “Cool! So, more boys for me!”
She tilts her head back up. Gives me the deadliest of side-eyes. “There’s a lot of other stuff to do here.”
Skyler
Maybe a memoir would be better than a podcast. Or a novel. Wait, crap, when did things go DEFCON 5?
I do a quick rewind of the conversation in my head. Boys. Stuff to do. I don’t get why Scarlett is being so dang salty. But then, why is my sister ever being salty?
“There are so many cool things to do here!” I rush to say. I need to give this tension a good roundhouse kick to the face or this is going to be one awkward summer. “We can go wakeboarding and tubing.” Both of which require fully functional finger joints. “And ride Jet Skis!” Which would totally wreck my body right now. “And we can take the boat on moonlit cruises and go swimming. Scarlett does a mean cannonball.”
I nudge my sister. This is your chance to not be an a-hole.
“Sounds awesome!” says Ellie, just as Scarlett says, “Yeah. When I was twelve.”
“Scarlett!” I hiss.
She smashes her phone down on the table. “What, Sky?” She sighs, the angry kind. “I’m sorry I’m not bulletproof like you, but I can’t do this right now. I don’t know why Mama thought this was a good idea. Our parents—” Her hazel eyes go glassy, and she can’t finish her sentence. Then she tightens her jaw, and her fists, and her everything, and rolls her head around on her neck. “They fucked everything up,” she finally says.
She marches off, leaving fires in her wake that I’ll be forced to put out.
Yes, Scarlett, I’m aware. They are my parents too. Oh, and in addition to that, I’ve lost my favorite thing to do in the whole world, and I hurt all the time.
But, you know, my feelings could never be as deep or important or painful as your Scarlett Feelings, so by all means, let’s make this all about you just like we do EVERYTHING ELSE.
I’m breathing heavier, and there are flashes in my head of Mama and Daddy fighting after my softball game, but I shove it all down until I can pretend it doesn’t hurt me anymore. It’s funny how even the people who know you best can get it so wrong. I’m not bulletproof. Not at all. I’ve just learned to hide the impact. Because when I don’t, I’m not the one who ends up bleeding.
I put on a candy-coated smile. “I’m really sorry about that. How ’bout I show y’all where we’ll be staying this summer? You’re going to love the carriage house.”
Amelia Grace
I only look around for Scarlett a little bit as we walk with Skyler to the cars to get our stuff.
There was this time in seventh grade. Mom used to nag me about not dressing up for church. And one day I saw this picture of Emma Watson on someone’s Tumblr. It wasn’t even new or anything, but she had this short pixie cut, all tousled up, and a white sleeveless tuxedo shirt and suspenders. She looked so dang cool. I remember thinking, maybe dressing up could be all right after all. I made an appointment at Charmaine’s the same day. I usually wore my straight brown hair in a ponytail, but I showed the stylist the photo, and said, “Please, can you make me look like this?” And she grinned and said, “This is going to be fantastic.” And she snipped and she moussed and when she was all done, she turned me around to face the mirror, and I whispered, “This is amazing.”
I already had a white button-up, so I cut off the sleeves just above the elbow and rolled them up (not as cool as E.W.’s tuxedo shirt, but we do what we can). I found a pair of black suspenders at Walmart. The next morning, I put the whole outfit together. I even wore eyeliner.
And I went to school.
I emailed Scarlett crying as soon as I got home.
A lot of people were whispering and snickering. I noticed people talking to me less, even my friends, and this guy Casey called me something awful at lunch. But the thing that hurt the most was when I was playing basketball during gym with my friend Jacob. I made a jump shot with a perfect swish, and he said, “Can’t you just dress like a girl? I’m not saying you have to be like Melanie Jane Montgomery, but it would make things so much easier for you.”
I asked Scarlett if she thought I should stop wearing so many boy clothes. And I’ll never forget her email back.
I pull it up on my phone while I wait for Ellie to unload a truly impressive amount of matching purple luggage from her mom’s car.
Dear Ames (I loved that she always started the emails with “dear.” It made me feel like the heroine of some old-timey love story.)
I’m sorry people are so terrible. If it makes you feel any better, they’re terrible here too. Sometimes I get so upset, I bite my lip or, like, my mouth on the inside. Today, I bit down so hard, my lower lip got stuck on my teeth and I had to pull it off. It was gross. You’re the only person I’ve ever told, so please don’t te
ll anyone, okay?
Anyway, sorry, I wasn’t trying to make this email about me. I guess I was just trying to say that you’re not alone. And also, I like the way you dress. You look cool as hell, and I don’t think you should change it for anyone. Not even one little thing. Because you’re amazing.
xoxo,
Scarlett
We used to know exactly what to say to each other and exactly how to be there. Half of me feels like I should have run after her just now, and the other half of me feels like a stranger and my best friend are living inside the same person. Have you ever built up a moment in your head until it’s this huge unwieldy thing, and when you finally get to it, all you can do is choke? And the worst part is how you can feel yourself going down in flames and you’re powerless to stop it and you wish you could get a redo and make it like any one of the billion possibilities you’d imagined because it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
That’s what being with Scarlett is like right now.
Ellie
Skyler doesn’t offer to help me carry my stuff, but that’s okay because I’m a travel badass, and I can wheel two roller suitcases while holding a purse and a beach bag. It would be a whole lot easier if I wasn’t wheeling them on gravel though. One of the wheels gets stuck for the fifth (fiftieth?) time, and Amelia Grace offers to carry one of the suitcases for me, since she only has a duffel bag.
“Thanks,” I say, flashing her a grateful smile.
Skyler bites her lip. “Yeah, thanks, Ames. Sorry, I, um—Anyway, here’s the carriage house.”
I’ve only ever read the words “carriage house” in Momma’s journals, but it appears to be an apartment stacked on top of a really big garage. Something about the shape of the windows or the cross-hatching of the wood seems vaguely magical, though that could just be my brain going to town over the word “carriage.” Skyler opens the door to the garage, which has room for two cars and a boat, and leads us up the stairs to the apartment above. It’s really charming—one long skinny room with a sloped ceiling and lots of exposed wood in a sun-bleached gray. On one side, there’s a kitchen and breakfast bar, on the other, a living room with a sectional couch with cheery yellow throw pillows. Next to that room is a bedroom with two sets of bunk beds. It’s cute, everything done up in red, white, and blue like a Taylor Swift Fourth of July party. I look for the other bedroom. Door number one is a bathroom. Door number two is a storage closet. I reach for the handle of door number three. It is a linen closet/laundry room combo with a tiny stackable washer/dryer. It is not a bedroom. HOLY CRAP THERE IS ONLY ONE BEDROOM AND THE FOUR OF US ARE SHARING IT. From a BFF perspective, this is fabulous news, but oh gosh, the bathroom. There is only one of those too, and I have a lot of hair, and I do not wake up looking like this, people!
The Summer of Impossibilities Page 6