The Summer of Impossibilities

by Rachael Allen

  Scarlett’s lips purse in a way that suggests it is, in fact, a very big deal. Based on how squirrelly Skyler looks, I’m inclined to agree. But Scarlett simply says, “Okay.”

  “Okay?!”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you!” Sky hugs her, and she looks pleased and a touch embarrassed by the public display of sisterly affection.

  “Also, it’s your turn to share,” says Skyler.

  Scarlett makes a face. “Um, pass?”

  “No passing!” yells Ellie.

  “We’re here for you,” I say.

  Scarlett nods, and her tough girl persona falls away. I feel like I can’t breathe.

  “Something happened with Reese, and I’m still trying to figure it out. Is it okay if I talk about it next time?”

  “Of course,” Ellie rushes to say. “You tell us whenever you’re ready.”

  I can’t shake the feeling I’ve dodged a bullet.

  Ellie

  The smashing the scale post I made with Sky has more likes than any of my other Instagram posts ever. By double. And the comments. I can’t believe how many people are connecting with what I wrote.

  Love this post!

  Thank you for sharing this!

  Wow, this is really powerful and inspiring.

  And yes, I am a teenage girl on Instagram, and I wore workout pants and a tank top in the post, so I’m getting the usual creepers and mouth-breathers with their “Hey ur hot,” and “How old are you? You seem like an old soul. DM me.” But for every one of them, there are five girls telling me: “I went through the same thing.” And “Your post made me realize that I need to work on my relationship with my body.” And “I smashed my scale today too, and I’m not getting another. Thank you.”

  I’m working on another post now, one about tennis. Sky just took a billion shots of me playing so we could get the perfect picture. She scrolls through them while we sit on the dock and eat nectarines.

  “What do you think of this one?” She pushes her phone in front of me.

  I’m right in the middle of a serve, and every muscle in my body is flexed, and there’s a look of pure determination on my face. It’s #strongisbeautiful if I’ve ever seen it.

  “It’s amazing,” I say.

  But my face must be giving me away because Skyler frowns. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m worried about the posts. I mean, it’s not like people don’t post stuff like this. There were definitely people like that who were inspiring for me when the recovery was the hardest. But.”

  Sky doesn’t say anything. Just waits till I’m ready. I love that she does that.

  “But I guess I feel like, did I really have anorexia? Because I’m not sure I did. And then, do I really deserve to be making inspirational recovery posts or is it fake?” It’s easy to pretend about cold eggs or doing yoga on top of a cliff, but these are my very most vulnerable and important parts. If someone doesn’t like them, it means something.

  “Hey, of course it’s not fake. If it’s your real story, it doesn’t matter that it’s not exactly the same story someone else had.”

  Relief washes over me. “I think that about a lot of things. Not being enough.”

  Not anorexic enough. Not Indian enough. Not Muslim enough.

  “I think you should do it,” says Sky. “If you think it would help you and if you think it would help other people. And Ellie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think you’re enough.”

  I almost start crying. I can’t even get out the words “thank you,” so I take her hand and squeeze it tight. After a couple minutes, I type up a caption and post the photo.

  Tennis is one of the most important things in my life. It’s a big part of why I knew I had to change the way I was thinking about food and eating. Not having enough energy for a two-hour tennis practice? Yeah, that’s not gonna work for me. Sometimes I wonder what it must be like to be a guy. To just worry about playing tennis, instead of having to worry about what you look like, what you’re wearing, if you’re fat or skinny—all while trying to be the best.

  My legs are bigger now than they were two years ago. Because I’m stronger.

  I have so much more energy, and my tennis is taking off in ways I couldn’t have dreamed of.

  I’m focused on what my body can do. Not what it looks like or how much it weighs.

  And I’m only just beginning to learn what I’m capable of.

  Skyler and I sit at the picnic table side by side, staring out at the lake, and I think about my Other Goal. And then I think: I’ve done it. Even if nothing ever happens with Amelia Grace and Scarlett hates me forever, this thing that’s happening with me and Skyler, we’re becoming the kind of friends I’ve grown up my whole life hearing about. And the things I’ve been telling myself? I’m wrong. I’m not some kind of unfriendable person. I just told Skyler some of the biggest, darkest things about me, and she still likes me. She might even like me more. And I don’t need to do stupid stuff like pretend to be Emily Rae to make people like me. Maybe I could just be me.

  Amelia Grace

  Today I’m painting butterflies for a 3-D art installation. When I put them all together, it’ll look like a kaleidoscope of butterflies flying out of a jar and across the nursery wall. (Skyler told me “kaleidoscope” is the official name for a group of butterflies.) Maybe I should go to church with her. I don’t know. I feel so breakable right now.

  Heidi sits across the room folding impossibly tiny clothes into dainty stacks.

  “Hey, Heidi?”

  She keeps folding. “What’s up, sweetie?”

  “Has my mom . . . told you anything about me?”

  “Oh, honey.” She sets down the onesie she’s holding and comes over to sit by me. “I am so sorry about what’s been happening to you.” I feel bad because it looked like kind of a lot of work for her to get up and sit back down. “Your mama and Val have been having more talks than you know. Honestly? I thought I wasn’t going to like her very much, but I think it has less to do with her personal beliefs and more to do with fear. I think she’s going to come around.”

  That’s not something I can really hope for, but it means the world to me that she and Val are trying.

  Heidi squeezes my shoulder. “I need you to know that there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You are such a beautiful soul, and it’s the people around you who are wrong.”

  “Thanks.” I say it so softly because if I don’t, I’ll start crying.

  “I’m from a really small town too, and I’m sure some of them are great, but mine was a lot like yours.” She takes a deep breath and holds it. I can see her strapping down the memories in her brain so they can’t roam free. “I met Val in college.” Her smile lights up her whole face. “Life after small towns is pretty great.”

  I can’t help spinning futures in my head. It’s like she looked inside my brain and told me the thing I was most desperate to hear. Someday, somewhere, I could imagine being all my pieces at once. Queer and kind and messy and creative and earnest and Christian. That reminds me why I started this conversation in the first place.

  “Did you go to church a lot, like me?”

  “I did,” she says quietly.

  A flare of hope. Right in my chest.

  Then I realize Heidi’s smile has gone brittle. “I don’t really do church anymore.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay. It just wasn’t for me.”

  She squeezes my shoulder again. I look around the nursery at the life she and Val are making for this baby.

  It still makes me swell with hope, but I can’t help but wonder. Did Heidi not care about going to church anymore, or did she have to give up one of her important pieces? And I worry. About what it would be like to live in a world where I don’t hide myself. That it won’t be everything I hoped it would be. I hope that I can get there without it costing me any of my important pieces.

  Skyler

&n
bsp; This is officially the most dishonest I have ever been.

  I dial Dr. Levy’s office and pass my sister the phone. She sits up straighter—shoulders down, chin high, back like a ruler. As if adopting Mama’s posture is the first step to mimicking her voice.

  I count the rings. One, two, thr—

  “Hi, there. This is Adeline Kaplan-Gable. I’m calling to make an appointment for my daughter Skyler to see Dr. Levy this week,” my sister says in a clipped Southern voice. Wow, she really can sound a lot like Mama. “Yes. Yes, she is.” Yes, she is what?! My eyes are wild, I can tell, but my sister just shakes her head like, Don’t bother the grown-ups while they’re handling things. “We wanted to talk to Dr. Levy about other treatment options. We feel like her current medication is just not working out. No, our insurance info has not changed. Wednesday at two o’clock would be perfect. Thank you so much, Irene.”

  She hangs up.

  “Wow,” I say. “That was just—WOW.”

  “Right? I’m not gonna lie, I’m feeling pretty damn pleased with myself right now.”

  I do that laugh thing where the laugh comes out your nose instead of your mouth. It’s funny seeing her this way, all confident and beaming.

  “Well, thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “You definitely couldn’t,” she says, bumping me with her hip.

  This time when I laugh, it’s the full kind. I should feel guilty. For lying and for going behind my parents’ backs. Maybe I would if I didn’t need this so much.

  Before I know it, it’s Wednesday and my sister is driving me to “the mall over in Columbia,” aka my clandestine doctor’s appointment.

  “You’re terrible at lying,” she says.

  “I know.”

  “If she asks you directly whether Mama’s okay with this, you’re basically screwed.”

  “I know. Hey, I thought you were supposed to be coaching me in your dishonest ways. How is this helping?”

  Scarlett flips her red hair over her shoulder and turns into the parking lot of Dr. Levy’s office. “Because,” she says, “it’s important to play to your strengths. Okay, so Dr. Levy is going to be asking you stuff, and you’re going to be turning red and acting all shifty because that’s what you do.”

  “Again. Not sure how this is helping.”

  “Because you need to use it. It’s like this—”

  She coaches me right up until it’s time to walk in for my appointment. She even goes inside with me, saying hello to Dr. Levy’s receptionist, Irene, and settling down in the waiting room with a Teen Vogue.

  But in the exam room, I am alone.

  At first, it’s easy. One of the nurses takes my vitals and makes small talk with me. She has unicorns on her scrubs and she smiles a lot.

  Then Dr. Levy arrives. “Hi, Skyler, how are you feeling?” She beams at me. She’s very beamy, Dr. Levy.

  “Good,” I say, because it’s really hard to say anything other than “good” or “fine” when someone is smiling at you like that. I give my head a little shake. “I mean, not good. That’s why I’m here. I don’t think my meds are working. I know we had talked about biologics before, and I know I was the one who said no because needles are really freaking terrible, but . . . I wanted to revisit that.”

  “Of course. Of course.” And then she realizes it. I can tell because her spotlight smile dims down to more of a feeble house lamp. “Skyler, where’s your mother?”

  “Right. Well.” My cheeks go hot and my eyes cut sideways and, for gosh sakes, why can’t I stop touching my hair?! Also, I’m annoyed that Scarlett was so right. But not so annoyed that I won’t take her advice and use my nerves to my advantage. “My, um, my parents are in the middle of separating right now, so my mom’s not actually staying in Winston-Salem, she’s out at our lake house, and uh, she was hoping I could bring the forms to her and she could sign them and give them back.” I duck my head and look at the floor like Scarlett taught me. “She’s—she’s not doing so well.”

  Dr. Levy touches my shoulder. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” She asks me about my pain levels and how much worse it’s been and for how long. Then she nods. “I can send the forms to Adeline, but I can’t send the prescription for the biologic to the pharmacy until she signs them, okay?”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  I feel gross. Like my soul needs fifty showers and also some bleach or some kind of super-advanced cleaner you can only buy on late-night infomercials.

  But underneath that, hope. And it’s more powerful than anything else.

  I walk out of the office with my forms and my plans and my dreams of a pain-free future. Pull my sister out to the parking lot by the hand and squeeze her to me tight.

  “Thank you,” I say into her hair.

  She pulls away, all flustered. “It’s fine, Sky.”

  “Well, thank you anyway. It’s a really big thing that you did for me.”

  I can feel the tears shining in my eyes. My face is basically the living embodiment of a Hallmark movie right now.

  “Well, you’re welcome,” Scarlett says, still clearly uncomfortable. “But I don’t see why you can’t tell our parents and make an appointment the regular way.”

  I try to meet her eyes. I have to force myself—it’s like I’m scared she’ll be able to look into them and see the truth. “I just can’t.”

  Amelia Grace

  I can’t stop thinking about my talk with Heidi. I sit at the coffee table in the carriage house and surround myself with papers and books and Scarlett’s tablet. I don’t even notice when Ellie comes up the stairs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, um.”

  Truth? I was reading this story in Genesis that always comes up when people talk about the Bible and being gay. God is going to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah because the people there are grievous sinners, and two angels come to Lot’s house and break bread with him. All the men of Sodom show up at Lot’s house and demand that he bring out the two men so they can have sex with them. I remember my preacher taking an extra-long pause after reading that part. He wanted it to sink in how bad those men were, men who wanted to have sex with other men.

  But the Bible never actually said that. And I couldn’t help but look around at the faces in the pews and wonder why I was the only one who thought having sex with someone against their will was the real sin here. And then Lot, he’s supposed to be our hero, and this guy is all, no, wait, take my virgin daughters instead. You can do whatever you want with them. Why aren’t we talking about that? Why aren’t we acknowledging that, hey, there was a lot wrong with the way things were back then, and maybe we don’t need to be following every verse to the letter of the law unless we want to be cool with slavery and incest and stoning people who wear cotton blends.

  That seems like an awful lot to unload on Ellie right now, so instead I just say: “Reading. And, um, looking for stuff online about being Christian and gay.”

  Some of the websites hurt, and you just want to close them and give up. But others . . . I don’t know. Maybe it’s too much to hope for. Especially after my talk with Heidi.

  “Oh, yeah?” Ellie’s eyes are big and fearful, like she’s scared she’ll say the wrong thing.

  “Yeah. I’m worried there aren’t churches that believe the same thing as me.”

  She seems genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know where you’re from—sorry, wait, that sounds judgey. I’m just saying that there are, like, seven churches near me, and five of them have pride flags.”

  “Wait, are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  Wow, that’s, I mean, that’s really incredible.

  “I’ve heard of things like that and I know they exist. Theoretically. But growing up where I did, it’s really hard for me to picture it in real life.”

  Ellie scoots some papers over so she can sit next to me on the couch. “I get that. It’s harder to find LGBT-inclusive mosques too. But. I just can’t believe Sky would take you t
o a place where you’d feel uncomfortable. She’s a really good friend.”

  “Yeah.”

  She’s right. Skyler is a good friend. And based on the things she says, it’s hard to picture her at an intolerant church. But sometimes it’s hard to picture me and Mom there too.

  “Hey, I don’t want it to seem like I’m pushing you to go,” says Ellie. “If you don’t feel right going, then don’t.” She squeezes my hand. “I just don’t want that to be the reason why.”

  “Me neither,” I tell her.

  I hope she’s right. Because I feel like there are only so many chances for me, and I don’t think my heart can take it if she’s wrong.

  Scarlett

  I broke up with Nick. Nothing happened with the other guy. Yet. Not that Nick believes me. He was so pissed, I was scared he might pick a fight. But I want things to happen. So many things. I’m scared that I left Nick without actually knowing if anything will happen with this new guy, but I’m more scared of what would have happened if I’d stayed. Because I have all these big dreams, and yes, they include someday being a wife and a mother, but that’s not the whole of them. I don’t think Nick understood that.

  I’m curled in an easy chair in the living room of the big house, half reading the journal Skyler gave me and half eavesdropping on the conversation our moms are having on the deck as it drifts through the open windows. Apparently, my parents have been on another date. This time a lunch one, and this time they didn’t even bother to tell me first. And I know my sister is probably all Team Parent Trap, but I’m not. When someone treats you badly, you can’t expect they’ll ever change.

  I need to make sure these dates aren’t leading anywhere. Which requires me knowing exactly what’s happening.

  “So, how was it?” asks Aunt Seema.

  Mama’s eyes dart over at me for a sec. “Good. His apology spiels are really improving.” She lowers her voice. “I’ll tell you everything after the girls go to the movies.”