Letting Go of Gravity

by Meg Leder

  Harriet, much to my surprise, is holding up a tiny hand mirror and applying bright-coral lipstick in an uneven line across her top lip, then her bottom. She smacks them together loudly.

  “Where’s Alice?” I ask.

  “Sick,” Miss Peggy says.

  “Is she okay?” I ask right as the toilet flushes, and all our heads swivel expectantly to the bathroom door. I’m hoping it’s Finn, but instead, an older Asian man with silvery black hair, a tweed cap, and a bright smile emerges.

  “Good morning!” he says to me.

  “Henry, this is our Parker. And, Parker, this, this, is Henry Chee.” Miss Peggy’s voice is practically a coo as she gestures toward him. “He just moved into Wild Meadows last week, and I told him he had to come with us today.”

  “Nice to make your acquaintance,” Henry says, giving me a firm handshake.

  “Likewise.”

  Harriet looks like she wants to burn down the whole building when Henry chooses to sit on the empty stool next to Miss Peggy.

  “I thought we could do something a little different today, if it’s okay with you guys?” I ask the group.

  “Sure!” Lorna chirps.

  “If it’s okay with Henry,” Miss Peggy says, patting her hand gently on his.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Harriet barks. “It’s all new to him!”

  Henry shoots me an anxious glance, and I immediately feel deeply sorry for him stuck between Harriet and Miss Peggy. I shake my head subtly, sending him psychic messages not to engage. “We’re going to do a group activity.”

  “Oh Lord,” Harriet groans.

  Last night, I couldn’t fall asleep, but for once it wasn’t because of dread circling around me. Instead, my mind kept racing with possibility—the hyper colors of Finn’s secret cathedral like sun spots when I closed my eyes. I ended up getting up in the middle of the night and Googling more about street art, which led me to a page about Stik, a formerly homeless artist who invited a bunch of local schoolkids to paint murals with him in London.

  It sparked today’s plan. I wish Alice were here, as I was hoping the activity would pull her out of her shell a little more, but figure it’s worth trying now anyway.

  I grab five blank mugs and paintbrushes and pass them around. I pull out my phone, then sit down next to Harriet.

  “Nice lipstick,” I murmur. She harrumphs in response, but I could swear she straightens up and puts her shoulders back too, like a bird preening.

  “So today we’re going to paint together. You’ll start on a mug, and after three minutes, you’ll pass it to the person next to you. We’ll go around in a circle until we finish all the mugs.”

  “But what if we don’t like what other people do on our mugs?” Miss Peggy asks.

  I feel Harriet suck her breath in right as Henry says, “We won’t know until we try. I like to think everyone has something to offer.”

  Miss Peggy grimaces, while Harriet looks as pleased as a cat who not only ate the canary but scarfed down every other bird in the pet store.

  “Okay.” I set the timer on my phone. “Go!”

  Everyone starts to paint.

  “Henry, what did you do in your earlier days?” Miss Peggy asks.

  “I was a doctor,” he says, reaching for the red paint at the same time as Lorna. She demurs, pushing it his way. Today, she has on a pale-green shirt, lime-green pants, a bright-green parrot pin.

  “Parker here is going to be a doctor too!” Miss Peggy smiles generously at me.

  Henry arches an eyebrow as he paints his mug handle red. “Is that so?”

  Miss Peggy replies for me. “She’s going to Harvard in the fall. Full scholarship. She’s super smart, this one.”

  “Time!” I say, preferring to pretend my future doesn’t exist right now.

  Lorna looks fretfully at the outline of the blue flower she’s started on her mug. “Pass them on,” I say. She reluctantly hands it to Harriet, who passes me a mug with her furious black slashes around the edge.

  “Henry, this is lovely. Such vision,” Miss Peggy says, holding up the mug he started.

  “But it’s just a red handle,” Henry says uncertainly, and Harriet chuckles.

  “I like red,” Lorna offers. “Maybe I will wear my red outfit tomorrow.”

  “And next round . . . three, two, one, go!” I say.

  “Parker will make a wonderful doctor, just like you,” Miss Peggy says, batting her eyelashes at Henry.

  “That looks great, Harriet.” I point at the small black polka dots she’s painting inside Lorna’s blue petals. They’re not slashes, but they’re still very Harriet.

  “Oh!” Lorna says when she sees what Harriet’s doing, clearly surprised but not unpleasantly so. Harriet tries to hide a smile.

  Miss Peggy clears her throat. “My son Frank said we’ll need more doctors in the next fifty years than ever before. We’re both widowed,” she says to Henry, pointing at herself and Lorna. “God rest our dear husbands’ souls.”

  Henry looks uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation and focuses on painting yet another mug with a red handle. “Well, Harvard is a great place to be. It has one of the best premed programs in the country,” he says.

  I smile weakly at him, leaning over to grab yellow so I can outline Harriet’s jagged black edges.

  Miss Peggy puts her brush down and rests her arm on Henry’s. “Perhaps you could mentor her. I’m sure she’d love to hear more about your days in medicine.”

  “Oh, for chrissakes,” Harriet grumbles. “Just let it be.”

  Surprised, I glance over at my ally. Harriet winks at me.

  Miss Peggy looks wounded, and Henry is focusing intensely on adding another coat of red to the handle of his mug.

  “Time’s up. Pass the mugs again. Now go!”

  I get the mug with the blue flower petals filled with black polka dots and pick up green paint, starting to draw elaborate vines and leaves around the flower.

  Lorna looks slightly confused with the mug she’s received. It’s one of the red-handled ones Henry started. Miss Peggy simply painted more red around the rim. Lorna hesitantly picks up orange paint, looking up for approval, and before I get a chance to nod, Henry leans over to her. “That orange looks really nice with my red.”

  Lorna smiles.

  For the next few minutes, everyone seems to be focused on their painting, but then Miss Peggy clears her throat. “I was just proud of Parker. I didn’t realize it was a problem to be happy for someone here.”

  “It’d be fine if you were doing it for reasons other than your vagina,” Harriet said.

  “Harriet!” Miss Peggy and Lorna and I all exclaim at once.

  At first Henry looks startled, but then he chuckles, giving Harriet an admiring look.

  “Vulgar,” Miss Peggy grumbles.

  “Listen, I appreciate everyone’s support,” I say. “But let’s not talk about me anymore.”

  “So what kind of doctor were you, Henry?” Lorna asks.

  “A cardiologist,” he says, pressing his hand to his chest, wiggling his eyebrows. “I was an expert in matters of the heart.”

  For a second I debate asking him if it’s possible for an eighteen-year-old to have a heart attack. I’m pretty sure it’s all in my head, but what if there’s something really wrong with me, like there was with Charlie?

  But then Harriet cackles out loud. “Aren’t you something?”

  My eyes meet Lorna’s across the table, and she looks just as shocked as I feel: Harriet’s flirting. Meanwhile, Miss Peggy sulkily pushes away the red paint she was using and grabs a dark brown instead, painting brown blobs over Henry’s red handle.

  After the last round, it’s clear Miss Peggy’s feelings are still hurt, as she won’t respond with anything other than monosyllabic grunts and has refused to paint anything other than brown spots on the red handles Henry has added to every single mug.

  Henry, Harriet, Lorna, and I, however, are having a good time.

&n
bsp; Lorna tells us all about her days as a court stenographer in downtown Cincinnati and how she always wished she could be a lawyer. Her eyes are dreamy, wistful, and more than once I see Henry sneaking glances at her.

  Meanwhile, Harriet regales us with tales of her time as a showgirl at a Coney Island dance revue and how she had so many lovers, she lost count.

  I blush at Harriet’s stories, focusing on my painting, but Henry laughs throughout, and even Lorna looks impressed.

  When Carla comes up an hour later, she lets out a pleased chuckle, and for the first time, I take a closer look at our work. Surprisingly enough, the mugs look kind of good. Lorna’s blue flowers have just the right amount of edge with Harriet’s black accents, and I think the touches of yellow and green I’ve added complement Miss Peggy’s and Henry’s polka-dot handles.

  “Nice job, everyone,” she says delightedly.

  Miss Peggy mutters something under her breath, but Carla smiles at me across the room.

  Good work, she mouths to me, and I feel something warm in my chest, a sun rising.

  Thirty-Seven

  “HOW IS THE CANCER support group going these days, Charlie?” Mom asks.

  “Shockingly not terrible,” he replies, and I look up from my plate, surprised. Dad’s fork freezes midair.

  Up until now, anytime any of us have asked about Charlie’s group, we’ve gotten noncommittal grunts in response.

  Dad and I gave up a while ago, but Mom keeps trying. Even though she’s nicer about it, underneath she’s just as stubborn as Charlie sometimes.

  “There’s a new counselor named Peg,” Charlie continues. “She’s a breast cancer survivor and she’s pretty badass. She was talking about how when she finally went into remission, things weren’t as easy as she expected, but she kept focusing on hope. . . .” He stops when he notices the looks on our faces. “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just good to hear you talking about it, that’s all,” Mom says.

  Charlie shrugs. “By the way, can I use your car tonight?”

  Mom gives me an inquiring look, and I shake my head. “I don’t have any plans.”

  “You heading to the batting cages?” Dad asks.

  “No,” he says, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’m going out with my friend Ruby.”

  “Your friend Ruby?” I ask.

  “Is this a date?” Mom asks.

  I expect Charlie to explode, but instead he just blushes.

  Dad looks confused.

  “You’re going on a date with Ruby?” I ask. “My Ruby?”

  “She’s not your Ruby,” Charlie says.

  “Who’s Ruby?” Dad says.

  “I’m happy to hear you’re making new friends,” Mom adds.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I start, thinking of what Matty said about Charlie cheating on Erin.

  “Will someone please tell me who Ruby is?” Dad asks.

  “Does Ruby want to come over for dinner sometime?” Mom offers.

  Charlie groans. “This is why I never tell any of you anything.”

  “We’re sorry,” Mom says.

  Dad still looks confused. “What are we sorry about?”

  “I’m not sorry,” I say. “You should have told me.”

  Charlie grabs a dinner roll, stuffing half of it in his mouth while talking. “I’m telling you now. Besides, why do I have to tell you anything? She’s my friend too.”

  I fix my gaze evenly on him. “Charlie, if you mess with Ruby’s heart, I will murder you.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “I’m not kidding. I know about you and Erin.”

  “What happened with Erin?” Dad asks.

  “Nothing, all right?” Charlie snaps at him before turning back to me. “You don’t know the first thing about me and Erin.”

  “I know what Matty told me that night at the river.”

  His face blanches. “God, I can’t catch a break with you, can I?” he asks, voice cracking in frustration.

  Mom clears her throat, giving Dad and me warning looks before turning back to my brother. “Charlie, I’m sorry we’re not respecting your privacy,” she says. “We all look forward to you sharing when and if you want to share.”

  “But—” I start, but Mom cuts me off, her face making it clear we are changing the subject. Right. Now. “Parker, how was your internship today? You haven’t talked much about it lately,” she asks.

  Crud.

  I slink back in my seat. “It’s good,” I offer, which isn’t exactly a lie. After class today, I overheard Henry telling Carla he was so glad he came. “It’s really good, actually. There was a new patient in the pediatric ward today named Henry, and I think he was feeling really overwhelmed about being there, but I helped him fit in.”

  “That must be so hard for his family,” Mom says, and for a second I feel guilty about my lie.

  Dad jumps in. “Are you making some good contacts? You know, any contact you make now is only going to help you in the long run. These are the people who might hire you someday.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I nod, purposefully shoving a forkful of salad in my mouth.

  Dad looks pleased, but when I look over at Charlie, he has this knowing expression on his face, like he can tell I’m lying.

  I shift uneasily and remind myself he doesn’t know anything about the internship.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Mom says. “I ran into Mrs. Delaney at the grocery store the other day. . . .”

  This change of subject 100 percent works.

  “She was asking all about you. She says the boys miss you a lot. Evidently, they locked their new babysitter out of the house. Helen had to come home from work to let her in.”

  “That sounds about right,” I say. “Remember that afternoon I had to call poison control to determine if eating toy slime was dangerous?”

  “It’s a miracle those kids are still alive,” Dad says.

  “Helen also said she thought she saw you the other afternoon, at the Float in the middle of the day. . . .”

  Uh-oh.

  “But I told her you must have another twin out in the world.”

  I smile weakly, but Charlie leans forward eagerly. “That’s weird. A Parker look-alike at the Float when the real Parker’s at her internship? Huh. What are the odds? Do you know, little sister? It’s not like you could be in two different places at the same time.” He gives me a taunting smile, and my mouth flaps open, then closes again, the rest of me freezing in sheer panic.

  Charlie knows.

  I don’t know how he found out, but he knows.

  I abruptly stand. “I’m going to start the dishes,” I say, taking my half-full plate of chicken and rice and walking into the kitchen.

  Underneath the sound of my heart, I hear my parents in the dining room.

  “Hon, we need to talk about our strategy for winning euchre tonight. I’m tired of the Dickersons winning.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  As they discuss the benefits of “leading trump on defense,” I scrape my leftover food into the garbage and rinse the dishes before I put them in the dishwasher.

  I’m trying to stay calm, but what I really want to do is throw the dishes on the floor and run out of the house and keep running and never stop.

  Charlie saunters into the kitchen with his dishes, Mustard following him in a quest for table scraps, and I take Charlie’s plate, wishing he’d just leave already.

  Instead he leans against the counter, arms folded, legs crossed, expression smug, like he’s watching a tennis match and his guy is winning.

  I cut to the chase. “How’d you find out?”

  “I stopped by the Float at lunch earlier this week and saw you going into that pottery place. And when I went back the next day, you were there again. Your nails finally made sense.”

  “My nails?” I look down.

  “Yeah. There’s been a lot of dirt under your fingernails. You wouldn’t last more than two minutes at Children’s with those germ-
infested fingers.” He shrugs, but then he looks at me, and this time his expression is more careful, arms at his sides. “Is everything okay—” he starts.

  “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” I interrupt.

  He rolls his eyes and looks away, folding his arms again. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Are you going to warn Ruby off of me?”

  I frown. “Is this blackmail?”

  He sighs in frustration. “I was kind of hoping it was more me asking you to give me a chance with her, but yeah, if you want to put it like that, be my guest.”

  “Ruby’s my friend, and she has a really big heart, so you have to be careful with her. I’m not kidding, Charlie.”

  “I’m not either!” he snaps. And then he takes a breath, refusing to look at me. “I like her, all right?”

  His confession sits there still and heavy between us while the world goes on around us, the sound of Mr. Edwards mowing the lawn outside the screen window, Mom and Dad still strategizing in the dining room, Mustard chirruping at my feet, twining himself between my legs.

  I wish I could let it go, but I don’t trust him not to hurt her.

  “I just don’t think you and Ruby are a good idea,” I say.

  “God, I’m so sick of this,” he mutters.

  “Sick of what?”

  “Sick of how you treat me. Sick of how you won’t ever give me a chance. Sick of how you constantly think you know what’s best.”

  I flinch.

  “You want blackmail? Okay, here it is. You do anything to ruin me and Ruby, the jig is up on your internship, okay? How’s that for a ‘good idea’?”

  My heart is pounding so hard, it might fly out of my mouth. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

  “Well, that makes two of us.”

  I turn my back on him, focusing on washing the food off the plate so he doesn’t see my hands shaking. “If you even remotely think of breaking her heart, all bets are off,” I say.

  I wait for him to agree, but when I look over my shoulder, he’s long gone.

  Thirty-Eight

  AN HOUR LATER, I’M sitting on our porch swing with my laptop, one foot tucked under me, replaying Charlie’s words, debating whether or not I just made the wrong decision regarding him and Ruby.