by Eli Lang
I glanced up at my gran. “What are you going to do with them all?”
She shrugged, but it was a lot like the shrug Zevi had given me, when I’d been telling him about how unhappy this was making Gran. A casual thing that didn’t mean anything casual at all.
“I can’t take them with me. Not all of them.” She peered around at the piles, and the books still on their shelves, like I was doing. Then she looked back at me. There was another chair in the corner of the room, and she gestured at it. “Come sit.”
I did, careful when I moved the chair so I wouldn’t bump it into any of the stacks. When I was seated and facing her, she sighed. Her hands were folded protectively over the books she held in her lap, and she glanced down at them before she brought her gaze back up to me. “These are my favorite things.”
I nodded. That was pretty clear. I’d always known that, somewhere in the back of my mind—you didn’t sleep surrounded by that many books if you weren’t really into them. But it seemed different now, not so much things she liked a lot, but things she loved.
She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. These . . .” She skimmed her thumb over the cover of one of the books. “These are my life.”
I shook my head back at her. “I do get it, actually. That”—I pointed at the way her hands cradled the books—“is how I hold my drums. You look at those books like Tuck looks at his guitar.” It was the first time I’d thought of Tuck since the morning before, and it surprised me. Tuck was usually the first and last thing on my mind, every day. But I’d been . . . distracted.
I didn’t even know if Gran knew who Tuck was. I wasn’t sure if she knew the name of my band, when it came right down to it. It wasn’t something we talked about. It wasn’t something anyone but me and Zevi talked about. It was like the family secret—my parents were proud of me. I thought they were, at least. But we didn’t talk about my music any more than we had to, and it didn’t get mentioned around Gran by extension.
She tilted her head, like she wanted to study me. “All right. You do know, then.”
I started to say that, actually, maybe she was the one who didn’t know, because my drums were a part of me. They were the basis for everything I did, how I made my living, how I’d found my friends. How I expressed myself and left my mark. Music was my entire world. And I didn’t care how many books she’d collected, it couldn’t be quite the same. But her fingers were rubbing over the cover again—a shiny modern one. It seemed like she had stuff from her childhood all the way to the present—and I clamped my mouth shut. Maybe it wasn’t the same, but these were obviously important. Maybe they were a part of her in a different way.
“What will you do with them?” I asked again, a little bit more gently this time.
She took a deep breath, and seemed to straighten. “I want to sort them all. Pick out my favorites to go with me. As many as I can take. See if anyone wants any of them—you or Zevi. The girls won’t, I don’t think,” she said, referring to my mother and my aunt. “And then . . . some of them are valuable. You can sell them, if you like. Everything else can go to a library. I’ve already called them.”
I glanced around at us. “I don’t think we need to sort them for that. Unless you can’t remember which are your favorites.” It would take us forever. I’d be sorting these things long after she left for the assisted-living place.
She shook her head, slowly. “It’ll help the library.” She stared up at me, right at me. Her eyes were crystal clear. It wasn’t as if she’d gotten old and lost her mind. It was only her body that was failing her, and it wasn’t her fault. “Humor me. I want to be with them for a little longer. I want someone to love them before they go.”
I couldn’t fix her achy knees, and I couldn’t really tell her, as anything more than a comfort, that she didn’t have to go to assisted living. I couldn’t make this better for her in any way. Except, I could sort her books for her. I could go through them with her, and by myself if it took longer, and she’d at least know they were being cared for. It felt silly, even as I thought it, but I knew that if it were me, I’d want someone to do the same. Decide what to do with my drum sets and CDs and the tour stuff I’d collected, with some care. To take the time and remember that these things had been the biggest part of my life.
I let my breath out in a whoosh. “Okay. No problem. Tell me where to start.”
By the time Zevi came to find me later, the sun was sinking in the sky, and I hadn’t even noticed when my dad had come to pick up some of the larger pieces of furniture. I’d spent the afternoon surrounded by the books. I’d thought to maybe do it quickly, but even if I’d wanted to, or if Gran had, I’d gotten distracted by them. Lost in their titles and the beautiful covers. I found myself reading blurbs and first pages, holding them up so my gran could explain them to me, tell me about whatever I wanted to know. She hadn’t had room for books she didn’t like, so she knew all these backwards and forwards, and sometimes when I held one up for her—most of the time—she smiled like I was reintroducing her to an old friend. She encouraged me to get a box and take anything I thought I might want. I figured I could always ship them. Media Mail was cheap enough, and when was I going to get a chance to get my hands on so many books again? After a while, I even got up and grabbed a pen and paper and started writing down notes about the things my gran said, and tucking the notes into the covers, so I could remember.
I’d never had an afternoon like that, had never had any time like that, with my grandmother. It wasn’t like I knew her any better. It was, instead, conversely, like I was realizing more and more how little I knew her at all. But it didn’t hurt as much as I might have expected. I was glad to be able to see her as a person, and not just this figure in my life. As someone who had had a life of her own, and still did.
When Zevi was done for the day and came downstairs to get me, he had to clap his hands from the doorway to get my attention. When I looked up, Gran had left her seat, and aside from Zevi, I was alone in the room with the books. I shook my head, trying to clear it. My eyes were gritty and my hands were dusty. Zevi smiled at me, wry but not quite exasperated, and I wondered how many times he’d called my name.
“What are you doing?”
I gestured at the books. “This.”
He stared for a second, but he didn’t ask me anything else, didn’t wonder about why I was doing this and not something more important, and I remembered all over again why I loved him. Then I wondered why it was me doing it and not Zevi. If anything, I’d always thought Zevi and Gran were closer than Gran and I were. But I was selfishly glad it was me. Now that I’d started, I wanted to do it.
I sighed and brushed a hand through my hair, worked a couple of tangles out with my fingers. When I focused again, on Zevi and everything around me, it was like the world had taken a minute to settle back into place. It was almost like I’d been keeping it at bay while I was here in this bedroom. Forgotten it for a little while, tuned out and turned all my energy to what I was doing. And now it was back.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. I saw I had two new messages too. A quick check told me one was Tuck, and one was Cara. Tuck’s was long, but Cara’s was only a hello and an It was good to see you. Short, but it made me go all warm inside. I hadn’t known whether to expect anything from her. I’d been too nervous to send my own text. I’d planned to . . . work up to it. Figure out the perfect thing to say, even if it was as simple as her message. But now she’d made it easy for me.
I couldn’t spend too much time on either message right then, though. I looked back up at Zevi. “You heading out?”
He nodded. “Dinner with my mom. You want to come?”
I did and I didn’t. I hadn’t seen my aunt yet, and I probably should. But I wasn’t really feeling up to family discussions. I wanted to go somewhere, somewhere I could sit and stare at the text from Cara. Or maybe run for a while. I’d been sitting too long.
And the message from Tuck was still th
ere too. I hadn’t called him back yesterday. I needed to talk to him.
I shook my head. “What’s Gran doing?”
He huffed out a laugh. “I asked her if she wanted to go too. She told me she needed some quiet time to herself, and to go away.”
“Oh.” That sounded like Gran.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I nodded and he left. I spent a few minutes gathering up books, and then I stood and leaned back, hands on my hips. My spine popped and cracked, stiff from sitting for so long. I hadn’t even noticed. I picked up the handful of books I’d been sorting through and stuffed them in my bag. The box Gran had told me to use was almost full, but I wanted to start a couple that had really intrigued me. Might as well bring them with me.
When I straightened, Gran was standing in the doorway, where Zevi had been. She didn’t pause like he had, though. She shuffled past me and sank down onto the bed. She flicked out her hand, pointing at one of the stacks of books, and I hesitated, then grabbed the top one and brought it to her. She nodded.
“Thank you. Now you can go.”
That was sentiment for you. I wondered, for a split second, if my grandmother loved those books more than she loved me. Then I turned the thought on myself and wondered if I loved my drums more than her. I couldn’t decide. I honestly couldn’t tell. I knew what I should feel, but I didn’t know if I did. And maybe that was okay. Fair, in a way, for both of us. Cold, too, to think that way, and I knew most people would pity us both if they knew I was even asking myself those questions. But Gran didn’t bullshit, and I didn’t want to, either. I knew our relationship was fucked up. Maybe it was better for me to realize that and accept that somewhere, things hadn’t gone the way they were supposed to, exactly, rather than try to pretend things were different than the truth.
“See you tomorrow,” I said over my shoulder as I turned toward the door.
“Ava.” Her voice made me stop and turn around. She was staring at me, taking me in the same way she had when I’d met her in the kitchen. “Enjoy those.” She gestured to my heavy bag, and her tone was softer, gentler. A little more personal, in a way.
I nodded once. “Thank you.” I found that I meant it. When I walked out of the still too-silent house and tossed my bag full of books in the passenger seat of my rental car, it was like I’d taken a piece of the place with me. Or maybe a piece of my gran. And it was a good piece. A piece I wanted.
I could have gone straight back to my parents’, but there weren’t any dinner plans, and I didn’t feel like going home yet. I took some of the same back roads as yesterday. I didn’t know why I suddenly had this desire to drive down roads I’d been down a thousand times before. It was just that I felt like I’d never really seen them. Like they’d been commonplace and now they . . . weren’t. They appeared even more different with the setting sun, the light throwing gold shadows on everything, that slight haze in the air that only happened on late-summer evenings, when the sun was still up long past the time it should have been. Maybe it was because I’d seen so many roads over the last few years, traveling from venue to venue. Or maybe it was because it was only now, for whatever reason, hitting me how different this place where I’d grown up was from the place I called home.
Instead of driving through the middle of town again, I took a road that led me, for a while, deeper into the woods, past houses that were tucked so far back it was hard to say what colors they were painted. The street eventually emerged from the trees to run by a lake, and I pulled into the little parking lot in front of the miniscule strip of sand that we’d always called a beach. I parked and got out, did some stretches to work out the stiff places in my muscles from all that sitting. I jogged down to the sand and then back, feeling my heart beat faster.
The beach and the parking lot were deserted now, so I could run around the edge of it in a wide circle and not worry about anyone else being there. In the daytime, it would be full of parents and little kids, getting sunburned while they ate popsicles. Later, when the sun went down, it’d probably be packed with teenagers. We’d come here, when I was in high school, to meet up and smoke and make out. We’d pretended no one knew we were there, that it was our own place. It had always been busy here, but right now, it was empty and quiet, and that was the only thing that made it feel any different than it had before.
I ran a couple more laps, not exerting myself too much, but working off some energy, before I went back to the car and opened the driver’s-side door to sit. I leaned back and let the chilly breeze move over me, smelling the rot and greenness of the lake, the way it was fresh and bitter and foreign and familiar, all at the same time. I felt like I was swimming in memories, half-formed sensations and feelings, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to try to escape from them or not.
I dug my phone out of my pocket and called Tuck. I still hadn’t read his message, but it wouldn’t matter. Tuck and I were always on the same wavelength, always knew what the other was thinking. It was why we were so good together.
It took him a long time to answer, and I remembered the time difference, figuring that, since I was late on my dinner, he might be having his. With Lissa. Maybe they’d gone out. Or maybe they were at home, their home, together, and I was interrupting.
I almost hung up then, flustered with how much that idea bothered me, but Tuck picked up before I could.
“Where have you been?” he asked without bothering to even say hello. “Micah said he talked to you, but you don’t answer the phone for me? Baby. Where did we go wrong?”
A laugh burst out of me. I couldn’t help it. Tuck was ridiculous, and not really funny at all, but he always made me laugh anyway.
I could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again, but he was a little more serious this time. “How are you, Ava? Micah said you got there okay and everything.”
“Why does everyone wonder that?” I asked. “If my plane fell out of the sky, you would know. You’d have seen it on the news.”
He thought about it for a second. “I think it’s an excuse,” he said finally. “You know. So we can talk to people we miss, without saying something stupid like, ‘It’s only been a day, but I miss you.’”
My heart thumped hard in my chest. Some days, when it was simply me and Tuck and we were friends like friends should be, I thought maybe I could get over him. Maybe he wouldn’t say something or do something that would make me fall for him all over again. Maybe he wouldn’t say things that would make my heart act like this. But it never lasted. He was my best friend, and I’d spent most of my adult life standing beside him. He shouldn’t be able to surprise me anymore, or make me weak in the knees. But he kept doing it anyway.
“I did tell Micah I missed him,” I confessed. “I was lonely, though. Only reason.”
He sighed into the phone. There was some noise behind him, like people were talking, or a TV was on, and I heard him move away from it. A door shut behind him, cutting the sound off. “You can always say that to me, you know.”
“No, I can’t.” I chewed on my lip. “Lissa will be jealous. Not supposed to say that to someone else’s boyfriend.”
“No, she won’t. She likes you. And fuck what you’re not supposed to do.”
“I like her too.” And I did. That was the thing. Lissa was . . . genuinely kind. Not that fake, snarky nice that some people pulled on like a cloak, the kind that made you want to slap that niceness out of them so you could see the truth. Lissa was quiet and shy, but thoughtful in a way that was sweet and just fucking awesome. I’d have wanted her around regardless, because she seemed like such a damn good person, without hidden motives. I knew why Tuck loved her, because it was obvious. But she was with Tuck. And I was in love with Tuck. And that was the crux of the problem for me.
Tuck was quiet on the other end of the line, waiting. “I wish I wasn’t here,” I said, instead of saying I missed him. I knew I could tell him that, and he wouldn’t think it was odd. But I also knew that if I said the words, I’d put more into
them than I wanted to, and I was afraid he would hear it. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to come back from it.
He sighed into the phone, loud enough that I had to pull it away from my ear for a second. “How’s your gran?”
“Fine. Sad, maybe. Angry, but that’s because she’s sad.” I took a breath. “I’m going through her books.” I wasn’t sure why I wanted to tell him that, out of everything, but I did it simply because I knew by now that whatever I felt most like talking to Tuck about was probably the most important thing on my mind. I still wasn’t sure exactly how I’d gotten so lucky, to find someone who was so much my perfect match, who was my best friend and made me comfortable and safe, who made me feel loved. But I had him, and even if I didn’t think I could tell him I missed him, I could tell him this and know he’d at least try to understand.
“Yeah? Are there a lot?”
I found myself telling him about the stacks of books, the weird way my grandmother was sorting them, the notes I’d started making, and he listened to all of it. By the time I was done, I actually felt drained, but better too. It was good to hear his voice, know he was on the other end of the line, no matter what we said to each other.
We talked about what was going on back home, how he and Lissa were meeting up with Quinn later, how Bellamy was still looking at Micah like he was the best thing that had ever happened to him and didn’t seem inclined to stop doing that anytime soon. He asked about Zevi, who he’d met while we were touring, and my parents. It was normal and it grounded me.
The only thing I didn’t tell him about was Cara. I wasn’t sure why, but I wasn’t ready to share her yet. It felt private and personal in a way not many things did. Tuck was someone I shared everything with. But, for a little while longer, I wanted to keep Cara separate, here with me and not there with Tuck.