by Ruth Morse
“No,” I replied hurriedly. “It has nothing to do with you. Actually, you helped me to understand what I truly wanted. I can only thank you for that.”
“And what is that, honey?” Mom said.
“I need to move on. I need to understand who I really am. And I won’t be able to do that in Lakewood.”
“Why not?” Dad asked. His narrowed eyes were still on me, studying my face thoughtfully.
“Staying here is safe. And right now I don’t want to feel safe. On the contrary, I want to dare, I want to make mistakes and pay for them. I want to know that I lived the life I wanted for myself, not the life I settled for because I simply didn’t know what else to do. I don’t want to suffocate anymore. I want to find my own world and stop gasping for air in the world that we left behind a long time ago,” I said.
My parents listened to me carefully, without interrupting. As I stopped to take a breath, the kitchen fell silent. No one said a word. Max took me by the hand. He gave me a reassuring smile and tilted his head to one side as if saying, I’m proud of you, girl.
I’d texted him and asked him to come to my place. At first I was worried he wouldn’t support my plan, which I never had time to explain. But he didn’t need any explanation. He just sat next to me, his fingers caressing the back of my hand, his gentle touch filling my heart with warmth and calmness. Something important blossomed in my chest and shimmered with heat around my body. I felt loved.
Dad broke the silence first. “What about you, Max?” he asked, looking straight into Max’s eyes.
Max withstood his gaze. “What about me?” he said with a smile.
“Can you promise that Lana will be safe? Do you even want to leave town?”
Max slowly nodded. “From my side, everything is simple,” he said. “I love your daughter. Whatever choice she is willing to make, I’ll accept it.”
“What about living together?” Dad insisted. “Are you both ready for this? It’s not all that sweet romantic stuff you see on TV. It’s a lot harder than that.”
Max shrugged. “I’m not interested in anything ‘sweet and romantic,’ as you call it.”
“Well, I hope you truly mean that,” Dad said.
He glanced at Mom. She glanced back at him and, after a little pause, slightly lowered her chin.
“Okay then.” Dad got up from his chair and approached Max and me. “I believe you, Max,” he said, stretching out his hand. Max nodded and shook it. “I believe you too, Lana,” Dad continued, fixing his gaze on me and giving me a warm smile. It was the kind of smile that you often see at the end of movies, where parents share with their rebellious children some enlightening memory from their past that turns out to be as wild and difficult as their children’s.
“If you are sure you’ll be happier seeking your purpose on your own, then go ahead and do it,” Dad said solemnly, and I couldn’t help but notice pride in his voice. He looked at me with this good-natured leniency, as if he saw his younger self in me, someone he understood completely. He was my Dad. I bet he went through something similar when he was about my age. I promised myself to learn more about his and Mom’s past. When they both were ready.
“When do you have to leave?”
Mom’s question returned me to reality.
“Tomorrow, I guess,” I said.
“Oh, honey!”
She came over to me. When she hugged me, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the strong smell of her perfume. I smiled. Some things never change.
I tried to memorize the lively look of my mom’s eyes, the freshness and strength and energy that overflowed from her now. My parents really had changed. I wished I was there when they crossed the line and became the different yet familiar people I loved. I was glad they had changed, even if they didn’t need my support. I guess parents just don’t expect that from their children. Still, they were able to feel again, and knowing that was enough to make me happy.
Mom pulled away and, straightening the hood of my sweatshirt, said, “You know you can always come back. No matter what happens. We’ll be here, waiting for you.”
“I know, Mom,” I said, enclosing her hand in both of mine. “I always knew.”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Mel raced like mad, jumping two steps at a time. “Foxy! You came back!”
She squeezed me in her hug in no time, making me cough and gasp for air. “Breathe,” I wheezed out.
While I recovered my breath, Mel swept her eyes over me and clicked her tongue. “Well, you look the same, I guess. Except your eyes are somehow…” She bit her lower lip, choosing the right word. “Reckless.”
“Reckless?”
“Yeah. Like you’ve decided something stupid and feel extremely proud that you did. Am I right?”
With a vague desire to strangle Mel with my own hands, I summarized everything that had happened earlier that day.
When I reached the end, she whistled. “Jeez, and you complained about your life being boring!”
I snorted, but then my face clouded over. “I’m leaving, Mel,” I said.
“Where?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“I don’t know either.”
The living room filled with her laughter. Catching my glance, she put her hands up apologetically. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes on her shirt. “You’re just a born planner, you know. But it’s okay since you have someone who has better skills in planning things.”
“Wanna give me some advice?” I asked.
Mel paused for a long time. A wild, happy smile lit up her face when she proclaimed, “My parents agreed!”
I raised one eyebrow. She rolled her eyes and said, “I’m going to New York!”
I gasped. Of course, college! After a lot of persuasion, all the late-night talks about the risks awaiting Mel in a big crazy city, she finally broke through her parents’ resistance. She was going to study at the college of her dreams after all.
“God, Mel! I’m so happy for you. You did it!”
Mel giggled. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said, her voice soft and gentle like the purr of a cat. Her eyes lit up with excitement.
“Don’t get what?” I asked.
“Why it solves all your problems, babe!”
I hesitated, trying to guess Mel’s thoughts but then just shrugged and said, “I give up. Tell me.”
Mel made a face and finally explained. “My parents have a friend who has another friend whose aunt lives in Chicago and has an apartment in New York. I don’t know who talked to who, but I’ll be getting this apartment for more than a fair price. Moreover…” Her eyes glistened with anticipation. “There’d be no problem with a part time job! The aunt has a niece who works in some studio in New York and she offered me a job as an assistant designer. God bless you all, lovely people!”
It took me a moment to untangle that plexus of friends and relatives. “That’s so wonderful but—”
Mel shushed me, pressing her manicured finger to my lips. “Lana, this apartment is too huge for only one person. I was planning to find roommates, but I have already found two.”
“Are you saying…?”
“You’re coming with me, you dummy. You and Max are coming with me. We’re all going to live together in New York!”
***
Autumn arrived suddenly. One morning I left Terry to laze on the grass with a book and felt its presence. I always liked its invigorating, unparalleled smell. You couldn’t describe the components and determine the individual scents. The smell just existed, bringing joy and hope. The hope that from now on everything would change, that you’d find the needed strength and forgotten courage, that the cold wind would harden your spirit just as it hardened the leaves on the ground. From the moment you caught that smell, you breathed in autumn. You let it go into your house, you gave it a place in your thoughts… and you were no longer alone.
I wondered if it was true what they said about th
e breathtaking, unforgettable autumn in New York. In three days I’d find out. All the preparations were completed. Max quit his job. Mel packed her two giant suitcases and threw a farewell party.
What about me? Well, I already said goodbye to my parents. I pulled my stuff out of the suitcase and packed it again, much more neatly than the first day I moved in with Max. And now I was free. While Max was arranging everything for our departure and Mel was busy squeezing out the best Lakewood could give, I was left on my own.
I came to the lake every morning. When the first rays of sun touched the trees’ leaves, illuminating their veins that looked like little maps of the cities with symmetric blocks and streets, I was already sitting under the fallen trees. I was looking at the water with Max’s white shirt warming my shoulders, immersed in my thoughts. I used to stay there in silence for hours… until one day I started to write.
It happened spontaneously. I didn’t realize what I was doing until I turned a filled page and stared at a blank one. Writing became a valve to my feelings; my silent friend, empathic enough to understand and always ready to listen. I was telling her my story, and the more I told, the more relief I felt. I was learning what it felt to be comfortable in my own skin, and I felt better each day, getting acquainted with my feelings.
Max supported me as best as he could. In the evenings, when we lazed around on the sofa, I read new paragraphs out loud. He listened carefully, nodding or chuckling with a sheepish smile when I read a part about him. Much later, when we got used to our life in New York and ignored the relentless police sirens outside our windows, I stopped reading to him and wrote in silence. I was writing about Lily.
***
The day before we left was warm and full of sunshine. We stood on the pier together, Max and I, with our fingers woven together in a tight hold. Mel couldn’t remain in one place for more than a second; she was doing laps around the pier, looking into the dark water and poking the cracks in the old boards with her index finger. Max and I looked at each other knowingly. He took a step back and wrapped his arms around my waist, hugging me from behind. I felt his breath against my hair then down on my neck when he gave me a kiss. My hands found his and I squeezed, pressing them to my belly.
In twenty-four hours, we were going to leave Lakewood. Everything would end and begin again. With my skin, I felt the curvature of Max’s smile. His hands on my waist radiated real heat and somehow I knew that no matter what happened, that heat would be enough to warm us both.
The wind whirled a yellow leaf toward the pier. It seemed to be weightless, trembling with each new puff of wind, turning over in the air again and again, its speckled pointed tips touching the dirty pier boards then soaring skyward. I made a wish: if the leaf lowered into the water, it meant that I made the wrong choice, but if it flew back and dropped onto familiar ground, then I would be safe.
With a sinking heart, I watched it falter in its ascent. The leaf lowered to the boards and halted, but then rose again, spinning around in the air, moving dangerously close to the end of the pier. I held my breath. Over the edge of the pier, the leaf hung at its highest point, ready to fall down into the water. One moment and it’d slip past the glaring surface and sway on the slight waves. It started moving down. I closed my eyes, not daring to watch.
A whirlwind swept past me. I opened my eyes and looked around. Mel rushed forward and reached for the leaf, leaning over the pier with her entire body and swinging her free hand to keep from falling. She straightened up and, with a child-like cry, pulled her hand up above her head, the leaf clutched between her fingers.
Max applauded, laughing. Mel bowed to her audience and walked off the stage. Approaching us, she held the leaf up to her face and looked at me through a tiny hole in it. “Do you know what we’ll do in freaking New York?” she asked, her voice muffled because of the leaf.
“What’s that?” Max and I said simultaneously.
“We will fly!”
She grabbed our hands and began spinning on the spot, throwing back her head. Her happy cry deafened my ears. Max held my hand firmly. His face was the only clear image in the middle of a colorful, chaotic background. I felt dizzy but only began spinning faster. My eyes blissfully closed. I knew I wouldn’t fall; my loved ones were holding me.
EPILOGUE
I always wanted to have a real family. And once, many years ago, I had it. Maybe my brother was loved more than me and maybe it’s a sin to say so. But anyway, we were together. Now I desperately want to know that I wasn’t guilty. To shout so loud that my cry will finally reach them. “It wasn’t my fault!” Just as it wasn’t their fault either.
Something broke. We never got any closer. But how was I supposed to turn off that switch, to drive it into my head that everything was different, and I needed to learn to live without love?
I don’t know if I made the right choice. They say, if you take a step forward, you should never look back. But my heart will always be seized by doubt. I doubt myself. I’m not ashamed to admit that. Maybe my uncertainty is a sign of weakness… Or maybe it’s a sign of being human.
Do we have the right to leave those who aren’t holding us back? Did I have the right to leave? I don’t know. Life is fickle. It has many masks and not all of them are to everyone’s taste. I thought I knew something. Now I’m certain that I don’t know a damn thing. I don’t know why Jax had to open that jar. I don’t know why Lily, the sweet little girl who could’ve had it all, didn’t have the right to keep it. It just doesn’t make any sense. And there is never any sense when you’re talking about suffering.
Lily and Jack showed me what a real family looks like. And Max showed me that choices matter. Yes, we have no choice in being born. Sometimes it’s under the most painful pressure that we don’t deserve, but we have the freedom of making choices. We can choose our direction and we can choose our path. All that remains is to take a step forward… and just go. And it’s not a crime to allow yourself to look back sometimes.
For Lily Olsen, the girl with sapphire eyes.
I closed the book and leaned my back on the bench, wearily stretching my shoulders. The cold wind seeped through my jacket. I pulled the collar higher and tugged the hood over my head. The book lay on my knees, warming them with its pleasant weight. The cover was so fresh and new it felt like it was shining. I opened the first page. A Teens and Literature award-winning story. My fingers ran across the page, stopping at the title. Emptiness captured my belly, bringing the melancholy that had more in common with tiredness than real sadness. Without turning any more pages, I closed the book and put my cold hands in my pockets.
I was ready to get up and leave when someone touched my shoulder from behind. I turned around. A girl in an oversized coat and thin-framed glasses smiled at me, her gaze curious and a bit shy.
“Excuse me,” the girl said, nodding at the book in my hands. “Did you finish that?”
I hesitated and then shook my head. “I’ve only started.”
“Oh, okay. I wanted to ask if it was any good.”
I shrugged, smiling. “I guess it’s up to you to find out.”
The girl nodded and left.
A wonderful autumn day was coming to an end. I looked around. They were right. Autumn in New York was indeed beautiful.
Knowing that Max and Mel were already dying for me to come back home and show them my first hardcover book, I quickened my pace and soon disappeared into the crowd.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Mom. You spent so many nights without sleep reading the book aloud to me, even if it was for the thousandth time. Your sincere and emotional responses to what was happening in the book showed me that either you’re a great mom who loves everything your child does or that I was heading in the right direction… or both. Thank you for always being there for me.
Victor. You and only you listened to my never-ending talking about each bit of progress made in creating the novel. Your understanding, sincere help, and priceless critique
helped me realize just how serious I was about writing in the first place. Your guidance was there to save me when I was one step away from giving up. I can’t thank you enough, my dear friend, for your kind heart and endless support.
The dream team. Max Dobson, my first editor. You witnessed the book in its raw, helpless state and gave it a chance to become something much better. Thank you for your soft, clear, and intelligible guidance.
Sydney Faith, my Critique Partner. I found you by chance the next morning after announcing the release date of my novel. I don’t know which lucky star had shown that day, but I’m so grateful for its presence. You’re a professional writer with a beautiful, unique style who bears a real talent in editing. Working with you was such a fun and pleasant experience. I look forward to seeing your upcoming novel and hope to continue our amazing friendship.
Yaroslava Guskova, the cover design artist. You spent weeks working on something I imagined to be good for the cover and then sent me an almost ready-to-go picture for the cover of your vision that left me speechless. Thank you for the amazing experience it was to work with you.
Samantha Gordon, my proofreader. Thank you for bringing the novel one step closer to what it is now.
Justin Jay Gladstone, a talented writer and my dear friend. Thank you for the opportunity to discuss absolutely everything about writing. No matter what time it is, day or night—it’s hard to stick to appropriate time for talks when you live 7-hours apart in time zones—I know I can always write to you and you’ll be there to help me. And there truly was a lot to help with.
My beta-readers. Naomi Miller, Ava Jones, Oxana Koliada, and her family. My brother Alex, and Gillian Bertram. Each one of you guys kindly offered your help to make my dream come true. It’s amazing how people from different corners of the world with unique and diverse life experiences brought something to the story that made it special in a way that any story is, supported by the inspiration of kind readers. Thank you for that.