The Optimist's Guide to Letting Go

by Amy E. Reichert

  “Want me to take your shirt off?” His breath was heavy, and his lips were puffy from all the kissing. Was she ready? They’d been swimming together, she figured, so seeing her in her sports bra wasn’t exactly anything he hadn’t seen before. Not that much different from swimming, right? But it seemed unfair for her to take her shirt off if he got to keep his.

  “Okay, but you have to take off yours, too.”

  All elbows and knees, they removed each other’s T-shirts, getting her arm stuck in a shirtsleeve and, at one point, slapping his cheek with her wrist as it popped free from an armhole. Was making out always so awkward? She guessed she shouldn’t have worried he would be disappointed by just her sports bra, though—as soon as they started making out again, he traced the line where the material met her skin, and she tried not to giggle when he grazed too close to her armpit. She rubbed his back and sides, sometimes letting her thumb roam around the front of his torso until she accidentally bumped his nipple. She definitely wasn’t ready for nipples.

  The TV still played in the background. Years from now, would she hear the theme song and remember getting face burn from all the kissing? Was her mind supposed to wander like this?

  “What the hell is going on down here? And where are your shirts?” OhmyGod, her mom was home early from work. Shit. Why couldn’t she rewind life for just a few minutes? Her mom already stood in the basement. How did she get there so quickly? They hadn’t heard the upstairs door, or the steps on the stairs or anything. Connor jumped away from her, and May sprung off the couch. This was happening. They each grabbed the first shirt they could, realized they had the other person’s, and switched. Connor slipped his on even though it was inside out and backward. May used hers to cover her front like a bedsheet and glared at her mother, anger quickly taking the place of embarrassment. How dare she?

  Then she saw her mom’s face, which wore an expression May had never seen before. Her mom’s nostrils were so flared, cocktail weenies would fit in them, while her lips pressed together so tightly, they disappeared into each other. It seriously looked like she didn’t even have lips.

  “Mrs. Zoberski . . . ,” Connor said.

  “Go. Now.” Connor ran from the room. As his footsteps echoed up the stairs she shouted after him, “And don’t think I won’t be calling your mother about this, young man.”

  “Don’t call his—” May said.

  “No. You don’t get to speak. Maybe not ever again.” She rubbed her hands on her face like she was trying to remove mud, or maybe erase the memory of what she just saw. Then May saw her notice the bottle of wine. She floated to the table and gently picked it up. She cradled the bottle in one hand and ran her fingers over the stone building on the label. “You were drinking this?” Her voice was soft and scarier. Tears brimmed in her eyes. This was different and way worse than just anger. Her mom picked up the two glasses. “Put your shirt on, turn off the TV, and meet me in the kitchen. If you aren’t there in two minutes, you’ll be lucky to ever see the inside of any building but school and this house until you graduate high school.”

  She turned and left, her feet silent on the steps. No wonder they didn’t hear her come down—she was like a freakin’ cat burglar. May stuffed her head into her T-shirt, finding the armholes and turning off the TV as she straightened her top. A headache thumped behind her forehead. If her mom was threatening a permanent grounding, she wasn’t messing around. As she walked up the steps, she fixed her ponytail, which had come loose during all the making out. Her mom waited at the kitchen table with the two glasses and the bottle of wine. She took a sip out of one of the glasses and pushed it away.

  Avoiding eye contact, May opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

  “No. No drinks. Sit.”

  “What next? Are you going to shine a bright light on me?”

  “You don’t get to be funny right now. Sit.”

  May slid into the seat across from her mother. Now that she couldn’t have water, she was really thirsty. Her mom picked at a paper towel that had been left on the table from breakfast, and the leftover crumbs fell onto the table. Why didn’t she get started already?

  “Are we just going to sit here?”

  Her mom’s eyes lasered in on her face.

  “Young lady, you have no idea. I’m trying to organize my thoughts so I don’t say something I’ll regret and scar you forever.”

  “You think I’m not already scarred? That ship sailed two years ago when Dad died.” Her mom flinched. “And we weren’t doing anything bad, anyway.”

  “Sitting in the dark and watching a movie isn’t bad. Baking brownies and making a mess in the kitchen isn’t bad. Heck, lying to me about not eating meat isn’t even that big of a deal. But fourteen-year-olds drinking that bottle of wine and lying half naked on the couch with your tongues down each other’s throat is bad.” May guessed her mom wasn’t worried about scarring her anymore. “I have always trusted you to do the right thing and given you the freedom I thought you earned.”

  “Ignoring me isn’t freedom. Dad never—”

  “Ignoring you? Anytime I try to talk to you, you brush me off. You ignore me.” Her mom took a deep breath. “But that is not the point. The point is that you are fourteen and simply not ready for wine and sex and all the responsibilities that come with those two things.”

  “We hardly drank the wine, and we weren’t having sex. We were just kissing.” Her head thumped. If Dad were alive, he’d never let her mom yell like this. He’d ask her what she thought and listen to her, not just pop a can of crazy. What had Dad even seen in her?

  “With clothes off. Where did you think that was headed? I was a teenager once, you know. It might not have been today or tomorrow or even next week. But that’s how it starts. Lying on a couch in a dark basement with no shirts on.”

  “That wasn’t going to happen. God!” This was stupid. She wasn’t going to have sex and she didn’t even like the wine. Regina was overreacting. May stood. “Connor isn’t like that. He only took a sip of the wine. I was the one who drank it.”

  “Who’s blaming Connor? But great, it’s good to know you were the one peer-pressuring him.” She smacked the table with both hands and stood, pacing the room. “Good to know. His parents can deal with him how they see fit. You are the one who’s my problem.”

  There. Her mom had finally said what May always knew she was thinking.

  “That’s right. That’s all I am. Your problem.” She stormed to her room and slammed the door.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The slammed door vibrated through the house, sending ripples across the wine like Jurassic Park, then absolute silence. Gina slumped into the chair at the table, took another sip of wine, and spit it back out. Fuck. It had turned. She and Drew had waited too long, and now their babymoon wine was expensive vinegar. That seemed to be her life now—waiting too long only to find out it was too late.

  She didn’t even know why that phrase came out of her mouth. She never thought of May as a problem. The problem was that Drew had died and now her mother was in the hospital and her teenage daughter was halfway to alcoholism and pregnancy. She picked up the wine bottle and dumped its contents into the sink. She ran her fingers over the label, remembering the day they had bought it.

  It had been their last vacation before May’s birth. They booked it months prior as a romantic wine-tasting getaway in California, before they’d found out Gina was pregnant. By the time they realized, it was too late to back out without losing money on the package, so they went. They spent more time walking and dreaming about their baby than wine tasting—especially because she couldn’t drink, but at one winery, they bought a special bottle—something to celebrate their new family. They intended to drink it after May was born but kept putting it off. First because Gina was nursing, and then because there were other milestones to celebrate. There had always been something bigger coming down the road.

  “Dammit Drew, this is when I need you. You always understood her
and how she saw the world. I can’t do this without you.” Instead of throwing it away, she hugged the bottle to her chest, the emptiness rocking her. She wished there was someone she could bargain with for one more day, one more conversation with him, to see his reassuring smile that would let her know she was making the right decisions for their daughter. But she was alone. And she had just driven another wedge between them.

  The silent house pressed on her. She slid to the floor under its pressure, the bottle nestled between her chest and her knees so she could set her forehead on top of it. Tears fell from her cheeks and trickled down the sides of the green glass, mingling with the few wine droplets still clinging to it.

  She wanted to go to May. She wanted to shout at her for doing such stupid things, and she wanted to apologize for letting her think for even a second that she was a problem. May was half-Drew—how could she be anything but perfect? Even when she was acting like a little shit.

  She lifted her face to the ceiling, and her eyes stopped on the flower crown hanging on the far wall, its red and white ribbons trailing down the wall. When May had been little, she would be allowed to play with it when she had been extra good and only after she vowed to be very careful. The circle of fake flowers represented the beginning, and like it or not, it was the moment that set their family on the path to this exact day. It was the moment Gina had known Drew was hers forever.

  After finding out Gina had lived in Milwaukee her entire life and never been to Polish Fest, Drew had insisted that be remedied immediately. They parked in the huge lot under the Hoan Bridge and followed the throng toward the main gate. It wasn’t too crowded or noisy, but the people smiled and danced to the ever-present polka music. Stands sold Polish food ranging from cabbage rolls to a wide variety of pastries. You could even do vodka tastings and pet beautiful white Polish sheepdogs. One tent had tables full of vibrant Polish pottery, with intricate patterns hand painted in bold colors.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been to Polish Fest. Didn’t you say Roza lives in the old neighborhood?” Drew asked, referring to the area south of downtown where the largest number of Polish immigrants had settled when they had first come to Milwaukee.

  “My mom would never have let her take us,” Gina said. “I’ve never been to any of the Fests. You’ll see when you meet them, this isn’t their scene. Anyone can come here. They prefer less plebeian pursuits.”

  Drew stopped on the sidewalk, causing a few people behind them to grumble and walk around.

  “How is that possible? The Fests are one of the top five . . .” He paused and touched his fingers as if counting. “No, top three best things about Milwaukee, behind the Brewers and Harleys. For the rest of the summer, this is what we’re doing. But you should know Polish Fest is the best, so the rest will disappoint.”

  They began walking again, moving with the foot traffic, many clad in red and white. If Gina didn’t know better, she’d think they were on their way to a Badger game.

  “Your bias toward Polish Fest doesn’t have anything to do with your last name being Zoberski, does it?”

  Drew smiled and pulled her in close, kissed the top of her head, and pointed to the tattoo on his arm. The two flags on the motorcycle were an American flag and the red and white Polish flag. She’d never noticed it, too distracted by what was under the ink, but there it was—his Polish pride.

  “I don’t need to be biased. I’m giving you the facts here, lady.”

  He smiled at her, all golden hair and sparkling blue eyes. He was so different from any of the boys she’d ever dated. He was less inhibited, more kind, and harder working. And she was falling fast.

  They joined the crowds of families and older couples—a few already dancing to the polka music echoing from multiple stages, shuffling around in circles as if they had been doing it for years, and they probably had. Gina could see why her parents would never feel at home here. It was so unpretentious, attendees relishing the good food, lively music, smiling faces. Everyone sat elbow to elbow at picnic tables and stood in line for simple food like pierogis and polish sausages, wearing their comfortable Polska T-shirts and shorts. Her parents would hate it here, if for no other reason than their Waspy selves couldn’t get a gin and tonic—she’d never seen either one drink beer, let alone out of a plastic cup. Her parents would be the outsiders here. That made her love it all the more.

  They stopped at a small booth tucked into a tent where a few older women attached fake flowers to plastic rings, then tied on ribbons to dangle off the back. Gina had seen other women wearing them in the crowds.

  “Pick one,” Drew said, his eyes twinkling.

  “What are they?” Gina loved their festive, bright colors—blues, teals, purples, reds, and yellows. She touched a pink ribbon dangling in front of her, letting the satiny material slide through her fingertips.

  “Wianki.” He pointed to a small sign on the table where, under the word, the phonetic pronunciation was written out—VEE ON KEY.

  “You still haven’t answered the question. What are they?”

  “Pick the one you like, and I’ll explain later.” He gave a wink to the short older woman behind the table.

  Gina rolled her eyes, but she loved his mysteriousness. She pointed to one with white flowers and red roses. If she was going to wear a wianki, it may as well be made up of the Polish colors. Drew paid, and they walked out of the tent into the June sunshine. After moving onto a nearby patch of grass, Drew settled the crown on Gina’s head, straightening the ribbons so they could flutter freely behind her and tucking in a few stray strands of her hair.

  “You look beautiful in a wianki, but that’s no surprise.” He studied her face, as if memorizing the moment. This is what made Drew so special, so different from anyone else she’d ever dated. He treated her as a gift in his life, someone to treasure, not as an afterthought or employee. Her parents treated marriage as a business proposition. If she had lived a century earlier, she probably would have been married off at thirteen to whatever club member’s son had the best prospects. But with Drew, she knew in her bones that he wanted to know all of her and for her to know all of him. He wanted her to feel special because, in his heart, he believed that she was. At last, he answered her question.

  “Wianki are traditionally worn by maidens at festivals, especially on St. John’s Eve, which was always near Midsummer’s Eve. At the end of the festival, the maidens would throw their flower wreaths into the water. If yours became tangled with another girl’s, then you were destined to be best friends. If it sank, then you would likely never get married and probably have a lot of cats. But, if a young man snatched your wreath from the water, then the two of you were destined to be married.” Drew took her hands and wrapped them around his own neck, pulling her close to him. “I would dive into any river in the world to catch yours.”

  His lips settled on hers in the softest of whispers, then pulled back, their faces only inches apart.

  “I love you, Gina Price.”

  Standing in the shade, surrounded by hundreds of people, the waft of sauerkraut in the air, Gina gave her heart away forever. She would follow him anywhere, do whatever it took to make him happy. Her joy shone in the smile that took over her face.

  “I love you, too, Drew Zoberski.”

  The words weren’t nearly enough. She wanted to get him home, to show him just how much she loved him, but now was not the time. First, they needed to make it through cocktails with her parents.

  “Now you’re Polish like the rest of us,” Drew said.

  If only that were true. Being here with Drew, Gina had never felt she belonged somewhere more.

  Now she didn’t even belong in her own home. “I’m screwing this up so badly, Drew. I need you right now. More than ever. I’m losing her. I’m going to turn into my mom without you here. May’s going to hate me.”

  She let the tears take her. Gina had learned long ago that once they broke, she had to let them dry themselves up. Then she could stuff all the
anguish back inside its bottle until the next time the cork popped off. A rush of cold air sent a shiver through her already shaking body.

  “What happened? Is Mom okay? I was only on the road for a few minutes!” Vicky had burst through the kitchen door.

  Gina took a deep breath and shook her head in response to Vicky’s question before she began re-corking her pain, wiping her tears with the kitchen towel hanging off a hook near her face.

  “Mom’s fine,” she said, her voice scratchy.

  Vicky knelt beside her and pulled her in for a hug.

  “May?”

  Gina nodded. “And Drew. I can’t do this alone.”

  “Yes, you can. You already are, and you’re doing brilliantly. You aren’t ever really alone, but it’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

  She smoothed Gina’s hair away from her face as Gina explained what had happened.

  “Way to go, May!”

  Gina glared at Vicky.

  “That was not the reaction I had.”

  “Of course not. You’re her mom. I’m her cool aunt Vicky. Wait until one of my kids does something stupid, then you can laugh about it. You only have one—I have four glorious deviants in training.”

  Gina managed a chuckle at Vicky’s logic. Her kids were going to be a handful, if only because they outnumbered their parents. The laughter eased her tension, clearing some room for rational thought. She was no longer buried and immobile from her guilt and failure. Grateful, she hugged her sister, stood, and helped pull up Vicky.

  “Thanks, Vic.”