The People We Choose

by Katelyn Detweiler

  “Hey! Calliope!”

  I turn to see two girls from my grade waving at me from over by the soda machine. Rory and Bea. We’ve always been friendly enough, though it’s been limited to superficial classroom small talk. The two of them are as inseparable as me and Ginger and Noah. As exclusive, I guess you could say. They almost look like twins right now, with their long dark hair and blunt bangs and short denim cutoffs. I wave back, and they start walking over our way. Curious, I’m sure, about the two strangers next to me. And, I realize—catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the counter—probably about our matching paint smears, too. I reach up and pick at a blue clump in my hair.

  “Who are they?” Marlow whispers loudly.

  Her question makes my heart race. Because I’ll have to make introductions. How to put Max and Marlow into neat labels?

  My neighbors, I’ll say. My friends.

  No need to tell them more than that.

  “How was your summer?” Rory asks, smiling pleasantly. Too pleasantly, maybe. Edging into fake territory. “You look like you’ve been… busy.” She stares pointedly at the streak of paint running up my overalls.

  “Ha. Yes. Just doing some painting. It’s been a good summer. Actually”—I step back, gesture to Max and Marlow—“these are my new neighbors, Max and Marlow. We were doing some work on their house this weekend.”

  “Oh, how nice! I’m Bea,” Bea says, waving animatedly. She’s the people pleaser of the two. That’s always been their dynamic. “And this is Rory. You live out there in the deep woods, don’t you, Calliope? I think I was there once for a birthday party when we were little. I remember playing hide-and-seek and pretending there were forest fairies chasing us around the trees.”

  I nod. “That sounds about right. Ginger and Noah and I were always running from those fairies.”

  “Sounds like I missed quite a childhood,” Marlow says, smirking.

  Rory laughs. “I was there for that birthday, too. But I thought it was old man Jackson we were running from? That’s before the newspaper delivery boy had to call in the search party for his decaying body.”

  I gasp.

  I can’t bring myself to look at Max or Marlow, but I feel them stiffen beside me.

  “He was a person,” I say, gritting my teeth, “not a monster or a character from a story. A real person. You shouldn’t talk about him—or anyone—that way.” Though I’m thinking about all the times I probably talked about him that way, too. Old man Jackson. More lore than human. But I was wrong to do that. We all were.

  Rory flinches and steps back, like I’ve slapped her. “Um. Okay. Sorry?” She doesn’t look sorry. She looks annoyed. Ready to pick up her food and move along.

  “You’re right, Calliope,” Bea says, jabbing Rory’s side with her elbow. “You know she didn’t mean anything by it. This whole town jokes about that house.”

  “We actually live in that house,” Max says. “Calliope’s neighbor, remember?”

  “Oh,” Bea starts, “I’m so—”

  Marlow cuts her off. “Old man Jackson was our grandfather. By the way.”

  Even Rory has the decency to turn bright pink.

  He was my grandfather, too, I want to say. Even though it’s only partly true. Biologically, yes. But that doesn’t make him family. He’s not mine to claim. And neither are Max and Marlow. Especially not in public.

  “I was just kidding,” Rory says. “I didn’t know.”

  “Obviously.” Marlow rolls her eyes.

  Bea turns to Max. “Let’s all start over. Are you a senior, too?”

  He nods, looking disinterested. His eyes flash up to the extensive menu hanging above the register.

  “Cool. It must be so sad and weird, moving senior year. Rory and I can help show you around, if you want.”

  “Thanks.” He looks back at Bea. “But I think I’m set. I’ve got my big sister here to show me the ropes at Green Woods High.”

  “Big sister?” Rory says, squinting as she turns to Marlow—bare faced today, looking exactly her age. Four years younger than Max.

  “Nope. Not her. Calliope.” He smiles as he says it, a mischievous, shit-eating one, like he’s delighting in the fact that this will implode Rory’s and Bea’s minds.

  Big sister.

  My mind is imploding, too.

  I laugh so loud every last person in the restaurant turns to look at me. Even the two busy line cooks behind the counter.

  Max and Marlow laugh, too. Doubled over. Gasping.

  We all have tears in our eyes.

  “So. I’m assuming that’s a joke then.” Rory frowns, like she doesn’t like being outside of whatever this great prank might be.

  “Nope,” I say, wiping my cheeks. “It’s true. We’re half-siblings. I have two moms, remember? I was a science experiment.”

  Bea’s mouth, which has been hanging wide open during this whole exchange, finally shuts. “Oh.”

  “Yep. Well. Good to see you both! I think we’ll order now.” I smile sweetly and step around them, motioning for Max and Marlow to follow me.

  “Come over anytime—my grandfather’s ghost would love to meet you,” Marlow says, glancing back at them. And then she takes my hand.

  “I’m sorry I blew up your spot,” Max says later, as we’re sprawled out on top of the hill with our food. “Telling those girls at the Chinese restaurant about our sordid family tree. I didn’t exactly plan on it. Something about Rory just made me want to shock her tiny little brain.” He bites into an egg roll, closes his eyes.

  “What colors do you see?” I ask. I take a bite of my egg roll and close my eyes, too.

  “Orange. Bright orange. Tangerine. And a nice light green. Tea green, maybe.”

  I consider this. “I get what you’re saying. But do you only think green because of the cabbage? Does knowing what color the food is affect your opinion?”

  “I try not to think about the food color,” Max says. “But it’s not a perfect science.”

  “Weirdos,” Marlow says, “both of you.”

  I open my eyes. It’s getting dark up here, the sun almost completely hidden behind us. I brought one of our camping lanterns, though, and there’s more than enough light to see the happy look on Marlow’s face as she digs her fork into more fried rice.

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” I say. “About earlier. I’m glad you told them.”

  “Yeah?” Max opens his eyes, too. He turns to look at me.

  “Let’s never tell people about earlier this summer.” I cringe. I’ll probably always cringe, thinking about that. Max, too. We cringe together—and then we move on. “But I’m okay with people knowing that we’re related by science.”

  Maybe more than science, too. Or we will be, after more time spent together in these woods. Silversmiths, Jacksons, Martzes—some strange, unlikely fusion of the three.

  “Cool,” Marlow says, chewing on her rice, “I can’t wait to tell kids at school about my forest-goddess half sister.”

  “And I’ll tell them about my little half sister who is infinitely more glamorous than me, and I’ll charge them to come over for makeup tutorials.”

  “What about me?” Max asks. “I’m the odd one out now?”

  I shake my head. “Never. I’ll proudly tell people about my half brother who can’t go for a walk in the rain without taking a mud bath.”

  “Really? That’s the best you can do?” He tosses his last scrap of egg roll at me. “It’s been twice. Only twice.”

  I rub my chin, considering. “I think we’ve only walked in the rain twice, though. So, two for two.”

  Marlow chuckles. “I better be invited next time so I can see for myself.”

  “Oh, most definitely.” I grin as I reach for the fortune cookies at the bottom of our takeout bag. I toss one cookie to Marlow, one to Max.

  “You know what?” Max catches the cookie, crunching it with his fist. “One sister was already more than enough. I should never have gone public with it t
oday. Can I undo that?”

  “Nope. No undoing gossip in Green Woods. I’m sorry, though—you’re not just the half brother who falls in the mud.” You are so much more. You are so many things. “You’re the boy who tastes color. And the boy who paints sunlight.”

  “The boy who paints sunlight?” Max’s white smile lights up the dark hillside. “I like that one. I approve.”

  I crack open my cookie, hold the small slip of paper by the lantern:

  Make family your friends, and friends your family.

  Noah is the first to show up for our Labor Day picnic.

  It’s early still, an hour before I expected anyone. The moms are on a last grocery store run, and I’m lying in the hammock with some lemonade, wondering how the day will go.

  “I made that weird fruit salad you love so much,” he says, dropping a plastic tub on the picnic table.

  “Strawberry Ambrosia Salad?” I ask, clasping my hands across my heart as I jump up from the hammock to join him.

  He nods. “Sounds more like a flower than a salad if you ask me. And if the moms are curious, you have to lie and say I used marshmallows and Cool Whip sweetened with agave.”

  “Will do,” I say, popping the lid off and swirling my finger along the edge of the fluffy pink cloud, scooping up a generous dollop to put in my mouth. It’s as sugary as cotton candy and tastes like childhood and summer dreams and breaking rules. I take a second dollop. A third.

  “Adequate?” he asks, smirking at me.

  I sigh. “Perfection. Thank you, dear friend.”

  He smiles at me with those deep blue eyes, bluer than ever under today’s clear sky. “You’re welcome. Dear friend.”

  Mimmy and Mama bustle into the yard a few minutes later, setting the table and lighting the grill, trays of garden veggies and homemade hummus and fancy cheeses cluttering up the table next to my Ambrosia Salad. Noah is called upon to help make beet burger patties in the kitchen, and soon Ginger and Vivi are here, too, unloading the bag of end-of-summer-blowout-sale sparklers and poppers and firecrackers they bought for tonight.

  And then I catch movement along the woods from the corner of my eye. Max steps out first, leading the way. Marlow is close behind him, scowling as she picks some prickly branch off her shirt. Elliot. Joanie.

  Mimmy had been the one to invite them—all of them—over a pitcher of iced tea after she and Mama had spent hours in their yard pruning shrubs and tree branches and breaking up the old patches of garden, prepping the soil for new life. I assumed Joanie would politely decline. She surprised everyone when she said yes.

  Noah and Max give each other a nod of acknowledgment, and Ginger throws an arm around Max like they are best buddies, introducing him to her girlfriend, Vivi. Marlow compliments Ginger on her cat-eye frames, and Ginger exclaims jealously over Marlow’s yellow pleather short-shorts. Joanie makes small talk with Mimmy as they clear space on the table for Joanie’s pasta and potato salads, and Elliot sidles up next to Mama by the grill.

  I stand still, watching it all happen around me in disbelief. These people—all in one place. A little awkward and stiff, maybe, conversations slightly stilted, but still together. Trying.

  Ginger catches my eye and waves me over. She’s in the middle of one of her stories about diner life—Vivi chiming in at the punch lines, Max, Marlow, and Noah all laughing along.

  I take a deep breath, close my eyes, etching this image permanently in my memory.

  School starts tomorrow morning, bright and early. Senior year. This, right here and now, is our last true moment of summer, no matter what the calendar might say. Our terrible, beautiful summer is going to be over.

  But nothing about today feels like an ending.

  Nothing at all.

  Epilogue

  nine months later

  “IS this the tenth time you’ve cried today?” I ask, smiling as I lean across the kitchen counter to swipe at the tear running down Mama’s cheek. “Or the eleventh? I’ve lost count. Let’s see,” I say, holding one finger up in the air. “First time was when Mimmy played ‘Pomp and Circumstance’ to wake me up this morning, and then you—”

  “Ha ha,” Mama says, catching my hand in hers and squeezing tight. “Very funny.”

  “I think it’s actually ticked up even higher, sweetheart,” Mimmy chimes in from across the kitchen as she spreads coconut crème frosting on her cooled pineapple cake. Cake that we’ll be taking to dinner next door shortly, along with the lemon drop cookies Mimmy baked first thing this morning. “You missed at least one good cry during the actual ceremony, and then another during pictures. Unless we just count that whole period as one long cry, because I’m not sure she fully stopped at any point. Did you, Stella?”

  Mama frowns. “Would you both rather I was incapable of showing genuine emotion? On my one and only little girl’s graduation day? Am I that much of a robot?”

  “Of course not,” Mimmy says, looking over at us with a wide grin. “I’m always relieved to be reminded that you’re human, just like the rest of us.”

  Mama sniffs. “For today, anyway. Don’t go getting used to it or anything.”

  “We’ll see about that. Wait until Calliope actually leaves us. That will be even harder.” Mimmy’s grin fades at her words.

  “Um, excuse me,” I say, and now I’m the one squeezing Mama’s hand tight. “This is a happy day. We’re celebrating, remember? We have a whole summer before I go anywhere, and Penn State is only a few hours away. You’ll barely even miss me.”

  Mama grunts in response, and Mimmy turns back to her icing.

  “You’ll be busy with the studio like always.” I stare down at the counter, spinning a spoon in circles with my free hand. “And you know, Elliot and Joanie and Marlow are always right there across the woods. I’m sure they’d still like to hang out, even if I’m not around.”

  I try to say it casually, like the thought is just now occurring to me. But I’ve been wondering about this for months now—what Max and I leaving will do to this delicate patchwork family unit we’ve been working on so hard since last summer. It hasn’t always been easy. His family has its own deeply rooted issues. Those haven’t magically gone away. And Mama’s been tough at points, as Mama tends to be. But they’ve been trying. We all have. Max and Marlow and I are the core, though. This collective family revolves around us. What happens when you take two of us away?

  Mama lets out a long, weary sigh, and my stomach twists. Maybe I misread all the interactions this last year. Maybe the adults were just playing nice.

  Maybe family was all in my head.

  I look up at Mama slowly, not sure what to say from here—and am instantly relieved to see the small smile playing at her lips.

  “You do realize,” she says, shaking her head emphatically at me, “this is absolutely the last thing I ever wanted. Frank, having any role whatsoever in my daughter’s life.”

  “I know.”

  “And not just Frank, but his whole damn family. You have a half brother and a half sister, for god’s sake, living across the woods from us like we’re in some awful reality TV show compound. I mean, of all people in the entire world—our neighbors. Our neighbors, Calliope!”

  “I know, Mama, yes, but—”

  She cuts me off. “And the funny thing is, I wouldn’t want it any other way. Not anymore. This setup we have here?” Mama points her free hand toward the window, the woods that separate us from the Jackson house. “It feels right.”

  Mimmy turns toward us and drops the spatula she’s been using on the floor.

  “You really mean that?” I ask, stunned. “It’s not just graduation day emotions talking?”

  “Well,” Mama says, chuckling, “these wretched sappy emotions aren’t hurting the cause. But I’ve felt this way for a while now. Don’t get me wrong—Elliot is far from perfect. He’s got a long way to go. But he’s working on himself, isn’t he? Marriage counseling. Therapy. Staying put, at home where he belongs. His heart is in the right place,
I do believe that. And he’s been good to you. Even good for you, maybe. And all his personal failures aside, I do love the rest of his family. He did something right, at least.”

  “Is this really my wife talking?” Mimmy asks. She takes a few steps toward us. “I’ve never heard you speak like this. Did you drink enough water today? Is your blood sugar low?”

  “Wow. I try to be open and vulnerable for once,” Mama grumbles, dropping my hand, “and this is what I get from my—”

  Mimmy throws her arms around Mama, squeezing the air out of the rest of her sentence. “No, no, I absolutely adore this new side of you. I hope she sticks around. Because I agree.” She reaches out and grabs my wrist, tugs me over to their side of the counter. “Calliope was meant to find her people. Our people.”

  I smile as I step into their hug, wrapping my arms around their shoulders. “So that was a long-winded way of saying you’ll still be friends with them after I go?”

  “Well, no. I can’t promise Elliot and I will be friends necessarily,” Mama says.

  I start to pull back, confused, but she latches on tighter.

  “We’ll be family,” Mama finishes. “And that’s what matters most.”

  The three of us are quiet then. I close my eyes and breathe in the smell of Mimmy’s tropical cake in the air, feel their arms pressing firmly against my back. The sun streaming in the window is bright and warm against my eyelids. This moment feels better than graduation. More important.

  “Okay,” Mama says finally, letting go of both of us as she wipes at a fresh wave of tears. “Enough of this. Let’s get to dinner. I need to eat my feelings away with those burgers that Elliot always chars to ash. I ate them quietly last year, when I was still playing nice. But now? Nope. I’m teaching that man to grill, mark my words.”

  We step out from the woods into the Jackson meadow, and my breath hitches. The transformation still surprises me every time.

  The grass is green and thick and freshly mowed, and the hedges surrounding the house are trimmed into neat rectangles. Orange marigolds and red geraniums spring up from small flower beds on either side of the porch steps. Porch steps that are strong and stable now—and freshly painted along with the rest of the porch, the front door, the window trim. The windows themselves are clean and shiny in the sunlight. The porch roof is fixed, no longer on the brink of collapse.