by Carol Weston
“Okay, Catlover99, let’s do this,” Kate said. She went into her old mail, clicked on Addresses, scrolled down to the C’s, and highlighted all my emails. When she pressed Delete, a box asked, “Are you sure you want to delete the selected messages?”
I nodded, Kate clicked, and ta-da! They all disappeared—poof!
I wished it were that easy to delete—no, transform—Catlover99 herself. I didn’t want to get rid of her. I just wanted her to be bolder and braver. I wanted her to speak up and sing and laugh and be herself again, her best self. She could do that, couldn’t she?
• • •
“Sam!” I waved. I was wearing shorts, a T-shirt, sandals, and regular underwear—not a thong.
“Sofia! I can’t believe how okay you look.”
“Okay? After all I’ve been through?” I pointed to my knees and shoulder.
“Unbelievable. Fantastic. Incredible.”
“That’s better,” I said, then frowned.
“Hey, I feel really bad about what happened. I should’ve realized you’re not used to biking.”
“At least you made me wear a helmet. And I’d ridden a little, in Spain. Not that I’m planning to get back on a bike anytime soon.”
“I don’t blame you. I blame myself. That bike was too big for you.”
“Yeah, well”—I looked right at him—“that’s because it belongs to Alexa.” My heart was pounding. “Sam, I mean, if you’re going to feel bad about something…”
He exhaled. “Remember when I walked you home…after the windmill? You told me where you were staying and I—”
“Freaked out and took off?”
“Sofia, I haven’t gone out with many girls, but the last one was—”
“I know. Kate told me an hour ago.”
“I was going to tell you yesterday.”
“Did you two even break up? I once asked Alexa if she had a boyfriend, and she made it sound on again, off again.”
“I don’t think she ever thought of me as her ‘boyfriend.’”
“You went to a prom thing.”
“True.”
“Do you still like her?”
We walked down the stairs of the club. There were no chairs stacked up, so Sam entered a shadowy room he called the “lifeguard dungeon” and came out with two red folding chairs. He opened his up as I struggled with mine, and then he opened mine for me. “I…admire her,” he continued as we both sat down. “She says what she thinks, no matter how it comes off.”
“And that’s good?” I asked.
“Not always. But she and I go pretty far back.”
“Go on.”
“We knew each other when we were kids. We were on the swim team; we shot hoops in her driveway; we played Ping-Pong in the Teen Room.”
“And then?”
“Last fall, I started high school. I’d grown, like, six inches over the summer, and she started telling me about parties and invited me to the Snow Ball. But if I said hi in the hall, she’d sometimes act like she barely knew me. And if I called her, she never called back. She can be pretty—”
“Bitchy?”
“I was going to say ‘unpredictable,’” he replied.
I shrugged.
“She’s been through a lot,” he said, and I thought: Yeah, who hasn’t? “I think the stuff with her father really threw her,” he added.
“What stuff?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Alexa was in sixth grade when her dad came out.”
“Wait. Her dad’s gay?”
“For a while, it was all anyone talked about. This was before the legalization of gay marriage and stuff. She got picked on. And then she got quiet. And then she got sort of mean.”
“I didn’t know any of this,” I said, wondering what else I was in the dark about. “And the whole time, her mom was Dear Kate?”
“Oh man, I hadn’t thought about it that way. Yeah, Mrs. Baird was running around giving advice about bullying and God knows what else”—(Bras, periods, cliques, crushes, I thought)—“while her one and only daughter was a holy terror.” He shook his head. “I wish I could have stopped people from being mean to Alexa and stopped her from being mean back, but—”
I touched his toes with my toes. “But you were ten.”
He laughed. “Good point! I was ten!” I tried to picture Sam as a sandy-haired ten-year-old. “Still, Sofia, I can’t pretend I never liked Alexa. She was a friend. And then she was more.”
“How much more?” I asked, my stomach twisting.
“Pretty much more.” He met my eyes, and I felt as if I’d been punched.
“When I was a freshman, she was a sophomore, and the guys on my team were all like, ‘Dude!’”
I crossed my arms and pulled my toes back. Lately, I’d felt like I was moving forward. But now I wondered if life was like Chutes and Ladders—you advance and advance but just as quickly, you can slide backward and lose ground.
“She’s the one who showed me the windmill,” Sam said.
“She showed me too,” I confessed. “I didn’t want to say anything.”
“She did? Really?” I nodded, and he went quiet, taking that in. “Hey, Sofia, what if we tried not to keep stuff from each other? I never knew what Alexa was thinking, and that sucked actually. Maybe you and I can be more, you know, honest?”
“Okay,” I mumbled.
“So now what? Alexa’s in Canada, right?”
“Until the end of July.” I uncrossed my arms and let my pinkie finger brush the back of his hand.
He stood and pulled me up. “Let’s take a walk.”
I didn’t want to let him off the hook so easily, but he hadn’t really done anything wrong, had he? He was allowed to have a past. Yeah, but did it have to involve Alexa?
“Sofia! Sofia!” he started whisper-singing, “I just met a girl named Sofia!”
I smiled, despite myself, and told him that when I was in seventh grade, my school had put on West Side Story, and I was Maria.
“You were the lead? I bet you were amazing.”
“I kind of was.” I smiled.
He put his arm around me, but I winced. “Ouch! My shoulder!”
“Sorry!” We held hands instead, our fingers intertwined.
“My mom’s name was Maria,” I told him. “She loved that song.” My voice caught, and for a second, I felt so open that I told myself to take it slow, to try not to care too much too fast.
I’d gotten hurt careening down that hill. Maybe I should try—at least try—to put on the brakes.
• • •
I walked back to Kate’s house alone, and when I got to the edge of her yard, I could see Dad and her in the hammock. I was about to say hi when I overheard Kate say, “Gregg, maybe I do have another bombshell.” I slowed down behind the weeping willow and listened, half-hidden.
“You are the bombshell,” Dad teased. Kate must have looked serious because he added, “Wait. Should I be nervous?”
“I don’t know.”
“You two have to move, right?” Kate began. “You’re about to be evicted and you still haven’t found a new place to live.”
“You’re making it sound dire. We can always rent.”
“I love my house,” she continued. “I did as a girl and I do now. But it’s really…big. Look, I know I need to talk to Alexa about this, but on the other hand, Alexa is going to be leaving soon one way or the other.”
I stayed completely still, like one of those rabbits at dusk that, when observed, turns into a miniature lawn statue. I didn’t like that spying had become my new specialty, but I couldn’t resist.
“What I mean,” Kate continued, “is that there’s room in my house for you and Sofia and even your cat. At least for a while.” She pa
used. “Or longer?”
“You do need to talk to Alexa, and I need to talk to Sofia,” Dad began, “but if you’re saying what I hope you’re saying, well, it’s an idea worth considering.”
My mouth fell open. This wasn’t small talk; this was big talk! Giant talk! And whoa—weren’t they taking things way too fast?
“We aren’t just in a honeymoon phase, are we?” Kate asked.
“No, we’re good together. Of course, you’re the relationship expert, Katie. I just know what I feel.”
“Which is?”
“Happy when I’m with you,” Dad said. “And at home when I’m here. And like I’ve hit the jackpot because if I’m going to add a mother figure to Sofia’s life, it’s pretty great that I found an expert with girls.”
They kissed and I thought, I don’t need a mother figure! Then I wondered if that was true.
“How about you?” Dad asked. “How do you feel?”
“Happy when I’m with you,” Kate replied. “And at home with you here. And a little anxious because Alexa already has two father figures and is not looking for a third. And also, for once, a little selfish because I want what’s best for me, which is you.”
“What would Dear Kate say?” Dad asked.
“Little Miss Know-It-All would say we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
I wanted to chime in, She’d have a point!
“Well, I’d say she’s jealous,” Dad said.
“Yeah, what does she know about adults anyway?”
They laughed, then fell silent. More kissing? No way could I show myself now! I backtracked and did another lap around the lake—this time in a daze.
Was I glad the two of them had found each other?
Or was I sorry I’d ever encouraged Dad to go hear Dear Kate’s talk?
• • •
“I’m back!” I shouted and let the door bang behind me.
Dad came over with an I-have-something-important-to-tell-you expression. “Come, let’s sit on the porch.” I shrugged and followed, and we sat in the rocking chairs. “How you feeling, cupcake? No headaches?”
“I’m okay,” I said, waiting.
“You know we have to move…” He didn’t have to say any more; I’d heard it all anyway. I knew what was coming. And I knew that everything kept going, ready or not. Real life wasn’t like watching a movie on a laptop. You couldn’t press Pause or Rewind or Skip or Start Over. Life barely skipped a beat for Death. The planet never slowed down to let people absorb a shock or play catch-up. It just kept spinning and spinning.
“I was thinking,” Dad continued, “Kate and I were thinking—”
I looked out at the lush lawn. Why make him even say it out loud? “Here?” I mumbled. “Temporarily?”
“Maybe. But I hope…Katie and I hope…”
I put my hand up to stop his words. I liked Kate and was happy for Dad and, well, both of them. But if they moved in together, that would be it—the very last nail in the coffin.
“Does Alexa know?”
“Not yet. Katie’s been trying to reach her in Canada.”
I felt so heavy, it was as if I might never be able to get up from the chair. “Will you keep working at Mount Sinai?”
“I’ll commute. I might hate it in winter, but I’ll get audiobooks or you’ll make me playlists or whatever. And we can drive in together if you stay at Halsey. I already paid your deposit. Or you can go to Byram Hills. Your choice.”
My choice? What a concept.
Did I want to commute to the small, all-girls’ private school where I had gone for nine years and had lots of friends? Or did I want to be the new girl at a medium-size coed public school where I knew only Sam and Alexa?
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course. But if you stay at Halsey, I need to send them a tuition check. And if you switch, we need to get you registered.”
“Okay,” I said, though none of this was really okay. “Hey, Dad,” I said, “what’d you do with that book you got signed for your ‘niece’ anyway?”
“Put it in my waiting room,” he said sheepishly.
• • •
Fireflies twinkled in the backyard. Dad and Kate were sitting on the porch swing. I found my cell phone and started texting Kiki.
Catlover99: you there?
kikiroo: yep. right here.
Catlover99: the thong didn’t make it but i did
kikiroo: huh?
Catlover99: i had an accident
kikiroo: #1 or #2? hehe
Catlover99: no. for real
Catlover99: a bike accident…i spent the night before last in the hospital!
kikiroo: OMG!!!
kikiroo: are u ok???
Catlover99: mostly. but that’s not the big news
kikiroo: huh? whats the big news???
Catlover99: if i tell you in person, i’ll cry
Catlover99: which is why i’m writing it
kikiroo: k…
Catlover99: we’re moving!
kikiroo: WHAT???!!!!!!!!
Catlover99: kate invited us to move in
Catlover99: to her house
kikiroo: im in shock. no.
kikiroo: im depressed.
kikiroo: no. im jealous!!!
Catlover99: i’m in shock. and i’m always jealous of you
kikiroo: youll still go to HSG, right?
Catlover99: maybe… or maybe to that school we saw?
kikiroo: u cant!!!!
kikiroo: no no no NO NOOOOOOO
Catlover99: i don’t know yet
kikiroo: you can’t leave! i’m serious!
Catlover99: either way, you can come out a lot
Catlover99: alexa likes you more than me…
Catlover99: you can pretend it’s your country house
kikiroo: i can’t believe this…
Catlover99: i mean it. you can help decorate my room
kikiroo: do u have to share with alexa??
Catlover99: omg!! no!! can you imagine? alexa would never want to share a room with me.
Catlover99: and she is NOT going to be thrilled to have me as a sister!!
kikiroo: i would be.
Catlover99: awww thanks
kikiroo: ok if i call?
Catlover99: yes but reception can be spotty. call the landline, k?
The phone rang. I picked up, and Kiki, without even waiting for “hi,” said, “Start from the beginning. You were in the hospital?”
Part Two
July
Pack rat. I hated that term. Yes, I was sentimental and I was a saver, but no, I wasn’t a rodent, and my father shouldn’t call me one.
“Take it back.”
“What?”
“You said I was a pack rat. Take it back.”
“Sofia, aren’t you getting a little too old to—?” I must have looked near tears because he said, “Fine. I take it back. You’re not a pack rat. You’re a wolf cub who’s not very good at throwing things out.”
“I never said I was.” Fact is, I felt defeated by my room: full drawers, stuffed closet, overflowing armoire.
Last April, I’d set aside a lot of Mom’s things—lipsticks, purses, cards from students, even a “World’s Greatest Mom” mug I’d given her one Mother’s Day. Now I realized I couldn’t keep it all. One thing I would treasure forever was a pair of earrings—pearl studs—that Abuelo had given Mom when she was my age.
Dad was undaunted by the tasks at hand. Just as he had made us put away Christmas on January 1, he would, no doubt, have our worldly possessions boxed up before August 1. Right on schedule, we’d move to Armonk, then fly to Spain.
I still had so many decisions to make. Stubby pencils? Out. Dried-up markers? Out. Unused address labels? Out. But what
about that frayed valentine that said “Sweet Open Fun Interesting Awesome”? And the cards and fortune-tellers Kiki had made me? As for letters from Mom, I was keeping every one, no questions asked.
I wished I had a recent photo of my family. On moving up day, everyone had posed with their parents, and I’d been slammed again by the unfairness of it all. Girls often grumbled “My parents this” and “My parents that” without even realizing how…
Oh well, I knew better than to go down that path.
I reached for the ceramic sneakers I’d made in art class right before Mom died. I’d told Mom about them, but by the time the shoes emerged from the kiln, Mom was dead. No. Worse: cremated. Reduced to ashes.
Cremains. That was my least favorite word. Far worse than pack rat! I couldn’t bear to think about it, yet my parents had “discussed” what they “wanted,” and my vote didn’t count. Dad had put the “crematory container” in his closet over a year ago, and it was a subject I avoided. I’d told him I didn’t see why we had to do anything right away. What was the urgency?
Back to my ceramic sneakers. In or out? I remembered showing them to Dad and how he’d complimented me and said, “The shoelaces even have aglets!” explaining that aglets were the plastic tips that keep laces from unraveling.
As he praised my work, however, I mostly heard the booming silence of my mother’s absence. I put the shoes on the windowsill by my ceramic turtles and wished I could hear her praise: “¡Qué maravilla! ¡Me encantan! ¡Qué dotada eres!”
I wished I had aglets to keep me from unraveling.
It was terrible to crave a double dose of parental love knowing I’d never get it.
At least missing Mom came in waves now. Sometimes, I missed her a lot, sometimes…less. Which was a relief but unsettling in a new way.
I had moved up. I was moving out. Was I beginning to move on?
I fell back onto my pink canopy bed and thought about writing Dear Kate.
Dear Kate,
It’s me, Catlover. I know I should be grateful that I’m in one piece, and believe me, I am. But I’m also messed up and mixed up. As you know, we’re moving into your house. And I love your house. But I love my apartment too and I don’t want to leave—not that I have a choice.