by Carol Weston
“So come to the city! We’ll be NNNs together! We won’t tell your dad!”
“Maybe next year—unless we’re too old for trick-or-treating.”
“Take it back!” Kiki said, though that was usually my line.
“I take it back.”
“Hey, Sof, you should come see Madison in the fall musical.”
“Maybe. I guess.”
“Actually, forget Madison! How about coming in this Sunday to see me?”
“Done,” I said, surprising us both.
“We’ll go to the Museum of Modern Art. I have student passes.”
“Great,” I said, already looking forward to it.
• • •
“Three! Two! One!” Alexa hurled her basketball from the corner of the driveway, and it swooshed through the net. “Hey, Sofia, Amanda said you can invite Sam to her party if you want. You two are still together, right?”
“Right.” Her question seemed odd. I hadn’t talked to Sam much that week, and truth be told maybe I was sort of avoiding him. I hadn’t even returned his texts or calls because I was afraid I’d be tempted to tell him everything.
She bounced the ball. “Good, because I think this annoying sophomore, Tifini, wants to get her hands on him. She sat next to him at lunch today.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” Tifini? Tifini of the long bangs and big boobs?
“You know her, right? She’s got tits out to here, and she’s besties with this girl Suzy who spells her name S-I-O-U-X-Z.” Alexa made another basket. “So what are you going to be tonight?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t want to say that lately I’d been giving myself credit for being able to be myself.
“I have some outfits: cave girl, French maid, witch with stick-on warts…”
“I don’t want to be a warty witch!”
“Come take a look.” Alexa tucked the ball beneath her arm and led me up to her room, a first for us. I’d snooped a little when she was in Canada, so I’d seen her sports trophies, posters (the Knicks, the Stones, The Scream by Munch), even a photo of Sam and her at last year’s Snow Ball. But I’d never been invited in.
The Snow Ball photo was gone, and Alexa had put up new posters of indie bands. Her bulletin board was covered with sports articles from The Oracle and fortunes from Chinese cookies: “You will experience new things,” “The time is right to make new friends,” “If you continually give, you will continually have.” Alexa had scribbled “in bed” at the end of each fortune.
She saw me eye the giant book on her desk, Fiske Guide to Colleges. “So far, I’m thinking about applying to Oberlin and Carleton and Occidental,” she said. “But nowhere nearby. If Mom knew I was applying to St Andrews, in Scotland, she’d die.” She looked at me. “Sorry! I don’t mean ‘die.’ I mean ‘flip out,’ ‘have a cow,’ ‘go ballistic.’”
“It’s okay,” I said, struck by her sudden sensitivity. In eighth grade, Kiki had often said things like, “I could kill my mother!” and then apologized. But I didn’t expect Alexa to ever consider my reaction to specific words.
She reached into her closet and pulled out a box of costumes.
A dress-up box? Ha! Who’d have guessed? I’d have to report this to Kiki.
Alexa started rifling through her outfits, then announced, “I’m a genius! You can be Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz—but hot!” She handed me a blue-and-white gingham dress; a poofy, white blouse; ruby-red slippers; and blue ribbons to wear with pigtails.
I tried on the outfit and checked Alexa’s mirror. Not bad. Yet what I liked most was the way Alexa and I looked in the mirror—not like sisters, no, but not like archenemies either.
• • •
I finally texted Sam and told him to meet me at Amanda’s. The music was loud, and the floor was sticky. There were about forty kids there, mostly juniors and seniors. At first, Sam and I hung out with Alexa and Evan, which meant Dorothy and a pirate (with an eye patch) hung out with a devil girl and John Lennon. (Evan was wearing a Beatles wig, granny glasses, and a peace necklace.)
Amanda said, “Sofia! I made Spanish food!” and pointed to a bowl of chili and guacamole. I decided not to tell her that Mexican food and Spanish food are not the same.
It was hard to hear each other, so Sam and I started dancing. But no sooner did I put my arms on his shoulders than my gingham dress ripped down one seam. I looked at Alexa and started apologizing profusely, but she shouted, “Relax. It’s not like I’m planning on wearing it again.”
“Besides,” Sam said, “It’s sexy. You look like Dorothy after the tornado.”
He pulled me down a hallway and into Amanda’s room. “Sofia, can we talk?” he said. “I called and texted you a lot this week. Did you, like, lose your phone or something?”
“No, I…” We were sitting on Amanda’s bed, and I was trying not to think about Sam and Alexa hooking up at that Halloween party exactly a year ago. But I was also thinking that I was sorry that I’d sworn to keep my mouth shut about Kate. I was afraid that if I opened up to Sam, everything would come tumbling out.
“I missed you,” he said.
“Can’t we just kiss?” I said.
Sam studied me, with a look I’d never seen before. “Sofia, what’s going on?”
“I…I don’t know.” I put my arms around him and kissed him, hoping we could feel closer, but this time, he pulled my arms off and said, “There’s something you’re not telling me. And we said, ‘No more secrets,’ remember?”
Alexa barged into the room.
“Oh, whoops!” she said, though I doubted she’d walked in by mistake. “I came to get my phone. I left it here, charging.” She grabbed her phone from Amanda’s bureau and shot me a look of warning before going back into the party.
“Sofia,” Sam said when Alexa was out of earshot, “you know, you’re acting kind of like her. And I don’t get it.”
“I’m sorry, Sam,” I said, and he waited for me to say something else. I didn’t.
Finally, he said, “Well, I’m sorry too.” He sounded both disappointed and annoyed.
“Let’s just dance, okay?” I said.
“No, Sofia. Not okay. It doesn’t work that way.” I was torn between staying mute and telling him everything. I wish I hadn’t sworn to Alexa that I would keep Kate’s news to myself. Sam got up. “I just thought you and I had something better.” He walked toward the door.
Had? Had?
“Sam, wait! We do!” I started to say, but he didn’t turn around, and then it was too late. He was back in the middle of the loud, sticky party, and I was watching from the hallway. Tifini and Suzy—no, Siouxz—trotted toward Sam in their matching vampire costumes. They were pulling him into the living room and everyone was dancing.
And just like that, I was alone.
Alone in a crowd.
Where was Alexa? Oh, in the den on Evan’s lap, flanked by two juniors from her volleyball team in Batgirl outfits. Zack and Zoe were dressed as a plug and a socket, which I thought was a little gross.
Nevada saw me. “You okay?” I tried to look more okay than I felt, and she handed me a can of beer. I was about to say no thanks, but I took it. It was bitter and cold. Why did everyone love beer so much? I drank a sip and started to feel a little clammy when a girl ran past me to go outside and…puke?
I stood there, beer in hand, feeling uncool and off balance. I wished I were in the city, trick-or-treating with Kiki. Then I realized that Kiki was in high school now too, maybe at a party like this one. She wasn’t trick-or-treating; she was probably dancing or playing Truth or Dare or who-knows-what.
I headed to the bathroom and knocked. After a moment, a boy and girl came out, and I went inside, glad for the moment of privacy.
But I couldn’t escape my own thoughts.
I remembered that party in the city when Miles w
anted to kiss me, and I’d pushed him away. Now I’d wanted to kiss Sam, and he had pushed me away.
Were Sam and I having a fight? Breaking up? Was it all my fault?
I could feel the tears forming, and I hated myself for being a baby and a crybaby. Dear Kate had promised that things would get easier. But nothing was easy, and I wished I could ask my own mom for advice.
I looked in the mirror and was startled to see Dorothy staring back. I splashed my face, fixed my hair ribbons, smoothed my dress, and wished I could click my ruby slippers together and go—not just home but all the way back to childhood.
You can’t! the mirror chided. You’re not in Kansas anymore!
November
It was Friday after a long week of school, and I climbed into the hammock. It swayed, then slowed, and I looked through the ropey parallelograms at the leaves and pinecones. My new home, which had been shimmery green in the spring and summer and bright orange and yellow weeks ago was fading to brown. And night was falling earlier and earlier.
Dad’s weekend plans were to clean the gutters and store things away for the winter—the picnic table, the lawn chairs, the hammock. He’d also started pulling down an “invasive” woody vine called bittersweet that he said was “choking” some trees. I pointed out its pretty, red berries and asked if I could cut a few sprigs for decoration. He handed me shears, and I arranged the sprigs in a vase and put them in the living room. I liked them even if they were invasive. And I liked their name: bittersweet.
Kate’s “procedure” was still set for Tuesday. She was on her way back from Providence, Rhode Island, where she’d spoken at a girls’ school.
Alexa was driving up the driveway, so I tipped myself out of the hammock and joined her in the kitchen. We nuked some apple cider, and her laptop rang like an old-fashioned telephone, which meant her dad was Skyping in. Suddenly, Alexa and Bryan were face-to-face. She walked around holding her laptop as if carrying his head on a tray. He was a handsome middle-aged man with messy, salt-and-pepper hair and stubble. Funny that I still hadn’t met him in person.
“Hi, Dad!” Alexa said. She tilted the screen toward me so I could give Bryan a quick wave. “How’s Barbados?”
“Good weather and good birding. Get this: the hotel café has a ceiling fan, and a hummingbird built a nest right under one of the blades.”
“What a birdbrain!” Alexa joked.
“Turns out all the guests want to protect the mama bird, so the staff taped a sign over the switch that says ‘Do not touch.’”
I wondered if Alexa was going to tell him about Kate’s pregnancy.
“How’s Brian?” Alexa asked.
“Fine. He can’t decide whether to write that the water is ‘jade’ or ‘emerald’ or ‘turquoise.’”
“Tell him ‘azure’!”
“You’d love it here. The hotel guests and Bajans all splash around together.”
“So take me next time.”
“I will—if you’re not in school.”
Alexa picked up Coconut and wiggled her paw in front of the screen. “Coco says hi.”
It was surprising to see Alexa’s little-girl side. She usually kept it hidden. They talked for a few more minutes and then he said, “Listen, Lexi, I’d better scoot. If I don’t rescue Brian, he’ll get a ferocious sunburn.”
After the swooshing noise that meant the call was over, Alexa looked at me. “It’s like he’s in some alternate universe.”
Coco meowed and weaved between Alexa’s ankles. Poor cat was too old to smell her food anymore, so Alexa added a tablespoon of water and stirred. Coco rubbed Alexa’s shin in gratitude, looked both ways for predators, then dug into her newly discovered chow.
“Does your dad know your mom’s pregnant?”
“I don’t think so,” Alexa replied. “He would have said something.”
“I still think they should consider having the baby.” I added quietly.
Alexa put her hands up and sighed. “You live in a dream world, Sofia.”
I gave her a tiny nod. Maybe she was right. Maybe I did live in a dream world.
• • •
An hour later, Alexa dribbled her basketball right into the dining room. “Watch!” she said. She bounced the ball at a sharp angle and flipped on the light switch in one try. “Astonishing, right?”
I had to agree. And I was glad we could disagree one minute and be friendly the next.
Dad called to say he was going to be working late, so Alexa made pesto pasta, and I set the table for three. I checked my cell to see if Sam had called—but no. No missed calls. No texts. I pressed SAM but then put my phone back down. I hated that I didn’t even know what to write. I found a little video of a cat chasing its tail, so I sent that. A peace offering? A bridge of reconciliation? Or just me being stupid?
Kate walked in and told us she’d fallen asleep on the train from Provincetown.
“How’d the talks go?” I asked. Kate had said she never worried about school assemblies, only about after-school and evening talks. She’d said she never knew whether anybody would show up at those—and never wanted to have to say, “Thank you both for coming!”
“Good crowd. Thanks.”
“Any hot widowers?” Alexa asked.
“I’ll ignore that.” Kate smiled.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“It was harder when I didn’t know what was wrong and why I was so achy and run-down. Not that…” She filled her plate. “Girls’ night in! So how are you guys? And how are your guys? Sam? Evan?”
We both mumbled, “Okay.” Truth was, things were not okay with Sam. And I felt confused and sad.
“Mom, if we tell you anything,” Alexa said, “you’ll give us a lecture, and a woman in your condition…”
“No free lectures,” Kate said. “I get paid to lecture.”
• • •
On Saturday morning, I kept checking my phone but nothing from Sam. I asked Dad if he wanted to play Boggle, and he said sure, so we played a few rounds. He found gnat; I found gnashed.
“I remember when Mom and I used to let you write down one-letter words,” he said. “You’d write A and I very carefully, with the tip of your little tongue sticking out.”
“How often do you think of Mom?” I asked. Now that she didn’t live with us or teach at my school, entire mornings or afternoons sometimes slipped by without my thinking of her. Not whole days though. Never a whole day. “Not a day goes by…”
“Every day,” Dad replied.
“But you’re happy with Kate?” I studied our score sheet.
“Yes. And I have you. And she has Alexa.” He looked up at me.
“What about the baby?” I asked.
“Katie says having a baby would be like trying for twenty-one at blackjack when we have two tens. Better to stand pat.”
Out the window, a family of skinny deer grazed in the distance. All at once, they picked up their heads as if they’d heard something.
“Lately, though,” he conceded, “I’ve noticed that my patients never ask, ‘Do you have a child?’ They always ask, ‘Do you have children?’” He shrugged. “How about you? How often do you think of Mom?”
“Every day. It’s easier than it used to be.” It was hard to admit this aloud, and my nose stung as if I’d had too much wasabi.
Dad nodded. “Having a wonderful mother, then losing her, that’s…a lot. But look at you. You’re doing well.”
“It helps to have a wonderful father,” I mumbled, and I could tell he appreciated that. I shook the Boggle cubes and lifted off the plastic cover. “But, Dad,” I blurted, “I don’t get it. Don’t you want to keep the baby?”
He didn’t answer—just looked for words. And then he looked so sad, I had to turn away and was sorry I’d asked. “It’s more Kate’s call than mine. Women are the
ones whose lives get upended. Men can start a life and walk away. Women can’t. And she doesn’t really want to start over.”
“But you’d never walk away.”
“No. Never. Of course not.”
• • •
Alexa gave me a ride to the train station. Kiki and I were meeting at the Museum of Modern Art. “I’ve been there with my dad,” Alexa said. “Say hi to Frida Kahlo for me.”
“Frida Kahlo?”
“There’s a self-portrait I like. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“How?”
“Because Frida’s holding scissors, and she’s surrounded by locks of hair and looks totally badass. Like she’s saying, ‘Don’t even think about messing with me!’”
“You want me to say hi to a crazy lady?”
“I studied her in AP Art History. I used to identify with her. She was full of rage. Her husband, Diego Rivera, cheated on her with her sister.”
Huh. I’d known Alexa a long time before I knew her dad was gay or that she knew anything about art. Someday, would someone know me a long time before they knew that my mom died or that I’m half Spanish and used to sing?
At MoMA, Kiki and I met at the coat check, and she showed me a copy of the Halsey Herald. “Look at my column,” she said, pointing proudly. “‘Ask Kiki.’”
“Wow! That’s so cool!”
“Yeah but not enough girls write in.”
“You can’t blame them! It’s not exactly anonymous at HSG.”
“Good point. I was starting to take it personally.” Kiki looked at me. “I guess I needed your advice!”
“Sofia is Greek for wisdom,” I reminded her.
“You should start your own column: ‘Sofia Says.’”
I laughed. “No way. I leave that to you experts.” I asked Kiki if I could keep her column, and she gave it to me.
The day was mild, and Kiki and I went to the garden and split a sandwich next to a large Henry Moore sculpture called Family Group. It was a bronze man, woman, and child with dot eyes. The mother and father were not looking at or touching each other, but both parents were holding the child.