Speed of Life

by Carol Weston

  “Oh, come on, Sofia. I should never have—you know I hate this subject. Really.”

  “No secrets?” I said. “I just don’t like that, for instance, her volleyball team knows stuff I don’t.”

  He sighed. “Sofia, I really don’t think as many people know, or care, as you think.”

  “I care,” I said, knowing I was probably being a moron.

  “If I tell you, is this going to end in tears?”

  “Try me?”

  He looked reluctant, then proceeded. “The last time was the end of May. Alexa’s mom was going to the city. Actually, I think maybe to see an opera with your dad? Alexa invited me to say good-bye before she went to Canada.”

  Oh God. I remembered that day! It was when I came to Armonk with Kiki, and Alexa had told us that she’d invited a “hot freshman” to come over and give her a proper good-bye—but “not too proper!”

  “Sam,” I protested, “you and I had already met!”

  “We’d met, but we weren’t going out. And I’m a guy,” he added. “And it’s not fair if you ask me questions and then get mad at me for answering.” He reached for my hand. “We didn’t do that much.” I knew what he was saying. “And besides,” he continued, “I didn’t even have your number.”

  I nodded, swallowed the lump in my throat, and tried to accept this new information. “You have my number now,” I finally said, wiping my eyes. “When did we start going out?”

  “In the windmill. June 18.”

  “You know the exact day?” I was surprised.

  He nodded. “Want to hear a better secret?”

  “I don’t know. Do I?”

  “You were not my first kiss, but you are my first real girlfriend.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Unless you count Rosalind Richelson. We went out for three days in fifth grade.”

  • • •

  The car phone rang and Kate answered it on Bluetooth. It was Brian, her ex’s partner. “Kate, darling, dump that doctor and run away with us.” His voice filled the car.

  “Hello, Brian. Long time no talk. Where are you two running off to this time?”

  “The Galapagos. In three weeks. Want to come?”

  “God, yes, but I have my suburban life to lead, remember? Kids. Cats. Carpools. Columns.” She looked in the rearview mirror and winked at us. “We’re in the car now, going to get kitty litter at DeCicco’s. Hey, we might even treat ourselves to yogurt at Peachwave.”

  “Oh, that silly column of yours,” Brian teased. “Can’t we do something about it?”

  “It’s my cross to bear. I write about issues; you write about islands. But send me a postcard, will you?”

  “Hi, Brian!” Alexa chimed. “Send me one too.”

  “Hello, Alley Cat! I don’t imagine there’s a post office on the Galapagos—just pink flamingos, red crabs, and blue-footed boobies. But we’ll be thinking of you—how’s that?”

  “You coming for Christmas?” Kate asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss it. We’ll bring wine and cheese.”

  “Sofia’s grandfather will be here,” Kate said. “So we’re going with a Spanish theme.”

  “¡Olé olé! We’ll bring vino and cheese-o,” Brian said.

  “Remind Dad about homecoming,” Alexa said.

  “Oh, no need. Every night before bed, he mutters, ‘We have to beat Pleasantville; we have to beat Pleasantville.’”

  Kate laughed. “Well, bon voyage.”

  They hung up, and Alexa said, “Mom, don’t tell me you still haven’t told them?”

  “I thought you might want to after the game on Saturday.”

  “Mom, we went over this! When you have huge headline news about, say, a boyfriend moving in or a bun in the oven, you don’t keep it from your nearest and dearest. That’s Life 101.”

  “Note taken,” Kate said, no doubt remembering the scene in the driveway. But I think we all knew that Life 101 was a complicated course.

  • • •

  Dad and I spent Thanksgiving in Florida. Grandma Pat didn’t travel anymore, so when we wanted to see her, we had to fly south. She’d moved to a senior residence five years earlier and had lots of friends, some in better shape than others.

  Dad and I took her to her favorite seaside restaurant for turkey and trimmings.

  “Mom, you look terrific,” Dad said. “Doing something different with your hair?”

  “Eighty is the new fifty!” she said.

  “Doesn’t she look great?” he asked me, speaking extra loudly.

  “You do!” I said, though Grandma Pat didn’t exactly look great. Her hands were spotted, and her upper arms were fleshy. Still, she looked great for her age. Her light-blue eyes sparkled against her pale skin and snowy hair.

  Grandma Pat always used to joke, “Age is a number and mine is unlisted.” But once she hit seventy-five, she started announcing her age to everyone so she could bask in their admiration. I guess she liked being told she looked young as much as she’d once liked being told she looked beautiful.

  “Sofia, how’s the new school?”

  “Good. It’s a public school. With boys.”

  “Well, don’t let them take advantage of you.” Odd phrase. Was that what Alexa had done to Sam? Taken advantage of him? “Are you still singing?” she asked.

  “Yes. My chorus is doing a holiday cabaret.” She didn’t know what a big deal that was. Even Dad had no idea I had a solo—and I was getting anxious about it. Mr. Rupcich assigned it to me because the song was in Spanish, and though I’d been tempted to say, I can’t, I’d heard myself say, “Okay.”

  She asked if I was making new friends, and I told her I’d met a nice girl in chorus who wanted to be a fashion designer. She asked about Kiki, and I told her she was writing an advice column for the Halsey Herald.

  “Oh, that’s neat. She has such spunk.”

  Neat? Spunk? I didn’t add that Kiki had nearly keeled over when I’d finally told her that it was Dear Kate who was, as Alexa sometimes put it, “preggers.”

  Four years earlier, Kiki and I had visited Grandma Pat by ourselves—partly so my mom and dad could get away for their fifteenth anniversary. Even then, my grandmother had seemed ancient. When she fiddled with the car radio, the car swerved. When she offered to help with luggage, we knew to refuse. And when she said, “I can still sew, but threading needles is the dickens,” Kiki and I had stopped what we were doing and volunteered to thread a bunch of needles for her.

  Still, Grandma Pat had always acted younger than her years. She even made fun of the Old People (“OP’s” she called them mischievously) who, when you said hello, gave a rundown of their latest ailments. “I don’t care for ‘organ recitals,’” she said. “Down here, everyone has aches and pains and senior moments.” She joked that one neighbor’s memory was so bad, “he invited people over, and when they showed up, he thought he was having a surprise party.”

  Dad laughed. “Listen, Mom, I have news.”

  “Good news, I hope. It’s the only kind I like these days. I can’t bring myself to read the paper anymore. It’s all hurricanes and obituaries.”

  “Good news, yes.” The waiter served us plates of poultry and sweet potatoes. “You know I’m seeing someone?”

  “I know it must be serious because you’re living together. When are you going to make an honest woman of her? You are setting an example, you know.”

  Grandma Pat crinkled her nose at me, and I thought, You don’t know the half of it.

  “My intentions are honorable.”

  “Then you should have invited her to be with us, Greggie.”

  “She’s in Ohio, visiting her big sister,” I said. “She went with her daughter, Alexa.” Since Grandma Pat knew about my bike accident, I chimed in that Alexa had recently made me go for a bike ride to “get
back on the horse.”

  “Well, have you proposed?” Grandma Pat asked.

  Dad looked taken aback. “Uh, with two teens and two jobs, we—”

  “Sofia, what do you think?”

  I thought about it, then blurted, “Yes. I think they should seal the deal.”

  Grandma Pat clapped her hands. “Oh goody!”

  “It would be a low-key wedding,” Dad said.

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said. “And now I have news: I’ve met someone too.”

  What?!

  “His name is Dean, and he’s a wonderful ballroom dancer. He plays the piano at our chapel and at the health center.”

  “Mom, that’s great.”

  “Grandma, you little hottie!”

  “That’s me, a little hottie!” She laughed. “I’m robbing the cradle. He’s only seventy-seven.”

  “A boy toy!” I said.

  “Well, he is boyish about birthdays. He likes to have a cake full of candles, every year accounted for. How about you, Sofia? Do you have someone special?”

  “I might.”

  “Oh! Come with me, will you? And tell me in the powder room.”

  Why not? Sam was one of my favorite topics. I used to think my grandma and I had nothing to talk about because we didn’t like the same music, movies, or magazines. But maybe there were more layers to Grandma Pat than I’d realized. And maybe she was better with teenagers than kids.

  • • •

  “She’s something, isn’t she?” Dad said as we drove our rental car back to the hotel. “I’m glad she has a companion.” Grandpa Oscar had died eight years earlier, and Dad didn’t seem at all conflicted about his mother’s new love life.

  “Dad, if he’s a candle counter, he’ll be able to count backward nine months. When are you going to tell Grandma?”

  “After the amnio and a few other hurdles. I’d hate to have to untell her.” I nodded. “Sofia, will you help me pick out a ring?”

  “Sure. And shouldn’t Alexa come too?”

  He seemed surprised. “Up to you.”

  “Dad, I know she blows hot and cold, but if I’m going to be stuck with her…”

  He smiled. “Very sensible.”

  • • •

  Our hotel room had two big beds and one tiny terrace. I gazed out at the black water and starry sky. The hotel lights made the sand look like a field of snow.

  Snow? I thought of the Snow Ball and texted Sam “Happy Thanksgiving.” But my cell kept saying, “Searching.” I hoped Sam could somehow sense that I was thinking of him, searching for him. I also hoped he’d officially invite me to the dance. It was two weeks away!

  I took another look at the ocean and thought, The sea never changes. Then I realized I had it all wrong. The sea was always changing—the size of the waves, the warmth of the water, the color of the sky, even how much seaweed or sea foam lined the shore.

  When we went to sleep, Dad and I left the terrace door open so we could hear and smell the briny surf, and I listened to the whisper of water on sand, water on sand, water on sand. No matter what happened to anyone, anywhere, good or bad, the tides would keep rolling in.

  That never changed; the world never stopped.

  A year and a half ago, that had seemed so callous and unfair. Now it was also…reassuring.

  • • •

  The clock said 6:44. Where was I? What was that line of light on the floor? Oh, right. I was in a hotel room. In Florida! The sun was peeking out from beneath the curtains.

  I walked quietly out to the terrace. The sky was pale with wispy, lavender-and-white clouds lit from below. A pink-amber ball of fire peeked out and was beginning to climb the morning sky. A dazzling-yellow stripe zigzagged across the ocean, as if dividing it in two.

  I’d seen photos, sure, but had I ever really witnessed a sunrise?

  Two couples were on the beach. One was jogging; the other was looking down, collecting shells, no doubt. I wanted to shout, Look up! Look up!

  I looked up and watched as the sea became a mirror. The sun kept climbing and its reflection shone in the tidewater. Soon, there were two suns—one high in the sky, one low in the water, both blindingly bright.

  “Dad, you have to see this!” I called. It felt like more than the dawn of a new day. It felt, well, Alexa would say, “epic.”

  • • •

  I pressed KEEKS on my cell phone. “How was Thanksgiving?”

  “I ate too much.”

  “You’re supposed to.”

  “And my dad was disgustingly nice to his new girlfriend and her yappy dog and yappy kid.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And I just got a C- in algebra. I hate quadratic equations, and I hate Mr. Gruneau, and I hate all the teachers who think that if you’re even part Asian, you must be a math genius!”

  “That does suck,” I said. “If Alexa weren’t helping me in math, I’d be drowning.” I added, “But I’m helping her in español.”

  “Are you two finally amigas?”

  “We’ll never be besties,” I said. “And she’s still crabby about Kate’s baby bump. But yeah. And when she snarls, I don’t let it get to me as much.”

  “What about Sam?”

  “Things are good.”

  “Has he asked you to that dance?”

  “Not yet. What do you think that means?”

  “That even perfect boyfriends are imperfect.” She laughed.

  “I could be aggressive and ask him.” I thought about explaining the reference, but I didn’t. Maybe next time I saw her in person.

  “So when are you coming to Halsey?” she asked. “You haven’t been back since you left!”

  “Maybe for the Holiday Fair?”

  “Good idea. Because if you stay away too long, people will think you don’t care.”

  “Okay, Answer Girl.” I didn’t tell her that Sam had told me sort of the same thing: you can’t press Pause on people.

  I did want to visit Halsey, but I needed to be ready. Sometimes, it felt as if I had a box inside me crammed with memories, and I wanted to be in charge of when to open it.

  It was the unexpected memories, the sharp surprises, that stopped me cold. That morning, Dad had dropped off some photos to be developed—he’d found an old disposable camera in a zipper pocket of his luggage. After school, Kate drove me to the store to pick them up. When I got back in the car, I must have looked shaken because she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  I handed her the bag. It contained twenty-four photos of our spring trip to Florida just over a year and a half earlier. Some were of pelicans and palm trees and Grandma Pat. But one was of Mom, Dad, and me, looking healthy and happy and unmistakably like a family. It was the last one taken of the three of us together—the very last one.

  “It’s beautiful,” Kate said, studying the image.

  I stared and stared. Who were these people?

  Ah, but I knew. My mom, my brown-eyed, dark-haired mom, smiled so easily. We all did. We smiled like it was nothing, like we didn’t realize time was passing—racing! speeding!—and that this moment was precious and fleeting.

  I couldn’t stop staring at the girl in the picture. She looked so innocent, so young, and so like her mother. She had no idea how crushed she was about to feel. She had no idea how tortuous mourning was and how, when you came out of it, when you could finally breathe again, when you woke up from the months of sleepwalking, what you got, at best, was the strength to keep going. That was your reward: strength, resilience, maybe a little wisdom or compassion. But not Mom. You didn’t get your mom back.

  My eyes had filled with tears. I hadn’t prepared myself as I did when I looked at old photos or visited Mom’s tree—and as I would when I visited Halsey. “I wasn’t expecting these,” I said to Kate.

  “I’m so
sorry,” Kate replied.

  “How long did it take you to get over it when your parents died?” Alexa had told me that Kate’s parents had died long ago.

  “Oh, honey.” She gave me a hug and held me in her arms. “I’ll let you know when I do.”

  • • •

  “Mom, not to give you advice or anything,” Alexa said, “but shouldn’t you have a ring on your finger now that you have a baby in your belly?” Alexa plopped blobs of oatmeal raisin dough onto a cookie sheet.

  I pretended to be fully absorbed in making us gingerbread spice tea.

  “Well, as a matter of fact…” Kate extended her left hand and wiggled her fingers.

  “Mom, that’s a hair band!”

  “Yes it is.”

  “Please don’t tell me Gregg gave you a hair band instead of a diamond. That would be, like, seriously disturbing.”

  “Last night,” Kate said, “Gregg pulled this ponytail holder out of my hair and slipped it on my finger. He was joking, but I like it. We like it. He called it a ‘promise.’”

  “Oh God, Mom! If a boyfriend put a scrunchie on my finger, he’d be an ex-boyfriend,” Alexa said. “I promise.”

  “You and I are very different people.”

  “Yeah. I’m someone who would never let a guy confuse a rubber band with a rock. Would you two even be getting married if it weren’t for the little interloper?” She pointed to Kate’s belly.

  “Yes,” Kate said, catching my eye. “Yes, we would.”

  December

  “We’re going to the dance together, right?” Sam texted a week before the dance.

  “Right,” I texted back. “But that was NOT romantic.”

  Seconds later, my cell rang. “My very dearest Señorita Sofia,” Sam said, “may I have the pleasure of escorting you to the Byram Hills Snow Ball?”

  I laughed. “You may.”

  Now the big night was here.

  Alexa and I had gone shopping weeks before. Her dress was black and slinky with spaghetti straps; mine was creamy satin and A-line. We were both wearing heels, but Alexa’s were higher than mine, so she towered over me more than usual.