The Best Possible Answer

by E. Katherine Kottaras

  “You could give her a chance—” Virgo starts to say.

  “Nope,” I say, interrupting him. “There are no more chances.”

  “So you don’t give her credit for being honest?”

  “Hell no.”

  “I agree with Viviana,” Sammie says.

  “Okay, let me ask you this,” Virgo says. “Would it have been better if she’d kissed the guy and then lied about it to Evan?”

  “No! She shouldn’t have done it at all!” I say. “Why? Do you actually think she should have lied?”

  “Hell yes,” Virgo says. “What’s it going to fix? She was never going to see that other guy again. It’s like what she did with him happened in another dimension. It doesn’t count.”

  “I’d rather know,” I say.

  “Are you sure about that?” Virgo says. “Are you really sure you’d rather know?”

  I think about everything I do know—I feel for the keys that are burning a hole in my pocket.

  I look at Virgo. And I pull out the keys. “Yes,” I say. “Because I already do.”

  “What are those?” Sammie asks.

  “I found these in my father’s drawer. They’re the keys to his other house.”

  “Oh, no,” Sammie says.

  Virgo picks up the keys. “What are you talking about?”

  “What do you mean, ‘his other house’?” Evan leans over and takes them from Virgo’s hands. He reads the label. “What’s Geneva Terrace?”

  Maybe it’s the fact that they’re all staring at me or maybe it’s the thundering sky or maybe it’s what Sammie said about how I need more people in my life who care about me. Or maybe it’s the fact that Evan’s being totally, completely honest with me and I actually do care about him, and so I want to do everything in my power to save him from another broken heart.

  So I tell them.

  About my father.

  His other family. His two kids. His two lives.

  I tell them everything.

  “That’s insane,” Virgo says.

  But Evan says nothing. He just hands me back the keys with a strange look, and I’m not sure if the expression on his face is one of pity or confusion or sudden and complete understanding about why I often act like a complete freak.

  “I looked her up on Facebook,” I continue. “She’s in Acapulco on vacation, she and her kids—I mean their kids. She doesn’t have any pictures of him, but a hundred bucks my dad’s there, too. He said he’s back in Singapore on work, but he’s a compulsive liar, so…”

  “She took his name?” Virgo says.

  “Hyphenated. Paige Griffin-Lowe.”

  “That’s bizarre. Do you think she knows about you?”

  “I have no idea,” I say. “But I’m thinking about going in.”

  “Into his house?” Sammie asks. “You’re going to break in?”

  “Is it really his house? Or is it technically mine? I mean, if I’m his daughter, then everything that belongs to him belongs to me, right?”

  “I think you have a right to go in,” Virgo says, holding his Coke up in a mock toast. “See what this family’s story is.”

  “No,” Sammie says. “She doesn’t! Vivi, I get that you’re upset, but this isn’t going to help.”

  “It might help me understand—” I start to say.

  “No!” Sammie snaps. “The only thing that will help is talking to him. And your mom. You have to confront this directly, not sneak into his house looking for answers that you know are not there.”

  “Sammie, why aren’t you supporting me in this?”

  “Because it’s a dumb idea.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I don’t know why you always have to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “You make everything more complicated than it needs to be.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Forget it,” Sammie says. “I shouldn’t say anything.”

  “No,” I say. “Go for it. You’re obviously busting to say something, so say it.”

  “Okay, fine. You want to know? You make these impulsive choices, you don’t think things through, and then you come to me and—”

  “And then I come to you and you’re sick of me? You’re sick of my drama?”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “Then what, exactly, were you going to say?”

  “You need to think it through. You need to face your problems directly, for once.”

  “Instead of you doing it for me.”

  Sammie bites her lip.

  “You know what? I have thought this through. It’s all I can think about.” How dare she call me impulsive or dramatic. She’s the one who’s dedicated her life to the performing arts. “I’m going to act on those thoughts—and it’s going to be quite deliberate.”

  I stand up.

  “You’re going there now?”

  “Yes, Sammie, I’m going there now.”

  “But it’s pounding rain out there.”

  “Are you coming with? Are you going to be a friend to me? I need a friend right now. Or are you going to continue to throw insults at me?”

  “You need help, Vivi.”

  “You telling me that I need help isn’t helping, Sammie. It never helps. It just makes me feel worse.”

  I grab my jacket and my bag, and I run out the door before she can find more ways to remind me that I’m losing my mind.

  “Viviana, wait!”

  It’s Evan. I tap the button for the elevator again, even though I know it won’t make it come faster.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “What?”

  “Like you said, you need a friend right now.”

  I’m about to tell him to stay here, that he doesn’t need my brand of crazy in his life, but then he puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Let me in, Viviana. Will you let me be your friend?”

  The elevator bell rings and the door opens.

  “Okay,” I say finally. “I will.”

  Mistakes to Avoid Your Senior Year of High School #3

  Don’t forget to ask your parents for help! Parents can have experience and be a great resource. Don’t shy away from asking them to support you in all your endeavors!

  The house is nice. Incredibly nice. Modern and new, with dark hardwood floors, bone gray walls, bookshelves that span the length of the room and hover over an old brick fireplace that’s been painted white. There’s hardly any evidence that kids live here—a white canvas fort with patterned blue-and-green pennant flags and some square baskets hiding toys in the corner of the living room. Granted, they’re on vacation, but other than that fact, there’s no kids’ art on the walls, no pictures of them, nothing—there’s just not much proof that an actual family lives here.

  Evan and I head up the narrow stairwell to the second floor, where each kid has a bedroom—the girl’s painted lavender and white, the boy’s painted a deep shamrock green—and each is clean and tidy, just like the first floor. There’s a third room, one that’s bright turquoise, with white furniture—it’s mostly modern, but there are a few stuffed animals on the bed. “I thought they had only two kids,” he says.

  “I thought so, too.”

  I step into the room and I know instantly that it belongs to a girl. A teenage girl. Someone about my age. The clues are obvious: a black-and-white pillow on the bed that says Believe in Yourself; block letters of the word L-O-V-E and then her name, E-L-L-A, hanging on the walls next to a Stanford pennant. This room has the most photos. They’re collaged on the wall in the shape of a heart. I scan the photos and see her—his other daughter. She’s older than I am—there are pictures of her in her high school graduation cap, one where she’s holding her brother when he was a baby, and other photos of her standing with my dad—our dad—she’s wearing a Stanford shirt, pointing to it with one hand and flashing a peace sign with the other. He’s beaming with this huge, proud smile. The smile that I haven’t
seen from him in months.

  We find the stairway to the third floor, which leads to Paige’s bedroom suite. Including the bathroom and a huge walk-in closet and adjoining seating area with vaulted ceilings, the upstairs room is the length of the house, and about the size of our entire apartment at Bennett Village.

  I sit down on a wooden bench at the foot of their king-size bed.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes.” I take a deep breath and a laugh escapes my chest. “No. Did you ever have the wind knocked out of you?”

  “Yeah. I fell ice-skating when I was ten. It hurt like hell.”

  “Happened to me a couple of weeks ago. I fell down some stairs. I thought that was my low point.”

  Evan sits down next to me.

  “He’s been holding out on us. He said I couldn’t go to this summer program because he couldn’t afford it. But he could have. This place shows me that he very easily could have.” I think about Ella’s room. “Or maybe he couldn’t because he has to pay for Stanford.”

  Evan nods. “What do you think you’ll do now?”

  “Tell my mom?” It comes out as a question, not a statement, but the minute I say it, I know it’s what I have to do. “She needs to know, right?”

  “Maybe she already does?”

  I look at him. The truth of what he just said hits me hard. “I hadn’t thought of that. I bet you’re right. I bet she knows already.” I drop my head in my hands. “What is my life? I don’t know how to deal with any of this.”

  “I think you’re actually dealing with all this really well.”

  “What?” I laugh. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t see you running into any swimming pools with all your clothes on.”

  I consider his point. I’m not dizzy. I’m not hyperventilating. I’m not falling into an Episode. I’m in shock—yes—but I also somehow feel an odd sense of calm. Like now that I have answers, at least I understand my life with a bit more clarity. I lift my head and look at him. I lean into his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around me. “Thank you for being my friend today.”

  “Of course,” he says. “And plus, you’ve helped me.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, you’ve convinced me not to get back together with my ex.”

  “Ha.” I look up at him. “Glad I could be of service.”

  He smiles at me. “It’s the right decision. I’m really into this other girl anyway.”

  I smile back. “She sounds like a keeper.”

  “You’re going to be okay. You know that, right?”

  And just like that night in seventh grade, and that day under the umbrella, I lean in. And I kiss him.

  He returns this kiss. It’s soft and careful. The tension in my body releases at the touch of his lips on mine.

  But then he pulls back. “No. Not again. Not like this.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I stand up. “Sammie’s right. I do make everything complicated.”

  “It’s not that—it’s just—this isn’t the right place or the right time—”

  “You’re right.” I want to love someone like you, I think. I want to trust someone like you. Someone honest and kind and nice. But I’m in my father’s other house. “My life is a mess, and I’m broken, and you deserve someone who’s not.”

  He tries to explain himself, but I tell him I don’t want to talk about it anymore, I just want to leave.

  He makes it worse by listening to my request and not saying anything else and thus proving, once again, what a good friend he could have been if only I hadn’t messed it up by kissing him again.

  * * *

  I can’t go to Sammie’s, I can’t talk to Evan, and the last place I want to be is home with my mom and Mila, but unless I want to be homeless on the street, it’s the only place I have.

  I throw my dad’s keys to Geneva Terrace in a garbage can on Clark Street, and then I make my way back through the rain to Bennett Tower, back to my real life, which is nothing but a lie.

  By the time I get home, I’m soaked.

  My mom and Mila are home. They’re both at the dining room table, but oddly enough, my mom’s not at her computer, and Mila’s not sitting in front of the TV. They’re in the middle of a Jenga game. Mila looks over the wobbly tower and smiles when she sees me. “I’m winning.”

  “There are no winners in Jenga,” my mom says with a laugh. And then she looks at me. “Get yourself in the shower and come play with us.”

  “That’s it?” I say. “No probing questions about where I’ve been or judgmental comments about how my aimlessness is bad for Mila?”

  “We miss you, Viviana,” my mom says. “I hope this time you’re here to stay.”

  I go to the bathroom and strip down. I turn the water as hot as it can go. I sit on the floor of the tub and let the shower pound down on my back. My skin turns red under the heat of the water, but it’s not enough to dissolve the pain. I’m home, and they are out there waiting for me to return to them dry and renewed, as though everything in our lives is normal and fine.

  But I know it’s not.

  It’ll never be normal or fine, ever again.

  Mistakes to Avoid Your Senior Year of High School #4

  Many students lose steam during the summer between their junior and senior years. Of course, some loss of motivation is inevitable. Now is not the time to relax! Now is the time to think about your future!

  I’m woken up an hour later by the sounds of notifications from my phone. It’s the hollow, quick ding of the text message bell, five in a row.

  I roll over and reach into my bag. I don’t know who could be texting me so much.

  I click through. They’re all from Sammie:

  OMG, Vivi, call me.

  Evan saw the photo.

  Someone at St. Mary’s found the photo and showed Evan.

  Virgo messaged me to see if it was really you.

  I’m so sorry, Vivi. Call me. I’m here.

  Oh God. The photo. My photo.

  I scream into my pillow.

  My mom and Mila come running into my room.

  “Viviana, what’s going on?”

  “I can’t— I can’t— I can’t—”

  “Viviana, take a deep breath.”

  “I can’t— I can’t— I can’t—”

  “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  “No. Mama. I can’t—”

  “You’re home now. You’re fine.”

  She’s blurry, Mila’s blurry; everything is a spinning, blurry mess.

  Mila’s glued against my wall, a look of pure terror in her eyes, and I want to calm down for her. I want to be in control for her. I want to be myself for her.

  I let myself fall into my mom’s arms. She whispers to me that she’s sorry she’s been so hard on me, she’s sorry for everything she’s done, and I’m not sure exactly what she means, but hearing her words, hearing her admit her own mistakes, feeling her arms around my shaking body—it makes me catch my breath and I collapse into her. I let her hold me up.

  * * *

  “Okay, what’s going on?”

  Normally when my mom says that Mila needs to give us time so we can have an “adult conversation,” my sister whines and complains, but this time, she’s allowed my mom to usher her into the living room without issue. Except for that one time in the hospital, Mila hasn’t seen me in the middle of a full-blown Episode. I guess this one was enough to scare her away.

  My mom presses an ice pack onto my forehead. “Come on, Viviana.”

  My heart’s still racing from the Episode, and it gets worse when I think about asking my mom for the truth.

  “Talk to me. I’m your mother.”

  I sit up and take a deep breath. “Do you know someone named Paige Griffin?”

  My mom lets go of the ice pack and it drops on my chest.

  “Oh no.”

  I sink back down into my bed. “So you know?”

  She drops her head and nods.

 
“For how long?”

  She motions for me to move over in my bed, and then she sits next to me, pulls the blanket over her chest. “A few years only. But—” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Yes, I’ve known for a while.”

  “How did you— Why did you stay with him?”

  “You have to understand,” she says. “I’ve only kissed one other human being. I’ve only been with one other human being. I’ve only loved one other human being: him. I’ve been honest and pure with my love for him.”

  “Ella was already born when you got together with him?”

  She motions to Mila on the other side of the wall and shushes me to speak more quietly before she answers. “You mean when I fell in love with him? Yes. He was a graduate student and married and already had a child. But Ella does not belong to Paige. She is from his first arrangement.

  “But I didn’t know that. I didn’t know anything about Ella or his other life. I knew that my parents had left for Israel and I was alone and in love with a man who promised to take care of me for the rest of my life. And he did. Your father did that for me.”

  “So you’ve stayed with him because of me? Because of Mila?”

  My mom smiles softly. “No. I’ve stayed with him because I loved him.” She wipes away tears from the corners of her eyes. “And, well, because right after I found out—first about Ella, then about this third woman, Paige—I followed them to the playground—” She’s struggling to get out the words. “I saw her, kissing him, and his babies, younger than Mila—and then I got so sick—”

  “Oh, Mama. I didn’t realize—” I’m crying now, choking on my tears.

  She looks up at me and smiles again, wipes the tears from my face. “How were you supposed to realize? You’re a child.”

  “Mama. I’m not. Not anymore. You can talk to me about these things.” I wipe my face and catch my breath. “Is that why you didn’t leave?”

  “I suppose so, yes. First, I was worried about leaving you completely alone. Then I was too sick to leave. But also, to be perfectly honest, I thought that any other life would have broken you and Mila for good. I thought that if I walked away from this life, I’d destroy you forever. That little girl looks at her father and sees him as a god. She sees him as good. You’re old enough to know better, but even you are broken now.” She looks at me. “I thought about leaving—believe me. Especially when I was sick.”