The Best Possible Answer

by E. Katherine Kottaras

  I refuse to live like those who have betrayed me. I refuse to succumb to bitterness and fear. I refuse to waste any more of my precious time waiting for some semblance of a life. I will live this life the only way I know how. With love at its core. With love in my heart.

  The rest will be made real in time.

  The rains finally let up and the next few days are sunny and hot and humid; it’s August in full force. Sammie’s mom announces that she’s secured a new job and a new apartment, and they start to pack. I don’t stay over there anymore since I’m happy to be home, finally, but I do spend evenings up at their place, partly so I can help, partly so I can get in as much time with Sammie as possible. School doesn’t start until after Labor Day, in September, but the date weighs heavily on me. I don’t want her to move.

  Mila’s grumpy because our dad’s gone again. My mom has a long talk with her. She doesn’t tell her why Dad’s left, but she promises that he’ll be back, and while it’s not the complete truth, it’s enough for Mila right now. Eventually, we’ll have to tell her everything. Eventually, she’ll have to know.

  I don’t see Evan all weekend. He’s not at work—apparently, he called in sick, and Sammie hasn’t heard anything else from Virgo about the picture.

  “I can’t delete my past,” I say to Sammie one night as we’re packing up her stuff. “He either accepts me for who I am—nudie pic and all—or he doesn’t, and then I don’t need him in my life.”

  “It’s glad to see you finally owning it,” Sammie says, laughing. “Nudie pic and all. That’s awesome.”

  “What else am I going to do?” I say. “I can’t lie about it. This is who I am. Who I was. It’ll always be a part of me.”

  I say it like I mean it, but the reality is, I’m nervous about seeing Evan. Virgo hasn’t said anything to me, and he’s treating me like normal, which is reassuring, but I don’t have a complicated relationship with Virgo. He’s my boss and my friend. That’s it. I haven’t kissed him three times and then promptly showed him my crazy.

  Evan’s back at work on Tuesday, but I hardly see him. The sun and high temperatures have seemingly brought the entire Bennett Village out to the pool, as though every single family with all of their kids and extended families is here, like they’ve all skipped work and camp to come swim. Virgo orders two guards on deck at a time, which means Evan’s doing double shifts.

  At the end of the day, he comes into the office, sees me, says an awkward hello, and then grabs his guitar and leaves.

  “Well,” I say to Sammie later. “He’s one for the history books. So much for friendship. I guess I am on my own this year.”

  She crawls onto her bed. “I’m sorry I’m leaving.”

  “Would you stop apologizing?” I sit down next to her. “It’s not your fault.”

  “What are you going to do without me?” Sammie says it with a laugh, but I know the question is real.

  “I’m less worried about myself and more worried about the Drama Department. Who’s going to be their lead this year? Have you told them you’re not going back?”

  “Don’t remind me. It’s the only reason I’ve decided to enroll at the school in Morton Grove. Well, that and the fact that my mom and I negotiated that I could have my Instagram account back after she saw that all my photos really were about fashion.”

  “No GED?”

  “Nah. My mom convinced me to give it a few months, and if I don’t like it, I can try for my certificate.”

  “Good.”

  “Why good?”

  “I’d miss seeing you onstage.”

  “What about you?” Sammie says. “What’s your plan for survival this year?”

  I shrug. “Join the Olympiads. Take Physics Two. Learn coding so I can avoid any future online scandals. Embrace the reality that I like my science classes, even though it’s something that would please my dad.”

  “Ha. As long as you don’t stress too much about it.”

  “I’m going to try not to.”

  “Good. What about make new friends?”

  “Yes. I’ll probably try that, too.”

  Sammie leans her head on my shoulder. “Good.”

  I lean over her and reach for my bag. “I’ve got something for you.”

  “It’s my birthday present!” Sammie starts to wiggle and clap her hands before I can even get to it. “Gimme, gimme!”

  “Oh my God. How did you know?” I say, laughing.

  “Leos are psychic. You know that.”

  “Well, I didn’t before, but now I do.” I pull it out of my bag and hand it to her. “It’s not quite a scavenger hunt. I hope it’ll do.”

  There are two boxes. Sammie surprises me by unwrapping them slowly, with care, despite her initial excitement. Inside the first one is a beaded gold headband and a book called The Art of the Braid, which makes Sammie smile. “I love them both,” she says.

  “Our braiding sessions will never end.”

  Inside the second box is the real present. “Oh, Viviana,” she whispers. “Where did you get these?”

  It’s a mosaic of our friendship, sixteen photos from when we were kids all the way through this last year, hung on four lines with clothespins, in one large frame, all artistic, the way Sammie likes. My mom let me copy the framed Instagram photos she had on her dresser, the ones of Sammie and me, as we were before this last year happened. “These are the photos that matter,” I say. “It’s a record of us. For your new room.”

  She clutches it tight to her chest and starts to cry. “This is perfect. The absolute best present I’ve ever gotten from anyone, ever.”

  “I can’t believe you’re really leaving.”

  Sammie shakes her head, like she doesn’t want to talk about it. She wraps the frame I made in some bubble wrap and slides it into an open cardboard box. “The O’Briens were eating fondue last night,” she whispers.

  “No way,” I say. I get it. She’s changing the subject because it’s too hard to talk about the future, about what’s coming next. There are so many unknowns, and so many possibilities. Sometimes there are things you can say, and talking makes it better. But sometimes, there are no words.

  “Yup,” she continues. “They were all sitting around the dining room table, dipping strawberries in a fountain of chocolate.”

  “How civilized of them.”

  “Right?” she says, laughing now through her tears. “Oh, and Mrs. Woodley’s moving out!”

  “What?”

  “He was there! The muscular gym rat guy, her new lover.”

  “You’re lying to me.”

  “I’m not!” She lifts her fingers. “Scout’s honor. I saw them last night. He was helping her move.”

  “Are you sure he’s not her son or nephew or something?”

  “I’m one hundred percent sure. They were making out.”

  “I don’t know if I believe you.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you. Really. Not after everything you’ve been through.”

  I grab her and hug her tight. “I’m really happy for Mrs. Woodley.”

  She squeezes me back. “So am I.”

  * * *

  When I arrive at work the next day, it’s raining again. It’s still hot and humid, and it’s nothing like the storms of a few weeks ago, so while the pool isn’t empty, it’s not packed, either. Sammie’s in Morton Grove, registering for her new school, and I’m alone today, which doesn’t suck as bad as it used to.

  I find Evan sitting at the front desk. He’s on break and deep in conversation with Professor Cox, who’s perched on the counter, spouting off philosophies about the world. “You want to know life’s incredible hoax?”

  “Yes, Professor Cox,” Evan says with a laugh. “I most certainly do.”

  “All of this—” Professor Cox sweeps his hands through the air. “Is an illusion. Don’t take it too seriously. If you do, you’ll just set yourself up for heartbreak. A lifetime of heartbreak.”

  I take a seat next to Evan at my post. He d
oesn’t say anything, but he does nod at me and then he gives me a smile that seems genuine. Professor Cox is going on and on about “silence and light and connections made in the shadows of our beings.” Most of it doesn’t make sense. Some of it does.

  Evan listens and nods and asks for definitions and clarifications while I check in visitors and sell bags of Cheetos to little kids.

  “I told my parents about my major.”

  I nearly slam the money drawer on my own hand. “What?”

  “It’s why I wasn’t here last weekend. I told them.”

  “Good for you, my lad,” Professor Cox says.

  I shut the drawer. “How’d they take it?”

  Evan looks at me and laughs. “They freaked out. Well, my dad did. He lost his temper and threatened to stop paying for my college.”

  “It’s to be expected,” Professor Cox says. “You cannot live your life for them.”

  “My dad started slurring his speech and we had to take him to the ER. Turns out he didn’t have another stroke, but he came close.”

  “Oh my God,” I say.

  “I stood up to him, though. By the end of the weekend, he came to terms with it. Well, mostly. My mom told him it wasn’t worth dying over, that it was just music. She also made me promise that I’d think about minoring in business so I don’t get screwed over by record companies.”

  Professor Cox nods. “Mick Jagger studied at the London School of Economics.”

  “That’s so random. How do you know this stuff?” Evan asks.

  Professor Cox points to his head. “I have an exceptional brain with great capacities for retaining information, both useful and useless. It is a blessing and a curse.”

  “I wish I had that kind of brain.”

  “But you do.” Professor Cox smiles. “For music.”

  “I’m glad for you,” I say.

  “Thanks.” Evan looks at me. “I did it because of you.”

  “What do you mean—”

  “Evan!” Virgo yells from the deck before Evan can answer. “Can you come here! I think there’s a turd in the water.”

  Evan smiles at me and then runs to the water.

  Professor Cox looks at me. “It’s nice to see two people in love.”

  “Oh, no.” I shake my head. “We’re not in love. Not at all.” I shuffle some papers. “Anyway, I thought you didn’t believe in love.”

  “Romantic love, no. But there are many different kinds of love in this world. You can be intimate with someone and call it a friendship. You can be passionate with someone and call it a romantic relationship, which is the one I don’t believe in, since it’s the one that both occurs and fails the most. But if you combine intimacy and passion with the precious third material that involves honesty and trust—you can achieve a kind of love that is very rare in this world. I don’t know much about you and Mr. Whitlock, but I see that you are honest with each other. He trusts you.”

  “He does?”

  “You don’t see it?”

  I look out toward the pool at Evan.

  “Like I said, I have an exceptional brain, and I can tell you that with one hundred percent certainty, that boy loves you. Perhaps you might open your eyes so you can see it, too.”

  * * *

  The pool is shut down again early, this time for fear of contamination from “the fecal incident,” as Virgo is now calling it. The water is evacuated, and except for the few committed sunbathers, everyone leaves, including Professor Cox.

  I stay at the front desk to let newcomers know that the pool is closed but that they are welcome to relax on deck. I’m met with groans and dirty looks, as though I’m the one who had diarrhea in the water.

  “Thanks for staying,” Virgo says as he puts the lock on the gate for final closing.

  “It’s no problem.”

  “Am I locking you in, or locking you out?”

  I look over at Evan. He’s stacking chairs against the wall. “I need to talk to Evan for a minute.”

  “Good,” Virgo says. “Finally.”

  I laugh. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing,” Virgo says. “It’s just—you’ve made an impression on him.”

  I’m not sure if he means the photo or me, but I don’t ask him.

  Instead, I walk over to Evan.

  “Hey. We need to talk.”

  Evan throws a chair on the stack and looks at me. “Okay. Now?”

  “Yes, now,” I say. “I know you saw the picture.”

  “Okay. I did. But—”

  “And I don’t know what you think of me, but frankly, I don’t care. I mean—I don’t care if you’re judging me or whatever.”

  “I’m not—”

  “This is who I am. I am honest, unlike my father. And when I am in love—which I was with Dean—I am honest with my love, as well. It was an absolutely honest photo that was meant to be shared only with him. Maybe I’m too trusting, but I can’t change that about myself, as much as I’d like to.”

  “I’m not judging you. I don’t care about that photo. I don’t care about any of that.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, Viviana. I like you. That’s it, okay? I like you. And I’d like us to get to know each other better. Maybe hang out more. Maybe kiss more in normal places and without it ending in you yelling at me.”

  “Oh,” I say. I take a seat on a lounge chair. “I like you, too. I guess that’s why I’m telling you all this.”

  He sits down next to me. “Would you like to hang out sometime, maybe Extreme Ping-Pong or Extreme Billiards or something like that?”

  “Does it have to be extreme?”

  Evan laughs. “Not at all.”

  “Then yes.” I nod. “I’m in a weird, fragile place right now. But I’d like that.”

  “Great.”

  “Are you free right now?”

  I hear a voice above. I look up at Bennett Tower. Professor Cox is on his balcony. He’s singing “The Ants Go Marching”; his uneven voice echoes over the city. Virgo steps out of the office and joins in; his voice overtakes Professor Cox’s. It’s deep and beautiful, even while he sings a silly child’s song.

  I scan the tower. My mother is upstairs on the sixteenth floor, probably studying for her law exam and cooking for Mila and me. I expect Sammie’s also home by now, packing up her room. I imagine the O’Briens with their fondue and Mrs. Woodley with her younger man.

  “I am,” I say. “I am free.”

  I’m free to live my life and love my life any way I want, as long as it’s with kindness and honesty and an open, trusting heart.

  I see that now.

  That it’s my life to live.

  And mine alone.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  For me, each book begins with a question. Along the way, that question breeds other questions, and I am seriously one lucky girl to have so many people I can go to for answers.

  Courtney Miller-Callihan at Handspun Literary! (Woot!) Thank you for your friendship and your guidance. We are one lucky (not-so-secret) club to have you as our leader.

  So much gratitude to Rose Hilliard, for believing in me and for asking me to follow this story. It’s been the greatest pleasure to be cheered on and guided by you over these past two years. Thank you for everything.

  Many thanks to everyone at St. Martin’s Press, including Brittani Hilles, Angelique Giammarino, Brant Janeway, Jen Enderlin, Anne Marie Tallberg, David Curtis, Talia Sherer, Anne Spieth, Karen Masnica, and Jennie Conway.

  Dana Kaye, thank you for guiding me through my debut year.

  To my beta and sensitivity readers: Matthew Frey, my first reader, always (plus you get to be listed twice!), Nicole Brinkley, Karlyn Westover, Jessica Love, Ron Romasanta, and Anna Davis. Thank you, Julie Caplan Nuzzalo, Psy.D., for your expertise, insights, and suggestions.

  My soul sisters: Kate Eberle, Aimee Kandelman, and Kara Noe, for our four million daily texts. So many questions, so many (usually right) answers. I’ll always ask you
first.

  All of my amazing writing friends (you know who you are). These last two years. Oh, boy. Thank you for letting me cry and telling me to breathe and making me laugh and hugging me hard. Seriously, thank you. Without you, I’d be lost. Special thanks to Jessica Love, Charlotte Huang, Amy Spalding, and Laurie Elizabeth Flynn for reading this book early and lending your support. (P.S. Amy: thanks for the weekly check-ins!) Special thanks to L. M. Klein and the Binders for coming up with the best possible title.

  Christy Marsden, I’ll never stop thanking you.

  To everyone at Pasadena City College. There are too many people to list here, which means that I am ridiculously blessed. And I must thank my students. You’re the ones who keep me learning, writing, and laughing, so thank you. Deborah Bird, Salomon Davida, and Sandy Lee for our work with DesignTech! You’ve taught me so much. And to Amy Ulmer, Vanitha Swaminathan, Sam Swaminathan, Kathleen Green, and Terri Keeler, for your constant enthusiasm and support.

  To all of the readers, librarians, teachers, booksellers, bloggers, and fans who have reached out and supported my writing. Again, I am truly, ridiculously blessed.

  To my family, for surrounding me with love: Ray Elias, Shirley Mann, Chuck Bush, Karnit Galmidi, and Michael Braun. Mom and Dad, wherever you are, I know you know.

  And always, the most gratitude to the two loves of my life, Madeline and Matthew. Thank you for your trust and support and for living the questions with me.

  ALSO BY E. KATHERINE KOTTARAS

  HOW TO BE BRAVE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  E. Katherine Kottaras is originally from Chicago, and now she writes and teaches in the Los Angeles area. She holds a master’s in English from the University of California, Irvine, and teaches writing and literature at Pasadena City College. She is interested in the stories we tell, the stories we are given, and the ways we can redefine our worlds by discovering which stories are true. Visit her on the Web at www.ekatwrites.com or follow her on Instagram and Twitter at @ekatwrites. Or sign up for email updates here.