My parents return. I keep at it, not losing focus, describing and explaining my take on marriage and gay couples. Originally, the paper for Mr. Silver I forgot to write was on ethics in advertising, but this topic is much more relevant.
My eyes blur and somewhere in the background, my mom mentions something about Heather’s party.
Three more words, then two, one. Thank goodness for double spacing. Done.
The printer jams. I groan and gripe. My dad sends me upstairs to get ready and promises to fix it.
When I come back down, they both sit at the kitchen table. My mom's eyes rim red. My thoughts immediately land on Rosa and Annie Lemon.
My mom says, "Sit down, sweetie."
"What, what?" I ask. Panic pushes the question repeatedly to my tongue.
My mom grips me by the shoulders. "We're sad to tell you that we just found out Mrs. McGregor passed away this morning."
I slouch into an empty chair. Tears trickle down my cheeks. Even though my struggles are every bit real to me, there are bigger things: love, loss, car accidents, kind old women, and adorable dogs, cataclysmic life changes.
"What about Daisy?" I ask.
My mom looks to my father and he nods.
"If you'd like to adopt her, we can. None of Mrs. McGregor's children can take her on."
"But what about Dad's allergies?"
"Mom found a homeopathic cure I'm going to try. Or I'll pitch a tent in the backyard and sleep out there all summer." He chuckles.
"If you'd like Daisy to join our family, we'll figure it out."
"I'm really sorry to hear about Mrs. McGregor."
"I know."
I taste my tears, salty and true. We talk for a few minutes about our neighbor and I recall the last thing she said to me as she passed me one of her favorite novels, insisting I read it. She said something like, "The end of one-minute, day, month, year, or moment is the beginning of another." This reminder makes me a little surer about whatever lays on the other side for her and of graduation for me.
☾
When we approach the Clam Shack, I feel like it should be night; so many of the events today make me want to go to sleep, but the sun dangles just above the roof of the trees toward the west.
My parents gaily flock to the crowd of other moms and dads who’ve watched us grow from kindergartners to seventeen and eighteen-year-olds. Geena, Heather’s mom, packs her hug with the reminder of how impermanent things are, especially so lately.
H bubbles with exuberance. “Icannotbelieveitisamosthere,” she says in one big breath when she sees me. “I mean, I knew it, all along, but now, suddenly we’re graduating in, like, two days.” She bounces on the balls of her feet and gives me a hug.
Sherman says, "Hey."
“Not in your waitering gear?” I ask.
“Got the night off, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get ahold of the open bottles of champagne.” His wink accounts for why Heather is as effervescent as she is.
An arm wraps around my back and grips mine. I feel the familiar press of a boy. I turn around with a smile. “I didn’t expect—”
“I had to say goodbye to the Shack,” Grady says with a laugh.
“Theo should be here any second. He said he had a surprise for me,” Heather says.
I tell myself I’m going to enjoy tonight and not be caught up in how much changed in the last twelve days, about Grady and Joss and my friends in the hospital, and Mrs. McGregor. I try to convince myself that everything is normal. I pull it off for the next hour.
Teddy appears with Gretel and they make a big fuss over gifting H a pillow printed with loads of photos from her Instagram feed. She hugs it close and then them.
Grady stays near to my side, the ever-loving epitome of His Royal Hotness: cleaned up and golden. If I let myself, my mind lands on Joss and then there’s a fluttering pull and a sinking feeling about how I haven't been entirely honest with Grady about my so-called immersion. I manage to ignore it until the moon plays peek-a-boo from behind the clouds.
Later, I escape onto the deck overlooking the water. The waves lap the rocks and the salt air brings me back to myself. I haven’t reached the end of my study in all things guy and gal, but it's clear the truth is terrifying, painful, scary, dramatic, and liberating. I lift my arms overhead, letting the breeze cool my skin.
“Willa?” Heather says, stumbling as she exits through the French doors. “I thought I’d find you out here. We’re almost done, we're nearing the end.” She stands next to me and steadies herself on the paint-flecked rail.
“Yeah, and it’s just the beginning,” I say, breathing in the salt air and stardust. I tell her about Mrs. McGregor.
The waves roll in and out providing the only commentary for a few moments. With the glowing rope lights on the deck, the moon making an appearance and sparkling on the water, despite everything, it's a twinkly kind of night and nothing beats twinkly. Heather and I haven’t shared too many quiet moments in our friendship; she’s usually one for buoyant chatter, but right now is enchanted.
She takes a deep breath. “So you and Joss—”
“Yeah.”
“Does that mean?” she asks.
“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what it means, but if you’re asking if I like girls like I like boys, the truth is, yes.”
On the sandy shore just past the deck, a wave rolls in and then out just like our breath, catching up with the meaning of my words.
“That’s cool, Willa. It’s good you know that about yourself. I'm sorry if I haven't been supportive. I just—” She shrugs. "I thought you'd trust me more, like you do with Theo." Her tone is even, as if she left her giggling inside.
"I'm sorry. I could make excuses for why I didn't tell you, but it wasn't that I didn’t think you'd respect me or that you'd turn your back on me. The truth is I didn't think you'd understand because I hardly did."
"That's what friends are for, right? Helping us figure stuff out."
“Thanks for being my friend," I say.
“And for being mine.” She links her arm in mine and pulls me tight. “You know how people wrote in our yearbooks, never change?”
I nod.
“Let’s not do that, huh?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
☼
Friday
When I was in elementary school, I wasn’t the kind of girl who thought hard about what I’d wear on the first day of school after summer vacation. My mom and I would go back to school shopping and I’d pick out some jeans and maybe a sweatshirt, but my interest in fashion was seriously lacking.
I never thought it would matter what I wore on the last day of school, but when I woke up this morning, suddenly, stunningly, it did. I've torn through my closet, exchanging at least nine T-shirts for other shirts and shorts for a camo skirt for skinnies for leggings and then back to shorts.
My mother appears in the doorway and sits down on my bed, scratching behind Daisy's ears. We think she's in mourning, but she's also made herself right at home. “Decided the last day is the time to make a fashion statement?”
I tug off a shirt that says Here comes the sun. “No, I don’t know. It’s just—” Then I’m tripping over the heap of clothing and land on the edge of my bed and then fall back, exhaling and sending my bangs fluttering. “I don’t know.”
“I think it’s okay for you to feel overwhelmed.”
“Huh?”
“It’s not that I want you to trip and fall over your clothing, but today is a big deal. It wouldn’t be right to let it go unrecognized. It would be kind of a letdown if it felt like an ordinary day. Maybe you want that to be clear. Clothing is an obvious way to go. You could also make sure to tell everyone at Puckett who means something to you thank you. Or write them a card. Or come up with some other creative way to memorialize the day. Or you could just show up naked—that would be memorable.”
We break into a fit of laughter.
“It really feels like a bigger deal than I thought it would,” I say.<
br />
“It is.”
“I also had this idea that everything, today especially, would be wrapped up in a neat little package: goodbye to teachers and other people who I probably won’t see tomorrow. Then, in the last two weeks, everything’s blown up. Boys, girls, my future. It’s like there’s more going on than ever.”
“I see what you mean about expectations. They get the best of us.”
“I guess that’s it. It’s mostly good, I just thought I’d reach a logical conclusion, like the end of a movie, bookended by and they graduated happily ever after or something.”
“The best advice I can give you, and I can say this only because I’ve had days like the one your describing a handful of times, is to do your very best to stay present. Don’t go future tripping and try not to reminisce too much. Let yourself laugh and cry. Be there, at Puckett today, and nowhere else.”
I pull on my favorite gray T-shirt and my most comfortable cut-offs. “Thanks mom.” She gives me a hug and I linger there, in her arms, dwelling in that place where I’ll always be her little girl even if the last day of high school signifies otherwise.
☼
The sun beams overhead, full blast. I pass Teddy a smoothie.
“We doing this?” he asks.
“We could skip,” I say, unable to keep a straight face.
“You’re nucking futs. You had like hundreds of days you could have skipped and today? No way.”
“Kidding. I wouldn’t miss today. I’m all kinds of introspective. It’s as if I have a sentimental slideshow running through my brain. I even cried in the shower.”
“Me too. I’m going to miss it,” Teddy says. “And miss you. Like this. Us. Things got kind of screwed up these last couple of weeks. Growing pains or something.”
I recall my mother's comment. "Even though I’m going to miss this too, at least there’s now and whatever comes next.”
There’s nothing more to say that isn’t tear inducing so we both sip our smoothies until we reach the parking lot in front of Puckett.
“Last time,” Teddy says.
I clink my Mason jar with his. “Cheers.”
When we cross the lawn, Grady darts out of nowhere and picks me up, flinging me over his shoulder. We’re spinning and the world is a kaleidoscope of students shuffling by with backpacks, blue sky, and four years' worth of memories. We laugh until I might cry, or hurl, and he puts me down. I'm too thrown by our last day to feel mad or funky about his question about Joss yesterday.
“Last day. Can you believe it?” He leans in close. “I’m looking forward to tonight.”
“Yeah.” I spot Joss over his shoulder, locking her car. He glances in that direction and his eyes linger on her.
I feel heat lightning in my veins.
“Do you think she’d want to hang out some other time?” A pushpin-sized red flag goes up in my head on the same latitude as Dave's comment.
“I don’t think she’d be interested, actually,” I say carefully.
"Is she seeing anyone?"
Although Grady still lights me up, a few clouds drift into the blue sky or maybe it's just guilt amassing. He still doesn't know about the extent of my immersion. He leans closer and his lips are on mine, but I suddenly worry his eyes follow a certain red-haired girl across the lawn and pull away. I didn't mean for things to get this messy.
The bell rings. I slip into homeroom and we wait for an update on Annie Lemon and Rosa.
Mrs. Sherlock is somber. “The doctors feel confident they will recover, though whether they’ll have long term damage or chronic pain remains uncertain. Let’s all take a moment of silence to honor their absence, this last day, and all that awaits you.”
We dutifully bow our heads.
She says a few more words about graduation and her eyes swim with tears. I think everyone's do. We all say a lingering goodbye; what I anticipate will be the start of many today. The next few periods rocket by. I hand in my paper to Mr. Silver.
As the hours tick down, I have a growing sense of accomplishment and closure, but when I pass Joss in the hall, it all cracks open.
I wonder what Grady saw when he was looking at her earlier. I see a courageous girl with a heart of gold, a will of steel, and boobs! Grady must have been goggling her chest. I'll admit it isn't hard to miss. She’s wearing a loose, plunging shirt that hangs off one shoulder. One gust of wind or a quick movement would leave us all spinning.
I coast over to her, unsure what to say. I bite my lip. “Hey, about yesterday, I’m sorry if I—” She pulls me into the girls' bathroom door and backs me between two hand driers, her lips pressing madly, desperately into mine. All I hear are the sharp intakes of our breath as we forget where we are and whether anyone else is in here. Her hands grip my face; we're chest to glorious chest. Heat builds, rises, crests, and then the lunch bell rings, jarring us from our trance.
“I’m sorry about yesterday. I—” I try again.
“Let's not worry about it. What are you doing tonight?”
The question freezes me even in the stuffy bathroom. I can’t lie. “Grady asked me out. Actually, he asked you too—if we all wanted to do something together.”
Her pale eyes harden. “Why?”
“Why am I going out with him or why did he—? Actually, he asked about you. I didn't know if I should say anything about—”
She shakes her head and mutters, “About what? Me being gay? Is that so hard? Three simple letters. One syllable. You're smart, Willa, surely you can manage that.” Her husky voice snaps back on me like a rubber band.
“Yeah, I know, but—”
She shakes her head back and forth, exuding disappointment and pity with each turn.
As much as I want her to be the one, there’s freshman, sophomore, and junior year me, also most of senior me, and me right now, who's also attracted to Grady. I also still inhabit the version of me who wasn't asked to the prom by anyone, no sweethearts on Valentine's Day, or secret smooches in the halls. Exploring where things are going with Grady excites the girl who was solitary for all those years. Then there's the layer of whether I want to do all of that with girls or boys or both.
"I'm sorry, Joss. This is all new when it comes to applying it to my real life. It's easier to have opinions about things when they're hypothetical, but now, as I live this, sometimes I'm just not sure what to do." I take her hands.
Her posture and voice soften at my touch. She says, “I tried telling you yesterday, but I really like you. A lot. My grandma is making a special dinner; I thought you might like to come over.”
“What time?” I ask, foolishly wondering if I can fit everything in.
“Don’t worry about it, if you have that thing with Grady. I understand.”
“I don’t think you do, because I sure as hell don’t,” I say, starting to get frustrated because I feel torn, right through the middle. My hormones are haywire; there's nothing linear or sensible about it, about me. I have no breadcrumb trail to follow, no easy way to navigate.
She takes a step back. "If someone, at some point told you living was going to be easy, a breeze, and you'd never have to make difficult choices, they swindled you, Willa."
I can't meet her eyes. “What am I doing?” I ask.
“Going out with Grady or in here kissing me?” A chill pierces her voice.
I reach out for her, “I didn’t mean it like that. This is all so much. After this little bubble bursts, where does graduation leave me? Where do I stand with you or Grady or Teddy after we all walk away with our diplomas?” My shoulders bunch up toward my ears, and I feel like disappearing.
“You’re supposed to leap,” she says. “And while you’re at it, you have to own who you are—including your sexuality. I’m not suggesting you choose, but wouldn’t it be shitty if you and I were in here kissing and then I was all like, ‘I have a date later.’” Pink flushes the apples of her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I thought what we were doing was open—I didn’t think about—�
��
“Anyone other than yourself?” she says softly and without the force of a slap to the cheek that I expect.
“I guess not. This whole thing, these feelings between you and me came as a surprise and I guess I just want to be sure—”
Someone comes into the bathroom, plunging our conversation into shoe-gazing silence. In a way, she's asking me to choose without saying it directly. Grady would probably be glad to have anyone with boobs, big or small. Then I scold myself because that isn't fair. I've just been paranoid and insecure, and as Joss pointed out, selfish. At times, it's as if I'm cheating on him, sneaking around with Joss behind his back. At least she knows about him. Then again, she's upset with me for that very reason. I run my hands over my face.
I'm not ready; can someone just pause this thing to give me time to figure out which direction to go in? Please?
If I leap, will I suddenly know how to fly or will I land, hard?
Despite the magnificent girl standing in front of me, I owe it to myself to see where things with Grady go tonight. I never committed to either one of them; maybe the extent of my devotion is to myself. If that makes me selfish, I'll have to reckon with that too.
“I get it, what you’re saying, but at least for the rest of the day, what I have to own is the fact that I don’t know. I mean, I know I like you a lot. And you make me feel things, extraordinary things that transcend words. It’s intense. It’s amazing. But I didn’t sign on for a commitment; this was more of an experiment.”
Joss’s eyes flash and she rushes out of the girls’ bathroom.
“That didn’t come out right. Joss, wait. Come back,” I call. She’s halfway down the hall. One thing for sure is Joss is not the kind of girl who looks back. And life, I recently learned, isn't a rehearsal, or an experiment.
Teddy appears from around the corner, looking over his shoulder at Joss. “I was just looking for you. What happened?”
I abbreviate the story.
“Harsh,” he says.
I slouch. “I didn’t mean it—”
“Of course not, but obviously this isn’t just about you.” His drawl is missing its usual musical notes.
Chasing Days Page 22