Girl Out of Water

by Laura Silverman

  She rolls her eyes. “Jesus, I left it at home on accident. Fine. Let’s go.”

  Without another word, she turns on her heel and stomps off toward the side of the courts, where she locked up her bike. I glance at her friends one more time. None of them say bye to Emery or seem upset that she has to leave. They’ve turned back to one another, chatting quietly. I wondered what happened. It must feel terrible to be ignored by your friends.

  Emery refuses to speak to me as we head back to the skate park, except for a blunt “fine, whatever,” after I ask as nicely as possible that she not go anywhere without telling me first. I can’t tell if I’m mad at her or her friends or myself. Maybe I’m just mad at everyone and everything. The weight of making sure these exhausting, wonderful kids are safe is overwhelming.

  No wonder my shit excuse for a mom couldn’t handle it.

  The second we walk through the skate park entrance, Lincoln ambushes me in almost an identical fashion to how I just ambushed Emery. He grabs my shoulder and locks eyes, melting and welding me to the ground. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “Shit, Anise, you can’t fucking do that.”

  Emery has already slipped away from my side, so in a skate park surrounded by dozens of people, it feels as if Lincoln and I are the only ones here. “Do what?” I ask.

  “Go off like that! Run off all freaked out without telling me what’s going on.”

  “I—Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t have time. I was worried about Emery.”

  “You were worried about Emery. I get it, okay?” His face changes. “But don’t you understand that maybe… Fuck, Anise.” I’ve never seen him flustered like this, and it makes me feel unsteady. “Don’t you get that I was worried about you?”

  The pause is long as I digest what he’s saying. Lincoln was worried about me. And we’ve only known each other for a few weeks. It’s hard for me to process, so I ask, “Why? Why were you worried about me?”

  He laughs, which is a relief because it’s such a Lincoln thing to do. He takes me by the shoulder again, this time guiding me toward our friends and family, and as we walk, he answers, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Ten

  Aunt Jackie comes home tomorrow, which means tonight I’m moving into Emery’s room, which would be great if she’d spoken a word to me in the last five days. Okay, she’s said, “Parker, please tell Anise she managed to undercook mac and cheese,” and she’s also said, “Nash, please tell Anise she managed to overcook mac and cheese.” But that’s been the extent of our communication. I feel like I fucked everything up. She hasn’t been back to the courts since that day. If I hadn’t chased her down, maybe she would’ve made up with her friends, been happy again, and therefore be talking to me. But it’s not like I could’ve shrugged my shoulders and said oh well, my cousin is missing.

  Dad, even with working overtime all week, has noticed something is off between us. But now more than ever, I’m driven to defend Emery, like if I bolster her silence, she’ll confide in me instead of continuing to stare at me like the scum on the bottom of her flip-flops. So two days ago when Dad asked me if everything was okay between us, I told him we were both on our periods at the same time. And even though Dad has zero embarrassment about menstruation—I mean, he was the one who bought me my first pads—he also has no actual understanding of it, so that was a good enough reason for him.

  “Don’t make a mess,” Emery says, her first direct words to me in days, as I load my few items of clothing into the small extra dresser. She’s on her bed, watching me, ready to pounce if I make a wrong move.

  I want to explode at her, call her a brat.

  I want to hug her, tell her I’m sorry that her friends are mean and that I embarrassed her.

  And beyond that, tell her I’m sorry her mom is in the hospital, tell her I’m frustrated my summer wasn’t the one I anticipated, so I can’t imagine how much worse hers must feel.

  Instead I just say, “Okay,” and fold my clothing and place it into the drawers as neatly as possible because tomorrow Aunt Jackie will be home, and everything will be okay. Her presence will restore Emery to the Emery I’ve always known, the Emery who spends hours picking out the most perfect seashells and gluing them onto wooden frames, the Emery who laughs when Dad tells a joke, no matter how terrible the joke is, the Emery who snuggles with me in bed as we binge watch episodes of The Office.

  Tomorrow Aunt Jackie will be home, and everything will go back to normal, and everyone will be okay.

  • • •

  “Oops, sorry!”

  “Behind you!”

  “Watch out!”

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry!”

  Question: how many people does it take to get one woman in a wheelchair into her home?

  Answer: too many.

  Even with the help of the nurse aid who’s here to set everything up and make sure Aunt Jackie is okay on home care, it still takes us about twenty awkward and uncomfortable minutes to get Aunt Jackie inside of the house. Dad constructed a temporary wheelchair ramp to the garage door, but that was before we realized the garage entrance was too narrow for the wheelchair. So then we had to move back to the front door and manually lift the chair and Aunt Jackie into the house. At one point, Dad offered to just pick up Aunt Jackie and bring her inside, but she was too worried he’d accidentally bang her legs on the door frame.

  Finally, everyone is in the living room, where Parker, Nash, and Emery have created a giant banner over the fireplace that reads WELCOME HOME, MOM. Okay, it actually reads WLCOME HOME MOM with a tiny E crunched in belatedly because Nash can’t watch TV and spell at the same time. We also have plates of homemade cookies and brownies to celebrate, including a cookie concoction from Parker and Nash that has chocolate chips, Reese’s Pieces, marshmallows, and sprinkles.

  Aunt Jackie looks around, her face pale from being indoors, her frame small and hunched. “I’m sorry guys,” she says, though she’s not really looking at any of us. “I’m really beat. Do you mind—” She turns to the nurse aid. “Would you help me to my room?”

  The nurse, an older man with thick shoulders and thin legs, nods and wheels Aunt Jackie into the guest room, where, this morning, we set up a special bed that lowers and rises so Aunt Jackie can get from the wheelchair into the bed despite the long, straight cast still on her right leg. Her left leg is only wrapped in a compression cuff.

  Parker and Nash start to trail into the room, but I place a hand on each of their shoulders. “Let’s let your mom rest,” I whisper. “How about you help me eat some of those cookies?”

  I turn to invite Emery to join us, my heart hurting that Aunt Jackie’s homecoming wasn’t as joyous as we’d all hoped, but she’s already disappeared upstairs.

  • • •

  “What should we do about Aunt Jackie?” I ask Dad the next day. I thought she would be thrilled to be home, but she hasn’t said more than a few words at a time. I want to help her, but I don’t know how.

  Dad and I are sitting in the kitchen early in the morning, sipping green tea and picking over cinnamon French toast and fresh-cut fruit. The house is quiet with all the kids and Aunt Jackie still sleeping. Last night I tried to talk to Emery. I wanted to reassure her that Aunt Jackie was tired and would be better in the morning, but by the time I went upstairs, she was already in bed with her lights off and headphones on. If I can get Aunt Jackie to cheer up, I know it will help Emery too.

  Dad runs a hand through his hair. It’s been growing out all summer and now curls at the ends. “Well,” he says. “What makes us feel better?”

  “What makes us feel better when we’ve been on bed rest for almost a month with another month to look forward to?” I ask.

  Dad gives me a hard look. I sigh and tear off a piece of the French toast, squishing it with my fingers before popping it into my mouth. What makes me happy? Surfing, of course, then Tess and all
my friends who I haven’t seen for weeks. I don’t think anything would make me happier than being surrounded by all of them. And then it clicks. “We should throw her a party!”

  “I don’t think Jacks is in a partying mood.”

  “Not like a party party, a little one. Invite some of her friends over. You can grill. It’ll be good.”

  “You know what?” Dad asks. “That does sound like a good idea.”

  “I’ve been known to have them every now and then.”

  He grins. “This is true.” He rips off another piece of toast, then says, “Maybe you’ll meet some of your mom’s old friends.”

  My stomach drops. I hadn’t thought about that. It’s a small suburb. It makes sense Aunt Jackie would still be friends with people she’s known her entire life. But I’ve never thought of my mom as having friends because when she leaves a place, she leaves its people too.

  “Have you, um…heard from her?” I ask, feeling a bit guilty I still haven’t told him about the postcard.

  Dad studies my face, then softly says, “No, I haven’t. When I heard about Jacks, I did the usual send out.” Email to an address she never checks, letter to a place she’s already left, call to a number that’s inevitably disconnected. “But I haven’t heard back from her.”

  “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath. Dad stiffens at the word. “You think she’d at least check in every once in a while to make sure we’re all breathing.”

  “I’m sorry, Anise. I wish she wasn’t like this. Jacks wishes she wasn’t like this. But your mom is complicated, and coming home for her…well, it’s more difficult than leaving home for you. The last time she was here was for Jacks’s wedding. It was a miracle we got in touch with her, and she still missed the ceremony and only showed up for part of the reception. We just have to accept your mom for who she is. We’ll never be happy otherwise.” He leans over and kisses me on the head. “Come on, let’s go plan that party.”

  But I can’t leave it at that. “How can someone be so selfish?”

  Dad pauses. “Sometimes it’s hard to see outside of yourself…” He pulls off another piece of toast but doesn’t eat it. Instead, he looks at me. “…especially when you don’t want to.”

  • • •

  Aunt Jackie is against having a party at first, but once we convince her that we’ll only invite a few people and Dad will grill his famous garlic smashed burgers, she gives into the idea. We spend the rest of the day and the next prepping, so when the doorbell rings, and I’m doused in chocolate and powdered sugar, and Dad is outside busy with the grill and the boys, and Emery is hiding upstairs, and Aunt Jackie is not adept at using her wheelchair yet, I’m the one who answers the door.

  I stand there kind of shocked because instead of one of Aunt Jackie’s friends on the stoop, I find Lincoln and Austin. Lincoln is wearing a tight, white T-shirt, which hugs his hard stomach, where my eyes land for a solid three seconds.

  “Hey,” he says. I draw my eyes to his face. He’s smiling—like really smiling, like I know what you were staring at smiling.

  “Hey. Hi. Umm…” I pause. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “See?” Lincoln tells Austin and nudges his shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you Anise was the most hospitable person in the world?”

  “Ha-ha.” I shift on my feet. “But really, what are you doing here?”

  “Emery invited us,” Austin says. Good. At least she’s still talking to someone. “Well, she invited me, and then I asked if Lincoln could come, and she said you’d like that, so I—”

  “She did?” I flush.

  Lincoln nods. “She did. So can we come in?”

  “Uh, yes. Come on in.”

  I wonder if Emery invited Austin because she likes him or because he was the only friend she could invite. If she and her friends are even half as tight-knit as my group of friends, maybe the incident was more serious than I’ve been telling myself. If Emery’s still upset tomorrow, I need to press her to tell me what happened.

  “Thank you, gracious host.” Lincoln half bows, and then they both step inside. I point them toward the backyard, and Austin heads that way, but Lincoln lingers next to me. He bends slightly, and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me. But he just brushes his finger across my cheek and whatever chocolate or powdered sugar is there and then licks it off his finger.

  He grins as I stand there blushing. “Delicious.”

  • • •

  An hour later, about a dozen of us are congregated in the backyard, all piling our plates with food from platters of burgers, hot dogs, grilled veggie kabobs, and tilapia. Not to mention coleslaw, homemade potato chips sprinkled with paprika and pepper, and our favorite summer salsa chock-full of onions, black beans, tomatoes, pineapples, and lime. Lincoln and I make our way down the line of food. I hold our two plates so Lincoln can use his hand to pile them with a bit of everything. “Have I mentioned I’m in love with your dad?” he asks.

  “If you finish everything on that plate, he’ll probably be in love with you too,” I say.

  “Everything on this plate?” He raises his eyebrows. “Darling, this is only round one.”

  He walks off to join Austin and my cousins around the lip of the pool. Emery and Austin are chatting quietly. Maybe she’s confiding in him like she used to confide in me when she was younger, sharing my bed on their family vacations and whispering secrets under the blankets.

  Before joining them, I walk over to the grown-ups. Aunt Jackie, her friends, and Dad sit around the large table. Aunt Jackie already looks happier, a slight flush on her cheeks. Though, the flush might be from her cup of sangria. “Hey, kiddo,” she says as I stand behind them. “Have you met everyone?”

  I shake my head and get introduced around the table. All the faces and names blur together, but I smile like I’ll remember each and every one. One of the women, I think Claire, wearing a light blue cardigan, looks at me and then Jackie and then says, “Goodness, Jackie, you were right—she looks exactly like her. Spitting image.”

  Her. Blue Cardigan Claire must know my mom—must have known my mom. I wonder if they were close before she left, if they’ve seen each other since my mom was my age. I wonder how many friends my mom has made over the years only to move on and leave them behind.

  I take her comment as my cue to leave. “Nice to meet you guys.” I rush the words and head toward the pool.

  Spitting image. You remind me of her.

  Even though my mom is never with me, I can’t escape who I came from, how I look, and now, with being gone all summer, perhaps how I act too. It’s like no matter what I want, bits of my mom cling to me. My skin crawls at the thought. I wish I could scratch it off.

  • • •

  A couple hours later, the kids have all migrated into the front yard. Parker and Nash skateboard up and down the driveway, Austin and Emery dribble a basketball against the pavement, sometimes throwing it into the rusted hoop, and Lincoln and I sit on the grass, making our way through the entire plate of Parker and Nash’s specialty cookies, which turn out to not be disgusting so much as delicious. Blue Cardigan Claire’s comment aside, for the first time in days, I’m relaxed; Aunt Jackie is home and healthy, all the kids seem happy, and I’m eating cookies next to the best-looking guy in Nebraska.

  “I’m going to be sick,” I mutter, biting off another piece of the chewy, candy-filled cookie. “Like sick sick. Like C-grade zombie flick sick.”

  “Right there with you.” Lincoln rubs his stomach like he has a beer belly instead of washboard abs. “I’ve got to get this recipe. Maybe my dad will bake them.”

  “Is your dad the chef of the family too?” I ask.

  “I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call him a chef, but he definitely does most of the cooking. Mom is the definition of a workaholic.”

  “What does she do?” I ask.

 
; “I told you we used to move around a lot, right?” I nod. “She’s one of those people companies bring in to fire other people. Say some giant corporation needs to get rid of three hundred employees? They’ll bring her in to assess who’s integral and then fire everyone else. The jobs usually take about six months, which means—”

  My mouth drops open, probably exposing chocolate-coated teeth because I enjoy embarrassing myself. “Moving every six months? Seriously?”

  “Seattle, Atlanta,” Lincoln counts off the cities on his fingers as he names them, “Detroit, Vegas, St. Louis, Tucson, Boston, oh—and Baton Rouge. That was a good one. Awesome Cajun food. And that was all before middle school. Dad homeschooled us in the beginning, but he couldn’t keep up as we got older, so when I started seventh grade, we took it down to one move a year tops.”

  I can’t imagine moving even once as a kid, much less dozens of times. The idea of starting over like that, pulling up roots again and again, having to make new friends sounds exhausting and terrifying. “Did you hate it?” I ask.

  “No.” He pauses. “I think it’s hard to hate what you’re used to. I mean, it’s the only life I’ve ever known. And I love new places. So I never had a reason to hate it.”

  “So, like…” I pull apart another cookie. “If you move that often…is anywhere really home?”

  “Look.” Lincoln nudges me, then nods at Parker and Nash. They’re trying to ride on the same skateboard, balancing by holding each other, giggling and falling and trying again. “Home isn’t a place. It’s people. And I’ve always been with my people.”

  The words should comfort me, but most of my people are in Santa Cruz. If I’m not with them, where am I? Who am I?

  “You okay?” Lincoln asks, his voice gentle.

  I pluck a piece of grass from the yard and shred it into tiny strips. “Yeah.” I clear my throat, then shove his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go play basketball.”