It Started with Goodbye

by Christina June

  “When Matilda was born, we lived in different cities, and Belén was in law school as a very young widow. She relied on her friends as her support network, mostly.”

  “That makes no sense. You’re awesome. Abuela of the Century.”

  Blanche laid the cards in her hand down on the table gently and faced me. “She hasn’t had the easiest time, you know. Let me tell you a story, Tatum. It may help you understand. When we first moved from Chile for my husband’s new job, she was still Belén. After the first week in her new elementary school, she begged to be called Brenda and put away the books she always carried. She didn’t want to be different, any more than she already was. There were only a handful of other minority children in her school at the time, even fewer who weren’t born here. The other children were interested in sports or playing princess, and she was not. She felt like she stuck out. Also, many students were not very tactful, shall we say. My little girl was called many names, some of them cruel. I’m sure you know the inaccurate stereotypes that exist. They looked down on her and she cried many tears, just as you have.”

  A pang of regret hit me, but I stubbornly shook it off. “Everyone’s cried about something like that. I get it, but I don’t think that means she has to be so hard on me.” I crossed my arms and looked down at the floor.

  Blanche picked up the cards again and began turning the ones in her stack. “She did what she thought was right. She still does.”

  I rephrased my earlier question. “Do you think the way she’s treated me is right?”

  She ignored me and started placing the twos and threes on the aces. “In hindsight, I can see her father and I were just as overwhelmed by our new life as she was, grasping at straws. We did everything we thought might help her adjust. We took American names ourselves at the suggestion of some immigrant friends. We watched American television. We even let her try out for cheer-leading, twice, like the other girls down the street did, though she never made the team.” I guessed Belén was now living vicariously through Tilly’s accomplishments. “She avoided the more academic endeavors I know she would have excelled at because she saw those activities as undesirable.”

  I could picture that, and it made me sad for her. And also sad that she thought doing something she probably didn’t like would help her fit in. Cheerleading was so not part of Belén’s personality. Too bad she hadn’t stumbled across Debate.

  “She didn’t really get close to anyone until she was in college,” said Blanche.

  “So she never had a best girlfriend in high school?”

  “She did not. She avoided anything that wasn’t required, because she didn’t feel she belonged. Her father and I eventually decided to just let her be, for fear she would become further withdrawn if we pressed more.”

  Sympathy winged through me again. No one deserved that. My breath caught in my throat, as I tried to think of an adequate response. Luckily, Blanche kept going, and I stayed quiet.

  “Belén wanted to be blonde and popular like the prom queens and the class presidents, but when she looked in the mirror, she saw her serious face, and her dark hair and skin. It is devastating to know your peers make assumptions about you based on what you look like, where you come from, and your interests. She desperately wanted to feel that she was good enough. That she could be special and important too. Yet, because of the actions of others, she convinced herself that she could never amount to anything.”

  My snark antenna went up at that, and I clenched my jaw. “But that’s exactly what it feels like she does to me. I don’t understand.”

  Blanche ignored my sassiness again and kept on turning cards and telling her tale. “Her father and I feared she’d never find peace with herself. But when she got to college, everything changed. Her very first class was taught by a highly intelligent and successful woman with a doctorate degree. Belén was completely starstruck and inspired. The professor was everything Belén dreamed of being, and she wasn’t blonde. It was almost as if this woman gave her permission to be Belén again. She also introduced her to other like-minded students and professors on campus. People from all backgrounds. For the first time, she had friends. They accepted her just as she was, and her confidence began to return.” There was a wistfulness to Blanche’s voice as she spoke that hadn’t been there before.

  “Wasn’t that a good thing?”

  “Of course. I was happy for my little girl. She earned prestigious internships and was invited to conferences and even on vacations with her new friends. But she came home less and less. In some ways, her group became an alternate family.”

  I looked at Blanche and saw the lines of heartache in her face. “Do you regret it? Not pushing her harder? I mean, do you think she looks back on her childhood and wishes she’d been a ballerina and a pianist and taken a million honors classes, like she made Tilly do? Do you think she believes that would have been better? I mean, that ludicrous parenting blog she loves probably makes her feel like she missed out.”

  She looked directly into my eyes, with a renewed intensity. “I will never regret doing what I thought was right for my child. Even if, looking back, she wishes I had chosen differently for her. And I would wager that Belén feels the same way now about Matilda. And you.”

  “So, then what? She met these people, found herself, found validation, and …?”

  Blanche sighed. “She met Matilda’s father through her college friends, she graduated, they got married, she became pregnant right away. Daniel died unexpectedly during the pregnancy, and a few years later, she met your father. You know the rest.”

  “So she learned how to be a dictator from her college and law school friends?”

  Blanche looked at me sharply. “I don’t think that’s a fair assessment, Tatum.”

  My face fell. She’d never chastised me before. “Sorry.”

  “And no, I don’t think that. I will always be grateful to her college friends for bringing her back to herself and supporting her when she needed it. However, I do think that becoming a parent changed her view on a lot of things. You’ll probably feel the same one day. The way she has chosen to raise Matilda certainly suggests she believes setting a particular type of example is better than others. Whether it came from her friends, the internet, books, out of spite for me, I do not know. She and I do not always agree on what happiness or success look like; but we do wish for the same things, regardless of definition, for Matilda, and for you.”

  I would’ve thought this would be the point where Blanche became angry or upset about Belén’s choices, but she went back to matter-of-fact. Maybe I’d been wrong about her? I raised one eyebrow. “And she’d probably flip her lid if I said I wanted to be a cheerleader. Does she think she’s protecting us?”

  “Some things are hard to forget, Tatum. Do not underestimate the power fear has over our choices.” Blanche shifted the cards in her hands back and forth, as if trying to decide if she wanted to play another game or not. “As I said, we do what we think is right for our children. I did, and she does.”

  I had a hard time imagining Belén being afraid of anything. Her tough exterior, in my eyes, had always made her the thing to be feared. And yet, on the other hand, it all made sense.

  “If your choices back then were so wrong”—I made bunny ears—“how come you kept the name Blanche?”

  She smiled faintly. “When you find something you love, something that suits you, you stick with it.”

  I nodded. “So, not to be dense, but what was the point of this story?”

  She laid the cards back down on the table in a neat pile. “I wanted you to have some context, Tatum. It’s just an explanation.”

  “For why she’s been so hard on me?”

  “If that’s how you’d like to see it. I was actually hoping it might encourage you to examine your own actions.”

  Oh. I flushed again, but this time with shame. Had I really been so awful to Belén? “Right. Um, thanks for sharing.” Dazed, I climbed the stairs and went back to my room
.

  I wanted to empathize with my stepmother, even though I’d never really been able to before. I was glad Blanche told me what growing up was like in their house, though. I couldn’t even imagine what it would have felt like to be teased or judged for the way I looked. I kinda wanted to go back in time and dropkick those kids for being ignorant jerks. Blonde was fine, but it wasn’t equal to perfection, and Belén was prettier and smarter than almost anyone else—her strictness couldn’t take that away. I knew Blanche was trying to get me to stop being so stubborn, and I guess deep down I agreed with her. Even I could brush away my righteous indignation to see it was possible that all of Belén’s rules for life came from a place of good intentions. Care for me and a desire to protect me. But changing the way I responded to her rules? Actually doing it would be harder than thinking about it. Unraveling years of feeling hurt and overlooked was going to take a lot of effort on my part. Then again, if Blanche and Belén could build a bridge, maybe Belén and I could as well. If I wanted to make even a ripple in this pond, I was going to have to be the bigger person. I just hoped I had the strength to do it.

  Chapter 13

  Dear Tate,

  Seriously? I can’t believe it. I always knew there was more underneath the surface with Tilly than she let on.

  I kind of have to give her props, though, for going behind the stepmonster’s back. Belén is going to freak when she finds out. Wouldn’t it be terrific if your dad and Belén came for the end-of-summer performance and, oops, no one’s wearing toe shoes?

  You have to make the site for her, no question. Make it really gorgeous, make her look like the greatest dancer in the world so she gets a scholarship, and then there’s no way of keeping that secret.

  Unbelievable.

  Ash

  When I read Ashlyn’s response, without pretentious adjectives and lawyer-ese, my heart started fluttering. She hadn’t mentioned our fight, my supposed betrayal, her forced departure from Henderson High School society, or any of the still-lingering tensions that spanned the miles that lay between us. A tiny balloon of hope began to inflate inside of me. I was afraid of that hope, of being disappointed, so I didn’t encourage it. Much. I did flinch at her use of my old favorite term, stepmonster. Maybe Blanche’s words of wisdom were sinking in. A little.

  Ash,

  I know, right?!? I’m definitely making the site, and I sure as heck am charging her. No family discount for the swan princess. Guess I’ll need another nickname for her now, though.

  In other news, I’m beginning to look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame from all the bending over as I cut down scary plants. Remind me not to do this next year.

  Love,

  Tate

  I hit send before I realized what I’d written. A bolt of paranoia struck me the minute the email left the screen, and I pulled it up again from my “sent mail” box. I’d signed off with “love.”

  I was scared that one word, a word that carried so much weight, would take us back two steps when we’d finally gone forward one. It also occurred to me, as I reread my impulsive words, that asking her to remind me not to do this again could be interpreted many ways, and what if she took it wrong? My heart sped up anxiously. Would she think I meant I didn’t want to pull plants again, or deal with a grand larceny charge again? Not that I wanted to do either ever again, but I didn’t want her to read too much into it. I blinked at the screen before shutting the lid and going to the closet to change. Maybe what I was actually saying to her was that I didn’t want to fight with her again. In truth, fighting was the thing I wanted least of all.

  As much as I had complained about the way my clothes were always soaked through after a shift, and how I’d probably be wearing a back brace for the first semester of junior year, I knew I would miss my time on the Invasive Plant Removal Team. The friendships I’d forged with Abby and Hunter made every ache, pain, and trail of sweat just a little more bearable. It was nice to suffer—in regard to the plants and the oppressive house rules—with others, as Blanche had rightly alluded to after my first day.

  The afternoon we finished with the ivy, I looked up at the bare trees, hands on my hips, and smiled.

  “We did good, kids,” Abby said, also admiring our work.

  I nodded. “Right? I feel like maybe we did something worthwhile this summer. Even though it sucked most of the time.”

  Hunter took off his gloves and wiped the sweat off his brow. “Sucked doesn’t even cover it. But you’re right. I’m glad we did this together.” Abby grinned at him. “And it also doesn’t hurt that my biceps look amazing. I may have to wear a sleeveless shirt for Sol Jam to show off these guns.” He flexed dramatically for us, and Abby and I dutifully pretended to be groupies, drooling over the big-deal musician.

  “You must work out for hours,” Abby fawned, and petted Hunter’s arm. I batted my eyelashes at him.

  “It’s important to look good for my fans. Give them what they want,” he said in a fake pompous voice.

  I rolled my eyes and stood up straighter. Alicia was approaching to inspect our section, making sure we hadn’t missed anything.

  “Speaking of Sol Jam, how’s interest looking?” I asked. According to Abby, Kyle had approached the property owner about selling tickets this year. Owen didn’t want to charge, said “music should be free,” but he agreed that tickets were a good way to get an estimate of how many people might be coming. I’d created a ticket that matched the poster—the one Paolo liked, now modified to include all the participating bands—which currently hung in the window of most of Northern Virginia’s coffee shops and on community event bulletin boards. I was ridiculously proud of that.

  “Kyle says it looks like we’ve already passed last year’s attendance, so it’s definitely looking good. He’s betting over two hundred people will show up.”

  I raised both eyebrows. “That many?”

  Hunter puffed his chest up. “I told you we were popular.” He deflated and laughed at himself.

  “As you should be,” Abby declared. “We should probably make a plan for that day, Tatum.”

  A plan. I’d been so wrapped up in the drama at home that I’d just sort of assumed I’d be staying in while everyone else was at Sol Jam. A good-faith effort on my part to follow the rules. And I’d forgotten to mention that part to Abby, who still thought I was going to be her right hand for article coverage. If I was going to make a valiant attempt at putting myself in Belén’s shoes, I needed to actually stay put.

  “Well,” I started, but Alicia cut me off. She’d finished checking our area, and seemed pleased, judging by the easy smile on her face.

  “Amazing work, guys. I don’t see any ivy left. The park service is really going to be happy to see this.”

  “Thanks, Alicia.” She high-fived me and offered fist bumps to Abby and Hunter.

  “Who needs their hours verified? You, right, Tatum?”

  I looked down at the ground and drew a circle in the dirt with my toe. “Yep.”

  “Oh, me too, Alicia. My probation officer will be so thrilled to see that signature.” Alicia looked at Abby quizzically, and then shrugged it off as Abby just smiled.

  “Sure, just bring the paperwork to the office before you leave for the day.”

  “You got it.” Abby gave her a cheesy thumbs-up as Alicia walked toward another group.

  “Why did you say that?” I whispered.

  “I didn’t want her to think you were the only one who got dealt a bad hand.” Abby put an arm around my sticky shoulders. “That’s what friends do, T.”

  All the blood in my head rushed to my ears, and tears stung the corners of my eyes. “Thanks.”

  “You’re good people, Tatum,” she said, and tightened her grip on me.

  I looked down at the ground again, overcome, and saw Hunter take Abby’s other hand and squeeze as he said, “You both are.”

  Hi Tate,

  Sorry it’s been so long. We just got home. I’m not sure how to respond to your last em
ail. I’m glad you liked my music? No one’s ever said I wrecked them, so I hope that’s a good thing. Are you okay now? Do I need to send the paramedics or a construction crew to repair you? All joking aside, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a nicer compliment. As corny as it sounds, I think music is meant to touch your soul and bring out emotions you didn’t know were there. It does for me, anyway. Don’t tell anyone I said that. Maybe you should delete this email after you read it. Or burn your computer, whatever’s easier.

  I laughed. I was definitely keeping the email. If SK ever became famous, toured the world, and won Grammy awards, I could pull this email out as proof that he’d once been just like the rest of us.

  How’s the site coming, by the way? Anything I can see yet?

  SK

  I’d been working steadily on SK’s portfolio site, adding the audio clips that he’d sent me, careful not to click on them as I worked in an act of self-preservation. There’d been enough tears already. SK’s cello résumé was ridiculously impressive and filled with years of performances, awards, and private lessons. As I was formatting it for the site, my mind couldn’t help but stray to the list of accomplishments I’d had to submit when I’d applied to McIntosh two years ago. A lot of good it had done me then, all those years of art lessons and design tutorials. I had to remind myself that even though they’d rejected me, I was still able to use my skills with TLC. A little voice in the back of my mind kept nagging me that I could also use them to get into college too. I hoped.

  I attached a mock-up of the site to an open email, fingers crossed that he’d like what he saw. I’d made a point to design the site in shades of brown, per his wacky favorite color, and added, in a moment of whimsy, a stylized version of the photograph he’d sent me from Ireland as part of the header across the top of the main page. I’d changed it to sepia tones and made the grass a vibrant green, the only other color on the page. It wasn’t flashy, but it felt like the perfect combination of dedicated, relaxed, and fun, just like him.