“You can’t text anyone to tell them I’m here. I need a little time.”
“Promise.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Radha opened the door.
Her backpack, stuffed to the gills and open at the top, lay on the floor. Radha had been folding a bright pink sari.
“It’s mine,” she said quickly. “Micki already gave it to me. I didn’t want to leave it behind.”
“It’s beautiful.” I restrained myself from saying more, instinct telling me the triple reverse psychology trick to employ was . . . waiting. I pretended to study Micki’s stash of fine fabrics.
“Bernie doesn’t have anything,” Radha said defensively. “She doesn’t even have a fiancé. Did you know that? She likes to pretend she’s getting married. To dream. She likes trying on the dresses and running her hands over them. I was trying to help her!”
“Maybe you did help her,” I said soothingly. “I know your heart was in the right place.”
“I put the dresses she liked in my backpack and brought them to her house. In case you were wondering. That was bad. I know it.”
“Did you ever see the inside of her house?”
Radha nodded. “It made me feel worse about her. Where she lives is . . . not nice. I’ve had to stay in a lot of places like it. It doesn’t make you feel good, all that emptiness. It made me want to help her more.”
“Sweetie, Micki would have understood. You could have told her.”
“I’m not stupid. I know the shop isn’t doing well. Micki can’t afford to give stuff away.”
Radha wasn’t anywhere near stupid, but I was. Why hadn’t I been more observant? Why hadn’t I questioned how Micki could write a check to me for seven thousand dollars? I made a mental note to ask her about it, and then shifted back to Radha.
She was pacing, her face a mask of worry and pain. I wondered how many times she’d been in a position of uncertainty, not knowing where she was going to sleep that night, not sure of who would be in charge of her life. My thoughts turned to the powerlessness of how I felt in the face of Kylie’s illness. I felt the strain through my whole body, the worry infiltrated every thought, every response, every action.
“Come here,” I said, and drew her into a tight hug. She melted into it, her cries tearing at my heart. “You meant to do something nice, but it was a mistake. It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes. I make them every day. The thing is, you have to own it. Say you’re sorry to Micki and Sandeep.”
“It’s not going to help. They hate me,” Radha said. “They’ll want me to go away.”
“That’s not true at all. You should have seen their faces when they realized you were gone. They’re so worried. Sandy is out looking for you, and Micki is pacing the apartment, waiting for you to come home.”
Radha went still for a moment. “Ally,” she said, “how do you know when something is real? When it’s the truth? It’s so hard for me to tell.”
“I wish I could tell you there’s a secret, but there isn’t. You’ll never know for sure. The only thing you can fully trust is your own judgment.” I took a breath, and thought of my mother. “Consider this—if you are fairly certain someone trusts you, then it makes sense to trust them, right?”
“I guess,” she said, but didn’t sound very convinced.
“Think for a moment. Sandy trusted you with his culture. He taught you about the food, the clothes, the social rules. And you lived up to his trust. You honored it.”
Radha started to sniffle again. “I loved it! All of it.”
“Micki trusted you with the store. She trusted you to emcee the fashion show, and to pay special care and attention to clients.”
“And I totally messed it up. God. I’m so, so sorry.”
“You didn’t mess everything up. You messed one thing up. I hope you can see that. I know Micki can. She loves you, sweetie, and when you love someone, you want to forgive them, especially if they’re sorry and have an explanation. You have both.”
“I’m still afraid to face them. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Well, finding the courage to face someone we’ve wronged is part of learning to be a grown-up. You’re almost there, Radha.”
She swiped at her eyes. “Okay, I’m ready. Will you walk back with me?”
“I’m going to text Micki and tell her we’re on our way.”
I used to hate when people said, I have no words. There are always words. Sometimes they aren’t the right ones, but they’re there. When Radha ran to Micki, arms out, heart open and so, so sorry, my breath caught in my throat until she was welcomed, fully and with love, into Micki’s arms. Then Sandy wrapped himself around the two of them. There they were. A family.
And when they opened their arms to include me, I rushed in.
And there weren’t any words I could find to describe how I felt. I just knew that I never wanted to not feel that again.
CHAPTER 19
District 168 Parents: New Post
Vera Pastorelli: Hello! On November 1, the school will host a meet and greet for the school board candidates. Light appetizers and wine will be served. 7pm at the VFW hall on Hildy Street. All are welcome!
Cassie Flores: I’ll set up an FB events page so we can get a good idea of how many people are interested. I can provide sandwiches, with vegetarian options, and I’ll design a craft cocktail appropriate for the event. Looking forward to seeing everyone! I predict a stellar night!
Cole Flounders: What about us vegans? Will there be an option for us?
Cassie Flores: Done, Cole. Absolutely. Sorry for the oversight.
Cole Flounders: Apology accepted.
Bree Nguyen: Cassie, you make everything better. Seriously.
Jane Sturgeon: Will there be mocktails?
Cassie Flores: I will make sure to have virgin options available.
Jane Sturgeon: “Virgin”? Is that really appropriate? Must we stigmatize everyone?
Cassie Flores: You are absolutely right, Jane. My sincerest apologies.
Sawyer McMurphy: I work on my friend’s farm in Michigan on the weekends I don’t have my daughter. I’ve got homemade farmhouse gouda, apples we picked a few weeks ago, and some nice sausage I cured myself. If I can get down to the hives, I’ll get some honey. I can make a charcuterie platter. (61 “Likes”)
“These people are insane. Truly. Are you sure you want to be a part of this thing? I mean, homemade farmhouse gouda?”
“I’m used to specialized diets, aren’t I? I can out-menu-design any of them.”
We were hanging out at the back of the salon; Heather’s first client was a no-show, and mine, Jenn with two n’s, was early, having decided she wanted a pixie cut because she’d read that the style elongated the neck. Apparently, she felt CrossFit was going to cause a spontaneous neck lengthening any minute, and she wanted to be prepared. Teresa had a few days off, and without our boss around, we stylists were feeling a little loose. After the events of the past few days, I was content to give my morning a slow start.
“You’re letting other people take control of the conversation,” Jenn with two n’s said to me. “You’ve got to get in there and make your mark.”
Heather smiled. Jenn with two n’s lived for drama. “She’s right. You’ve got to say something. Be a presence.”
I wanted to think of something spectacular, but my brain was tired. And that morning Kylie had woken up with swollen elbow joints again and a pesky sore throat. “What can I say at this point?” I said. “That I’ll hand-carve a table out of wood from a tree I cut down myself? I can’t compete.”
“I guess you can’t,” Heather admitted. “But only in this situation. You are otherwise awesome.”
Jenn with two n’s stood up, indignant. “That kind of attitude is unacceptable. Of course you can compete. You can always compete. It’s a matter of finding a weapon when you think you don’t have any.”
I imagined Cassie, Sawyer, and me in a three-way duel. Cassie would toss her multiple advanced degrees at us, Sa
wyer would politely smother us with his perfectly worn-in flannel shirts and homemade shea butter lip balm, and what would I do? Give them a fresh haircut?
“You know what? She’s right. You want this badly,” Heather said. “Kylie needs you in her corner. That has to mean something. Why don’t you just trust yourself? Write the first thing that comes to mind.”
I started typing, not really sure where I was going to go with this.
Ally Anderson: I will bring a good attitude and a smiling face. And I’ll clean up afterward without bitching about it. Even if someone pukes up the mocktails.
I checked my spelling and grammar before posting.
“Nice,” Heather said.
“I don’t know if that’s exactly how I would have expressed myself, but I think it works,” Jenn with two n’s said. “It’s confident, I’ll give you that.”
Heather pointed at the laptop screen. “You’ve already got a response. Those people don’t mess around.”
Jane Sturgeon: Profanity has no place on this community page. I’m alerting the moderator.
Sawyer McMurphy: Never underestimate the value of a positive attitude. Thanks for the reminder, Ally!
I clicked on his post, and gave it a big old “Like.”
Halloween is more than terrifying for a nut allergy family—it’s life-threatening. Trick-or-treating becomes a run through an active minefield in a war-torn nation—one false move and you’re done.
Every year, Matt and I had to psychologically prep Kylie for disappointment. She would not be able to accept most of what she was offered. She couldn’t share candy or eat any on the move. Her bag must be fully inspected before she was allowed to keep anything. This year, after the incident with Bernie, we had to double down on our warnings while trying to not squeeze every bit of fun out of the one holiday that really is solely meant for kids.
“Grandma’s got the teal pumpkin!” Kylie squealed. She zoomed around the house, dressed as a mildly scary zombie. My mom had just got home, having spent the day over at Bernie’s. She was taken by that ninety-year-old vixen—her dry wit and opinionated persona matched my mother’s perfectly. Neither of them suffered fools, and in their eyes, I’m sure the world was full of plenty of foolishness. Mom’s disdain extended to me—we still hadn’t discussed anything of import, our exchanges devolving to strained pleasantries in front of Kylie.
Mom lugged the teal pumpkin—a plastic version with a deep indentation on the top for nut-free candy—onto the front porch. A few years ago, she’d brought it home when she found out that teal pumpkins alerted the community that a house was safe for food allergy sufferers. We filled it with care, and were shocked at how many people thanked us because they were in a similar situation.
“I’ll take her trick-or-treating tonight,” Mom said. “Right after dinner.”
I’d gotten a text from Micki, asking us if we’d like to come to the haunted house to see Sandy in all of his vampire glory. Surprisingly, Kylie seemed fine with going, and I was going to ask my mother to come. I thought there was a chance she’d say yes after all the time she’d spent with Bernie. I was fairly certain Bernie told her stories of Micki and Sandeep—maybe she’d be open to another meeting? I didn’t expect her to build a relationship with them—why would she? What I needed was for her to know why I would want to give them a place in my life.
“Absolutely not,” my mom said when I asked her. “Let’s take Kylie trick-or-treating like we always do. We can get her to bed early. It’ll be good for her.”
“We don’t have to stay long,” I begged. “Please?”
Mom gestured to the bench. “Sit.”
She folded her arms over her chest, her eyes darting around the room. I knew my mom well enough to keep my mouth shut and sit tight. When she gave this much concentrated thought to something, it was usually worth waiting her out.
“I’m sorry you didn’t have your dad around much when you were a kid,” she began. “But otherwise, you felt safe and secure and loved, right?”
My throat suddenly felt clogged. I nodded.
“I promised myself when I adopted you that I would make you feel like you were 100 percent my daughter every single day of your life. That I would love you as much as my parents loved me. They put their hearts and minds to it like they did everything else. When they passed on, they left me the bar to carry on their name. That’s what they had to give me. And that’s what I had to give you. See, I could give you almost everything, but I can’t give you a history. I thought, in some way, giving you the bar would make up for that.”
Mom’s eyes filled. I moved to touch her arm, and she waved me away. “I don’t think you understand. When I had to sell the tavern, it didn’t just break my heart, it sliced it. It cut away that history I had to give. And that hurt. Really bad.”
“And Micki Patel makes it worse?”
“In a way. She’s got what I can’t give you. It’s like she has a knife and can continue slicing away if she wants to. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do. But I also don’t think it has to be that way. You’re forgetting one thing. You are my mom, and I love you.”
Mom stood and squeezed my shoulder. “We’re different, Ally. Our struggles are different, and so are our needs. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“Grandma, are you going with us to the haunted house?”
We sat on the front stoop, greeting the first wave of trick-or-treaters. Kylie was practically vibrating with excitement.
“I thought you hated haunted houses,” Mom said, expertly deflecting the question.
“I do hate haunted houses,” Kylie explained. “But Dr. Indigo says we should face our fears. I’m learning to calm the dog.”
Mom looked at me. “What? What dog?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“Grandma,” Kylie said, growing serious. “If you’re afraid of haunted houses, then you need to go. Dr. Indigo taught us to share fears. I could share mine with you, and you could share yours with me. That kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Mom didn’t answer. After a moment, she got up and went into the house. Some kids came by, and we showered them with peanut-free goodies.
“If we’re going to go, let’s go.” Mom stood behind us. She had her purse slung over her shoulder and car keys in hand. “But I’m driving. And I decide when we leave.”
During the half-hour drive to the haunted house, Kylie chattered nonstop, a bundle of anticipatory nerves, while my mom drove with her hands at ten and two, her lips cemented together. The woman could contain emotion better than a maximum-security prison. Nothing was escaping without her permission.
A security guard directed us toward a far parking lot, and on the long walk to the haunted village, Kylie grew quieter and quieter. “Are they allowed to touch people?” she finally said. “They’re not, right?”
“I don’t think so, baby,” I assured her. But then, I wasn’t really sure.
“If someone touches you,” Mom said, “kick them.”
“Mom!”
“Well, no one should be touching anyone,” she protested. “I mean, what kind of place is this?”
A very crowded place. We moved through the witches, Harry Potters, the ghosts, the Morphsuits, pirates, and vampires. It was the latter I was staring at—where were my vampires? I’d texted Micki when we arrived, but hadn’t heard anything.
We reached the front of the haunted house. It was enormous—a faux Victorian wonder, dark and dramatic against the night sky. It had eaves and turrets and a widow’s walk. Blood-curdling screams echoed from its interior.
Wide-eyed, Kylie strained her neck to take it all in. “Will you hold my hand, Grandma?”
My mom narrowed her eyes at the haunted house. “I won’t let go.” She turned to me. “So, is it just us, then? Let’s get in line and get this over with.”
She didn’t bother to hide her relief. I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment. Where were they?
My phone chimed.
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Micki Patel: 911. Come to the back of the house. You’ll see me standing by a red door. Hurry!
“For the love of God,” my mom said when I showed her my phone. “This is ridiculous.”
Ridiculous as it was, we got out of line and circled to the back, which was curiously desolate.
“This is just as scary as the front side,” Kylie muttered.
We found the red door, which was really a black door covered in fake blood. I was just about to knock when it burst open, and a zombie bride catapulted outside.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,” Micki said, staring at my mom. “We hired some high schoolers to work tonight, and they came in drunk off their bottoms. We don’t have enough monsters! Sandy’s boss is losing his mind. Do you think you can help?”
“What do you think?” I asked Kylie.
“I don’t know.” I watched her mentally calculate the pros and cons, her fears against her desire to help Micki.
“We could go home, honey,” Mom said. “If you’re tired.”
Radha, dressed in a black sari with vampire teeth and two rivulets of blood leaking out of the sides of her mouth, popped her head outside. “Are you guys going to help us out? We need more monsters!”
“Okay,” Kylie said. “We’ll help.”
My mom’s sigh could be heard over the screams.
Micki ushered us into a darkened hallway, and then into a room that looked like a smaller version of the bridal shop. Dark-colored costumes were strewn everywhere, and a table crammed full of makeup and wigs stood in the middle of the room.
Micki pointed at me. “You’re a zombie. We need you in the cemetery set. Just get something suitable on. Quick.”
“I’m already a zombie,” Kylie said.
Radha started smearing some makeup on Kylie’s cheek. “I’m going to make you even more zombie-riffic.”
My mom picked up a tattered black dress and just as quickly tossed it to the side. “I’ll wait outside until you’re done. Meet me at the front entrance.”
The Other Family Page 21