Kale, My Ex, and Other Things to Toss in a Blender

by Lisa Greenwald

  “Okay,” Mia said again, but she didn’t move to get ready.

  “Come on,” I whined.

  Maybe I was being too hard on her, rushing her too much. But we had one free day before work started, and I wanted to make the most of it.

  Mia stayed quiet the whole ride to the bagel store.

  “I’ll wait in the car,” she said when we got there, which sort of made sense because there were rarely any parking spots downtown, but it also felt lazy and gloomy. “Egg bagel scooped out with low-fat cream cheese and tomato. Skim in my iced coffee. Please. Thank you.”

  “Scooped out?” I exclaimed. “Who are you, Laurel Peck? Come on, Mi.”

  “Justine, it’s not a big deal.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m too tired to argue.”

  So I listened to her and got her what she wanted. Maybe this was part of her process, part of her healing.

  I got back out to the car with the bagels and the coffees and found Mia singing loudly with the windows open.

  “Time casts a spell on you, but you won’t forget me. I know I could have loved you…,” she sang like she was performing for thousands of people.

  “What are you listening to?” I asked her, putting the iced coffees in the cup holders.

  “A breakup songs playlist I found on Apple Music,” she explained. “This is Fleetwood Mac. Awesome, right?”

  “Turn it up,” I said.

  Mia sang the whole way to the beach. The windows were open, and the ocean air felt sticky and salty, like it was going to envelop us and heal all our wounds.

  We ate our bagels and sipped our iced coffees and stared out into the sea.

  “It’s so worth it to rent these chairs,” I said. “Don’t you think? I mean, a lounge chair at the beach is always the way to go.”

  “Always,” Mia said. “And I love how they have the terry covers for the cushions and the way they roll up the little towel at the end of the chair.”

  “Do you think other people appreciate good beach seating as much as we do?” I asked her, propping myself up on my elbow.

  “Doubt it. The Skinnies always post pictures of themselves in bikinis on towels, flat on the sand,” Mia said. “How can that be comfortable?”

  “It’s definitely not comfortable.” I lay back down and then my phone rang, jolting me out of my blissful oceanside lounge-chair peace.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, forcing myself to not sound annoyed.

  “Where are you, Justine? You didn’t say goodbye.”

  “I’m at the beach with Mia. I told you we were going,” I explained. “I’ll be home later.”

  “I would’ve come to the beach,” she replied.

  “Okay, Mom. We’ll go together another day.” I felt little pinches in my heart, slimy guilt that my mom was home doing nothing.

  We hung up and I flipped onto my side to face Mia. “My mom wanted to come to the beach with us.”

  “She could’ve come.”

  “Mia! No!” I flipped the other way.

  Why couldn’t my mom have her own friends? Other moms played cards or went out to ladies’ lunches or volunteered. I was my mom’s favorite person, and that was exhausting.

  “It’s, like, when you look at the ocean, you realize your problems are all really small,” Mia said, pulling me out of my guilt. “Ya know? Like we’re all part of this vast universe.”

  I nodded, folding my arms behind my head. “Totally. That’s why people who live on the beach are way happier.”

  “Is that a scientific fact?” Mia asked, giggling.

  “I think so. Google it.”

  “See those rocks over there?” Mia pointed. “That’s where Seth and I sat the night we came here. It was so dark, but he brought a flashlight.”

  “Sounds hot,” I said, rubbing more sunscreen on my legs. The way she talked, it sounded like Seth was still hers, like they were still a thing. I wasn’t sure if I should drag her out of denial or let her stay there for a little while longer.

  “I want to go back to that moment,” she said. “Like, really badly. I wish in life you could just bounce yourself from one time to another time, back and forth. When you really missed something, you could just go back and visit it. Even for a second.”

  “Me too,” I said, staring into the sea.

  She crossed and uncrossed her legs. “I don’t need to change things or, like, redo the past. I just want to go back and spend a little more time in the happy moments, ya know?”

  “I know.” I sipped my iced coffee. “Do you think we are the way we are because of what happened to us? Or because we were just born a certain way?”

  Mia crinkled her face. “What d’you mean? I don’t get it.”

  “Just, like, are we who we are because of our upbringing, or were we destined to be the way we are?” I asked.

  “I think it’s both,” Mia declared. “But I don’t know.”

  I shrugged.

  “The beach always brings out the introspection in people,” Mia continued. “Seth and I had this whole conversation about birth order and if it makes a difference in your personality.”

  I dug my toes in the sand. “I wonder about that too.”

  “It’s all just theories,” Mia said. “We’ll never really know.”

  “It seems like the more we know, the less we know.” I laughed. “Ya know?”

  “I know.” She laughed too. “Seth thinks we’re all just on this earth to make up for someone else’s mistakes….” She went on and on, and I let her talk as much as she wanted to.

  I stared out into the ocean and tried to make all the problems seem as small as possible.

  MIA

  My dad drove us to the snow cone shop on the way to work the next morning. Normally Justine would be able to take the car, but she’d said the brakes felt weird on the way back from the beach yesterday. So it had to go to the mechanic. Her dad took the train to work, but her mom needed a car even though she rarely left the house. So we were carless for the day. Not that we really needed to get anywhere.

  Life was so weird like that. You wanted things you didn’t need. And when you had things you needed, you never appreciated them until they were gone.

  Justine’s ability to drive us to work was never a big deal before. She drove us to school every day, and I only appreciated it half of the time—like on the days we picked up bagels.

  But now, without that car, I felt even more devastated than I’d felt before. Like that car was the only thing keeping me going, the only thing that would get me through the day.

  “Good luck, girls,” my dad said. He raised his eyebrows at me as I unbuckled my seat belt. That was his signature farewell. His facial expressions pretty much all said the same thing: I don’t understand you. I’ll keep trying.

  “Bye, Dad.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Remsen,” Justine said as she got out of the car.

  My dad wasn’t the kind of guy who insisted on being called by his first name, or joked around that Mr. Remsen was actually his father. He just went along, quietly, through the world, not making many waves. He didn’t really get flustered, but he didn’t get excited, either.

  We walked into the shop, and Justine’s uncle was there, doing something on the computer.

  He threw his hands in the air. “You’re here! Hurray!”

  He’s crazy, Justine mouthed to me.

  Truthfully, he never seemed that crazy. He was Justine’s mom’s little brother, and he was always doing wacky things. Buying businesses, selling businesses, moving to California, moving to Japan. Moving back to Connecticut. But he always seemed happy. Happier than any of the adults I knew. I guess that’s what happens when you win the lottery. You’re happy.

  Happy and a little bit crazy.

  “Let’s get started. I’ll teach you everything you need to know in five minutes. Who has a stopwatch?” He winked at me.

  Justine scoffed, “No one wears watches anymore, Uncle Rick. Come on.”

  “Oh.” He laughed. “Little Justi
ne, keeping me on my toes. Right, Mia? Right?”

  “Right,” I said, forcing a smile.

  He showed us where the scoopers were, how to make sure the freezer door was properly closed. He showed us how to use the cash register and the credit card swipe machine. How to lock the shop at the end of the day.

  “You’re all set,” he said.

  “I think I got it all, but if we forget something, can we text you?” I asked him.

  “Yessirree. Of course. I’m a very good texter.” He patted us both on the backs. “You’ll be fine, girls. By the way, Dennis won’t be in today, but he’ll be here tomorrow.”

  It was a little weird that Dennis was missing the first day of work, but I was grateful not to have to make conversation with him. My mind was too clogged with Seth thoughts to talk to people.

  “And one more thing,” Rick said on his way out. “I bought a van, too. So we’ll have a permanent shop and a mobile shop.” He stopped to think for a second. “I shouldn’t call it a van—maybe it’s a truck? Food trucks are the new thing, right?”

  We nodded.

  “Since he’s my stepson and I’m trying to get the guy to like me, I asked Dennis which he’d prefer—shop or truck—and he picked shop…so you guys will be handling the truck.”

  “For real?” Justine perked up. “Uncle Rick, you’re cooler than I thought you were.”

  “Why, thank you.” He took an over-the-top bow. “Anyway, just putting some final touches on the truck. So get ready for it tomorrow!”

  “Okay!” Justine clapped. “Wait! I have a name for it!”

  “A name?” Uncle Rick turned around.

  “Mobile Cones! Mobile Cones!” Justine shimmied. “Please paint that on the side of the truck.”

  Uncle Rick thought about it for a second and then agreed.

  Justine high-fived me.

  “Snow cone truck! Food truck! Hello?” Justine yelped as soon as Uncle Rick was out of the shop. “This is freaking cool! I never expected this.”

  “Um, yeah, I guess….” My voice trailed off.

  “Mia.” She put her hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. “I know you’re too sad to see anything good right now. But this is great. This means freedom for us! We won’t be stuck in this shop all day.”

  “Uh-huh.” I guess nothing would have made me happy right then. Also, I’d had five blueberries and a cheese stick for breakfast. I was starving.

  Operation Skinny was off to a miserable start.

  I looked at the clock. 9:53 AM.

  Time seemed to be moving backward. Making it through the hours to when I’d be brushing my teeth and crawling into bed felt impossible.

  “Wait, how much money did Uncle Rick win?” I asked Justine, staring out the window.

  “Like forty-six million or something.” She plopped down in a wheelie desk chair and scratched a mosquito bite on her arm. “But ya know, with taxes and stuff…who knows how much they really keep.”

  “So basically money buys happiness?” I asked her. “He’s, like, the happiest guy ever.”

  “Nah,” she said. “But it helps.”

  I tried to think of anything I could to avoid thinking about Seth. I organized the big jugs of mix-ins in the back. I spritzed the counter. I wiped the counter. I doodled little hearts on a pad of paper I found in the drawer.

  Nothing helped.

  “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Justine stared at her phone.

  “No,” I lied.

  “Yes, you are.” She put her phone down on the counter and glared at me. “What do you think Seth is even doing right now? Nothing cool, I’m sure.”

  I picked at my split ends. “How do you know?”

  “Did he do anything that cool when you were together?” she pressed.

  “Umm, when we got a flat on the way to Mr. Aja’s end-of-the-year party, he changed the tire himself,” I said, feeling oddly proud. “He actually reads the books in English, and he can make fresh whipped cream, and he’s been to like thirty Phish shows.”

  “Um, no,” Justine scoffed. “Going to Phish shows doesn’t make you cool.”

  “Okay, Justine.” I went back to doodling.

  She kicked my chair a little so it wheeled in her direction. “And the rest of it? So what? Snooze fest.”

  “Fine. I don’t need to convince you,” I said. I kept hearing she’s thick again and again. It stung. But I couldn’t stop the echo.

  I thought of him and Adia walking out from behind that grill. He’d kissed her like he kissed me. His hands on her cheeks like they’d been on mine. His lips on her lips.

  He was a sleazebag, and I hated him. But I still wanted him to be mine. I still wanted him to love me.

  She stared at me silently for a few moments and then she said, “No. I need to convince you.”

  JUSTINE

  “V/NV,” I said to Mia, who was just sitting there in the snow cone shop, staring at a pen in her hand. “Soleil Mateno. Go.”

  “I don’t feel like playing,” Mia said under her breath.

  “Come on. Please,” I begged. I didn’t know why I loved this game so much. It was noon on our first day of work, and we hadn’t had any customers yet. But snow cones weren’t really a morning treat. It would be better when we were in the truck.

  “NV. She’s, like, gorgeous. And remember she told us how she fell in love with that boy in Tulum when she was on vacation with her family last winter? I bet they did it on the beach at sunset.” Mia looked up at me finally. “Happy?”

  “Fine.” I looked at her sad, droopy green eyes. It seemed like tears were piling up behind them, ready to pour out like the bucket at the top of a water slide. I wished I could wipe it all away, erase that any of it happened. Or at least do something to make her feel better.

  I tapped her knee. “Why are you staring at that pen? What is the deal with that pen?”

  “Huh?” Mia quickly put it in her pocket.

  “Mia.” I swiveled my chair closer to hers. “Talk to me. I’m worried.”

  She rolled her lips together. “Seth gave me this pen.” She took it out again. “See how it says BRIDGEFIELD ESTATES? His mom is on the zoning board.” She started to cry.

  “When did he give you the pen?” I tried to ask with a straight face, take her seriously, and sound sympathetic.

  “One day in assembly. We had to choose our electives.” She sobbed. “I didn’t have a pen and he gave it to me, and he never asked for it back.”

  I moved closer and put my arms around her. “It’s gonna be okay, Mi.” She stayed in the hug, and I felt little teardrops on my shoulder. “I promise. It’s gonna be okay.”

  We sat in silence for a while and then Mia said, “Seth’s probably at the pool with Adia right now.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, scrolling through Instagram, trying to find some quote that would help her. “But maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s, like, at the podiatrist because he has some mystery fungus growing on his toenail.”

  “What?” Mia cracked up.

  “Like a really gross one that changes colors, and now his toe is so swollen that he can’t even walk anymore,” I continued.

  Mia pulled the hood of her sweatshirt down over her face. “Okay, I get it. I’ll stop talking about him.”

  “Let’s do something,” I said, grabbing her hand so she would stand up. She followed me to the back of the shop and we looked at all the jugs of snow cone flavoring.

  “Uncle Rick is so basic,” I continued. “I mean, peach, coconut, mango—does he expect everyone to order just one flavor?”

  Mia shrugged, like she was only half paying attention.

  “And why is orange the only cream pop flavor?” I asked her. “Doesn’t a blueberry cream pop sound so good?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she answered, staring at her phone.

  I sighed and looked over her shoulder at the cheesy quote Instagram account she was following.

  Those who do not know how to weep with their whole h
eart do not know how to laugh either.

  —GOLDA MEIR

  “What?” She looked up at me. “I’m weeping with my whole heart. And Golda Meir gets it.”

  Operation Cheer Up Sad Mia was going to be a tough one, but I was going to do it.

  “Okay, put down the phone and close your eyes,” I said, leading her to a stool to sit down. “I’m going to combine three flavors and pour them onto the ice, and you have to guess what they are!”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Oh! And we’ll name them after people from school!” I shouted as I mixed. “How funny will that be?”

  “Only if you make the Adia the grossest flavor possible,” she replied.

  “Well, duh.” I poured on the flavors and then walked over with the finished snow cone. I tapped her hand. “Try this. Keep your eyes closed so the colors don’t give anything away.”

  Mia opened her mouth and took a tiny bite of the icy mixture. “Um,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Pineapple, orange, root beer? No offense, but it tastes kind of gross, like half-sweet, half-bitter.”

  “That was intentional.” I nodded, laughing. “It’s the Laurel Peck!”

  Mia shook her head, but she was giggling a little too. “Oh, Laurel’s not that bad! Were my flavors right?”

  “The root beer yes, the others no—it was pomegranate, rhubarb, and root beer,” I explained. “Rhubarb, Uncle Rick? Come on!”

  “Okay, my turn!” Mia got up from the chair. “No peeking!”

  I hopped up onto the counter and smiled when her back was to me. She was cheering up, just the littlest bit. Maybe she’d make it through this. With my help, and the comic relief of an only-snow-cone shop, she’d be able to survive.

  “Justine! Eyes closed!” she yelled back to me.

  I kept seeing the Adia/Seth behind-the-grill scene in my head. I didn’t want to, but it would just sort of appear. If that was happening to me, how could I blame Mia for thinking about it?

  What was wrong with him? You’d have to be a complete sleazebag to do something like that. Unless Adia had cornered him, and she was like, It’s my party. I can kiss who I want to. And Seth didn’t have a choice.

  Was that possible? Nah. We always had a choice.