by Robin Talley
“Oh. Mom, I...” Janet’s throat caught, but she forced herself to think through the fog. Her parents wanted her to come home, even now that Grandma must’ve told them the truth about her. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? “I—I suppose we should talk, or—”
“Never mind that.” Mom rushed on, and it occurred to Janet that it was the middle of the night, and Mom had nonetheless answered on the first ring. “You need to come home. We can go to the hospital first thing in the morning, as soon as visiting hours open.”
“Visiting hours?” Janet frowned into the phone dial, as though the still-spinning numbers would explain what this was about.
“Oh, of course, you haven’t heard. Janet, I’m so sorry, but Grandma had another heart episode, early this morning. We’ve been trying to find you. The doctors said to have everyone come to the hospital right away.” Mom had been speaking in a rush, but she stopped suddenly with a choking sound.
“What? Is—is she going to be all right?” Janet pushed her thumb into her forehead, trying to make herself understand.
“They aren’t sure. She’s been growing weaker for some time, you know that—ever since she had that episode a few years ago. She always refused to take precautions, but the doctors say what happened to her heart is worse this time.” Mom paused, and Janet heard her take in a deep breath before she spoke again. “She didn’t get out of bed this morning, and she—she hasn’t woken up since.”
Then she won’t have told them. Janet hated herself for having the thought, but she couldn’t help it. Any more than she could help the thought that followed.
If Grandma dies, it’ll be me who killed her.
19
Thursday, October 19, 2017
It was the first morning they’d woken up together in Elaine’s apartment, and as she watched Paula shrug on her old pink bathrobe, a warm thrill of delight ran down Elaine’s spine.
Whenever Wayne had come to visit, Elaine had always scurried around the house first, hiding the laundry baskets and dog food bowls. She’d hung fresh hand towels in the washroom and potholders in the kitchen. She’d felt obligated to conceal anything less than pristine.
With Paula, Elaine harbored no such desires. She was willing, even eager, for Paula to know her as she truly was, with all her imperfections. Perhaps that was why the sight of Paula’s broad shoulders stretching out Elaine’s threadbare robe made her feel so warm and loved and happy.
And when Paula shuffled toward the hall to start the coffee, tossing a sleepy smile over her shoulder as she closed the bedroom door behind her, Elaine knew she wanted this feeling to last forever. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in Paula’s embrace.
“Hey, Abby.”
At the sound of Linh’s voice, Abby slowly lifted her eyes from her phone and turned around.
School had finally ended for the day and she’d just drifted out the side doors, thinking about Paula and Elaine. All day, they’d been all she wanted to think about.
But she owed Linh an explanation. Abby still wasn’t feeling much of anything, but she did know it had been shitty of her to run out of Linh’s house with no explanation the day before.
Abby had mostly managed to avoid interacting with anyone all day. She’d snuck into Ms. Sloane’s empty classroom for lunch, meaning to write, but she’d wound up playing solitaire on her laptop instead. Ms. Sloane had come in halfway through the period and asked if she wanted to talk, but Abby just shook her head and clicked her king into place. For the rest of the period Ms. Sloane sat silently at her desk marking papers while Abby shifted more cards around.
None of her teachers had called on her all day. Not even in stats, where Mr. Radclyffe called on everybody once a period on principle. It was convenient not to have to know the answers, since Abby hadn’t done the homework, but it still annoyed her that the teachers did that. The same way it annoyed her that Ethan hadn’t gotten punished for getting in that fight. Mom had said the two of them didn’t even have to go to school at all that day if they didn’t want to, which Ethan took full advantage of, but when Abby said she was going anyway, one of her parents must’ve called the office and told them to take it easy on her. It was exactly the kind of obnoxious, over-the-top pity Abby had been dreading for months.
“Hi.” She stared at her feet as Linh caught up with her.
The one thing Abby had going for her was that she hadn’t totally fallen apart yet. She hadn’t cried, not once. But if she let herself get drawn into Linh’s warm, sympathetic eyes, she was positive it would all be over in seconds.
“You heading home? Can I walk with you?”
Abby shrugged. “I guess.”
They walked in silence for the first three blocks. Cars trundled quietly past as they turned off Wisconsin and started down the hill.
Abby shivered in her cardigan as she watched a squirrel dart across the sidewalk and skitter up the trunk of a nearly bare cherry tree. She hadn’t had the energy to dig her winter coat out from under her bed that morning, but Linh was wearing the jacket she always wore when it turned even a tiny bit chilly—a cute, fitted navy blue thing that Abby used to mock for being too preppy to be real. Today it was weirdly comforting to see Linh in the same old jacket again, and when she reached up daintily to push the hood out of her face, the exact same way she always did, Abby remembered how striking she used to find that gesture. Linh, she remembered thinking this time last year, when Linh broke out that navy jacket for the first brisk day of the season, was the prettiest, most captivating human being who’d ever lived.
As of today, the lingering summer heat finally seemed to be gone for good. And if the seasons were still changing, that meant the rest of the world outside Abby’s head must still be turning, too. Next week it would be colder than it was now, and in a month or so, actual winter would start. Before long they’d be breaking out the menorah. Abby was mostly over holidays, but this year she found herself longing to light some candles and chant some prayers and fight with Ethan over who got the last piece of gelt.
She hadn’t seen her little brother since she’d gotten back from Linh’s house the day before. As far as Abby could tell, he’d barely moved. In their old, creaky house Abby could hear every sound through the wall that divided their rooms, but for hours the night before, as she’d curled up in bed with Women of the Twilight Realm, Ethan’s side of the wall had been silent.
He hadn’t spoken to anyone. And he hadn’t cried, not once.
Every so often one of their parents had knocked on each of their doors and asked to come in. Abby hadn’t bothered to respond, and neither had Ethan. She didn’t blame him. There was nothing to say.
Once, Mom had called from the hallway that she was leaving food outside their doors. Abby had waited until her footsteps thumped back down the stairs before she cracked her door. Her mom had brought her a turkey sandwich, chips, an apple and a Diet Coke. The chips were Abby’s favorite kind, but Mom never bought them because they were full of sodium or sugar or whatever it was that was bad for you this year. Which meant that at some point since she’d gotten home from Chicago, Mom had gone to the store and specifically bought Abby unhealthy snacks and artificially sweetened soda.
It pissed her off. The same way Mr. Radclyffe not calling on her in stats had pissed her off. She still ate every one of those chips, though.
“I didn’t think you’d be in school today.” Linh spoke quietly. As if Abby was a horse she was afraid of spooking.
“I felt like getting out of the house.” Abby shrugged.
Linh didn’t ask anything more. Abby hadn’t told her what had happened—she hadn’t told anyone—but clearly, Linh knew.
Maybe she had a mole in the principal’s office. But more likely, she’d just put the pieces together.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known what was going on. She’d known since that day in May. Maybe even before that.
&n
bsp; “Sorry about—about yesterday.” Abby had no idea how to say this part, but she had to try regardless. “I shouldn’t have run away like that. I only—I mean, I don’t—Ugh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. We don’t need to talk about it.”
“No, it’s not okay.” Abby sighed. “Just give me a second to figure out the right words, all right?”
Linh nodded. Abby turned away so she could think.
Something hadn’t felt right about kissing Linh the day before. But it hadn’t been until many hours later, when she was rereading Marian Love’s book again, that Abby had finally figured out what it was.
She wasn’t in love with Linh. At least, not anymore.
She wasn’t sure exactly when things had changed. Maybe the morning they’d fought on the train, or the afternoon of their awkward almost-kiss in the senior lounge. Maybe it was when they broke up back in the spring. Or even before that.
All she knew was that she didn’t lay awake at night thinking about Linh anymore, the way Paula thought about Elaine. She couldn’t remember a single time, even when they’d been together, when she’d felt that huge wave of happiness Elaine described at the sight of Paula wearing her borrowed bathrobe. She was positive she’d never felt anything like that sense of absolute certainty that she wanted to spend the rest of her life in Linh’s arms.
Did that mean they’d fallen out of love, or that they’d never really been in love to begin with? Or did it just mean love felt different for different people?
Abby was pretty sure her parents had been in love, once. She’d seen them gazing happily into each other’s eyes in their wedding photos. And she remembered how they used to act when she was little, too—the way they smiled at each other in the kitchen when they were fixing Abby’s and Ethan’s lunches, and kissed when they got home from work in the evenings, and laughed at each other’s jokes during family dinners. Now, years later, they couldn’t even stand being in the same house unless there was some grand pronouncement to make.
If Abby was right—if Mom and Dad had been in love, years ago—that meant real love didn’t last forever after all.
So what was the point of falling in love in the first place? What was the point of any of this?
“It’s okay if you want to be alone.” Linh tucked her fists under her arms. “I can go.”
“No, don’t.” They were only a block from home. Abby slowed her pace. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting. Not just yesterday, I mean, but for a long time. I shouldn’t have said what I did on the train, about you going to visit Penn.”
“It was fine in the end.” Linh’s eyes were fixed on her shoes. “I actually realized I might want to go there after all. I’m definitely applying, at least. There’s a lot to be said for staying closer to home. Is Columbia still your first choice?”
“I have no idea.” Abby could only vaguely remember why she’d once wanted to go to Columbia. “Anyway, I was only going to say...you probably already knew this, but I’d kind of been hoping we’d get back together all year.”
Linh’s eyes brightened for a second, but then she looked down again.
“I thought we’d get back together as soon as school started,” Abby went on. Now that the feelings were gone, it wasn’t actually hard to talk about this anymore. “I obsessed over it for months.”
Linh didn’t meet her eyes. “You’re using past tense.”
Abby looked down. “Yeah.”
“I... I used to think you and me—we’d...” Linh trailed off. “I guess I wanted to get back together, too. But I didn’t know if that was what you wanted.”
“You didn’t?” Abby was sure she’d been so obvious. Their friends had even commented on it. More than once.
“Yeah. You’re just so quiet. About the real stuff, I mean. It’s as though you’ve been living totally inside your own head. Which, I mean, I completely get. After that—that day, last spring...” Linh trailed off again, but Abby nodded. She knew which day Linh meant. “You seemed so distant. As though you didn’t want anything to do with me. I knew you’d been having a hard time, and I thought you didn’t want to hurt my feelings. I wanted to make it easier for you, so I decided to bring it up first.”
“You thought I wanted to break up?” Abby’s mouth dropped open. That was the one possibility she’d never considered.
“I guess I was wrong.” Linh bit her knuckle. “I’m sorry.”
There was so much they’d never said to each other. So many things Abby had wondered about, without having the nerve to voice them.
She decided to voice one now.
“Is there anything happening between you and Savannah?” She finally raised her eyes to meet Linh’s. “I know you guys hang out a lot, at cross-country and everything.”
“What? No.” Linh went pale. Abby believed her—Linh would never lie to her, not about something that mattered—but she could tell Linh wasn’t surprised she’d asked, either. Which meant that even if there wasn’t anything between her and Savannah yet, it wasn’t because Linh hadn’t thought about it.
“Sorry.” Abby cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation. I was only curious.”
“Well, there isn’t anything with me and her.” Linh scrubbed her eyes with her fist. “I wouldn’t do that without talking to you.”
“It would be okay if you did.” Abby would never have said this a week ago, but today it felt oddly normal. “You’re allowed to like someone. We’ve been broken up a long time. It’s okay to, you know, move on.”
“Really?” Linh raised her eyebrows.
“It’s like...” Abby tried to think of how to explain this. “You’ve been my favorite person for years. As long as I can remember, practically. I think... I’m just starting to figure out that I’ll probably have another favorite person someday. And you will, too.”
Linh was watching her closely. Abby nodded, and slowly, Linh nodded back.
Abby used to think what she and Linh had was everything. But it wasn’t, and it didn’t have to be. Her future was stretched out ahead of her, with a thousand unknowns waiting to be discovered.
Abby wasn’t Marian Love. Her story would keep going long past seventeen.
She didn’t have to have everything figured out yet. She could keep searching, for years if she needed to. Maybe forever.
Maybe that was how it was for her parents, too. Maybe all of them were still searching.
“Well, anyway.” Abby drew a long breath. “I’m still sorry for yesterday. I shouldn’t have just shown up that way, and I definitely shouldn’t have run away without telling you why.”
“You can always show up, however you need to. Even if we don’t... Look.” Linh bit her knuckle again. “I hope we’ll always be friends.”
Abby nodded. “I could use a friend, I think.”
She stepped forward for a hug. As Linh hugged her back, Abby began to feel something at last.
Their hug was warm and real. It was different from the kind of hugs they used to share, but that was all right. It was good, in fact, even as the tears started to prick at the backs of Abby’s eyes.
It felt as though a piece of her was breaking off inside. But it was a part that needed to be gone.
The broken feeling lingered as they said goodbye at the corner. Abby walked on slowly, waiting until Linh reached the end of the block and turned south. When she was positive Linh wouldn’t see her if she looked back, Abby sat down on the curb and finally let herself fall apart.
* * *
Abby didn’t know how late it was when she won her sixth game of solitaire that afternoon. It had started getting dark earlier in the day, and she was losing track of time.
She doubted she was alone in the house, but it was unnaturally quiet. She hadn’t seen anyone when she’d trudged inside earlier. She knew she probably looked like
shit after crying on the curb for so long—and it had been an ugly cry, too; every tear she’d been holding back for months had apparently decided to burst through all in one go—so she was even less eager to see her family than usual.
Abby started a new game, the pixelated cards fanning out neatly on her laptop screen. A throbbing ache had formed behind her eyes, but she hadn’t wanted to risk going out to the hall closet for Tylenol. Better to suffer than to risk seeing anyone.
She got two aces in the first hand. Score. She’d just clicked again when a sharp ring tore through the silence.
Abby grabbed the phone off her desk, and she was about to hit Decline—the last thing she wanted to do was talk to anyone—when she saw that the caller ID said Smith.
The missed call from yesterday. She’d totally forgotten.
She picked up. “Hello?”
“Hello.” The woman’s voice on the other end was warm and friendly, familiar and completely foreign all at the same time. As though Abby had spoken to her before, but on another planet, or in another life. “I’m trying to reach Abby Zimet?”
“That’s me.” Abby swallowed. “Is this—Mrs. Smith?”
“Not Mrs. anything, no.” The woman chuckled. “Please, call me Janet. Though it seems you know me as Marian Love.”
Abby held the phone away from her ear, staring at it. The counter on her screen ticked the seconds as they passed in silence.
This couldn’t be happening. She must have actually lost it.
“Abby?” the warm, familiar voice said, sounding tinny with the phone so far away. “Are you there?”
Abby dove into the blankets on her bed, stifling a scream.
Marian Love was alive. Marian Love was on her phone right now.
The muffled voice said something she couldn’t make out. Abby scrambled to pick up the phone. Her heart felt ready to explode.
“I’m here!” Abby said into the phone, too loud.
“Oh, good, I’m glad. Claire gave me your number, since I’m back to living in DC these days, though I’m afraid I’m out of town at the moment,” the voice on the other end of the phone—Abby still couldn’t accept the idea that it was Marian Love’s voice—said. “You made quite an impression on her. I apologize for all the subterfuge about the rumors of my passing, but, well, it’s a long story, and I want to be honest with you. Plus, since you’re a writer and I got a lot of help from another writer myself when I was about your age, I’d like to do the same for you if you’re interested—”