“Aren’t you gonna at least put on some mascara?” she asked me.
“Nope,” I said.
“Tonight will be more fun if you at least try to get excited,” she said. “It’s New Year’s. You’re supposed to go all out.”
“What does that have to do with mascara?” I asked.
“You just don’t get it,” she groaned, and started carefully applying fake eyelashes. “Of course, I don’t even know why I’m getting all decked out. Nate is out of town.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
She snapped a look at me. “How do you know he’s out of town?”
“I heard something about it at Skyler’s party,” I tried to sound casual.
All day, I had been rehearsing things I might say to ease into telling Hailey what was happening between me and Nate. I imagined saying, nonchalantly: “Nate and I have been talking a lot and we kind of have stuff in common.” Or, “Nate and I have studied together in the library a few times. He’s nice.” Right now was the perfect opportunity but the words stuck in my throat.
“Lima?” Hailey said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Swear to me you’ll never, ever, hook up with Nate,” she said.
My heart sank. I felt like I wanted to throw up.
And then she turned her whole body to face me. “I know it’s weird, but I just love him. I have always loved him. Please.”
“Don’t be silly. You know me; I never hook up with anyone. I’m the biggest prude ever,” I finally said. Hailey let her eyes linger on me for a second, searching my face for something, but I couldn’t tell what.
“Okay,” she said, and turned back to the mirror.
“Well, do you like anybody else? Like for while Nate is out of town?” I wanted desperately to change the subject.
“Max is okay,” she said, dabbing lip gloss onto her lower lip.
• • •
“Hey, girls,” Bridget said when we arrived at her house. After my conversation with Hailey in the bathroom, I felt distracted and distant. Before, I had managed to seem at least sort of glad to have New Year’s plans, but now I couldn’t even fake a smile.
“Oh my God, you look uh-mazing.” Hailey drooled. Bridget had shellacked her hair into a tight ponytail. It looked like it was carved out of wood and varnished. “I love your glitter eye shadow, Bridget.”
“See, Sky!” Bridget screamed over her shoulder. “Hailey likes it!”
“Sky’s already here?” Hailey asked.
“She’s in my room getting ready. C’mon.” Bridget grabbed Hailey’s hand and yanked her up the stairs.
I stayed downstairs and wandered around the glossy foyer of Bridget’s house. There were professional black-and-white photographs of Bridget and her sisters hanging in shiny silver frames on the pink wallpapered walls. I checked my phone nervously, not sure what I was expecting to find. I had no messages or missed calls.
After a few minutes, I went upstairs to join Hailey. There were giggles coming from behind one of the closed rooms. I tried the knob, but the door was locked. That’s weird, I thought. I knocked and the giggles ceased.
“Who is it?” Skyler asked through the door. Laughter erupted.
“It’s me,” I said, confused.
“Hailey’s not in here,” Bridget said. More hysterical laughing and squealing.
My hands felt thick and heavy; I started to back away, unsure what was happening.
The door swung open and Hailey appeared. She was holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other.
“Want some?” Hailey asked, as if nothing weird had happened. Her face was sweaty and red, she already looked drunk.
I stepped tentatively in the room and shook my head no.
Skyler was splayed across Bridget’s bed. “Gimme that,” she whined, and pointed to the bottle.
“I’m already wasted!” Hailey laughed as she stumbled toward the bed and handed the bottle off.
Bridget was trying on a pair of high heels in front of her full-length mirror.
“Why do I have nothing to wear?” she moaned. She kicked off the shoes so they landed in the growing pile of discarded clothing on her floor.
“Just wear the white ones,” Skyler commanded. “You’re gonna make us late.”
“I think the first pair you tried on was the best,” Hailey added.
“What do I do?” Bridget cried exasperatedly. “I hate everything I own.”
Skyler peeled herself off the bed, and wobbled on her stiletto heels over to the closet. She picked up one of the white patent leather sandals by the strap and swung the shoe in front of Bridget’s face. “Just put these on. And then we’re leaving.”
Hailey cackled.
I stood stiff as a board, not laughing, not talking, not smiling. Why had I come here? Why had I thought this would be fun? This was horrible.
“I always wear those, but fine, whatever.” Bridget sighed, sliding the shoes onto her feet. “Let’s just go.”
I followed them into the hallway, lagging a few feet behind.
Skyler and Bridget stumbled down the stairs, giggling and squealing.
“Hailey?” I said. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Hailey turned to face me in the hall.
“Why did you guys pretend you weren’t in the room before when I knocked?” I asked.
Hailey groaned and rolled her eyes. “What? That? I don’t know. We were just being dumb.”
“I feel strange,” I stuttered, “like you don’t want me here or something.”
“Well, you’re just lurking around being all quiet and weird. What am I supposed to do?” she snapped.
“I am not being quiet and weird,” I said, stung.
“Yeah you are,” she said. “You always are when we’re around Skyler. You expect me to invite you to everything and then when I do, you just follow me around and cling to me and ignore everybody else.”
“That’s not true,” I objected. My voice sounded tiny. I was thrown by the turn this conversation had taken. Wasn’t Hailey supposed to be apologizing to me for making me feel unwelcome?
“Do you know what people say about you behind your back?” Hailey continued. Something hot flared behind her eyes. “They say you have no personality.”
“What?” I breathed, shocked.
Hailey straightened up, gaining momentum. “And I’m sick of defending you. Just ten minutes ago Bridget was saying she feels like you think people should want you around just ’cause you’re pretty. But the truth is, nobody cares how pretty you are if you’re boring.”
My chest contracted, like I’d been hit. Acid tears burned my eyes.
Hailey didn’t say anything for a moment, and I struggled to catch my breath. When I finally managed to speak, all I could say was, “Why are you being like this?” I asked.
“I’m not being like anything,” Hailey said. “This is who I am. And these girls are my friends.”
“You’re not like them,” I said. “You’re different.”
“No, I’m not,” she said. “I’m sick of trying to be the person you want me to be. I feel like myself with Skyler. And even with Bridget. I’m more myself with them than I am with you anymore.”
Hurt welled up inside of me like a dark swamp. “I feel like you’re, like, breaking up with me or something.”
“Get down here, skanks!” Bridget shrieked from the bottom of the stairs. “The taxi is here!”
“Come on,” Hailey said. “Let’s go to the party. Just try and have a good time. It’s New Year’s.”
I wiped tears out of my eyes.
“I want to go home,” I whispered.
“Of course you do,” Hailey seethed. “Just run home to hang out with Mommy like always.”
I was too stunned
to respond. I stared at Hailey. Her face was beaded with sweat and flecked with glittery makeup. Lipstick gathered in the cracked corners of her mouth, and the edge of one of her fake eyelashes had lifted away from her lid.
“I’m going,” she said. She swayed and steadied herself on the banister. “Come if you want. Or don’t.”
I stood there, frozen in the hallway until I heard the front door slam and the taxi pull out of Bridget’s driveway. When the house was silent and I was sure I was alone, I crumpled to the floor and sobbed. I wanted to tell Hailey she was wrong about me. I didn’t have no personality, I just didn’t have a loud, screeching personality like Bridget or Skyler. I wanted to tell Hailey that those girls were horrible, and they weren’t really her friends at all. Someday they’d stab her in the back just like she was stabbing me in the back now. Suddenly, I wanted to hurt her. To tell Hailey no matter how popular she tried to be, she’d never be anything but the loser she feared she was.
chapter
thirty-three
Nana died on January fifth. Dad was with her. He called us in the late afternoon to give us the news. It was a perfect blue-sky day. The worst kind.
Dad and Mom were all business right away, not talking about Nana or death or anything like that. They immediately started making phone calls, coordinating logistical things with Aunt Caroline, and planning the service.
“Ask Hailey if she’s coming to the funeral,” Mom said to me.
Hailey and I hadn’t talked since New Year’s. Hearing her name gave me a jolt, and I hoped Mom didn’t see it. With each passing day that Hailey didn’t call to apologize, my hurt and anger turned more into bitterness.
“Lima?” Hailey sounded surprised when I called her that afternoon.
“Hi,” I said flatly. “Nana died.”
She sighed. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. Is your dad okay?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
Hailey took a deep breath. “Lima, I am so sorry about New Year’s! I’m such a terrible person!”
She didn’t sound sorry at all. She said it in the same tone of voice she would have used if she’d forgotten to return my math book or something. Like, “Whoops! Silly Hailey!”
It wasn’t what I’d expected, and it wasn’t satisfying. She had been mean. She had been cruel.
“I was an asshole. I totally get it if you’re mad,” she continued cavalierly. “Just remember I was wasted. It was New Year’s Eve. I mean, everything was crazy. Let’s not fight.”
My whole body suddenly burned with anger. I felt like screaming at her. Instead, I said icily, “You said some seriously hurtful things.”
“I know. It was just a stressful, sloppy night,” she said quickly. “I was probably being insane. I was trashed.”
“And you left me at Bridget’s house. By myself,” I said, shaking.
“I thought you didn’t want to come with us to the party,” she said. “You told me you wanted to go home.”
“Because I was so upset,” I replied. “I mean, I didn’t want to go to the party because we were fighting but . . .”
“Yeah, it was really complicated. It was such a messy night,” she said. “But whatever. I’m so sorry. So so sorry. I told you that already.”
With every fake sorry, my level of anger seemed to rise. I was speechless.
“Lima? I’m sorry,” now she sounded annoyed. “How many times do you want me to say it?”
“This actually isn’t why I called,” I said curtly, ignoring her question. “My mom wanted to know if you wanted to come to Nana’s funeral. You knew her, too.”
There was some rustling on the other end of the line, “Shit, Lima, can I call you back? My food is burning. I have to put the phone down.”
“Okay,” I said.
She never called me back. She didn’t need to. I assumed she wouldn’t go to the funeral, I just didn’t want to be the bad friend who didn’t invite her. I’d rather she be the bad friend who didn’t come.
chapter
thirty-four
The morning of Nana’s funeral, I got dressed in my room with the windows wide open so I could listen to the waves crashing on the beach. How strange, I thought, to be picking out an outfit for a funeral. Clothing just seemed so insignificant.
I fingered a wrinkled black dress that Mom had bought me in seventh grade for a classmate’s bar mitzvah. It was tucked into the back of my closet. I pulled it off its hanger and shimmied into it. It was fading and flecked with dust, but it still fit. It had a high neck and cap sleeves. I put on black tights and a black cardigan, and braided my hair.
The cemetery was overcast and breezy, and the sound of the priest’s voice got lost under the sound of the wind. My dress was itchy. I was cold, and my sweater didn’t keep me warm. I had worn the wrong thing.
All afternoon, I waited for the fact that Nana was gone to hit me. I waited for a big wave of sadness to crash over me. But instead, I felt self-involved and petty. I couldn’t wrap my mind around Nana being dead, and every time I tried to understand it, my mind rebounded to something really stupid, like whether or not the food at the reception would be more like snacks or a sit-down meal. I even found myself getting impatient with Mom and Dad, who seemed distracted and barely looked at me when I tried to talk to them all day.
• • •
Dad stayed in Santa Barbara and Mom and I drove back to Malibu in the evening. We didn’t talk or listen to the radio in the car. We hit traffic on the 405, so all of a sudden we were just inching along through the polluted, depressing outskirts of LA. Outlet malls, bland housing developments, and neglected diners punctuated the barren landscape. It was twilight, and the sky looked a grimy orange.
Mom was distant and, even though she wasn’t complaining, I could tell she was sad.
“What are you thinking about, Mom?” I asked.
She sighed and shook her head slowly. “You know? Nana dying—it makes me feel so old.”
Mom turned and looked at me then, and in that awful light I saw shadows underneath her eyes that I had never noticed before. Maybe it was because she’d been crying at the funeral, or maybe it was simply because she’d said it, but it was true—Mom looked old.
“Stop it, Mom,” I scoffed, trying to be comforting. “You’re forty-four. You’re, like, the youngest mom ever.”
She tried to smile. “Want to get dinner on the way home? I’m too tired to cook.”
“Yes. I’m starving,” I said. “Where?”
She shrugged. “McDonald’s?”
My jaw dropped. In my whole entire life, Mom had never taken me to McDonald’s. Not once. When I was little, Dad and I snuck there together a few times, but it was our secret. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I know this is probably weird to say, but it made me sad to think about Mom eating McDonald’s. It made me think she was more tired and sad than I could possibly imagine.
I nodded. “Okay.”
We sat in a hard plastic booth and ate combo meals—burgers and French fries and milk shakes.
I was taking some of her leftover French fries, squishing them in my fingers, dipping them in a pile of salt, and eating them when I looked up and saw her looking at me with wet eyes. She was smiling.
“I love you so much,” she said. She blinked and the tears spilled down her face.
I know it’s not possible for your heart to actually break, but I felt like mine was shattering into a million little pieces. Seeing Mom cry just made it hurt so much.
• • •
Back in my room that night, I put on Blue by Joni Mitchell and sat on the edge of my bed. The whole day had left me feeling out of sorts. Mom was sad. Dad was sad. Nana was dead. Our house felt so empty, as if all the people and all the music in the world couldn’t fill it up again.
I could hear the sounds of Mom putting things away downstairs, the gentle patter of her footstep
s. I knew I couldn’t make her feel better. I knew she was sad for Dad and for Nana, and now I had this new knowledge that I didn’t even really want. That Mom knew she was getting old.
Outside my window, the night sky was polluted and starless. A plane flickered slowly, moving in a straight line over the ocean. I couldn’t believe how much everything was shifting around me, like the ground giving way underneath my feet. Life was feeling like nothing more than a disorganized, directionless series of events.
I picked up my cell phone, wanting to call someone, to be cheered up, to talk about something petty. I missed Hailey. Not the Hailey who had been around recently, but the old Hailey. I missed having a best friend. It was confusing to miss someone who wasn’t actually gone. She was alive, but she was so different. It occurred to me for the first time that maybe Hailey wasn’t going through some awful phase. Maybe she really had changed. Maybe sometimes people transform slowly into someone unrecognizable.
The person I really wanted to talk to and see was Nate. I wanted to feel his attention on me. I felt that telling him about Nana would actually make me feel better. I wanted him to tell me what he went through when his dad had died. That kind of loss was unimaginable to me. I wanted him to feel safe and cry, and I would understand and make it better. I wanted to hold him close to me and feel his heart pounding, and the pressure of his body against mine, and I wanted to smell his hair and his skin. I could almost imagine him here on the edge of the bed with me, the way his hot and cold blue eyes would look right now. How his hands would feel on my face.
chapter
thirty-five
The rest of January remained cold and overcast. The sun came out every afternoon, but it was weak and pale and it always went away quickly, receding into a veil of clouds. I caught a cold the morning after Nana’s funeral and it lingered, coming and going for weeks.
As I walked to the car-pool lane one Wednesday at the beginning of February, people were already filing onto the big yellow bus that would take them to Clean the Bay. The week before, I hadn’t done Clean the Bay because I was sick and today I had lied and told Mom it was canceled so I wouldn’t have to go. I couldn’t handle being around Hailey. And seeing Hailey and Nate at the same time would be even worse.
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