So Over It

by Stephanie Morrill

  “Ooh, Carter Shaw,” Jodi said. “Totally forgot about that guy.”

  “Yeah, whatever happened to him?” Lisa asked.

  “I don’t know who—” Madison stopped herself. “Oh, wait. Is he that guy who played on the guys’ baseball team when we were freshmen? Dark hair, intense eyes?”

  “That’s the one.” Jodi smiled at me. “Skylar and I liked him and both vowed we’d stay away.”

  “He was into you.” I’d never admitted it before. “He had a thing for blondes.”

  “Like it matters anymore,” Jodi said. But her face pinkened as she bit back a smile.

  “It seems to be a common problem for you two,” Madison said. “Liking the same guys, who like both of you back.”

  Jodi tilted her head at me, her smile cautious. “It’s a miracle our friendship survived.”

  “Yeah.” I tried to smile but couldn’t. “Maybe you picked up on this at the pool, but I didn’t mean to start dating Eli. The morning after, when he took me home, he kissed me, and . . . and after everything he’d just done for me . . .”

  I thought of the hazy summer morning, of the clicking gas pump, of Eli inching closer and closer.

  I looked Jodi in the eyes. “But I should’ve kept my promise to you.”

  She shrugged, looking weary. Of Eli? Of our battles? “It sounds like you might not have been thinking your clearest.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Lisa asked in a mouselike voice.

  I blinked at her. I’d kinda forgotten Lisa’s and Madison’s presence. “I guess I was embarrassed to have put myself in that position. You know, I always tried to look like I had it all together, but that night . . .” I took a wobbly breath. “That night I so didn’t.”

  Eli’s words back at the pool haunted me: “It’s obvious that Aaron and Nate had worked out something, and Sarah was doing the legwork. It’s obvious.”

  But nothing about what happened to me seemed obvious anymore. Especially when it came to who could be trusted about the events at that party.

  “What do you guys remember?” I asked. “I mean, do you think Eli’s right? That Aaron and his friend had arranged everything?”

  At first, none of them spoke.

  “I wasn’t there. I don’t know,” Madison said.

  “I remember seeing you talk to Aaron, but not much else.” Lisa shrugged, looking helpless. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  I turned to Jodi, praying she held some nugget of information that would blow this whole thing open. Make it obvious who was to blame and who wasn’t. And hopefully that information said “Aaron” in big, bold letters.

  But Jodi shrugged as well. “I’m sorry. I hardly remember a thing about that night. I think I passed out even before you and Aaron went upstairs.”

  My hope dissolved, and I took a slow bite of my melting ice cream. “I guess I just need to get over it. And I can do that. I mean, so what if I never know what really happened?”

  “Don’t say that,” Madison said. “That sucks.”

  I smiled at her. “I agree, but—” Was that . . . ? Yep. Eli marched our direction. “We should’ve gone to a different one.”

  They turned to see.

  Jodi started to get to her feet. “I’ll get rid of him, Skylar.” “No, it’s okay.” I stood, which made Eli slow his steps. “This is mine to deal with.”

  As I walked toward him, a whole spiel ran through my mind—about how I appreciated him following me up to that room regardless of what Aaron might or might not have done, how I never would’ve had the life I did now if he hadn’t acted like he did, that I wouldn’t want things to be any different—but Eli spoke first. “I’m gonna find out what happened.”

  I blinked at this, my rehearsed speech evaporating. “What?”

  “That night. I’m gonna find out what happened. If Aaron drugged you or”—he swallowed—“not.”

  “Eli . . .” Thirty seconds ago I’d said it didn’t matter, but the thought of knowing the truth made my heart beat a little faster. “You don’t have to. I’m happy now, and—”

  “I owe you.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his swim trunks. “And I think you deserve to know.”

  That brought tears to my eyes. I looked away, at the passing traffic. “I’m sorry about this spring. I didn’t mean to lead you on when—”

  “I always knew you were in love with him. I don’t know why, but that doesn’t matter. If he makes you happy, then . . .” He shrugged. “You know. Whatever.”

  My phone sang to me from my back pocket. “That’s probably him now,” I said as I fished for it.

  Nope—my house.

  “Skylar.” Mom sounded breathless. “I need you to come home right away. There’s been—”

  “Mom?” I said as she dissolved into tears.

  “Just come home, okay?”

  And then the line went dead.

  26

  Barely twenty-four hours later, Mom’s and my plane touched down in Lihue. Mostly tourists occupied our connecting flight from Honolulu. A few residents dotted the crowd, but the air buzzed with vacation chatter. My ears snatched bits of conversation as we exited—hiking Na Pali and surfing lessons at Poipu Beach. A far cry from what I’d be doing on this trip—burying my grandfather.

  “You double-checked that it’s yours?” Mom asked as I pulled my suitcase off the carousel.

  I nodded, and we headed into the fresh, sweet-smelling afternoon.

  We didn’t talk again until pulling onto Kapule Highway in our squatty rental car. “You doing okay?” I asked Mom, observing the slack of her face. I couldn’t see her left eye anymore, but on the plane it’d twitched.

  She exhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t know.”

  I had no response for that. Maybe my father would’ve known what to say. I assumed she’d have preferred having him here instead of me, although she’d told him over and over that it was fine.

  “There’s no way you can go,” she’d insisted last night as she stabbed at her salad but didn’t eat a bite. “Not only are you breaking ground on the AMC project, you’ve got two meetings with prospective clients. No way.”

  “You come first, Teri.”

  It warmed me to hear him say it, and I wondered if it did her too.

  “I know that,” she said very quietly. “And that’s why it’s fine if you stay. Skylar and I will be fine.”

  And now I wondered if she’d been right. If only Abbie could’ve come too. It was totally impractical with summer school and Owen, but I sure missed her ability to fill up a silence.

  “My father and I never got along well.” It startled me to hear Mom’s voice. “I assume you know that.”

  I shrugged.

  Mom looked at me, then turned her attention back to the road. “I never thought we’d be back so soon.”

  “Do you miss it at all?”

  She chewed on her lip as she thought. I’d never noticed her doing that before. I did the same thing sometimes. Used to be I’d have been horrified to recognize myself in her, but now it made me smile.

  “Sometimes. In the winter, I guess I do. I’ve never cared for the cold.” Mom frowned. “But I guess life’s like that.”

  She left me to draw my own conclusions. “Cold?”

  Mom smiled. “No. Like in the winter months—or in the times of trial and frustration—it’s easy to long for happier times. When you think back on how it used to be, you only recall the good stuff. Like pineapple and sunshine and the feel of the ocean. But then you go back, and you’re like, oh yeah, there’s lots of bugs. And the bread mildews on the grocery store shelves. And it costs a fortune to live here.” She sighed. “Sorry. I bet none of that made any sense. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “You’re making sense.” I thought of the spring, when I’d ached so badly from Connor’s betrayal. At the time, all I’d remembered from my old life was the carefree fun, and how I’d never been hurt like he’d hurt me. I’d fallen back into being the old Sky
lar, only to rediscover the morning-after headaches and regrets. The dissatisfaction of it all.

  Reinvention hurt, but at least it was a satisfying kind of pain. Like when you exercise.

  I looked out the window at the palm trees and azure expanse of water. Strange to think how if I’d stayed, I might have been here for Papa’s heart attack. My throat closed at the memory of him on the porch, wearing one of his ugly, old-man shirts, his fingers busy with his electronic poker game.

  Something brushed against my leg. I turned to find Mom’s hand, smooth and soft, patting me. A rare display of affection, and one I needed.

  “I’m really proud of you,” Mom said, her voice tight. “I know it’s been a rough year and we’ve had our fair share of disagreements, but I see a lot of changes in you.” She squeezed my leg, then withdrew her hand. “You’re inspiring.”

  I closed my eyes, holding back tears. To hear her say that, I’d have redone this year a thousand times more.

  “Grammy’s told me over and over that the doctors said it was quick, virtually pain free,” I said to Connor. “So that’s good.”

  “It’s great. I mean, as great as him dying could be, you know.”

  “I know.” I tucked my legs underneath me. Not so long ago—but also very long ago—Papa and I had had a very important talk on this bench.

  “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s . . .” I glanced through the lit window. Mom sat at the so-old-it-was-back-in-again Formica table with a checkbook register and a box of something that looked like receipts. “She’s surprisingly strong. I’m used to seeing my dad take care of everything important and my mom just decorating. It’s strange to see her doing everyday stuff. Earlier she was scrubbing the toilet.”

  “That thought just doesn’t compute.”

  “I know. I guess . . .” I caught myself biting my lip and smiled. “I guess she’s why I’ve hesitated to go into design. I want to do something that matters, and I don’t know how fashion can do that.”

  “But who says it’s gotta be your work that makes you matter?” Connor said. “Think about everyone you’ve influenced this year. I mean, look at Jodi.”

  I ran my hands through my hair. “She’s the real deal, isn’t she?”

  “All except the tan.”

  I giggled. “Connor, that’s not nice.”

  “I’d say it to her face too.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I know. That doesn’t mean you should.” Across the street, at the tiny house Justin and Chase shared, the door opened. Justin stepped out, his eyes on me and his feet moving my direction.

  “Hey, I see Justin and need to talk to him, okay?”

  “The guy across the street? Who your grandma wanted you engaged to by now?” I heard him frowning.

  “You want me to put you on speaker or anything?” I teased.

  “No, just call me back later. And don’t forget to mention me. And that I’ve been working out.”

  I grinned. “Call you later.” I tucked my phone in my pocket and met Justin in the scabby yard. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He tugged at his shirt collar. “Sorry about your grandpa.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  Justin cleared his throat. “I meant to call you after you left. I knew I should, but I couldn’t really think of what to say. And then more and more time went by and . . .”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No it’s not. I was really mean to you, Skylar—”

  “Please don’t apologize.” I wrung my hands. “What you said to me, it was true. And it’s what I needed to hear. To force me to go back home and do what I needed to do.”

  He frowned. “I’m glad it worked out okay. I think I’ve partially felt so bad because I was being really hypocritical. I accused you of using me to get over someone else, and I think I was using you too. To get over Janette. Remember the girl I told you about?”

  Not by name. “Kinda.”

  “Well, I think I was just brokenhearted and wanted to move on. Right away. Regardless of what God had planned, or . . .” His eyes searched mine. “Or what it could’ve done to you.”

  “It’s okay,” I said as the door to Grammy and Papa’s—or just Grammy’s—house opened.

  Light spilled onto the lawn, then darkened with Mom’s silhouette. “Skylar?”

  “Yeah, Mom?”

  She stepped onto the porch. “Oh, hi, Justin.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Hoyt. Sorry about your dad.”

  “Thank you.” She pulled the door closed behind her with a soft click. “Mom said you stayed with her until the medical examiner came and went. That was very nice of you.”

  Justin shrugged. “She’s been really great to me since I moved in. Both of them were. It was the least I could do.”

  One of those strange silences settled over us, where no one has anything else to say, yet no one knew how to leave.

  “I should get back inside.” Mom glanced at me. “Take your time.”

  I took a step toward the house. “I was getting ready to come in anyway.”

  “See you at the funeral,” Justin said. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  As we headed our different directions, Mom said to me, “He’s a nice young man.”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “You break his heart?”

  I laughed a little. “He somehow survived.”

  Mom touched my shoulder as I reached for the doorknob. “You mind if we sit outside for a couple minutes and talk? I convinced Grammy to go take a bath.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She settled onto the porch bench, and I followed her lead.

  “I want to talk to you about your father and me.”

  My heart seemed to pause, then raced. “Are you getting divorced?”

  Her jaw clenched and she shook her head. “Never. I understand why you’d think that, though. Your father and I have had . . . well, not an easy go of it for the last couple years.”

  Talk about an understatement.

  “We both accept the blame for this, but I give your dad all the credit for us being back on track now. After Abbie had Owen . . .” Mom stared out into the night for a second, then continued. “After Abbie had Owen, your father and I decided to stay together. Mostly for Abbie—for all three of you, really. We went to counseling. We didn’t have any crazy blowups at each other. And I really thought that was enough.”

  She turned to me, eyes shimmery with tears. “Even though we decided to stay together, in my heart I never made another commitment to love your father. To cherish him. In sickness and health, in good times and bad. I was just going through the motions of being married. I thought that was enough.”

  Mom sighed. “When you wanted to come to Hawaii and we decided to take a family vacation, I was elated. Even though I’d decided to stay in Kansas City, I harbored regret for not getting to live where I wanted. But our time in Hawaii changed everything. We’d been here barely twenty-four hours when I realized I didn’t want to stay. This isn’t my home anymore. My home is with your dad, with you and Abbie, with Owen.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she caressed my hair, pushing it behind my ears. “And I’m so, so sorry for all the things I did that made you doubt I want you.”

  We moved toward each other, hugging and crying.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” I said into her hair. “It’s done. It’s over.”

  She cried harder, and I understood. Sometimes you’ve been gripping that pain, that shame, for so long it took a long time to cry it all out.

  “Mom.”

  She pulled back and looked at me.

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know if now’s the best time. But there’s something I’ve been hiding from you and Dad. Something I need to tell you. See, about a year ago, I was at this party . . .”

  27

  I’d been to two funerals before, Grandma Hoyt’s and Grandpa Hoyt’s. For Grandma’s I was seven, for Grandpa’s seven and a half. I’d wo
rn the same black velvet dress to both funerals, the same itchy wool tights, and the same shiny shoes that were a touch too small even at the first one. Almost the entire town had shown up at the First Baptist Church of Medicine Lodge, Kansas. They’d dressed in dark clothes, donned somber faces, and hugged me close as if they’d known me.

  Papa’s funeral was different altogether. Grammy, Mom, and I wore matching flowing muumuus (which, thankfully, no one documented with pictures). We sat in the front row of the church, our necks decorated with leis of sweet-smelling plumeria. The other women present wore traditional Hawaiian dresses, and the men wore aloha shirts untucked over their slacks. Not a shade of black, or even gray, could be found in the whole church.

  Others who’d known Papa much better than I had, and much better than Mom had, went to the stage to speak of him. They spoke of his service in rebuilding Kapaa after Iniki, of how he took time to talk to new people at church, and of how he loved his family, especially his girls. That sent Mom into hysterical sobs.

  Even in June, she and Papa had barely spoken to each other. I knew from my conversation with him that he’d loved her, just didn’t know how to say it. So that morning, as we’d prepared food for the after-service feast, I’d told her all he’d said to me.

  Tears had pricked her eyes, and she took several deep breaths before speaking. “I don’t want it to be like that with you and me. I want to say nice things when I can, when it matters.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Your hair is pretty.”

  Mom’s frown morphed into a smile. “I like your earrings.”

  “You have very straight teeth.”

  This made her giggle—she sounded like Abbie. She returned to chopping fresh fruit. “I know you’ve heard my parents, especially Grammy, indirectly say a lot of things about you. About how I screwed up my life by getting married so young, how I disappointed them.” She put down the knife and looked at me. “You’ve never been a disappointment.”

  I hugged her, not wanting to risk her seeing my relief. I thought it’d hurt her feelings if she knew I’d been carrying around that fear with me since last winter, when we met in Starbucks and she told me about my conception. How I’d trapped her in a life she wasn’t sure she wanted.