“I will always hang on to this girl. This brave, resilient girl who wouldn’t give up and would stop at nothing to stand up for the underdog.
“You believed in me when I wanted to find my birth parents at a vulnerable moment in my life. And you were there for me when we found out they’d passed on. You were there for me when I questioned my own sexuality. You said it didn’t matter. That I was still Cao Smith. And you promised that on my grave, it would say, Cao Smith, an undecided woman who couldn’t decide. Therefore, she died an old gypsy.” She stops and starts again, “And just because you’ve lost your way doesn’t mean I won’t help you find it because you don’t give up on others. It might be that you can’t see the light right now, Liv, but I do. I’ll be your eyes until you can see the same person I see sitting in front of me.
“Now, let’s go to Daniel’s. Make him hear your side of things. That this thing with Simon got started before you and Daniel became a thing. And let’s go to that party tonight. And let’s find the old Livia Stone.”
Can I? Can I find the old Livia buried somewhere in the trenches of my new self? The one I loathe. The one that needs major fixing.
“Where do we start?”
“After school, you’ll follow old protocol and give me a ride home, and on the ride home, we’ll drive down Rockwell Lane. You’ll confess to Daniel that what happened was before him. You’ll tell him the truth.”
I knock. Three times. Not like one, two, three knocks. Like knock-knock-knock three separate times.
Nothing.
I resort to the doorbell that sounds as though it’s ringing in the dead.
It’s against my better judgment, but, hell, these days I don’t have better judgment, so who cares, right? I take a step down off the porch and peek in one of the windows to the left of the door.
God, what if he walks up and finds me snooping in his window?
My shock is met with tiny breaths that get lodged somewhere in my throat.
The house is empty.
At first, I try to rationalize why the house might be empty.
1. They’re getting the carpets cleaned.
2. Redecorating.
Anything but the more plausible reason—they’ve moved. Upped and moved and left the United States, our country, which makes the move sound even farther away. The eight-hour time difference.
I step back up to the porch, and with my judgment now onboard, I try the door, but it’s locked. I ring the doorbell once more because, as Cao said, Daniel wouldn’t just up and leave without saying good-bye, right?
I look back at Cao, who’s leaning against the car.
“He’s not home?”
I shake my head. The tiny breaths are still stuck. “The house is empty.”
“Empty?”
“Like no-furniture empty, empty,” I say.
“Shut up.”
Cao turns and gets into the passenger door as I get in. I stick the keys in the ignition, and we sit and stare only for a moment.
“You’re sure the house is empty?” Cao’s mouth is agape, too, more for empathetic reasons, I’m sure.
“Yeah.” Numb, I am.
I try to text him once more, one last deliberate attempt to fix this.
Daniel, let me explain everything. Please.
My last-ditch effort to right the world of Livia and Daniel.
The feeling of uselessness returns, and right now, the party is an excellent idea tonight because I’ll then have an excuse to drink. I won’t have to cover it up. I can drink and not feel the feelings and not have to drink alone in hiding because maybe Livia Stone is a drinker.
But a quiet voice inside me says, An escaper.
And that might make me an alcoholic. But I don’t dare say that out loud, for if I do, it would make it all too real.
Push down the feelings that are starting to creep inside your heart, Liv. Push them down and far, far away.
Emptiness consumes me as we pull away from the Pearsons’—or rather, the Pearsons’ ex-house. I glance through my rearview mirror and look for a For Sale sign but don’t see one.
And here my heart goes, holding on to hope: Maybe they just made a quick trip back, took some furniture, but will be back soon.
That’s pathetic.
You’re pathetic.
Daniel isn’t coming back.
Cao talks me into my pink lace top that just barely shows my belly button. “Subtle yet a hint of your bod,” she says. And black jeans.
Cao wears a red-and-hot-pink flannel with black jeans and a black tank underneath that barely covers the top of her jeans—and, of course, pink leg warmers. Unquestionable style, and Cao is the only one who can pull this look off.
The party is up two blocks on Nobb Hill. A house party, which we don’t usually have because the chances of them being discovered in our sleepy little town is 99.9 percent.
I’ve wanted to drink since we got home from Daniel’s, but Cao hasn’t made it easy. She doesn’t drink, and this is why I don’t offer her any.
With my head a little soft and fuzzy, I didn’t want her to know I’d been drinking, so I hid the evidence under my bed while she was in the shower.
“What’d you tell your mom?” I ask as our steps are in sync up to the party.
“I was studying at your house.”
“On a Friday night?”
“With you, Liv, she’ll let me do anything.”
The party is filled with fifty-plus kids from Belle’s Hollow. And even some from Eureka High, twenty minutes north.
As we arrive, I don’t care what people think of me or the Instagram page because the alcohol has reached my mind. Also, like the news with Leah and Mark, the sex scandal of Simon and Livia has washed over because, now, the news is highlighting Leah’s baby bump that she’s rocking with a pink tight shirt that says, Expecting.
Cao turns to me, eyes wide. “I think I need a drink.” She shoves me toward the kitchen with her shoulder.
“You do?” comes out more excited than expected.
“Kidding.” But she turns to me and pauses, and then she lets out a sigh.
“What?” I eye a bottle of hard alcohol on the counter. Several actually.
“Why is it that, if a Chinese boy spots a Chinese girl in a predominately white community, the Chinese boy feels the need to approach the Chinese girl, fall in love, and have babies?”
I shrug. “Tell him you’re dating Ed Sheeran.”
Cao eyes me up and down. “Your jokes are not funny.” She crosses her arms.
“If he were white, would it make a difference?”
“If he had red hair and sang with a guitar about love and castles and cigarettes, then yes, yes, it would.”
The Chinese boy approaches us, and Cao slaps on a fake smile, one I see right through.
“Hey. I’m Chen. Do you know—”
Cao interprets him, “Let me finish the sentence for you. Chen, is it? You couldn’t help but notice that I was the only other Chinese person in the room who happened to be a girl, and you thought we could connect via our upbringing. Laugh and joke about our homeland. Our culture. Arranged marriages. Amy Tan books and maybe, just maybe, find a little spark along the way. Have babies perhaps?”
He coughs an unprepared-for-this-sonnet cough. “Actually, I was wondering if you knew where I could get a water? Sober driver.” Chen waves his keys at us.
“Oh, refrigerator. Garage,” Cao says, completely embarrassed. “Nice to meet you,” she finishes as he walks away.
“Maybe, next time, just start with your name. Not an entire explanation of what you think he’s doing. Total buzzkill, Cao.”
I look around the room, hoping to see Daniel. No, more than hope. What’s a word that means more than hope? I think about texting him, knowing it won’t make a difference. Knowing he’s made his decision, and he’s probably halfway across the globe already. Or wherever Hull, England, is. Yet I hope more than hope.
Cao moves her head to the techno music that’s
not quite blaring over the speakers.
We push through the crowd to find a spot on the deck that overlooks Belle’s Hollow. The orange and yellow lights that twinkle below make me feel queasy. Like this quaint little town, the one we’ve grown up in, has somehow become so unfamiliar. The inside jokes; the streets traveled before and after school; Happy Doughnuts with Tracy, Dad, and my Jasper on Sundays; the Easter egg hunts downtown where Mayor Trent, who also owned her own hair salon, dressed up as the Easter bunny, passed out candy, and took pictures with kids. The town that cheered on my brother when he made the game-winning touchdown against Agatha Rice High School in the playoffs last year. The town that welcomed us back when we brought Jasper home after he was killed. Cooked meal after meal. Chicken after chicken. People gave because maybe they grieved with us. Yet everyone has continued to move about town—doing their business, eating, running errands, moving furniture, mailing letters, getting their hair cut, going to the movies, attending rotary meetings—while I begrudge the future and throw a thousand knives.
“Hey, I found the water. Grabbed you both one,” Chen says as he approaches from behind.
Although I take his water, I won’t drink it. Too much of a buzzkill. But I’ll hang on to it, pretending to take sips.
“Can I reintroduce myself?” Chen asks, looking down at Cao, who is clearly two feet shorter than he is—not because she’s short, but because he’s tall.
I whisper in her ear, “I’m going to the bathroom, and then I’ll go find a lost soul to shack up with while you go talk about prearranged marriages and plans for your wedding.”
Cao doesn’t whisper back because, now, she doesn’t want to make a stupid comment and have to relive the previous experience of looking like a complete idiot.
I make my way back into the house and find an upstairs bedroom to make myself quiet in. It’s some sort of aeronautical room with big airplane models suspended from the ceiling. All arranged by type and model. With a quilted bedspread in red, white, and blue, I comfortably push myself up against the pillow and welcome the silence. I pull out three small bottles from underneath my jacket. The thing is, I don’t want to get drunk. All I want is a glow. Just a glow to make all my insecurities, all the sad feelings disappear so that I can be the person Cao still sees. The one I know Jasper is waiting for. And the one I want Daniel to meet.
“Poppy? Are you there?” I ask. This time though, I feel a bit weird, saying it out loud in a strange house.
I carefully twist the lid off the first bottle of Black Velvet, romancing how it will make me feel. I’ve had two of these before in the late hours of the night, trying to find the escape I found with the pills. But the good news is, the alcohol works much better than the pills.
I put the bottle to my lips, letting the brown magical elixir slide down my throat, holding my breath because the taste is horrid, and allowing it to explode in my stomach, making it fiery and hot. I oblige myself in another gulp. Almost instantly, as the sensation is felt in my stomach, it shoots up to my head, making my right eye twitch. The feeling of I don’t care has reached the motherboard that makes me operate, and I’m powerless. Wanting to roll myself in this elusive feeling, I open and drink another, knowing it will bring far more promise than the first one did.
I drink all three in quick succession and rest my head on the pillow, staring up at the airplanes and the colors that are so beautiful and rich with history, I wonder where the airplanes came from.
What era?
What war?
My.
Mind.
Slowly.
Drifts.
Into.
Oblivion.
And.
I’m.
At.
Peace.
Finally.
My hands begin to tingle, feel numb. My legs are unmovable, and the smile I feel on my face is that of contentment.
Nothing matters. Absolutely everything is as it should be once again.
My lids slowly begin to close because the room is dark, and the only thing that gives off light is the tiny little thingy-besi-da-bed…
I jerk. Though my eyes don’t open because I hear a noise, like a door opening and closing. I hear a voice that sounds just like Simon’s. I want to say hey and tell him how good I feel, but the words somehow don’t make it out of my mouth because my head is in full resistance.
I feel the bed move and then drift back into oblivion…
This time, my eyes jerk open when I hear a crash, like glass exploding against the floor.
But I see someone. A tall, dark figure in the doorway, and in order to make out who’s in the doorway, I have to look past whatever is on my chest that weighs a thousand pounds.
Simon’s head.
Shock reaches my face.
It registers.
My eyes adjust.
And I see who’s standing in the doorway.
The look on Daniel’s face is unforgettable. It’s like watching his mom die all over again. I want the look he’s giving me to sober me up, but it doesn’t do the job. For once, I want to be sober. I want to tell him that I’m sorry. That this is not what it looks like. I want to tell him that I want to hear his heartbeat from the inside. I want to be the one who holds it. And all I keep managing to do is break it.
The only two words that come out of my mouth are, “You’re back.”
Daniel stands at the door, unable to speak.
Am I dreaming?
Is he really here?
I push Simon’s head off my chest and do my best to stand, but my body weight is met by Jell-O, and I fall, my legs a mess on the floor. When I look back up at Daniel, I see he hasn’t moved. I can tell by his face that he’s more hurt than mad. But he doesn’t help me up. So, here I sit, a pathetic puddle of what’s left of a shallow shell, waiting for someone to save me.
In this moment, a moment of clarity, I realize I have become my father.
I see behind the hard look, the one where he bites his cheek, his eyes narrow, his heart hardened, as if he, too, has been here before. It’s the same look Jasper and I gave our dad when he fell outside Las Cazuela’s restaurant. Not once, not twice, but three times.
The same look when he went to rehab for the second time.
The same look when Jasper told him he hated him for what he’d done to us. Our family.
The same look that broke my heart over and over and over.
Now, I know how my father feels. I don’t want to keep hurting people, yet I can’t stop doing what I’m doing. I have the best of intentions when I drink. To soothe my soul. To help me unfeel. I don’t set out trying to hurt anyone.
I try to choke out words because the silence alone, I know, will kill us both. He’s still standing here, staring at me. Waiting for me to say something. Do something that will convince his mind that what he’s witnessing is all just a bad dream.
“I’m going back to England,” is all he says amid the confusion in his eyes. He quietly shuts the door behind him.
I close my eyes as silent sobs reach my throat, and I need to get out of here.
My eyes close again.
I wake up, only to see I’m being put in a truck. The driver, Cash, is a football player. I tutored him in English.
I close my eyes again, only to hear the squeal of the tires, and my eyes shoot open. The black asphalt that was once below us is now above us.
Now, below.
Above.
Now, below.
Above.
And then we take a hard thud against Cash’s side and flip too many times to count.
Cash is gone. He’s no longer in his seat.
Flying.
Quiet.
Tumbling.
Rolling.
Splattering.
And everything goes dark.
Black.
Someone help me.
Please. I can’t move.
I’m alone.
I can’t feel my legs.
I hear, “Lucky.”
I listen. “Multiple breaks.”
Silence. Am I dead?
God, are you there? We need to talk.
I’m not ready to die.
Is this what dying feels like?
Someone’s crying. It’s Tracy.
Please don’t cry, Tracy. What happened? I’m right here.
“…in a coma…swelling of the brain.”
Tracy’s sobs are reaching places in me that make me want to cry.
I try to reach out my hand in the direction of the sobs, but I can’t see if I’m moving or not because I can’t see anything.
My dad says, “Will—” He coughs. “Will she wake up?” His voice quivers.
There’s a long pause.
“That’s our hope. But time is on our side.”
“It’s been two weeks,” Tracy says. “And time is on our side, Dr. Miller? I’ve seen cases like this play out.” I hear a hard steel line in her voice as she attempts to be strong. She’s a nurse after all. She’s used to seeing this. But not her daughter, the only child she has left.
A small part of me wants to die, the selfish side. But the other part of me wants to live.
“You think you’re invisible, but you aren’t, Livia Stone.” Poppy’s voice is curt, to the point.
“Poppy.” I breathe in a sigh of relief. “You’re back.” I try to contain my joy and fear and trepidation.
“After all, God didn’t put you on this planet to muck up your life with the way you’re carrying on.” Muck used to be her favorite word.
“Don’t muck up the biscuits.”
“Don’t muck up the brand-new tablecloth.”
“Don’t muck up your Sunday school clothes.”
“Oh, for mucking’s sake!”
Poppy lights a match. Her bright pink housecoat glimmers in the small light the match provides. We’re in the corner of the hospital room. My parents. Dr. Miller and Eve.
Standing Sideways Page 22