Inevitable and Only

by Lisa Rosinsky

  When the house was clean and all the furniture was back in place, Micayla said, “Well, Heron got a ride home with Troy and Davis for some reason. So unless you need anything else …”

  “No, we’re fine,” I said, noticing that my tongue felt thick. It was hard to make my lips say words. “Thank you so much.”

  She gave me a hug and took my half-empty can of beer away from me. “Congrats, you survived hosting your first cast party. Drink some water.”

  “First and last,” I said, dully. “I hope.” My head felt like a balloon—light and wobbly. I wanted it to stop. I dutifully drank the glass of water Micayla handed me.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around?” she asked.

  “Nah,” I said. “I’ll be fine. We have to go. Renata will get worried. Raven, can you go upstairs and tell Elizabeth we need to leave?”

  “Okay … ,” she said, giving me a questioning look, but I didn’t explain why I couldn’t just go talk to Elizabeth myself.

  Raven came down a minute later by herself, holding my bag. “Elizabeth said she’d follow us in a few minutes. I guess your parents left her the car keys?”

  So Micayla dropped off Raven and me at the Woodburys’, and a few minutes later, Elizabeth pulled into their driveway in the Comet. I was just setting down my bag in the spare bedroom when Renata bustled her in.

  “You don’t mind sharing, do you?” asked Renata. There was a big comfy queen-sized bed with purple satin sheets and about a million throw pillows. Josh was already sleeping downstairs, on the couch.

  “I don’t mind,” I said. By now, my head was starting to feel normal again, and I didn’t think I sounded tipsy anymore. I hoped.

  Elizabeth was avoiding eye contact. She looked like she’d rather be on the other end of the house from me—or, preferably, in a whole different state. But she didn’t say anything.

  “Well, then, I think you’re all set, girls!” said Renata. “Let me know if you need anything at all. Lovely to have you here.”

  Raven, who had been hovering by the door, said, “Do you want to go to bed right now, though? They just put Gilmore Girls on Netflix, if you want to watch—”

  “Raven, it is a school night,” said Renata. “And very late already. Please let me at least pretend to be a responsible authority figure.”

  Raven grinned and waved at us. “Fine, nighty-night.”

  The moment we were alone, Elizabeth said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Whoa,” I said, “I wasn’t going to—”

  “I said, I don’t want to talk about it,” she repeated, her voice rising.

  “I don’t, either!” I said, holding up both hands. “I’m fine with pretending it never happened, if that’s what you want.” Okay, now my head was killing me. I dug around in my overnight bag for some Advil.

  “Fine,” she said.

  “Fine.”

  We unpacked our bags in silence, then took turns changing into our pajamas and brushing our teeth in the bathroom. When we’d both slid under the covers, I closed my eyes and my mind immediately drifted to Zephyr. To the kiss. Kisses. What had I been thinking? What was he going to think of me?

  Elizabeth slipped out of bed and shuffled around in her bag. In the dim light of the room, I saw that she was getting dressed again.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  She pulled a sweatshirt over her head and stuck something that looked like a lighter in her pocket. “I’m just—I need some air,” she said. “I’m going out for a bit.”

  “Out? You mean, to smoke?”

  She sighed. “Yeah, it helps me, okay? Judge all you want. If you can manage to not blab to any more of your friends, that’d be great, but whatever.”

  I winced, remembering what she’d heard me saying about her to Raven, before Anti-Colonial Thanksgiving. But I took a deep breath and kept my voice steady. “I promise, we do not have to talk about—what happened before. But just in case you want to know … I don’t care at all.”

  She looked at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, it’s your business, and I don’t care who you want to make out with. And I think Heron is awesome, by the way.”

  Silence. Then, “It’s not what you think.”

  “Uh … it’s not? Because it seemed pretty clear. Not much interpretation needed, I mean.” I was trying to be funny, but it wasn’t working.

  She shook her head. “I’ve never done that before. Never. I’ve dated boys, other boys besides Farhan, and I thought if I just tried hard enough—I thought I could—”

  I sat up and looked at her. “Elizabeth, is this a religion thing? Because if you really think God would create you one way and then expect you not to—”

  “It’s not that,” she said, thickly, and I realized she was holding back tears. “It’s my mom.”

  “Oh. You mean, your mom didn’t approve? And that’s why you tried to—change things?”

  “She never knew,” Elizabeth whispered, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “I never told her. By the time I’d figured it out—well, I think I always knew, but it took me a long time to admit it to myself—and then it took me a while to work up the courage to tell her. And then she was sick, and it didn’t seem like the right time. I thought I’d wait until she was better and things were back to normal. And then she didn’t—she didn’t get better—” Her voice broke, but she kept going. “And I couldn’t tell her, once I knew it was the end. What if it had changed everything? What if she saw me differently, or felt weird about it, and then we never had time to fix things—” She stopped and shoved a fist in her mouth, bit down on it, hard. She was shivering.

  I couldn’t speak. What she was going through, what she must’ve been going through for the past three months, was more horrible than anything I could imagine. I hadn’t known the full extent of it, but I’d known enough. And I’d barely given it a thought.

  Elizabeth took her hand out of her mouth. “On good days,” she said, speaking so quietly and quickly I had to lean in to hear her, “I think, it’s fine, she knew me better than anyone. She probably knew, deep down, somehow. And she never said anything, so it was probably fine. But on bad days—” She moaned, and I reached over to take her shaking hands. She let me, so I held them tightly. “Cadie, I never got to ask her if it was okay, if she still loved me. If she thought God still loved me. On the bad days, it feels like I just can’t live with that.”

  “Look,” I said, just as quietly, “I don’t know anything about God and I won’t pretend that I do. But your mom loved you no matter what. If you’d told her, it wouldn’t have changed anything. I swear.”

  She shook her head. “You have no right to say that. You don’t have a clue what any of this is like.”

  I bit my lip. Fair enough. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know I don’t. And I’m—I really am sorry. For what Raven and I said about you, but also for—well, for everything. I know I’ve—”

  “You still don’t get it,” she interrupted. “I hate her. I hate her for leaving me, just when I was finally ready to talk to her about—this. I hate her and I can’t forgive her, I feel like I’ll never forgive her, and that’s the worst thing of all. In the eyes of God.”

  I’d been so focused on my own issues with Dad, and all this time … Elizabeth and I were going through something more similar than I’d realized. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I rubbed her hands some more, and that seemed to be the right thing. Or maybe she felt better just getting all of that out. Her hands, which had been rigid, relaxed slightly in mine, and gradually she stopped sobbing.

  After a while, I let go and grabbed a bunch of tissues from the bedside table.

  “Thanks.” She blew her nose a few times, then attempted to smile. “So, now you know you’re welcome to have Farhan back. I couldn’t figure out any way to make him leave me alone, especially not with the way you were pretending you didn’t care. But now you know.�
�

  I had the absurd urge to laugh. “Oh, that doesn’t matter anymore. Really and truly.”

  “What do you mean?” she said, blowing her nose again. “I could tell, you did mind, you were so into him.”

  “Well, yeah. I did, at first. But I’m over him now. Let’s talk about you and Heron.”

  Elizabeth squeaked.

  “Come on!” I said. “I told you, I think she’s great. So when did you, I mean, how long—”

  “Cadie. I’m not ready for this yet.”

  “Right. Sorry.” I sat there quietly, while she jiggled the lighter and cigarettes in her pocket. I wished I could do something—say something—fix things, in some small way. But Elizabeth was right. I had no idea what she was going through. I had barely treated her like a sister, much less welcomed her into her new home—into her own family. I’d never met her mom, I knew next to nothing about Sunshine. There was no way I could even begin to help her heal that wound.

  “I’m just going to go outside for a few minutes—” she started.

  And then an idea hit me. A brilliant, brilliant idea.

  “Hey,” I said. “Wait. Are you up for an adventure?”

  “Umm …”

  “No, don’t think,” I said, already out of bed and getting dressed again. “Just grab your license. And your keys.”

  We tiptoed down the stairs and past Josh, sleeping on the couch. But as we reached the front door, I heard his voice.

  “Cadie? Where’re you going?”

  I turned and put a finger to my lips. “Shhh. We’re going on a secret adventure.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Can I come?”

  Hmm … well, why not? “Okay, but hurry. Quietly.”

  As he slipped on his shoes, I noticed his cello case standing by the door, and I had another idea. “Why don’t you bring your cello, too?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Where are we going?”

  “I can’t tell you yet. Don’t you want a surprise?”

  Josh is not always a fan of surprises. But then again, he’s also not the type of kid to sneak off in the middle of the night. Nothing about this evening was usual.

  He looked around, as if making sure Ruby and Renata were nowhere to be seen. Then he strapped his cello onto his back, over his pajamas. “Okay,” he stage-whispered, his face breaking into a grin. “I’m ready.”

  In the car, Elizabeth fiddled with radio stations, while I took out my phone and typed in the address, palms sweaty and heart pounding. I didn’t remember these streets, especially not in the dark. Maybe I should’ve called first. But where was the spontaneity, the spirit of adventure, in that? Josh’s eyes shone in the rearview mirror, and I realized I hadn’t seen him this happy or excited in a long time. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight. But I didn’t care.

  In this moment, it was the inevitable and only action.

  After I directed Elizabeth onto the highway, I sat back and listened to the radio without actually hearing the music. This was the first time I’d driven anywhere with Elizabeth. I glanced over at her, while she was focused on the road. My throat tightened: her profile was Dad’s. The headlights picked up a little misty rain, and the tires hummed on the damp highway. I switched the radio to a pop station and turned up the volume.

  “Cadie,” Elizabeth said, raising her voice to be heard over the music, “when are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “When we get there,” I said, firmly.

  She didn’t look at me; she kept her eyes on the road. But she grinned.

  Forty-five minutes later, we arrived at a huge purple house in a quiet neighborhood with large front yards and plenty of street parking. As Elizabeth pulled up to the curb, doubt settled into the pit of my stomach. The dashboard clock said 11:14. A few lights were still on in the downstairs windows of the house, but what if no one was awake? What if they called Mom and Dad, what if we got Renata and Ruby in trouble?

  Well, we were here now. I nudged Elizabeth, who was peering out the windshield with wide eyes. “Hey, let’s go.”

  Elizabeth jumped.

  I didn’t have to explain where we were. I could tell she’d figured it out, even though she’d never been here. Never seen the place where her life had started, where everything that brought us together had been set in motion.

  Where, right under Mom’s nose, her mother and Dad had—Don’t think about that now, I told myself, as she slid out of the car and stood there uncertainly.

  Josh took a few steps toward the house and stared at it open-mouthed for a moment. “Wait, is this—”

  I nodded.

  “Wow,” he said softly. And then a huge grin spread across his face. “Wow!” He threw his arms around me, catching me completely off-guard. “Just. Wow. Can we go in?”

  “Well, that’s why we’re here!” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Get your cello and let’s go.”

  I took a deep breath, then walked slowly up the steps to the front porch and rang the bell twice.

  A stooped, gray-haired figure opened the door.

  “Granny?” I said. “It’s me, Acadia.”

  “Why, is that—Acadia Rose?” she cried. “Come in here and let me look at you. If you aren’t all grown up! Oh my, oh my, and this must be little Joshua Tree. Both our precious national park babies in one night!”

  Then Granny saw Elizabeth on the steps behind us. “Oh my!” she said again. “More guests! Oh, what a delightful surprise.” She held the door open wide and made a wafting gesture with her arms, the wide sleeves of her enormous hand-knitted sweater flapping like wings. “Come in, friends, come in!”

  Josh stepped inside, but Elizabeth hung back and I lingered next to her, suddenly unsure. What if this was a terrible idea?

  “This is it,” I said. “Do you want to go in?”

  “I don’t know …” she said. “I mean, are you sure we’re not imposing, or—”

  Granny interrupted her. “Of course not, dear. And what’s your name?”

  “Elizabeth,” she said, and cleared her throat. “Elizabeth Jennings. I’m—um, I’m Sunshine’s daughter.”

  Granny’s jaw dropped. “Well, land sakes! Bless your heart, come in, come in.”

  As we followed her down the hall, she called out, “Rotem! Come see who’s here. Little Acadia and Joshua Greenfield, and a surprise visitor!”

  We were quickly surrounded by people, most of them in their pajamas. I remembered some of them. Ravi and Margo, a couple who’d moved in a few years before we left. An older man named Jerry, who’d been in charge of the vegetable garden and who’d built the composting toilet almost singlehandedly. A girl named Lia, who I remembered as a teenager but who was now a young woman holding a baby on her hip.

  Rotem, one of the founding members of Ahimsa House and Mom’s college roommate, made her way across the living room to greet us with her arms spread wide. Her dark curly hair was still streaked with different colors—pink, blue, purple—just the way I remembered it. I’d modeled my own hair after Rotem’s.

  “Acadia!” she cried. “What a lovely surprise! Look at you! It’s been way too long. How’s Ross, how’s Missy? How come you guys never visit us?”

  I returned her hug, but I didn’t know what to say. Because our lives are totally different now? Because my mom is Dr. Laredo-Levy, not the Missy you remember?

  “And you are … ?” Rotem asked, turning to Elizabeth.

  “Can you believe it?” Granny said, squeezing Elizabeth’s shoulders. “This is Sunshine’s little girl.”

  Rotem gasped.

  Then I heard Josh tuning his cello.

  He had slipped away from all the people and was sitting in the middle of the big yellow couch in the living room, cello between his knees, oblivious to everything else. He started playing Bach. The Prelude to the first suite, the most well-known of all the movements of the Bach suites: a crowd-pleaser. Josh was trying to please the crowd? It certainly seemed to be working. Three little kids—I didn’t recognize them�
�started dancing around on the living room rug. I couldn’t believe they were all still up so late at night, but then again, Ahimsa House had never been big on enforcing rules like reasonable bed-times. Six or seven adults gathered around, listening, nodding or swaying along to the music and smiling.

  Elizabeth and Rotem were deep in conversation. They looked serious. Probably Rotem was asking about Elizabeth’s mom … I didn’t want to intrude, so I perched on the back of Josh’s couch and listened to the music.

  So far, no one had asked us about our sudden middle-of-the-night appearance, why we’d arrived unannounced, or where our parents were. Somehow, I didn’t think they would. This was Ahimsa House: the doors were always open, the teakettle was always full, there was always an extra bed or pullout couch for someone who needed a place to sleep.

  True, it was more chaotic than I’d remembered. There were kids running around, toys and books all over the floor, a sweet-smelling incense mixed with the more acrid smell of a roomful of people who may or may not have been wearing deodorant. But it was still Ahimsa House, the place I’d grown up. Granny was heading toward us with a plate of what looked like oatmeal–carob-chip cookies.

  Josh had switched from Bach to folk songs, and then a few pop tunes people requested. I’d never seen Josh take requests before—I didn’t even know he knew those songs. People were clapping and singing along and Josh glowed like the varnish on his instrument. He only knew this place from the stories I’d told him. And yet, he looked like he belonged here. As if we’d never left.

  I pulled out my phone to take a picture and saw that I’d missed a call. From Zephyr, just a few minutes ago. As I stared at the phone, frowning, it started to buzz again.

  I stood up and made my way into the kitchen. It was warm in there, and quieter. I answered the call. “Hello?”