Inevitable and Only

  “Cadie! God, I’m so glad you answered. I thought maybe you were ignoring my calls.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Why was he calling me? To tell me how angry he was that I’d kissed him? Or how angry his girlfriend was?

  “About tonight,” I started. “I’m really, really sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  I wasn’t sure if he was just repeating my last word, or if he hadn’t heard me, but I kept talking, before I lost my nerve. “Yeah, of course, I don’t know what got into me. I was a total idiot. Can we just forget it happened?”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Okay, if that’s what you’d like. But I think you might want to hear what I have to say first—”

  “No, please,” I interrupted. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have done it, I just met your girlfriend, I’m a jerk. Please, just forget about it.”

  “But that’s what I want to tell you. Cadie, I broke up with her.”

  “Because of me? Did she find out? Zephyr, I’m so sorry—”

  “Cadie, listen to me. I broke up with her tonight. I called her right after I got home from your place. I didn’t want to do it over the phone but—we both knew, we couldn’t keep going like that. The long distance wasn’t working, we’re both too busy. We’ve been fighting constantly for, like, a month. And besides, Ava already told me she could see that we, I mean me and you, obviously had—you know, chemistry or whatever, on stage. We had a big fight about it last night. And I admitted it, that I had, you know, uh, feelings for you.” I’d never heard Zephyr stumble around verbally like this before. “Cadie? You still there?”

  Something was soaring in my chest, and I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to speak in a normal-pitched voice. “I’m here,” I managed.

  Chemistry or whatever … you know, uh, feelings for you. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic or eloquent line ever written. But I’d take it.

  And yet—no, I couldn’t, I didn’t deserve this. “It doesn’t feel right. We shouldn’t have, you know, done that while you were still—with Ava.” Why was it so hard to say kissed out loud to Zephyr? “I didn’t mean for that to happen. It doesn’t feel like the right way to do this.”

  “Hey. Look. Good people make mistakes, okay? I don’t feel good about the way it happened, either. I mean, kissing you was not part of the plan for tonight, believe me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not glad it happened.” He paused. “Did that make sense? What I’m trying to say is … I am glad. I wanted it, too.”

  Good people make mistakes.

  Like Dad?

  And then, the weirdest thought of all: Maybe I’m not exactly who I thought I was.

  I cleared my throat. “Well. Technically, I kissed you. So it’s really my fault.”

  He laughed. “The first time. But I definitely kissed you back.”

  I felt myself blushing and was glad he couldn’t see. “So. Um. What does this all mean?”

  “It means …” He took a deep breath. “I’m asking you to give me a fresh start. Because I want to make a plan where kissing you is part of the plan.”

  “Oh!” was my brilliant (inevitable, only) response. “Like what?”

  “Well, I was thinking we could begin by catching the last Virginia Woolf next weekend. Unless you’re sick of it. They’re also doing a whole show of ten-minute one-acts down at Single Carrot Theatre that I want to check out, and there’s a new musical opening at the Round House called Improvica! that sounds so terrible it might be awesome, and—”

  “Yes,” I said. “All of it. That all sounds great.”

  He laughed again. “So, Friday night? Pick you up at six?”

  “Sure!” I wasn’t sure what to say after that. “So, um, I’ll see you Friday! And, you know, probably in school this week, since it’s such a tiny school and all. Oh, and tomorrow night, for striking the set, of course.” I willed my tongue to stick to the roof of my mouth before any more words could escape my throat. Zephyr didn’t need to hear a list of every single time we might cross paths before our date on Friday night.

  Our date. Our first real date.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said.

  “Yes! Right. See ya.”

  I stared at my phone after he’d hung up, until the screen went dark. Then someone pushed open the door to the kitchen behind me. It was Elizabeth.

  “There you are!” she said. “Cadie, this place is rad. Is that the right hippie lingo?” Then she saw my face. “What happened?”

  I took a deep breath. I had to tell someone. “I kissed Zephyr tonight. At the party. And he broke up with his girlfriend, and we’re going on a real date.”

  “Whoa,” said Elizabeth. “You. Kissed. Zephyr? Like, Zephyr from the play?”

  “And I had a beer, well a beer and a half, and it was awful, I don’t know why people like it.”

  Elizabeth grinned, but she didn’t interrupt.

  So I barreled on. “And—and also it’s just like I remembered here. I’m so glad we’re all here, I mean except Mom and Dad, but that’s all right because they’re off fixing things which is good, and—it’s just, a lot of stuff is happening—” I couldn’t keep going, because tears were clogging my voice.

  Elizabeth reached out as if to take my hand, and before I could overthink it, I threw my arms around her. We’d never hugged before. She smelled like shampoo and vanilla and the hug was so warm and comforting I thought I might melt.

  She pulled back a little to look at me, and when she smiled, her whole face shone.

  “I’m so glad we came here—thank you for bringing me. That woman, Rotem, she knew my mom really well, and she said I’m welcome to come down here anytime I want, just to hang out.”

  I wiped my eyes. “Oh, good. That’s exactly what I was hoping would—” I broke off, as something brushed against my leg. I looked down.

  A midnight-black cat gazed up at me and rubbed against my legs again, meowing.

  “Sorry, he wants to be fed,” said a girl I didn’t recognize, bustling into the kitchen and taking a bag out of a cupboard. “Here, Chuz.” She rattled some kibble into a dish.

  “Chuz?” I echoed.

  “Yeah,” said the girl, “it’s short for Martin Chuzzlewit. I don’t know who named the cats around here, but they’re all named after Dickens characters. This guy’s really old. He’s been here forever.” She bent and stroked his head. “See the gray whiskers?”

  Martin Chuzzlewit. Who else would name a cat Martin Chuzzlewit, except—

  I glanced at Elizabeth. She raised her eyebrows, but I wasn’t sure if she was thinking what I was thinking.

  “Like, how old?” I said.

  “Oh, at least ten or twelve. Maybe older.” She rubbed his head again. “You’re a good old boy, Chuz.”

  Ten or twelve? Why didn’t I remember this cat? I knelt and held out my hand, and the cat stopped eating for a moment to sniff my fingers. Then he flopped over suddenly and stuck his paws in the air, exposing the soft white fur on his belly.

  The girl laughed. “He wants tummy rubs. Chuz is a push-over.” She put the kibble away and left the room.

  I scratched Martin Chuzzlewit’s tummy and he purred, and I wiped my eyes with my other hand.

  “Elizabeth,” I said, “I think the universe or God or somebody has forgiven me for my sins.”

  “For what?” she said, sitting on the floor next to me and scratching Chuz behind the ears. He closed his eyes and turned his purr up to an audible rumble.

  “Never mind,” I said. Maybe Elizabeth had forgotten about my horrible first driving lesson. It was before she moved in with us—before we even knew about her.

  Just three months ago.

  “Do you think—” she started, then hesitated, staring at Chuz.

  “That Dad named this cat?”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Well, I don’t remember for sure, but—”

  “But Martin Chuzzlewit?” she finished for me. She looked like Dad when she grinned.
/>
  “I know, right?”

  She tucked her hair behind her ears, glanced down at Chuz, and stopped smiling. “Cadie—I know I’ve sort of ruined everything for you. I know you’re mad at Ross, and it feels like it’s my fault.”

  I let that thought sink in for a moment. Elizabeth might be the only person who would truly get the way I was feeling … “Dad gave me a note today, before they left. He said he wants to fix things, between me and him. But I don’t even know where to start. I feel like I don’t know who he really is, but also I know that’s not fair. I screwed up tonight too, and maybe—maybe I’m not who he thinks I am, either.”

  “Or maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Elizabeth said. “Or on him.”

  Good people make mistakes.

  “He loves you so much, Cadie. If I could go back …” She sighed. “If you were being completely honest with him, what would you tell him?”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’d tell him—he doesn’t have to fix anything.”

  We sat there quietly together for a few minutes, petting Chuz, whose eyes were slitted shut with contentment. Martin Chuzzlewit. I could almost feel Dad sitting there beside me.

  “And I think I’d tell him—that I’d like to go see a play together. Just the two of us. Because I miss him.” I bit my lip. “I’d tell him how much I’ve missed him.”

  Elizabeth squeezed my hand. “I think that’s all you have to say.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “Cadie, do you think maybe …”

  “Hm?”

  “Well, it’s pretty late, and I’m not supposed to drive after midnight until I get my full license. So I thought maybe we could spend the night here. If you think that would be okay? I know we have school in the morning, but Melissa said if I ever needed to take personal days off from school, or sick days—the guidance counselor said it was fine too—and Rotem went to look for some pictures of my mom. I’m just not ready to leave yet.”

  “I think that’s a great idea,” I said. “I’ll text Raven and let her know where we are. So Ruby and Renata don’t freak out in the morning when they wake up and we’re not there.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  My legs were cramping from crouching on the floor. I stood and stretched, then reached down and gave Elizabeth a hand to help her up.

  We went back into the living room. It was almost midnight, but Josh was still playing his cello. He was back to Bach now, the playful, cheerful ending of the first suite. The swooping notes of this movement always made me think of butterflies or birds, spiraling back and forth across the sky.

  My eyes might’ve been misting up a little, when Elizabeth put an arm around my shoulders. I don’t know what surprised me more: that, or what she said next. “He’s really talented,” she whispered. “Our little brother.”

  So I reached out, too, and I put my arm around my sister.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am indebted to all the people who helped make this book possible. I would especially like to thank:

  Linda Epstein, agent extraordinaire, who was the first dream come true.

  Rebecca Davis, Cherie Matthews, Barbara Grzeslo, and my whole family at Boyds Mills Press, who believed in Cadie’s story and gave her a home with a gorgeous cover.

  Bill Loizeaux, without whom I never could’ve fixed everything that needed fixing.

  Kitty Boyan, who encouraged a fourth-grader to keep going until she’d filled a whole marble notebook.

  Shalene Gupta, for Friday writing dates.

  Elé Veillet-Chowdhury, for Switched at Birth and all the big sistering.

  John Astin, for Uta Hagan, Sanford Meisner, and the inevitable and only consequence of every action; James Glossman, for teaching me to direct; and Joe Martin, for Simpatico.

  The Associates of the Boston Public Library, who gave me a room of my own.

  Becca Derry, Billie Rinaldi, Clara Brasseur, Danielle Buonaiuto, Karina van Berkum, Mary Greene, Miriam Haviland, Thalia Coombs, and Valerie Caldas, for reading early drafts and telling me which parts made you laugh or cry. You’re all gold.

  Adi Elbaz, Michael Arnst, and Ouranitsa Abbas for last-minute copyediting help.

  Gerard Busnuk and Alison Chaplin, Joe Abrahamson and Danielle Buonaiuto (again!), who made Hampden my home for an incredible year. Thanks, hons.

  Naomi Permutt, my Raven and my Elizabeth, forever-friend and sister. The next one’s for you.

  Carolyn Rosinsky, who screamed in a crowded elevator, and who does with the cello what I try to do with words.

  Ned Rosinsky, for raising me on Beethoven sonatas, teaching me to drive, and weeping at all my plays.

  Fay Rosinsky, first reader and best reader. I kept going because I knew you were waiting for the next chapter. You’re my rock.

  Jon Barrows, for living far away, which gave me long car rides to dream up stories, and for saying the magic words that sparked Acadia. I’m very glad we don’t live far apart now.

  LISA ROSINSKY was the 2016–2017 Associates of the Boston Public Library Writer-in-Residence. Her stories have been published in Cricket and Highlights for Children, and her poetry appears in The Baltimore Review, Prairie Schooner, Hunger Mountain, and many other journals. She has an MFA in poetry from Boston University. Inevitable and Only is her first novel.

  A Maryland native, Lisa used to call Cadie’s neighborhood home and spent a lot of time in cat-filled bookshops like Fine Print. Her first real job was with a traveling theater troupe in Baltimore, where she was half of a two-person production of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe that toured the state of Maryland. She now lives in Boston, Massachusetts, still surrounded by cats and books.

  lisarosinskywrites.com

  boydsmillspress.com

  Stay Connected with Highlights!