Twelve Steps to Normal

by Farrah Penn

  My dad sets down his knife and looks up at me. “How was Earth Club?”

  “Good.” I’m surprised at how easily the lie comes out. I’d texted Lin earlier to apologize for ghosting on the meeting, and she said it was fine as long as I showed for the cleanup on Friday.

  Peach sets the timer. “Everything will be ready in about ten minutes.”

  She looks so comfortable in our kitchen. It makes my stomach churn. I mumble a quick, “I’m not hungry,” and race upstairs, almost bumping into Nonnie as I round the corner in the hallway.

  She’s wearing a blouse patterned with bright green giraffes and her signature turquoise glasses. Her hands adjust the frame of one of our family pictures. Wallis sits next to her, thumping his tail in excitement when he spots me.

  “Stay, Wallis,” Nonnie says. Miraculously, he does. “Ha! Wish I’d realized he knew that command this morning.”

  I stare at the pictures. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, Wallis knocked into the wall as he was running toward the guest room.” Nonnie waves her hand over the collection of pictures. “I noticed a few were crooked, so I’m realigning them.”

  I look at the dozens of frames hung along the wall. It’s funny. They’ve been there for so long that I sometimes forget they exist. Most are of me growing up—toothless kindergarten pictures followed by awkward elementary school photos and overly enthusiastic middle school snapshots.

  There are a ton of us as a family. One is from our camping trip in Blanco State Park. Another is from a ski trip my dad and I took a few years back. But so many of Grams. She poses with me after my first ballet recital, where she’d learned how to work a video camera just for that evening. In another, we’re lying side by side in a field of blue bonnets on our road trip to Austin. There’s another of us wearing red, white, and blue at Cedarville’s annual Fourth of July parade.

  All my friends had moms who were dependable, but I thought I’d always have Grams. These pictures are another reminder of one more thing I’ve lost.

  “Take them down,” I tell Nonnie. Then I say it louder. “The ones of her. Take them down.”

  Nonnie follows my stare to the pictures of Grams. Understanding washes over her features. I move past her and Wallis and walk into my room, but she follows me before I have a chance to shut my door.

  “Kira?” Her voice is gentle at the edge of my bedroom. “May I?”

  I set my book bag down on the ground. I’m too tired to fight her on this, so I shrug and sink down on my bed.

  Nonnie walks all the way inside. Wallis takes a tentative step behind her.

  “I know it doesn’t help,” she says, “but I’m sorry.”

  A tightness squeezes hard in my throat. Slowly, she comes and sits down next to me on the bed. I notice she smells strongly of patchouli and rose petals and hairspray.

  “Sometimes life throws us balls and forgets to hand us a bat.” She’s quiet for a moment. “You miss her. That’s completely natural, you know.”

  I don’t say anything, afraid of the emotions that might come flooding out. I remember my list and how I’d committed to learn how to be a family with her gone, but it’s difficult to do when the memories of her hang in every corner of the house.

  “It’s hard. Experiencing loss in one form or another.” Nonnie runs her hands over her slacks. I stare at her chunky collection of turquoise rings—one on every finger. “But it’s the way you handle it that reveals the type of person you are.”

  I shrug, unsure of what type of person that makes me.

  After a pause she asks, “Do you know why I left New York?”

  I assume she thinks my dad has told me, but he hasn’t. I shake my head.

  “My husband left me for another woman. Nearly twenty-five years ago. Rayanne Summers—even her name was prettier than mine.”

  I pick at my thumbnail. I thought losing Jay to Whitney was hard, but I can’t imagine how it would feel to have a marriage end because your husband wanted to be with someone else.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Nonnie’s eyes brighten. “I’m not.”

  I’m confused. “You’re not?”

  “Having Charles leave me was the best thing that happened to me,” she says. “Oh, it was hard. And it hurt. It hurt because I still loved him, and those feelings were terrible to try and process.”

  I nod, picking at my pinky nail.

  “But one night, when I was trying to get back to Brooklyn, Freddie Mercury stepped right into my subway car.”

  I snort. There’s no way I believe that. I sincerely doubt Freddie Mercury would take New York public transportation.

  Nonnie smiles at my disbelief. “Of course, it wasn’t the real Freddie Mercury. Only an impersonator. There are a lot of people who’ll entertain you on your route home for tips.” She waves a hand dismissively in the air. “But he had a speaker, and I listened as he lip-synched ‘Don’t Stop Me Now.’ It was silly, but considering what I’d gone through it was also quite empowering. I gave him every cent in my wallet for his Queen CD.”

  I feel the question erupt before I can stop it. “Why?”

  She pauses for a moment. “I married very young. I’m not sure if I had myself figured out. And although I loved Charlie, he’d held me back in a lot of ways. He was always more conservative in his mannerisms and in the way he dressed. I thought respectable attire and droll conversations were all a part of my journey into adulthood.” Wallis comes and rests his chin on her leg, and she gives his head a few gentle strokes. “It turns out that’s not the way it works. You have to be true to yourself. That’s what the faux Freddie reminded me of that night.”

  I glance at Nonnie. I assumed her flamboyancy and ridiculously bright clothing were for attention, but now I’m not so sure.

  “And when people stare at me or ask me why I wear the things I wear, do you know what I tell them?”

  “To shove off?”

  Nonnie cackles with laughter. “No, no. I tell them, ‘dullness is a disease.’ You know who said that?”

  I take a wild guess. “Freddie Mercury?”

  “Exactly.” She grins. “I lost Charlie, but I spent more time becoming the woman I wanted to become.” She adjusts her turquoise frames. “Now, there were mistakes I made along the way—I never intended on ending up at Sober Living—but that’s all a part of life. You always have to forgive your own mistakes. Otherwise they’ll eat you alive.”

  We sit in silence for a moment, but my mind is elsewhere. I’m transported back to Merciful Heart, where I was begging to see Grams, but my dad said no, that I don’t want to remember her in her unconscious state while the doctors did everything they could to help her heart. It would only upset me, he said. And like I did that day when Grams told me I couldn’t have a puppy, I repeated those same words to him.

  I hate you.

  He said he was sorry. He said it over and over, but it didn’t matter. What mattered is the only mother I’d ever had was gone.

  “‘See you later,’” I say aloud. “That was the last thing I said to her. To Grams. I was running late for school. I don’t even remember what she said back.”

  Nonnie lets this sink in. “You’ve been through a lot, losing your grandmother, losing trust in your father… but you’re still here.”

  I stare down at my yellow throw rug. “It wasn’t my decision.”

  “But you’re here, aren’t you? Working hard in school, giving your dad another chance. That makes you the strong one.”

  A swollen sadness spreads through my chest, filling the hollowness within me. Tears sting behind my eyes. I never thought of myself as strong. That word was always reserved for other people: Raegan’s go-getter strength, Grams’s unconditional support. Never for me.

  I wipe away my tears before they can fall. Nonnie pretends not to notice. I silently thank her for that.

  “The pictures,” I say. “You don’t have to take them down.”

  Nonnie rests her cool hand over my own. “I wasn
’t going to.”

  It’s a kind gesture, one that fills me with unexpected comfort. I realize that, at this very moment, I have an opportunity to attempt to convince Nonnie to leave as part of my list. I can easily do it, but I don’t. For the first time since they arrived, I don’t mind her company.

  From downstairs, Peach hollers that dinner is ready.

  I turn to Nonnie. “I ate earlier.”

  “Well, I surely can’t say no to pizza.” Her gaze focuses on Wallis, who is spread out on my area rug. “C’mon, boy. I’m sure there will be leftovers.”

  Wallis rolls over onto his back, making himself even more comfortable.

  “Wallis,” Nonnie warns.

  Wallis’s tongue flops over the side of his mouth.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Really. He can stay in here.”

  Her eyes widen. “You’re sure?”

  My eyes find Wallis’s. It’s not his fault someone left him, too. So I nod and with one last glance at the both of us, Nonnie leaves.

  The tension in my chest eases, although I can’t explain why. I feel like I should be angry at Peach and my dad for acting like everything is fine, but I’m not. I just feel sad. And more alone than I did before.

  Wallis watches me from the rug as I spend the next few hours reading chapters for history and getting on and off the internet to see what my friends are up to. I google a step-by-step breakdown of my algebra homework before giving up and brushing my teeth.

  As I’m walking back to my room, I spot something propped up against my door.

  Confused, I bend down to pick it up. It’s a CD case. Queen’s Greatest Hits.

  I’ve had to listen to this every morning for the past week. Nonnie is basically giving me the power to trash this, but I know I won’t.

  Even though I’ve memorized all the songs, I slide it into my laptop’s CD drive. I play the album softly as I climb into bed. I want to be the strong person Nonnie seems to see in me, but the truth is I’m not sure that’s who I am.

  FOURTEEN

  COACH VELASQUEZ HOSTS AN EARLY morning Wavettes meeting on Tuesday, and as I’m leaving the dance room, I spot Breck studying pages of his chemistry book outside of the gym.

  “Riveting stuff?”

  He looks up, then grins. “Ah. Yeah. Not so much.”

  “Hey, so, what’s with you wanting to join the decathlon?” I fold my arms. “And you better not tell me it’s to mess with Lin.”

  “Why would I want to do that? I like Lin.”

  He sounds genuine, but I wait for more.

  “Okay, fine.” Breck groans into his hands before looking back at me. “I want to prove I can be good at something other than basketball because… I’m not sure I want to play in college.”

  This wasn’t the answer I was expecting. “You don’t?”

  “Nah. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll do it if I get a sick scholarship—money is important. But, you know, my brain is pretty dope.” He taps the side of his head, smiling. “And I think competing with the decathlon team could be fun.”

  I study him, somewhat surprised. Breck likes partying and basketball as much as Jay, but Jay never took his grades super seriously. He was fine being average. And from what Lin told me about Breck’s GPA, he works hard. Really hard.

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  He closes his textbook. “You will?”

  “Just don’t let her down,” I warn. “You already have basketball, but this team is important to her.”

  “I won’t,” Breck says, and I can tell he’s being earnest. “I swear.”

  I glance at the clock. The bell is a few minutes away from ringing. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

  Breck waves, and I turn down the hall and head to my locker. I need my English textbook for first period, although I wish I could skip it and consume my stress about my chemistry test in the form of glazed donuts.

  “Did it work?” A voice says from behind me.

  I turn around. Alex is standing there, the sleeves of his black undershirt pushed up to his elbows. The gray T-shirt he wears over it has an upside-down stegosaurus printed on it. I’m not sure what it means, but knowing Alex I can only guess it’s a film logo.

  “Did what work?”

  He smiles. “The excuse. From yesterday?”

  “Oh.” I move out of the way so he can access his locker. “Yeah, it did, actually. Thanks.”

  Alex opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. I follow his gaze down the hall. Lin sprints toward us, stopping when she sees me.

  “This sucks. I stopped by the Pick Up the Park sign-up sheet and only five people have signed up so far! Five!”

  Alex shuts his locker, then turns toward us. “I don’t want to tell you how to run things.” Lin looks over at him, a curious expression on her face. “But maybe next time schedule the cleanup on a Saturday? Most people have things going on after school.”

  Lin’s eyes widen, like she can’t believe she didn’t think of that. “Oh! You’re so right. I need to tell Andrea.” She tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “But you’re still coming, right?” She looks at Alex. “And you, too? I saw your name on the list, I think.”

  “Yeah,” Alex tells her. “I need volunteer hours.”

  “Awesome.” She turns to me. “See you at lunch!”

  I watch as she practically skips down the hall. “You just made her entire morning.”

  His eyes light up when he looks at me. “Did I?”

  I pull a cheesy grin. “There’s a heart of gold beneath that rebellious spirit.”

  Alex cringes, then yanks his beanie down over his eyes. “I can’t even look at you right now. That was awful—like a really bad movie tagline.”

  I snort out a laugh. “What? You mean you wouldn’t go see it?” I pretend to think about it. “Maybe I can make a career out of this.”

  Alex unveils his eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but no.”

  “Oh! What about this, braving true triumph is the key to her heart.”

  “God, no.”

  “The ultimate courage requires the ultimate sacrifice.”

  “I think these are actually causing me physical pain.”

  I forgot how easy it is to talk with him. If he’s still upset about my non-response to his text all those months ago, I can’t tell. I know I need to talk to him about it, but the next words out of my mouth aren’t a confrontation.

  “You’re here early.”

  Alex gives me a questioning look.

  “I mean, Raegan says you’re usually late to homeroom.”

  He studies me for a moment, a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips. “Yeah, I guess I am. My mom didn’t need help in the kitchen this morning.”

  “Did you tell her both me and my stomach greatly thanked her for the pan dulce?”

  “Yeah, she was stoked.” He grins. “I also told her how much you loved the Pulparindo.”

  “Love is a strong word, frankly. It’s a solid B-plus.”

  “Your tastes just aren’t as refined as mine.”

  The warning bell rings. I glance at the clock to make sure it’s right. It’s unlike me to lose track of time.

  I look at him. “I better get to homeroom.”

  “Me too,” he says. “You know, to surprise Raegan with my ability to be on time.”

  With a quick wave, he departs down the hall. I watch him for a moment. He didn’t have to write that stuff on the board during Radical Races, but he did. There’s a part of me that’s glad for the familiar comfort of his friendship, but there’s an even bigger part of me that feels like I don’t deserve it.

  “Can anyone tell me the nickname of Roosevelt’s political advisors?”

  I’m sitting in AP History armed with two pens. I use the blue one every time Mr. Densick mentions something that could be on the AP exam, and my black one scribbles the notes that will be covered on our first exam. If I’d known this class would give me early onset carpal tunnel syndrome, I’d have seriously reco
nsidered.

  I take a short break to massage my wrist, but being a leftie my elbow accidentally knocks into Jay’s. He looks up at me. Today he’s wearing a pale blue polo shirt under his letterman jacket. (Mr. Densick likes to crank up the AC so no one falls asleep. Freezing us out seems like the better option to him, apparently.) It’s a good color on him. I think I’ve told him that before. Then I wonder if he’s wearing it because I’ve told him that before.

  I force those thoughts to an abrupt halt. No. I am not going there. I’m a better friend than that.

  Sorry, I mouth, then point to my limp writing hand.

  Jay smiles, then shrugs. He makes sure Mr. Densick is preoccupied with talking about the current slide on the board before flipping open a fresh sheet of paper in his notebook. He draws a tiny hangman game in the corner. There are twenty spaces for letters underneath it. Then he raises his eyebrows at me, hinting I should play along.

  I freeze. This is the second time he’s initiated this in class. It doesn’t help that he looks immaculate today. His short brown hair is styled, like he took time this morning doing it. I tell myself not to look at his most attractive features (eyes, lips, hands) because I have to put a stop to the fluttering inside me.

  At the top of the hangman Jay writes MOVIES in block letters.

  Okay. This is not a big deal. I keep building it up because I want it to mean more than it should. But to Jay, it’s just a way to pass time in class. Besides, we’re friends. And I’m supposed to be in the process of reconnecting our friendship, according to step 6 on my list.

  I shift my spiral over an inch so he can read. A? I guess.

  Jay fills two A’s in the blank spaces.

  “Who can tell me,” Mr. Densick is saying, “What the very first agreement for self-government in America was called? We went over this yesterday.”

  “Mayflower Compact,” Jay calls out.

  “Thank you Mr. Valenski, but next time please raise your hand.” Mr. Densick writes Mayflower Compact in huge letters on the board. “I would highly advise you to familiarize yourself with this.”

  I go back through my notes and put a star next to where I’ve written about the Mayflower Compact. I flip back over to my page and guess: T?