by Farrah Penn
Saylor doesn’t meet my eyes. He’s wearing a fleece pullover that conceals all his bracelets. He looks incomplete without them.
I can tell he doesn’t want me here, and for some reason that hurts. He’s always had a soft soul, but now there are no signs of empathy.
Not that I deserve any.
“No thanks,” my voice comes out small. Ashamed.
My dad appears. He’s wearing his old glow-in-the-dark jack-o’-lantern T-shirt that he always brings out this time of year. There’s an enormous plastic bowl of candy in his hands.
He turns to me. “Feel like takin’ on candy duty tonight?”
Instead of hanging around the kitchen where I’m not wanted, I figure this is the next best thing. “Sure.”
I take the bowl outside and sit on our porch swing. At least this way I won’t have to listen to the doorbell ring all night.
It’s a chilly evening, the kind that reminds me that winter is right around the corner. I’m wrapped up in my oversized Cedarville sweatshirt and a worn pair of sweats. The first kid I hand candy to asks why I’m not wearing a costume. I pull my hood over my head to hide my lack of effort, and he scampers back to his parents.
A few minutes later, the front door opens. Nonnie stands there dressed in full Freddie Mercury attire. She’s wearing a white button-down and slacks with a fur-lined red cape draped over her shoulders, a magnificent jeweled crown resting on top of her head.
“Can I sit down?” she asks.
I nod, surprising myself that I’m eager for company.
We’re quiet. A trio of little girls dressed as the Powerpuff Girls come up to get candy. I give them each a handful.
When they walk away, I turn to Nonnie. “Are you always Freddie Mercury for Halloween?”
She folds a hand over her chest. “It would be a sin if I weren’t.”
I feel the corners of my mouth turn up.
“Aha!” she exclaims. “There it is. I was wondering if I’d ever see you smile again.”
Shame trickles through me. “My dad hates me.”
“Oh, child, no, he doesn’t.” Her voice is heartbreakingly gentle. It makes me feel even worse. “Your father cares about you so much. You gave us all quite a scare the other night, that’s all.”
We’re interrupted by another group of trick-or-treaters dressed in various Marvel superhero costumes. I give them each a generous amount of candy and watch them run over to the next house.
“Sometimes genuine concern can come off aggressively,” Nonnie says. “That’s only the panic talking. Trust me. I spent years thinking my brother despised me.”
“Your brother?” I repeat, a little surprised. I didn’t know Nonnie had siblings.
“Oh yeah.” She leans back on the porch swing. “He took me in when I was living in New York. Thought he’d find me dead in a gutter if he didn’t. I was reckless when I drank, and every time I came home obliterated he’d scream at me. Sometimes until he was hoarse.” She pats my knee. “But that’s because he was overly concerned about me, especially since I don’t have the greatest track record.”
“Why?” I have a hard time imagining someone as confident and carefree as Nonnie depending on an excess of alcohol as a release.
She’s silent for a moment. “It was an easy way to escape my self-hatred.” Her hand smooths over the fur lining of her cape. “It never made things better.”
I nod, knowing—in a sense—how she feels. It never helped my dad escape his depression after losing Grams.
“I didn’t meet that faux Freddie on the subway until years after Charles and I divorced,” she continues. “I didn’t cope well with his affair in the beginning. I blamed myself. I drank to try and feel good again, but I was slowly spiraling out of control. I said awful things to my parents—to my brother Paul—but he never gave up on me. Not until the day he died.”
It’s strange. In the back of my mind I knew Nonnie was at Sober Living for the same reasons as my dad. It’s hard to picture her as that person.
“That’s why I won’t give up on Saylor. I never had a chance to reconcile with my parents, but he does. He will. Forgiving someone isn’t always easy, but it’s possible.”
I pick at a loose strand of fabric on the rocker. I remember what she told me that night we talked in my bedroom. You always have to forgive your own mistakes. Otherwise they’ll eat you alive.
I know what I should do.
I pull my knees close to my chest. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I feel my throat tighten. “I didn’t mean what I said that night.”
“Of course you did,” Nonnie says gently. “And that’s okay, I promise you that. Emotions are what keep us alive. It’s what needed to be said, and I know it’s what you needed your father to hear. While I accept your apology, I want you to know I don’t blame you.”
I feel tears fall down my cheeks. She’s being so kind. So understanding. I don’t deserve it.
“Coming home late with a boy wasn’t your smartest move, but granted, your father never did give you a chance to explain, did he?” She shrugs. “We all make mistakes. It’s what keeps us interesting, but it also shouldn’t destroy the relationship you have with him.”
My chest tightens with emotion. I don’t want to be on bad terms with my dad. I know he didn’t leave me to go to rehab for selfish reasons—it was his choice to get help. Not just for himself, but also for the people he cares about. For me. And if I’m being honest, I didn’t only come back for my friends and my normal school life. I also came back for him.
“Nonnie?”
She glances down at me.
“Thank you.”
She pats my leg. “Freddie said he liked to be surrounded by splendid things, and I agree.” She smiles. “But you know what? You’re one of them.”
My tears fall faster. “I’ve been horrible.”
“Darling, no.” She places her arm around the bench and leans closer. “You’ve been human.”
We pass out candy until the streets grow quiet, but I can’t shake the shame that sits in my stomach. Part of my twelve steps was to get Nonnie and Saylor and Peach out as soon as possible. I wanted the life I had before they came. I still don’t know what would happen if Margaret found out, but now that I know them, I’d willingly defend them as good people, just like my dad. What I’d created was a set of guidelines to get my life back to how it was, when what I really need is the courage to move forward.
Alex was right. I am scared of change.
If I really wanted to better myself, I’d be kinder, like Nonnie. I’d learn to be patient, like Saylor. I’d be generous, like Peach. These were all things worth accomplishing, not a petty list designed with the intention of bringing my life back to the way it was a year ago. Because despite what I thought, struggling to live with an alcoholic father and no maternal support wasn’t ever going to be normal. Living in a house with people who actually care about you… that’s more normal than anything else.
Nonnie stands up. “C’mon, let’s go rot our teeth on Peach and Saylor’s candy apples.”
I hesitate. She notices.
“Don’t be worried,” she tells me. “They’re human, too.”
THIRTY THREE
ALEX REFUSES TO ACKNOWLEDGE MY existence. He completely ignores me in Algebra II on Monday when I try and talk to him, and when we meet for Earth Club after school, he leaves before I have a chance to explain myself. I know he’s probably going to work on Audrey II in the theater wing, but if he’s not talking to me here then why would he talk to me there?
“He was sure in a hurry,” Lin says as the door closes behind Alex. She raises an eyebrow at me. “Everything okay?”
I swallow the lump in my throat as I stare at the closed door. I’ve disappointed so many people on my twelve-steps list, but Alex feels like the worst. He’s someone who’s always been there for me. How could I be so awful to him? Especially after he was vulnerable and open about his feelings toward me. I know he was only trying to make sure I was
okay that day in the cafeteria, but I was scared about my secret getting out.
Still. It’s not an excuse.
No wonder he doesn’t want anything to do with me.
I haven’t apologized to anyone aside from Nonnie. I’m too consumed by shame. But despite how horrible I’d been, everyone has been kind. On Halloween, Peach saved me a candy apple and my dad let me watch Nightmare on Elm Street with everyone even though I was technically still grounded. He even made popcorn the way I like it—with M&M’s mixed in—and Wallis curled up next to my feet throughout the whole movie.
I’ve hidden so much already. I’m tired of hiding.
I tug at the end of my gray sweater and glance at Lin. “There are some things I should tell you.”
I explain everything. About how well my dad is doing and how he’s trying to fix things between us. About Alex and our kiss and all the time we’ve spent together since I’ve been back. I tell her about Peach, how she gets up ridiculously early to work at the bakery. I talk about Saylor and his yoga habits, how he’s patient with me when he helps me with my homework. I tell her about Nonnie and her neon safari animal obsession and how Freddie Mercury saved her life. I explain how worried I was about Margaret finding out about them and possibly sending me back to Portland. I talk until my throat is dry and my voice is cracking and a tiny piece of weight is released from my chest.
Lin sits on top of one of the empty desks and listens. When I finish, she’s quiet for a moment. I worry I’ve disappointed her, too.
“Wow,” she finally says. “They don’t sound bad at all.”
I glance up at her. “Really?”
She widens her eyes like, duh. “You said Peach wants to run her own pastry business? That’s pretty cool, right?”
I nod, realizing it is.
“Saylor does yoga? I’ve always wanted to try that.”
“He loves teaching.”
She goes quiet again. I watch as she cleans her lenses on her shirt that’s patterned with little white daisies.
“I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” she says while adjusting her frames on the bridge of her nose. “But it was really cool of your dad to let them stay.”
I honestly didn’t expect this reaction, but I’m not mad. It’s a relief that she’s being so understanding. “You think so?”
“Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t fair the way you found out, but he seems like he’s trying a lot harder than he was before.”
“He is.” I pick at a loose thread on my sleeve. “But I was afraid Margaret wouldn’t understand if she found out, and that she’d send me back to Portland.”
“Margaret, your social worker?”
I nod. “She called me the first night back and was like, ‘if there’s any unusual behavior with your dad, call me and we’ll send you back to your aunt.’ And him inviting all these people to live with us was unusual for me, obviously. So I felt like if I wanted to stay here, no one could know.”
She thinks for a moment. “She probably just meant if he was drinking again, right? Or if you suspected anything like that? But I guess it must have been a shock to find out they moved into your house while you were gone. And you couldn’t have known the very first night that they weren’t going to be a problem.”
“No,” I agree. “I guess that’s why I was scared. That if anyone found out, they’d think living with four alcoholics wasn’t a good environment. Then it would get back to Margaret and my life would be uprooted again.”
“Of course. But…” She considers her next words. “I mean, how was Alex supposed to know all that?”
I blink. That night seemed so strangely bizarre. In my head, it was a huge deal to see everyone standing out in the open outside. And the fact that Alex seemed concerned and asked if I was okay, like I needed help, made me think that he was already thinking the worst. But in reality, how was he supposed to know the entire situation?
Lin slides off the desk and reaches for her backpack. “You shouldn’t have been so hard on him, but I guess I get why you were. It’s a lot to deal with.”
She’s giving me an excuse for my lousy behavior. She’s always been a good friend in that way—but still. I know I don’t deserve it.
“It was really crappy of me,” I say as we walk out of the classroom. I notice Raegan has already hung blue and silver posters throughout the hallway to promote the winter formal. “I feel like I’ve ruined everything.”
Lin slips her thumbs under the straps of her backpack. She’s had the same pastel pins stuck on them since eighth grade: a cartoon lion’s head, a daisy, one with chevron stripes. “I can see why he’s upset. He’s been into you for so long.”
Heat flushes through me, but the feeling of regret is more potent.
“And he’s one of the good ones—it’s obvious he cares about you. Like, really cares. If someone I had strong feelings for snapped at me like that, I’d retreat, too. But listen, I don’t think it’s too late to fix it.”
We’ve reached the double doors that lead to the junior/senior parking lot. Instead of opening them, I face her. “You don’t?”
She shakes her head. “We both know Alex is a really sweet guy, and he’s always worn his heart on his sleeve around you. It’s not going to be easy. I’d hate to be in your shoes, to be honest. But if you really care about him, you have to try.”
I let my arms fall to my sides, exasperated. “I’ve tried all day!”
Lin rolls her eyes. “All day? Kira, do you really blame him for not immediately forgiving you?”
As much as it hurts to hear it, I know she has a point. It’s not like I stole his favorite T-shirt or something. I’d basically slammed a door in his face, choosing to be cold and ruthless instead of opening up about the parts of my life I’d been trying to hide. Alex has never judged me, and neither have my friends. What am I so scared of?
I remember the gentle press of Alex’s fingertips as he pulled his beanie on my head the day we skipped. I think of the way his eyes crinkle when I make him laugh, how he always gives me his full attention when I’m talking to him instead of browsing through his phone. I remember the comforting smell of his boy deodorant and clean laundry scent. I think of what he said at the restaurant—You do remember that you’re the one I kissed the other day, right? He was vulnerable with his feelings toward me for the second time, and then I go and push him a million miles away.
Lin’s right. I can’t give up yet.
“Is he worth it?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
She shrugs, opening the door to the expansive parking lot. “Then try harder.”
THIRTY FOUR
BY WEDNESDAY, ALEX STILL ISN’T responding to any of my texts. I’d tried my best to summarize the situation, not fearing the consequences of Margaret anymore. I wish he’d let me explain everything in person, but he avoids his locker at all costs and he won’t look in my direction in algebra. When Mrs. Donaldson catches me leaning over to get his attention, she smacks her dry erase marker on her desk.
“One more word out of you, Miss Seneca, and I’m sending you down to the office.”
Then she pairs me with Peter Thompson—one of the smartest kids in our grade—for a Radical Race. As punishment, probably.
Of course I don’t win.
But I think of what Lin said. Try harder.
Alex isn’t the only person I need to try harder with, though. There are other people in the house who deserve better than what I’ve given them. I haven’t exactly shown that I’ve appreciated everything everyone has done for me. Not only Peach, Saylor, and Nonnie, but my dad, too. He’s spent months trying to earn my forgiveness, and what have I done in return? Behaved selfishly. Screamed awful things at him. But he hasn’t given up, and neither has anyone else.
I stop by the grocery store after school and pick up some ingredients. It’s been a while since I’ve made a pizza from scratch. My dad and I used to have pizza Wednesdays where we’d make our own pie and watch the newest episode of
Crime Boss. He was always in charge of the crust while I made the sauce, but I figure it shouldn’t be too difficult. Plus, I want to extend a kind gesture to everyone tonight—a first step toward an apology.
No one is downstairs when I get home, which I was hoping for. I pull up a recipe on my phone and get to work.
It’s a fairly straightforward process. After I knead the dough, I start on the sauce. Once both are prepared, I flatten, spread, and top with shredded cheese, oregano, and some sun-dried tomatoes. Then I pop it in the oven, setting the timer before I flop over on the couch. I feel good—like I’ve accomplished something.
I waste time browsing through channels since a new episode of Crime Boss isn’t on until eight. I’m about to settle on watching a ridiculous reality show when the fire alarm blares—no—pierces through the entire house.
CRAP. I jump up and run to the kitchen, flinging open the oven. The sun-dried tomatoes are charred black, and the edges of the pizza are curling with smoke. I flip the oven off, hop up on the kitchen counter, and wave a dishrag in front of the alarm, hoping it will make it stop.
“Kira?”
Peach appears in the kitchen, her eyes wide with worry.
Thankfully the alarm falls silent, and I climb down from the counter and set the dishrag down, feeling tears well up behind my eyes. Why did I have to screw this up, too?
Nonnie is suddenly behind Peach, waving her hand in front of her face. “Is everything okay?”
I nod, my throat tight. “I, uh.” I swallow. “I was trying to make dinner. For everyone.”
Nonnie beams at me, but I can’t meet her eyes. If I do, I know I won’t be able to stop my tears.
Peach takes my creation from the oven and waves my abandoned dishcloth over it. “Do you have more dough?” she asks, her voice kind.
I nod, gesturing to the bowl.
Her magenta lips pull into a gentle smile. “Do you want to try again?”
I meet her gaze. I know she’s talking about the pizza, but it doesn’t stop the tightness in my throat and sting of tears behind my eyes. I can’t seem to find the right words, so I nod my head and hope she understands.