We finish off with baklava and some very strong coffee. I’m not really a coffee drinker, but this is a night for new things, right?
“My grandma was Greek,” Owen says. “She used to make baklava too.”
“Used to?”
“She died when I was fifteen.” He forks a piece of the flaky crust. “I still haven’t found anyone who can make it as good as hers.” Then he goes on to explain how she would let him help her roll out dozens of paper-thin sheets of phyllo dough on a big marble slab. “Then we’d drape these sheets all over the place, over her tables and chairs, like we were hanging up the laundry, except it was pastry. Then she’d layer all those sheets into a huge pan with syrup, spices, and nuts and things.” He smacks his lips. “Really good.”
“This is good too,” I say.
He nods. “Yeah, it is.”
Okay, I know I’m too young to fall in love. Really, I am. But I sure do like this guy. Hearing him talk about his grandma, how they made baklava together—well, it’s very charming, very endearing, and slightly mind-boggling. I wonder what Crystal would think if she knew he was like this. But then I think I don’t want to tell her—I want to keep some of these tasty little morsels to myself. Of course, thinking of Crystal only makes me think of Lily, and I can’t help but glance at my watch and feel anxious. Please, let it be going well.
“You okay?” Owen asks.
I look up. “Sorry. I was thinking about Lily and hoping everything’s okay at home.” Then, whether it was stupid or not, I actually tell him about the other time Crystal stayed with Lily and how she got locked out and questioned by the police. But Owen simply laughs at this story, and I realize it doesn’t hurt to be honest about my life. After all, I am who I am. It’s not like I can hide anything. Not with a family like mine. Why try?
I feel like God is smiling down on me as we leave the restaurant and walk across the parking lot to Owen’s pickup. It’s one of those perfect summer evenings. The air is still warm and luxurious against your skin, and the sky is rosy pink, the way it gets just before the sunset. Even the Greek music being piped out into the parking lot is enticing.
For the second time tonight, I feel like throwing up my arms and dancing. Then, to my stunned amazement, I actually do. Kind of a little Greek happy dance. Owen laughs, but being a good sport, he even attempts to dance with me, although we kind of stumble around, and I actually step on his foot.
“Sorry,” I say as he helps me into the pickup. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Hey, I thought that was totally cool.”
“It’s just that freedom like this . . . well, it’s kind of intoxicating.”
He throws back his head and laughs loudly. “And to think the rest of us just take it for granted.” Now he has both hands planted on either side of the opening for the passenger door, he’s leaning forward ever so slightly, and I’m almost worried that he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he slowly shakes his head like he’s amazed. “Man, Aster, I just don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?” I look at him curiously.
“You know, take care of your sister like you do.”
“Oh . . .” I think I’d almost forgotten about Lily just then. “I guess it’s like the old Nike saying. I just do it.”
He nods, then closes my door, and I find myself sitting there thinking that instead of bringing up Lily . . . I wish he would’ve kissed me. How weird is that?
“I told my mom about how you take care of your sister, and she thought you should probably be recommended for sainthood.”
“Or committed,” I say flippantly. Actually, I’m shocked that Owen told his mother about me. I wonder if he and his mother talk about a lot of things. For some reason I find this concept totally mind-blowing. How is it possible that he would be close to his mom, when my mother usually feels like a stranger to me?
Once again, I get that old feeling like I will never fit in . . . like I’m really an alien dropped down from Planet Weird. Seriously, what do I have in common with this boy who made baklava with his grandma and actually has a relationship with his mother?
10
I repress all alien thoughts, paste a smile on my face, and hold my head high as Owen and I walk up to the multiplex theater. Isn’t that what Elizabeth in Pride and Prejudice would do?
“Hey, Owen,” a male voice calls from behind us. We both turn, and the first person I see is my old “best” friend Katie Wick on the arm of a guy named Miles. I honestly can’t remember his last name, but I know he’s one of the “elite”—a cool kid. And a friend of Owen’s.
“What’s up?” Owen asks as he pauses to wait for them to join us. Miles informs Owen that they’re going to the same movie, and to my amazement, Katie acts like we’re still best friends.
“How are you, Aster? I was just thinking about you today.”
I try not to look too shocked. “Really? Why?”
“I was cleaning my room, and I found this cute little pink dragon.”
Okay, I know exactly what she means. I won that dragon at the county fair the summer before we went to middle school and she abandoned me for more impressive friends. But I won it, and she wanted it. And, being used to keeping people happy, I gave it to her. I guess I thought it would be some kind of superglue that would bond our friendship. Obviously I was wrong. Still, I do not let a single muscle in my face betray that I remember any of this. “What dragon?”
“Don’t you remember?” As we all get into line, she goes on to tell the story, her way. She admits that I won it but then says I insisted on giving the dragon to her. If she hadn’t given it that little twist, I might’ve acted like I remembered this, but because of her lie, I play dumb.
“Sorry, I don’t really recall that,” I say. “Are you sure it was me and not another one of your friends?”
She looks stunned, and I feel ashamed. But there is no going back. Not here. Not now.
“We just had the best dinner at Anatole’s,” Owen says. I think he senses tension in the air and is trying to change the subject. Bless him!
“Oh, I love Anatole’s,” Katie gushes. “I’m so envious.”
Just then my cell phone rings. I glance at the clock on the front to see that it’s 8:52 and nearly time for my mom to come home. Praying that nothing is wrong, I step out of line and answer it.
“Aster,” Crystal hisses, “you’re going to have to come home.”
“Why?”
“Lily is throwing a fit.”
I move farther away from the line. “What kind of fit?”
“The kind where she throws things.”
“Oh . . . Have you tried to calm her down?”
“Nothing is working.”
“Did you put in the second movie? The Little Mermaid? She loves that one, and it usually settles her right—”
“It’s playing now, and she couldn’t care less.”
“Well, it’s almost nine, and my mom—” I hear a loud crash in the background and am afraid to ask. “What was that?”
“A lamp.”
“Oh, dear . . .”
“Come home, Aster, now!”
I glance over to where Owen is just paying for our tickets, and a kind of steely resolve takes hold of me. “No,” I say calmly. “My mother will come home.”
“When?” she demands.
“Right now,” I say. “I’m calling her.”
“Fine. I don’t care who. Just make it fast.”
I force a smile and a tight wave toward Owen, then quickly dial the number for O’Leary’s. I wait for my mom to come to the phone, then I say quickly, “Lily is flipping out. I can’t get home as quickly as you can, so I told Crystal you’d be there. You better hurry.” And I hang up. Not only do I hang up, I turn my phone off! I feel like a criminal as I rejoin Owen, Miles, and Katie. A slightly delirious criminal.
Was it worth it? I ask myself as Owen is driving me home. Certainly the movie was not. I don’t even remember it. I was sitting there freaking over what mi
ght be possibly happening at home. I imagined Lily tying up Crystal and burning the house down, all before my mom got there. Consequently, I asked Owen to take me straight home as soon as we emerged from the theater. And now he’s being very quiet.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him for the second time. “It’s just that I’m worried about Lily.”
“But I thought Crystal was—”
“That phone call I got earlier,” I admit. “It was from Crystal, and it wasn’t going well.”
“You should’ve told me.” He turns into my neighborhood. “We could’ve left—”
“No,” I say firmly. “I called my mom. It was time for her to get off work anyway. I told her it was her problem.”
Owen nods as if he’s impressed. “Good for you.”
“Thanks. I’ve been giving the situation some thought, and I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s unfair for me to be solely responsible for Lily.”
“I’d have to agree with you. So does my mom.”
“So does my sister Rose. I mean, she might be selfish, but I think she’s got it right in this case. My mom is taking advantage of me.”
“It’s because you’re so good with Lily,” Owen says.
“I know. But it’s like I’m being rewarded with more problems because of it.”
“It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Yeah. I think Independence Day is coming for me.”
“How does your dad fit into this? I mean, does he take some responsibility for Lily?”
I attempt to explain the situation with my dad. “He tried to stay involved with us girls,” I admit. “But it was tricky. My mom was pretty mad at him for leaving.”
“That seems only fair.”
“Yeah. And it didn’t take long for my dad to hook up with someone else. He married Jana about five years ago. At first I thought she was really nice. We used to go over there and visit. But she wasn’t really comfortable with Lily . . .”
“So the visits stopped?”
“Also, Jana got pregnant. My dad finally got the son he’d wanted. I have a half brother named Nelson.”
“Do you ever see him?”
“I haven’t since he was a baby. My parents got into a big fight . . . I’m not even sure what it was about. I mean, besides the same old same old. But after that we didn’t go visit anymore. My mom said Dad didn’t want us there. She said he had his new family and we didn’t fit in.” I sigh. “I guess I believed her.”
“And your dad doesn’t call or anything?”
“No. I mean, he sends birthday and Christmas presents. But that’s about it. He doesn’t even pay child support.”
“Seriously? A guy can go to jail for that.”
“Yeah, I’m surprised my mom hasn’t gone after him.”
Now we’re at my house, but I’m not sure I want to go in. All the lights are on, but at least Crystal’s car is gone and my mom’s is there. I think that’s a good sign.
“Are you going to be okay?” Owen asks as he turns off the engine.
I force a smile for his benefit. “Oh yeah, this is probably nothing compared to some of the stuff I’ve been through.”
“I think my mom is right.”
“What?”
“You should be given sainthood.”
“Don’t you have to be dead first?”
“I’m not sure.”
Actually, I’m thinking that might be a possibility once I walk in the front door. My mom is going to kill me for this. Okay, not literally. At least, I don’t think so.
“Thanks for everything,” I tell him. “I’m sorry my life is such a mess. And I don’t even blame you if you don’t want to see me again.”
He just shakes his head. “No problem, Aster. I definitely want to see you again. You are so different than anyone else I know.”
“Yeah, you can say that again.” I reach for my bag.
“I mean, good different. You are . . . hmm . . . refreshing. Yes. That’s the right word. You are refreshing and invigorating.” He reaches over and touches my cheek. And suddenly I don’t know what to do. I have no response to his strange compliment.
But to my relief, he hops out of the pickup, then dashes around and opens my door before I can. “Thanks,” I tell him as he offers his hand. “But you might not want to walk me clear up to the door. My mom could be waiting with a loaded weapon.”
“Seriously?” He looks worried.
“Not seriously. But she’s going to be really, really ticked at me. There will probably be fireworks coming from our house tonight.”
“Okay.” He puts his hand on my arm, stopping me while we’re still in the shadows of the driveway. He pulls me close to him, and I feel his face next to mine. Then he kisses me. It’s a very sweet and gentle kiss, and to my surprise I lean in for more. But he stops it there. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” I say breathlessly.
“Take care, Aster.” He touches my cheek again, and I feel tingly.
“You too,” I call out as he heads back to his pickup. Then I hurry to the house, pull out my key, and let myself in. I quickly close the door behind me, thankful that Owen is safely on his way and unable to hear the yelling match that’s going on in here.
“You will go to bed!” my mom shouts.
“No! No! No!” Lily screams. Her voice is hoarse and sort of pathetic, like she’s been screaming all night and can’t hold out much longer.
“Yes, you will!”
“No!”
I hurry to where they’re standing in the hallway now. Lily’s face is blotchy—red and white—and her eyes are swollen, and despite all my resolve to step aside from the chaos of my life, my heart breaks for her.
“Aster!” she sobs. She comes running to me, throwing her arms around me so forcefully that we both nearly fall over.
I stroke her sweaty hair. “It’s okay, Lil,” I say into her ear. “Everything’s okay.” I can feel her melting now. It’s as if I’m her savior. And while part of me feels good to be so needed, part of me is sickened by it and wants to vomit.
“It’s about time,” my mom snaps.
“Go to bed,” I tell her. “I’ll handle this.”
Without saying another word, she stomps off to the other end of the house, and I am left to take a poor, wilted Lily to her bed. Even after I tuck her in, get her a drink, and read her a story, she is still shaking. “You left me,” she says in her tired and hoarse voice. “Why you go, Aster?” She’s so worn-out that she doesn’t even have any anger left. “Why you leave me?”
“I was coming back,” I assure her.
“You were gone. Gone, gone. I looked for you. I could not find you. I need you, Aster. Don’t leave me. Please. I need you.” She sits up and clings to me with fresh, brokenhearted sobs, and suddenly I feel like a piece of baklava, with layer upon layer upon layer of guilt.
11
I can’t sleep. Everyone else in the house is home now, sleeping soundly, and I am wide awake. But I can’t take lying here in my bed, feigning sleep while the volume inside my head is turned up to high. So I get up and creep out to the living room again. Instead of sitting on the couch and thinking like I usually do, I begin to pace back and forth, as if the movement will bring me an answer . . . or peace. I feel so lost, so alone, so desperate, that I finally just fall on my knees and beg God to help me. Although I’ve spent what seems like my entire lifetime fixing everything for everyone, it feels like my life is beyond repair.
I stay out there until nearly three in the morning, and then, not really feeling much better, I tiptoe back to bed. When I awake, the sun is shining brightly into my room, and Lily is tapping me on the forehead. “Aster? Aster? Wake up.”
I open my eyes and blink into Lily’s big pink face about three inches from mine, so close I can smell her breath, which is strong enough to wake the dead. “I’m awake,” I grumble, turning to escape her and see the clock. I’m surprised to see that it’s nearly ten o’clock. Last night’s chaos must’ve
taken its toll on everyone. Fortunately, it’s Saturday, so I don’t need to get Lily to the rec center today. And unfortunately, it’s Saturday, so I will have Lily for the entire day and the entire weekend.
“Well, it’s about time,” Rose says as she comes into the bedroom. She’s partially dressed, but her hair is still in hot rollers. “Sounds like you guys had quite a party last night.”
Lily, sitting next to my bed like a faithful puppy, just scowls. I lean back into my pillow and close my eyes, wanting to simply disappear.
“Get up, Aster,” Lily whines. “Time to rise and shine, sunshine!”
This actually makes me smile. This is exactly what I say to her when she sleeps late on a day when she needs to be somewhere. Who knew she was listening.
I open one eye to see her still peering at me. Her brow is creased with concern, and her eyes are sad. “You going to get up, Aster?”
“Yes,” I say, mustering false cheer. “See, I’m getting up right now.”
“Good.”
“You two,” Rose says in a tone that suggests disgust, although I think I detect a slight flicker of sympathy in her eyes. Or else I’m just imagining things.
“Okay, Lily, you go make your bed now. See if you can do it the way I showed you, and there will be a prize.”
“A prize?” She looks pleased.
“But only if you do it right.”
Now she looks puzzled, and I can tell she’s trying to recall what I’ve been attempting to teach her. It’s a challenge since we only do it on weekends when we have time.
“Remember the steps,” I say intensely, as if I’m telling her how to detonate a bomb. “First you fluff the pillow. Then you smooth the sheets, nice and straight. Then you pull up the bedspread and fold back the edge. Remember?”
She nods. “Yes. I remember.”
“Good girl.”
Then she leaves as if she’s going on mission impossible. And maybe it is. At least it gives me a little break.
“You are unbelievable,” Rose says. She holds up a hot pink top that I think makes her face look flushed. Of course, I don’t say this.
Just Another Girl Page 8