I nod, pull an apple out of my pocket and turn it in my hands. “Uh-huh.”
It’s weird. Even after seeing those old pictures of myself, even after realizing I was never fat after all—even after deciding that I had to deal with all this stuff—eating is still hard.
I take a bite of apple and chew. It tastes like nothing.
I look at Max. My stomach is in knots. I wonder if anything will change between us if I ask her about what Zelia said.
She frowns. “Is something wrong? You’re so quiet.”
“I, uh, Max. There’s something...Zelia said something about you. I don’t know if it’s true but...”
“What did she say?”
“She said you were...that you are...gay.”
Max just looks at me. Motionless. Waiting.
I turn in my seat to face her. “I don’t care if you are. I mean, I care but I don’t...you know...”
Max is quiet for a moment, and I listen to the drumming of the rain on the car roof. Her eyebrows are drawn down, straight dark lines over her brown eyes. A muscle twitches in her jaw. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I should’ve told you the truth.”
“It’s not like you lied to me,” I say. I’m trying not to feel hurt that she didn’t trust me. “I just...I guess I just made an assumption.”
“I lied,” Max says. Her eyes are dry but her voice is low and full of tears. “There are lots of ways to lie. I just lied with silence instead of words.”
I’m quiet for a few minutes, thinking. Lying with silence. That’s the same thing I’ve been doing ever since I left Georgetown. “It’s okay,” I say. “Really. I get it.”
“You know, I really wanted to tell you,” Max says. “I didn’t want you to find out from someone else.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She sighs, looks at me quickly and looks away again. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react. Not that I thought you’d be homophobic.I know you’re not like that. I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.”
“I wouldn’t have been.”
Max shrugs. “Lots of girls would. Jas and Maisie are. Not that they’ll admit it. ”She scowls. “You’ll notice they don’t necessarily want to hang out with me anymore, though.”
I study her face. “They just say you’re really busy. Doing your own thing. They’ve never said anything bad about you.”
“No?”
“No. Actually, I got the impression that they thought you didn’t have time for them.”
Max doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then she sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m paranoid. To be fair, I guess I haven’t given them much of a chance to get used to the idea.”
The wind and rain are deafening. I shiver and pull my jacket tighter around me. Max starts the engine and cranks the heat.
“Max?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal.”
She looks at me warily. “I guess so.”
I think for a moment. “I just wondered...how do you know you’re gay?” I’m worried about using the wrong words, worried about her thinking I’m judging or doubting her. “I don’t mean I don’t believe you. I just mean, how did you decide? I mean, did you always know or...”
Max runs her hands through her spiky hair and lets them drop back onto the steering wheel. “I think I’ve always known.” She pauses, looking thoughtful. “Last year I tried dating a guy. It didn’t last long. It just felt all wrong.” She turns to me. “Actually, don’t mention this to anyone, but it was Tavish.”
“Really?” For some reason, this bothers me a little.
“Yeah. But like I said, it didn’t go anywhere. We’re good friends, but that’s where we should have left it. But that’s okay. He’s a cool guy, and we’re still buddies.”
“Huh.” I stare out the window, squint into the rain, watch the waves sending sheets of salty spray high into the air.
Max gives me a crooked grin. “I figured if I couldn’t feel that way for a guy like Tavish, I might as well quit trying.”
I nod, trying to take this all in, to figure out where it all fits, where I Wt. I should have known that Max, always so sure of herself, would be sure about this too.
“Max?”
“Yeah.”
“You know how I told you about the stuff that happened back at my old school? The stuff those girls did?”
She nods.
I roll the words around in my mouth, trying to feel out how they will sound. “They wrote on my locker one time. They wrote...they wrote Sophie Keller is a dyke.”
Max’s face looks all tight, like she’s thinking a whole bunch of things and trying to decide which ones to say out loud. Finally she just looks at me and shrugs. “Assholes.”
“Yeah. Yeah, but...”
She shakes her head. “But nothing. They’re assholes. Anyway, it’s something only you can know.”
I make a face. “But I don’t know.”
We sit in silence for a minute. Max sighs.
“Look,” she says. “This is the way I see it, okay? I think...some people just always know. Like me. And then a whole lot of people never even think about it. They just assume they’re straight and they never even question it. And then, for some people, it’s just not that clear.”
I stare at her. “That’s it? I thought you were going to tell me something helpful.”
Max laughs softly. “I’m sorry. But you’ll figure it all out, Soph. You’re one of the smartest people I know.” She grins at me. “Well, most of the time, anyway.”
“Thanks a lot,” I say. I haven’t figured anything out, but for some reason I feel a little better. Like maybe not knowing isn’t really such a problem after all.
Twenty-seven
ON SATURDAY MORNING, I sleep late and wake up to a blue sky and sunlight streaming in my window. There is frost on the
I throw off the covers, pull on jeans and a sweatshirt, and splash water on my face. In the mirror, my gray eyes look wide and startled and my hair is a wild frizzy mess. I take the stairs two at a time. I have to remind myself to eat. Force myself, really. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Sometimes I manage it, and sometimes I don’t. Even so, it feels like an absurd amount of food after months of starving myself. And I am still nervous about gaining weight.
I pour myself a bowl of cereal. Max says I’m way too skinny. I know she’s right, sort of. I can see it every time I look in the mirror now. Still, it’s helpful to have her as a more neutral observer. I don’t always trust myself, but I do trust her to tell me the truth. So I’m trying to keep eating, at least a little. It feels scary, but okay. It feels like I’m in control.
MOM DRIVES ME to the hospital. She’s had her hair highlighted with blond streaky bits, and she keeps checking it out in the rearview mirror.
“It looks good,” I say.
She looks at me. “Do you think so? Not too obvious? Not too much?”
“No, it’s nice. It looks like summer. Like you’ve been at the beach.”
She adjusts the mirror back to its proper position and turns in to the hospital entrance. “Here we are.” She pulls up to the passenger drop-off area and stops the car. Then she turns off the engine. “Sophie...”
“Yeah?”
“Look, I know you’re probably in a rush to see Zelia, but there never seems to be a good time to talk lately. And I just wanted to say something.”
I feel instantly anxious, like I’ve done something wrong.
Mom looks as nervous as I feel. “This move out to Victoria,” she begins, “it’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be. Seeing your Gran all the time...well, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it was like when I was growing up.”
“You have?” It’s so hard to imagine Mom being my age, although obviously I know she was.
She pulls on her lower lip with her teeth, just like I do when I’m nervous. “I love my mother. You know that. I wouldn’t have moved us out here if I didn’t.”
She sighs. “The thing is, Gran used to nag at me constantly. She criticized every little thing I did. Everything. And she always had a million questions about where I was going and who I was seeing.”
“I can imagine,” I say, feeling a surge of sympathy at the thought of having Gran for a mother.
“I feel bad saying that about her, but I want you to understand. I’ve always promised myself I wouldn’t be like her, as a mother. I don’t want to...well, be on your case, as you’d say.”
I shake my head. “You’re not.”
She looks at me for a minute without saying anything. “Well, good. I’m glad you don’t think so. But I have been worried about you since we moved out here, and I don’t know...I wanted to respect your privacy, but maybe I should have asked more questions about what was going on.”
“Mom...I like it here. Better than Georgetown.” I meet her eyes. “Honest.”
“Good. Good. But I just wanted to say, if you ever want to talk to me about anything...”
“No, I don’t. I mean, I don’t need to. I’m fine.”
She nods. “I’m glad. But you know, if you weren’t fine...and you didn’t want to talk to me...there are other people you could talk to.”
I turn away and look out the window at the hospital. “You mean, like counselors?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t need that,” I say quickly.
She nods again. “That’s fine. I just wanted to make sure you knew it was an option.”
I don’t say anything for a minute. I think I might cry if I try to talk, and I don’t want to. I swallow hard. “Mom.”
“Sophie.”
“I know I can talk to you.”
“Good.” She smiles at me, but her eyes are serious. “But believe me, I know that sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone who isn’t your mother.”
I shake my head. “You’re not like Gran.”
Mom sighs. “Oh, I try not to be. But sometimes...well.”
A car honks behind us.
“Damn it,” Mom says. She sticks her hand out the window and waves for the car to go around us. “I guess you’d better go.”
“Okay.” I don’t move. “Mom?”
“What is it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Just, thanks.”
She smiles. “Say hi to Zelia for me. I hope she’s doing better.”
“I will.”
The car honks again, the driver leaning on the horn this time. Mom and I exchange glances.
“Type A driver,” she says. “You’d better go.”
“At least if he has a stroke, he’s already at the hospital.”
Mom shakes her head at me, but we’re both laughing as I get out of the car and wave good-bye.
I RIDE THE elevator up to Zelia’s ward. I still have to tell her that she can’t stay with us and I wonder how she’ll react. Zelia’s unpredictability used to draw me to her. Now it worries me. I don’t want to lose her, but I don’t know if she’ll let things be diVerent between us. She’s always been the one who makes the rules.
Zelia’s allowed to go out for a walk with me, so we wander through the hospital grounds and over to the Starbucks by the grocery store. I order a black coffee for myself and a chai latte for her, and we sit at a table by the window. It seems like we should be able to feel the warmth of the sun, but people keep coming in and out and the draft is icy.
She’s in a good mood, chattering away about the other patients she has met and the staff on the ward. Her stories are awfully funny and I can’t help laughing, even though sometimes I think I shouldn’t.
Finally she asks, “So did you ask your mom?”
I nod.
Zelia looks at me. Some emotion I can’t identify flickers across her face and she lifts her chin. “I guess she said no, huh?”
“Yeah.” I hesitate and take a sip of my coffee. It is tempting just to let my mother take the blame.
She gives me a lopsided grin. “I knew she was going to. She came to see me.”
I almost spill my drink. “She did?”
“Yeah. She didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head.
“Right after—you know. The next day.”
“Before me,” I say. I know when it must have been: when I was lying in the tub feeling sorry for myself.
Zelia meets my eyes. “Yeah.”
“Zelia...I’m sorry. I should’ve come sooner.”
She shrugs it off. “Whatever.”
Her voice cracks a little, and I remember Mom saying that I’m more important to Zelia than I realize.
“I really am sorry,” I say. “I got kind of freaked out. Scared.” I touch her arm for a second. “I’m glad Mom came.”
“Yeah. She was pretty nice to me. But she did say that I couldn’t stay with you guys. She thinks Lee and I need to sort things out.”
I think about that for a minute. “Will you? Are you going to talk to her?”
Zelia frowns. “Maybe. If she’ll listen.”
“You know,” I say slowly, “I used to think you hung out with me because you liked my mom so much.” I wait, watching her face.
She laughs. “Idiot. Your mom is amazing, but I wouldn’t hang out with you if I didn’t like you.”
I let out a long breath. “Well, good.”
Zelia laces her fingers together and rests them on the table. “I liked you the first time I saw you. All that gorgeous crazy red hair. You looked like you should be laughing, but you had such a serious face all the time. You were hanging out with those girls. You know, the Clones.”
“Yeah?”
“And you looked...I don’t know. Bored. Kind of disconnected or something.” She shrugs. “You looked how I always felt.”
“Really? I did?” It’s the last thing I expected to hear.
Zelia shrugs, looking uncomfortable. As if she’s said too much. “Well, whatever. And then when I met your mom, I just thought you were so fucking lucky. If my mom was like that, I’d tell her everything.”
“It’s not that easy,” I say, thinking about the conversation I just had with my mother.
“You don’t even try.”
I shake my head. She might be right, but I can’t take any more in right now. Besides, I think things with Mom and me are changing, maybe. “So you’re not mad at her for saying you can’t stay with us?”
“Nah.” She flips her hair off her face. “I fucked up, with the files and everything. I’m not a total idiot, you know. I get it.”
I bite my lip, wondering whether to say anything. Then I take a deep breath and go ahead. “Maybe it’s better that way for us too. You know, if you’re not staying with us. I mean, I still want to hang out with you, but I want to have other friends too.”
Zelia pushes her latte away from her and leans back. Her eyes narrow. “This is about Max, isn’t it?”
“Partly,” I admit. “I don’t want to have to choose between you all the time.”
“She really is a dyke, you know. I didn’t make that up.” There is a spiteful edge to her voice.
I look at her straight on. “I know she’s gay. Lesbian. Queer. Whatever. I don’t care, Zelia.” I don’t want to have this conversation now, but there is no way not to.
Zelia looks down and stirs the foamy surface of her drink with her fingertip. “God, don’t tell me you’re a dyke too.”
I am silent for a moment. My heart is beating so fast I wonder if she can hear it. I stick my hands in my jacket pockets. Our bag of rings is still there. “No. Well, I don’t know.” I shake my head, as if I can shake all the doubts right out of it. “Right now I’m not really interested in getting involved with anybody. At all. And Max and I are just friends, if that’s what you’re really asking.”
Zelia nods but doesn’t look up. Her long dark lashes hide her eyes. For a second I wonder if she is crying. Suddenly I realize that Zelia o
nly pretends not to care what other people think. And I totally fell for it because I wanted to be more like that myself.
“I still want to be your friend,” I say.
She snaps her head up, chin set. “I don’t need your pity. Even if I am...what was it you said? Messed up?”
“I’m sorry I said that,” I admit. “I was angry. Anyway, who isn’t messed up?”
She looks at me. She has no makeup on, and in the bright sunlight I can see that her blue eyes are ringed with violet shadows. She sighs. “No, it’s okay. You were right anyway.”
“It’s not pity,” I say. “I like being with you. I...well, you’re really important to me.” I reach out my hand and lay it on the table in front of her. “So...are we still friends?”
Zelia takes my hand. “Yeah,” she says. “We’re still friends.”
A grin spreads across my face, and I don’t try to hide it. I reach into my pocket with my free hand, pull out the bag of rings and drop it on the table between us.
She grins back. “You know, I had to take out that belly button ring,” she says. “It got all infected.”
I wince. “Gross.”
Zelia turns the bag upside down and the rings tumble out. “You pick first,” she says.
I gaze at the jumbled pile of gold, the colored glass glinting blue, red and green. I pick a twisted gold band with a blue stone and slide it onto my finger. It slips down my finger and catches the light.
Zelia picks a matching band with a red stone. She holds up her hand and I hold up mine. Fingertips press to fingertips.
“Friends forever,” I say.
Zelia nods slowly. “Friends forever.”
Twenty-eight
DECEMBER FLIES BY, cold and clear. Things gradually resume some kind of rhythm. Michael has moved out, and Zelia is back at home with Lee. They seem to be managing. Whenever I ask Zelia how it’s going with her mother, she just shrugs and says it’s fine. I think maybe it really is.
I know they’re seeing a counselor the hospital referred them to. Her name is Julie. Zelia mentions her quite a bit. Julie says this. Julie thinks that.
I tease her about it. “Julie, Julie, Julie. Do I get the impression that you’re not absolutely hating talking to this therapist of yours?”
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