37 Things I Love (In No Particular Order) (15 page)

He squeezes, and I’m relieved to finally get the feeling I’ve been looking for—glad they came.

Abby bounds into my room ahead of us. “So, what do you want to do?” she says, flopping onto the bed.

Colin tosses her a glance that says, “Hush.”

Abby throws one back, going, “What?” Then she says it out loud. “What, are we just going to sit here and, like, be sad?”

“Maybe,” I answer. “I’m not sure.”

“Oh,” she says, with a slight pout. “Okay. I didn’t know.” She begins fingering the shopping bags on the floor. Mom and I went out today for new outfits to wear for all the … events this week. It’ll only be moments before Abby tears into them, eager to know what I bought.

“Actually, there are some things I need to do,” I tell them. “Can we just hang out for now?”

“Yeah, whatever you want,” says Colin. “Should I put on some tunes?”

“Okay.”

The doorbell rings. My heart leaps. “I’ll be right back.” I scrub back my hair with quick fingers, trying to smooth it a little.

Cara smiles when I open the door. She’s holding more Tupperware, no doubt from her mom. “Tuna casserole,” she says. “There’s going to be lots more where this came from. My mom is kind of crazy.”

“That’s good. We’re not into cooking much around here anyway.” I place the package on the kitchen counter, then lead Cara toward my room.

Now that everyone’s here, I don’t know what exactly I’m going to say about why I brought them all together. I just know I need them here, or I’m not sure I’ll be able to do what I have to.

Abby’s begun to unpack the shopping bags. Behind me, Cara sighs softly as we enter my room and she sees we’re not alone.

Abby rises off the bed, limbs spread, like a goose protecting its nest. “What are
you
doing here?” Her tone drips with fresh venom.

Cara stands firm in the doorway. “Ellis called, and I came. You got a problem with that?”

Abby advances. “I told you to leave her alone. Leave
us
alone!”

Cara steps in, too. “Not this time.”

“What?” I say.

Cara steams on. “Last time I came here, you shut the door in my face! But that was just you, wasn’t it, Abby? Not both of you.”

“Whoa,” Colin says, backing out of the line of fire. “What the hell?” He looks to me for help, but I’m utterly confused.

“Go peddle it someplace else,” Abby shouts. “We’re not buying.”

“Why do you have to be like this?” Cara yells back. “Some friend you turned out to be.”

“You didn’t want to be
friends
with Ellis, though, did you?” Abby’s gone spitting hot mad. Her hands shake.

Cara flushes red. Anger? Embarrassment? I can’t tell.

“Wait a second,” I say.

“It doesn’t matter, Ellis. I was protecting you.” Abby glances at me. “Anyway, Cara was just leaving.” Abby makes a shooing motion with her hands. Colin looks on, stunned.

“No one is going anywhere,” I say. “Not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

Abby and Cara stare at each other. Long, slow moments pass in almost silence. We all breathe, agitated. The shopping bags rustle against Abby’s feet. Music hums from the speakers, too low to cover anything.

“You lied to me.” Cara looks on the verge of tears. “Ellis never hated me. She never even knew I liked her.”

“Get out!” Abby cries. “Get out before you ruin everything!”

“Hey,” I say, “Abby, it’s my house. I invited you both.” I’m trying to wrap my mind around what they’ve been saying.

Mom appears in the doorway, looking mussed and sleepy. “Girls, what’s going on here?”

“Mom, we’re fine. Just go away.”

Colin closes his slack jaw, hops to the rescue. “It’s okay, Mrs. Baldwin,” he says, taking Mom by the arm and leading her into the hallway. “It’s some kind of girl thing. It’s going to be fine.” He closes the door behind them, and for a moment my heart flies in his direction, because I know Mom is in good hands.

The latch clicks soundly, and it’s the three of us. The emotions flying between us are jumbled into a mess. Love and friendship and anger and history. Attraction, confusion. Promises, secrets. Lots of things said and unsaid.

Anger burns hottest; it sucks up all the air in the room.

Cara and Abby light into each other, yelling at the top of their lungs. I hear nothing but noise. I can’t hear what I need out of this. I can’t find in this a shred of meaning. I can’t fix it, and the last thing I need here and now is another thing broken.

They fight, over and above me, around me. I called them here for me, and that’s not what this is. I am churning in place. Churning, churning, churning …

“Stop it! Both of you!”

They freeze, turn, stare.

I am not the girl who shouts. I am not the girl who shows her anger. I’m the one who lets it all wash over me like nothing matters, when everything, everything does.

They gaze at me, faces flushed and tear-streaked.

“See, you’re upsetting her,” Abby snaps.

“No,” I shout. “You are!”

Abby stares at me with wounded puppy dog eyes. “I just—” she says, at the same time as Cara says, “Ellis—”

I hold up my hands. “Just let it go,” I whisper. “Please. I need you.”

35

A Good Cry

Today, my heart is broken. That’s how I found the way in.

A CALMING TRUCE
settles over the room, despite the fact that we are all mysteriously crying. Well, in my case, it’s not such a mystery. I sink into my desk chair. This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

“I need you to not hate each other, please,” I beg. “Just for today.”

Cara lifts the end of her shirt to dry her eyes, revealing her flat, perfect stomach. “I’m sorry,” she says. “We’re being stupid.”

With a trembling smile, she starts across the rug toward me. She slides her fingers into my hair at the side of my face, and hugs my head to her middle. Her shirt dries my tears, too. Then she kneels and wraps her arms around me. I let my head rest on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again.

Abby drops back onto my bed among the shopping bags. She hiccups back tears, watching us get closer while she’s sitting alone.

A soft knock comes at the door, and Colin pokes his head in. “It got quiet,” he hems. “Can I…”

“Yeah, come in,” I say, lifting my head. “Thanks for, you know.” I wave my hand in the general direction of Mom’s room.

He shrugs, making a beeline for Abby’s side, noticing her tearful face. He fetches tissues and distributes them to Cara and me before settling beside Abby with the rest of the box. I can’t help but smile. Colin, ever dutiful.

Colin bumps the volume on the stereo, and for a while, there’s silence except for that. He puts his arms around Abby, who leans into him, probably just long enough to reignite his fantasy. I wonder if she will ever open her eyes and realize that she has someone, in a way that I have never had before.

But I think that’s changing. Cara sits on the floor beside me with her bent arm resting on my knees. I don’t know what it means, but I can’t worry about that now. It’ll unfold or not, but later.

“I have to write a speech,” I say. “I don’t know what I’m going to put in it. I just … I didn’t want to be alone.”

Cara squeezes my knees. “We’ll be here.”

Abby sits up, noses into the shopping bags. “Do you know what you’re going to wear yet?”

“Come on, Abby,” Cara mutters.

Abby frowns. “What? Maybe it would help.”

“Sure, maybe,” I say. “Why don’t you work on that?”

I spin out from under Cara’s arm, toward the desk. Abby begins strewing clothes all over the room. Strangely enough, it does help. It makes things feel more normal. Colin deejays for us, flipping from song to song, keeping it fast and upbeat. Cara occupies a corner of the bed, feet on the wall, giving Abby space to work. Her gaze angles upward, perusing my bookshelf upside down.

My laptop is open, waiting. I’ve got clean sheets of paper, pens, and pencils, in case it’s easier to make notes by hand.

We’re in a holding pattern.

I’ve got nothing.

“Colin,” I say finally, “we have a bunch of food in the kitchen. People brought stuff over.”

“Yeah?” he says, then shrugs. “I could eat. Want me to get some stuff?”

I glance from him to Abby. “Yeah, can you guys get something? There’s a lot.”

Cara rolls to her side and looks at me, maybe knowing what I’ve done, maybe wondering why I need us to be alone for a minute.

“Okay,” Abby says, stepping back from the row of outfit pairings.

When they’ve gone, Cara says, “What’s wrong?” then immediately makes a face. “I mean—well, you know.”

“I have to think of something to say.”

“Is there some way I can help?”

I feel that there is, but Colin and Abby will be back any minute. The moment will pass, and I’ll be lost against this blank page forever.

Cara drags her fingers through her hair. “Do you want to try saying some stuff to me? Then if it feels true, you can write it down.”

“He’s the only one I can talk to.” I clutch the loose paper.

“Can you talk to him in your heart?”

I stare at the nearest framed photo of Dad. “I don’t know. I’ve never had to do that.”

Pause. “Sure you have.”

And she’s right.

36

Memories

Everything that says to me, “You were really here.”

I HAVE TO EULOGIZE
my dad today. I have to stand in front of a room full of people who will never know what it’s like to miss him the way I do and try to explain.

As I turn my brain toward this impossibility, I remember a bunch of strange and useless things.

My favorite days when I was little were when we’d go on our adventures. To the park, the zoo, the museum, or even his latest building site, where I got to wear a hard hat.

Ellis
, he would say, in a giant bear-hug voice,
what do you like best today?
And I would screw up my face and think as hard as I could.
Butterflies. Marmalade. Lollipops. The sky.

Aahhh … but do you love it?
And he would leap toward me, tickling fingers traveling on my tummy.

I love it!
I would squeal, struggling through my laughter.

And when he was done being silly, he’d grab me up in his arms and say,
Well aren’t you going to ask me?

Daddy, what do you like best today?
But I already knew the answer, because it was always the same:

I like everything, baby. But what I love is YOU.

37

Saying Good-bye

It’s a stretch to say I love it. But I think, right now, I’m supposed to stretch.

MY LEGS SHAKE
as I walk to the front of the funeral home chapel. The colorful crowd of faces poking up above a sea of dark suits and dresses reminds me of foam caps on ocean waves. What a weird thing to think at a time like this.

I unfold the small paper I’ve been clutching.

“There’s only one thing I want to say,” I begin. “It’s been two years since my dad’s accident.” I swallow hard; it sounds like forever, but in some ways it seems like only as many days. “He had just turned thirty-seven the week before. He blew out all the candles in one breath.” I pause. “I remember telling him that he was really old.”

Soft, sad laughter titters over the room.

“When I was little, Saturdays were our date day. We’d go to fun places.” I shuffle my feet. “He always wanted to know what I liked best.”

In the front row, Mom smiles. Remembering, maybe.

“So I made a list. Thirty-seven things I would like him to know that I love. One for every year he was … here.” I pause. “Really here.”

I glance at Mom, who nods.

“I’m not going to read them out loud. It’s a little personal,” I say. “But just in case he’s listening, he’ll know what it is I’m putting in here.” I step toward the coffin and slide my list right into Dad’s folded hands.

Then I wait, because I wonder if it can happen in one instant—to start to feel like things are going to be okay.

I guess not.

I turn to look at Mom, who smiles, her eyes miraculously dry. She gets to her feet and comes toward me. Maybe she sees that I don’t know how to walk away. Maybe she knows me after all.

She puts her lightweight arms around me, but it’s enough to hold me down. “That was beautiful, honey,” she says in my ear. “You said everything.”

I release Dad’s stiffened fingers, let her hug me.

*   *   *

THE RECEIVING LINE
is long, the people in it, boring. It’s weird, but we had to make the funeral private and put people on a guest list, because a few of Mom’s wacko fans have tried to turn up for things like this in the past.

My people all came. Cara, Colin, Abby, Mrs. Scottie, Carmen. We invited their families, too, so Evan’s here, and all the parents. Plus Carmen’s husband, who’s a beefy little guy, and they look adorable together. I thought about inviting Dr. K-H, too, but I’ll be seeing her again tomorrow, so I guess that’s good enough.

Mom’s list was much bigger. Strange people shake my hand and hug me, particularly some who I wish would just move on. One of Mom’s coworkers hugs me so long that I actually yawn over her shoulder.

Behind her in line, Abby snickers. We share a glance that makes me feel like old times. But then the feeling fades.

I shrug free of the woman to greet Abby and her mom. Abby and I stand in front of each other for a minute. Neither of us seems to know what to say. How do you go back to normal after something like this? A fight is just a fight sometimes, and in those times you can shut it away in a room and never look at it again. Other times it breaks free. Then it is a wide open window that gives you new air to breathe.

But it’s not just that. I am changed, and probably she can see it. Without Dad, I’m a new me. A me I don’t know yet. And maybe that’s too big for who we are.

“The outfit looks good,” Abby says, straightening my collar. It’s a flowy black skirt and a black and red striped top that she put together for me the other day.