Greta wanted to thank Priya again but was tired of that word—so useless and bland. Feelings like what she had right now should come with a gift-wrapped box of puppies and a mariachi band. Here, Priya. This is how I feel. This.
Priya smiled and touched Greta’s hand again, squeezing it tightly. “Greta, I’m your woman on the inside now. What do you want me to do?”
Greta shrugged, not quite ready to speak and also not knowing what to say. She cleared her throat and took another drink. “Maybe just stick up for me if people talk about it.”
“Yes, yes. Done. But what else?”
Greta shrugged again. What else could there be—a torture session in the foods lab? “That’s all.”
“Greta, Greta, Greta.” Priya chuckled low. “You really are as kind as I suspected. You’d better leave the evil up to me. Too bad I don’t have your brother at my disposal,” she mused. “And when are you coming back to school?”
Greta gaped. After everything she’d just spilled, Priya had asked her when she was going back there. “I’m not going back. Not this term anyway.”
“And let them win?” Priya’s voice squeaked.
“It’s not a battle, and I’m not some social-justice warrior. I’m just a person…”
Priya raised her eyebrows, waiting for Greta to finish.
“I’m just a person who feels a little less human every time I walk through those doors. Every minute of the day, I wonder when I’m going to win the humiliation lottery.”
“But they’re wrong, and you’re right!”
“Yes, I know.” And she really felt it now, after talking to Priya—it wasn’t just some theory floating out there somewhere. “But the cost is too high for my…my soul, my humanness.”
She expected Priya to make retching sounds after that explanation, but it was the best she could do. Pieces taken from her that she couldn’t get back or that she fought to gather from diverse places and tried to reform, grotesque and misshapen. “I can’t fight that battle right now.” She felt, too, now that the weight had slid away, the sadness and anger—the wound that would need tending. Too much debris there before.
“Okay.” Priya sighed, tapping her fingers on the table. “Okay. I don’t know if I agree or fully understand, but I can respect that.”
When they stood to leave, Greta stooped to hug her. Priya, small inside Greta’s frame but strong. And surprisingly warm.
SIXTEEN
Greta arrived home to find Ash tearing up the house like someone who had lost the remote during the Stanley Cup playoffs. She closed the front door behind her and stared. Ash glanced up at the sound and straightened when he saw her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Looking for you,” he said, his shoulders squared defensively.
“Under a cushion?”
“I thought you might have left a note or something.”
“Oh.” Right. A note. She’d been gone a couple of hours, including the bus ride. “Sorry about that.”
“I thought maybe you’d gone to school after all.”
“Well, kind of,” she said. Ash raised his eyebrows in a question. “I went to meet Priya.”
“Why?” He looked distressed. “Why do you keep meeting with them?”
“She texted me, and we met in a very public place. She just wanted to talk.” When he didn’t look convinced, she added, “It went well. I think I have an ally now.”
Watching her, Ash’s face relaxed. “Good. I’m glad you could talk to her.” He cleared his throat and didn’t seem to know where to put his hands. They settled on his hips. Greta told him about Nate’s sleepover invitation.
“Why? We live right across the street. Why do we need to sleep there?”
“Because he’s our friend—our only friend—and he asked. I think he’s worried about us,” she added. Was Priya her friend now too?
“Yeah. Okay.” She knew Ash couldn’t deny they owed Nate big-time.
That evening they made tuna sandwiches and salad, leaving some in the fridge for Elgin and a note on the table. He shuffled out of his bedroom as they hauled pillows and blankets to the door.
“Moving out?” The alarm on Elgin’s face matched his disheveled hair and puffy eyes.
“Sleeping at Nate’s tonight,” Greta said. “He invited us.” She felt the need to smooth his hackles, that unstable worry. He didn’t want them to move out?
“Sandwiches in the fridge,” Ash said, pointing with his chin because of his full hands.
“Well, enjoy yourselves,” Elgin said. “And your friend Nate can come here sometime too.” He examined the over-watered fern on the table.
They tromped across the street to Nate’s house, Greta dropping her pillow in a snowbank on the way. Nate swung the front door open before they knocked. He had made plans. And written them on a small whiteboard hanging on the kitchen wall.
“My dad’s out with friends until after midnight,” Nate said, “so we’ll have the place to ourselves.” For most people their age, this would mean sneaking beer out of the fridge and an impromptu party in the basement. For Nate, it looked like...
“Fondu,” Greta read from the top of the whiteboard list.
“One cheese, one chocolate,” Nate said, banging around the kitchen. “I hope you didn’t eat already.”
“No.” They lied in unison and helped him chop fruit at the counter.
When it was ready, they moved to the living room, which was decorated in various shades of beige. While they ate at the coffee table, leaning over each other with skewers, dribbling, they moved to whiteboard plan number two: watching the 1992 Blade Runner, director’s cut. Ash shushed Greta every time she asked him to pass something, his fingers dragging in sauces as he grabbed random things and thrust them in her direction.
Number three: Scrabble. Greta knew Ash detested board games, with their cheerful colored cards and inconsequential points systems. Still, he didn’t complain as Nate started clearing off the coffee table to set up the game.
“I’m going to win,” Greta said.
“She’s going to win,” Ash echoed.
From the corner of the coffee table, Nate picked up a framed picture of a woman with flame-red hair and a crooked smile. He pressed it to his chest—an unconscious routine gesture. Then he jolted back to the present, eyes flitting between them, and placed it roughly on a nearby shelf. He didn’t look at them, his hands reaching for dirty plates and spilled fruit.
“Is that your mom?” Greta asked. If she’d been truly kind, she’d have said nothing. He’d never mentioned her before, and they’d never seen her come or go. Divorced? Dead too?
“Yeah, that’s her.” His face flushed, knowing he’d been caught.
“Are your parents divorced?” Nate would have mentioned if she’d died, right?
“No, they’re still married.” He stopped moving, probably knowing he’d have to explain now.
Ash and Greta leaned forward, waiting.
“My mom’s in the military, deployed in the Ukraine. She’s an infantry officer, gone for six months at a time.”
That wasn’t on the list of anything Greta expected. She didn’t know what to say. How terrible? How wonderful? Still alive, still married to Nate’s father and could, at any moment, stand too close to a land mine. No wonder Nate cradled her picture and probably wished on falling stars. Nate, too, waiting, waiting for results. Either an embrace at the end of a long flight home or…
“That must be stressful,” is what she said.
“I worry about her all the time.” Nate crouched to unfold the game board.
“Why didn’t you say something before?” Ash asked.
Nate shrugged, his the only pair of hands moving, turning over tiny letter tiles. “It seemed like you guys had enough to worry about.” They didn’t join in his busyness.
Ash and Greta shared a look. They had failed him—again. With Nate, always taking more than they gave. “Sorry if we made you feel that way,” Greta said. Did the
y ever ask him about his life? She wracked her brain to remember a question, a conversation. Across from her, Ash dropped his head.
“You can talk to us about anything,” she said, and Ash nodded, joining Nate in organizing the tiles.
“Okay,” Nate said. “Okay then. I do have a question.”
They looked up, waiting.
“How do you plan on finishing school and graduating?”
Neither of them answered. Ash started choosing his tiles, until Nate grabbed his and Greta’s hands, forcing them to look at him.
“How do you plan on finishing school and graduating?” he asked again.
Ash wormed his hand away. “I don’t know. They kicked me out, remember?”
“And you?” Nate turned to Greta.
Greta tried to quash a burst of irritation. “There’s more to this story than you know,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. But she couldn’t lose it on Nate—practically the Mother Teresa of teenage boys. “I won’t go back without Ash.”
“Listen, I’m not saying you should go back because I don’t have other friends there—I don’t, but I’ll be okay. As your friend, I’m telling you this is important.”
“Dude, it’s not an option,” Ash said, in the same tone he’d used when Roger and Patty got on his back.
“And that’s the only school in the city?” Nate asked. Greta had never seen him this tenacious before.
“Well, no…” she and Ash both mumbled.
“So how are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know!” Greta snapped.
They all paused, eyeing each other. The old Nate seemed to return to his body, his voice less like a police interrogation. “I know I’m being pushy,” he said, “but it’s all still possible at this point. You’ve only missed a few days. If you miss a month, it’s a different story. Promise me you’ll try.”
They looked at each other and then back at Nate. “We promise.” A bit of a dark horse, their Nate.
Greta stood next to him later that night, holding her toothbrush as they lingered outside the bathroom and waited for Ash to finish.
“I’m sorry we’ve left you alone at that school,” Greta said. “I know it’s tough there.”
Nate let out a puff of air. “To be honest, it wouldn’t matter which school I’m at. I’ve tried, but I just don’t fit in. Don’t even know how. I would if I could.” And what a disappointment that would be, a less-shiny version of Nate.
“Well, you’ve got us.” She bumped his shoulder, making him sway.
“Thank you.” He smiled down on her. “I get it, by the way, why you don’t want to go back.”
“Yeah?” Her gut tightened for a second. Would it be okay if Nate knew?
“It’s a twin thing, right?” Nate said. “Some unspoken bond? One feels incomplete without the other?”
Greta laughed. He wasn’t entirely wrong, just missing a few details. She leaned against his arm. Only a slight wobble. Almost as good as Ash.
She fell asleep on a foam mattress on the floor, with Ash and Nate playing Wizard’s Quest at the coffee table, Ash complaining about the rules. Then jerked awake. Every light off. Silence. A shadow over her, bending closer. Greta gasped and scrambled back, bumping her head on the bookshelf.
“Greta, it’s me.” A whisper.
She held her hands out to push him away and pinched her eyes shut. Waiting for the weight of his body to crush her. Her heart filled her whole throat—she couldn’t make a sound.
“I’m just bringing you an extra blanket.”
She knew the voice. Nate. Another part of her brain registered a soft, feathery layer spread over her body. The shadow stepped away.
She dropped her hands and sucked in a breath. “Nate?” she yelped. Her back still pressed against the bookshelf, the only light from the moon through the window.
“Sorry if I woke you. It gets cold in here at night. I have extra blankets for you and Ash.” He walked over to Ash’s sleeping form on the sofa and draped one over him too. Ash didn’t stir.
Greta drew another breath, aware of her sweat against the cold air. She watched Nate crawl into his own bed—a sleeping bag and crocheted pillow on the other side of the room. They didn’t speak again.
Greta’s heart dropped back down into her chest, still rattled. She focused on breathing, as though she’d been deprived for minutes and had to make up for it. Inching back under her blankets, Greta arranged the pillow under her head.
She thought Nate had gone to sleep when he asked her, “Were you having a bad dream or something?”
Greta swallowed, her throat dry. “Yeah. A bad dream.”
Greta saw it on her phone first, the inconspicuous white letters spelling out the date. She scrambled from her bed on the floor, the blankets tugging her legs like a giant finger trap. Ash, on the sofa, sat up and watched her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she whispered back, checking to see if Nate was still asleep. The curve of his spine faced them, unmoving. She gathered her clothes to get changed in the bathroom.
“Are you going to meet someone?”
Greta tried not to laugh. Who could she possibly meet up with next? Dylan? Matt? “No. I need to get something for Elgin. Don’t worry about it.”
Ash frowned. “Want me to come?”
“No, no.” She waved for him to stay. “I’ll be back soon.” She scooted to the bathroom before he could say more.
They both arrived at Elgin’s an hour later. Ash eyed her full arms and helped her shift things onto the table.
“Was this really necessary?” he asked.
“Shush.”
“How much did it cost?” Alice had left them a hundred dollars after cashing the check from Roger.
“It doesn’t matter.” She would have easily dropped twice as much.
Then she hovered, her eye on Elgin’s closed door. Didn’t the man ever have to use the bathroom? She moved all his plants, dusted and put them back. Out of boredom, she made pancakes from scratch and pressured Ash into eating at least four of them.
Near noon, a creak in the hallway brought her running, socks sliding on the floor. Elgin, more wrinkle than man, stepped toward the bathroom door.
“Elgin.” She grabbed his elbow, making him jump, and felt a pang of guilt at possibly triggering a heart attack. “Elgin, come see.”
She dragged him down the hall, his skin papery under her fingers. Shoving him near the table, she stopped behind him and pointed over his shoulder.
He stared blankly at the green leaves, the curve of colored petals, the plastic cellophane shucked aside. “What’s this?” he said, sounding a little more awake now.
“These are daffodils, and azaleas, and a tea rose plant.” She stepped around him to point, in case her explanation wasn’t clear. She’d taken the bus to Bunches, still too early in the year for the greenhouses that would spring up in grocery-store parking lots. “They’re to plant in your garden later. Maybe in the front bed?”
His chin quivered. He swallowed.
“Elgin, it’s the first day of March today!” She tugged on his arm like a little kid. “It’s March. Spring is coming!” She ignored the three feet of snow on the ground and the porch thermometer at minus fifteen degrees.
He lifted his chin to still it, water smudging the blue of his eyes. “Is it?”
“It’s March!” she said again for some reason. He stood immobilized, staring at the plants. A hostage being told today’s torture session was the last. “It’s March! March! March!”
Greta started clapping in time to the words. March, March, March. Elgin smiled, one side of his mouth tugging upward. She danced around the kitchen, clapping, chanting. Elgin joined in the clapping, laughing with her. Ash stood by the stove, his mouth hanging open. March, March, March. February had passed. They had survived.
“It’s going to be okay.” She hugged Elgin, cradled his bones. “We’re going to be okay.”
Ash looked
away as they wiped their eyes, sniffled.
After a minute Elgin straightened and said, “This calls for a celebration.”
SEVENTEEN
“Greta, come in! Put on some shorts! We’re making a frittata.” Elgin brandished a spatula and turned back to the stove, Ash by his side. Nate sat at the kitchen table, flipping through the deck of cards.
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Greta dropped the shopping bags in front of Nate, flexing her fingers where the handles had dug in. Then she surveyed the two butts side by side at the stove, Elgin wearing lime green today and Ash in some kind of Hawaiian-print Bermuda shorts.
“Ash, are those—” she began.
“Not a word, Greta,” Ash warned over his shoulder. “Not after this morning.”
“Fair enough.” She stifled a laugh, but they had already turned back to the frittata. “I found everything you wanted.” They had sent her to pick up the missing groceries for dinner. Ash had suggested they make lamb and invite Alice. Greta tried to give him a really? look, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. In the end, Elgin didn’t want lamb but invited Alice anyway, and Nate too. Greta hoped Nate wouldn’t mention anything about her “nightmare.”
An hour later, Greta, Ash and Nate stood gaping as Elgin emerged from his room wearing a baggy pair of black pants and loose button-up shirt. In the silence Elgin said, “Alice has instructed me to wear proper clothes. She’s bringing a friend.”
“Well”—Greta cleared her throat—“you look nice.”
Elgin smoothed the buttons on the front of his shirt before stepping back into the kitchen. As they arranged food on the table—the frittata, mixed-greens salad with balsamic dressing, salmon, and mushroom risotto—Alice and her friend walked through the door.
Ash started making some crack about her just showing up for the food, but his words dropped off midsentence. Greta, her back to the door, set down the napkins and followed his eyes. Alice hadn’t just brought a friend. She’d brought a boyfriend, or a friend who was a boy, with a black leather jacket and cheekbones. She’d brought Johnny Depp from thirty years ago.
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