Thanks but I think I’m gunna mug of steaming tea and Namaste hands and bathtub with bubbles and six-pack of beer. Jk about the beer.
Ugh. She’s not cool enough to get away with spelling out her emojis.
Cool cool. Ttyl
Bee shuts her phone off, feeling lonelier than ever.
GEMMA
By the time she gets to work, Gemma’s made the decision to back out of Aspen. She’ll need to give Ruth plenty of notice, which means telling her today, and hopefully she’ll be able to get her money back for the rental. She’ll have to forfeit her deposit, but that’s chump change for Ruth—maybe $1,000. Gemma will offer to pay half; it’s the right thing to do. She doesn’t want to owe Ruth yet one more thing.
Gemma had been thrilled at how enthusiastically Bee spoke about her life at dinner. The higher dosage of Prozac was working. She moved seamlessly from topic to topic, her cheeks pink with excitement. Her girl had joined the world again. Gemma was so relieved, so happy.
Until Ruth exploded and told her to shut up. And then there was Ruth’s treatment of Simon. She was downright rude to him. Hostile. Confrontational. Suggesting they all FaceTime Tom. For what purpose? To embarrass him? She needs a break from Ruth and a break from California. It’s time to go back east.
* * *
Late that afternoon, before she leaves work, Gemma calls Ruth. Ruth answers on the first ring and Gemma’s so nervous she starts to cry. Her plan was to be firm and maybe lie the teensiest little bit. My father’s sick. He asked if we’d come to Derry for the holidays. I hate to cancel on you last minute, but I’m so worried about Dad. He had a minor stroke a few years back. But all she can do is weep—she’s terrified.
“Gemma. What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Bee!” she whimpers in desperation, selling out her daughter. Bee had sworn her to secrecy, now she’s spilling her daughter’s guts to the one person Bee expressly asked her not to tell.
“She’s depressed. She’s on Prozac. It was working for a while and then it petered out. We just raised the dosage. Her grades are terrible. I’m so worried. I mean imagine if this was happening to Marley? She’s become a recluse. She barely ever leaves the house anymore. All the other girls are in relationships but her, she says. That can’t be true, can it? She thinks she’s disgusting. Ugly. It’s a vicious cycle.”
Ruth doesn’t respond. Why did she say that? Marley is even further away from a potential bae than Bee is. Gemma rushes to fill the silence.
“Once she gets back on her feet, hopefully after the New Year, once the higher dosage kicks in, things will get back to normal.”
Still no response. “Ruth, are you there?”
“So what do you need me to do?” Ruth’s tone is unsympathetic and guarded, like she knows exactly what’s coming.
“We need a change of scenery. I—we need to go home. Back to New Hampshire for the holidays so Bee can see her cousins and I can spend time with my dad and brother. I just feel it’s the right thing for us now.”
This is all true; she didn’t have to lie after all. Gemma hears Ruth breathing rhythmically on the phone.
“Please, please don’t be mad. I wouldn’t do this last minute if it wasn’t for Bee.”
More breathing.
Okay, here comes the lie. “It was her psychiatrist who recommended we go away.”
“Hold on,” says Ruth briskly. Gemma hears Ruth shouting in the distance. “Marley! Spin class in ten minutes!” A few seconds later. “This is terrible news about Bee. I had no idea. You must be panicked.”
“You’re not mad?”
“The important thing is Bee. Doing what’s right for her. Getting her back on her feet.”
“Can you ask somebody else to go to Aspen?”
“Gemma, it’s three weeks until Christmas. Everybody’s already made plans. I’m not going to Aspen, certainly not alone.”
“Oh, that makes sense. It’s a big house,” Gemma squeaks.
“It’s a mansion.”
Ouch. “I know you’ve put money down. I’ll pay half the deposit.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“No, it is. Please let me do it.”
“Fine, if you insist.”
“How much is it?”
“I have to look at the contract. I’ll let you know.”
Gemma hears her sniffle. Is she crying?
“Do you think—” Ruth begins.
“What, Ruthie?” asks Gemma as gently as she can.
“Do you think maybe, I could come to New Hampshire, too? I wouldn’t have to stay at your brother’s house. I’d get a hotel room. I’d give you your space. You could do whatever you want during the days. Maybe I could just join you at night for dinner.”
Gemma’s never heard this sort of pleading, vulnerable tone in Ruth’s voice before. It’s sad, but she has to be strong. They need a break. She needs a break. She’ll come back refreshed, ready to renew her friendship with Ruth.
“Ruth, no, I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s going to work out. It’s going to be just immediate family this year. I hope you understand. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone back east for the holidays.”
A few seconds of silence in which Gemma actually crosses her fingers on both hands like a kid, as if she needs Ruth’s permission. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Don’t be silly. There’s this fabulous new eco-resort in Cabo I’ve been dying to try. I’ll finally have some me time. Meditate, spa, yoga, juicing.”
“That sounds great. I’ll be stuck in freezing cold New England.” Gemma hears the disingenuousness in her voice and hates herself.
“I’ve got to run. If we don’t get there early to spin class they give our bikes away.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“You’ll get through this. Things will be better next year.”
“Do you think so, Ruthie? Do you really think so?”
“Yes.” Ruth abruptly ends the conversation.
* * *
That evening Gemma gets a text from Ruth.
$6,000 for your share 1/2 rental. Talk later.
Gemma stares at the text in shock. Surely that was a typo and she meant $600.
You mean $600?
$6,000. Less than 30 days until occupancy—$12K nonrefundable was paid in full on November 24.
$6,000? Gemma will have to take that money out of her retirement account.
Could we work out a payment plan? Gemma hopes Ruth will say, as she always does, Don’t worry I’ve got it covered.
No problem, texts Ruth.
* * *
On Sunday morning, Gemma wakes with a growing sense of dread. Money dread. Bee dread. Ruth dread. She’s disappointed so many people. Made so many wrong choices. She initiates a conversation with her pod, IN ONE EAR AND OUT YOUR MOTHER.
SoccerMommy#1: Can I just say how stressful this time of year is? Is anybody else feeling that way?
LoveYouMore: SoccerMommy#1! We haven’t heard from you in months. Where have you been?
SoccerMommy#1: Sorry, it’s been crazy. But I’m back now and want to reconnect. My world has gotten too small. Miss you guys!
WineLuvva: We’ve missed you too.
DuckDuckGoose: I hate this holiday madness. Can I just give my DD an iTunes gift card?
WhatsUpWomen: While all of you are racing around like madwomen I’m planning what movie to go to on the eve of your lord and savior’s birthday. It’s not really his official birthday, is it?
LoveYouMore: I have a confession to make. I got scammed.
WineLuvva: What???
LoveYouMore: I got an email from my bank saying I needed to update my personal information IMMEDIATELY because there had been a security breach. I know, I know. I’m an idiot, but I was so freaked out. My sister-in-law had her identity stolen and they emptied out her retirement account.
LoveYouMore: Anyway I clicked on the link and as soon as I did my computer hung. I couldn’t even shut it off.
BearMama: How scary! What did you do?
LoveYouMore: I brought it to the emergency repair guy, you know the one on Shattuck? My computer was riddled with malware. It took him a couple of days, but he was able to clean everything up. I two-factor authenticated the shit out of every account I have. You guys should do the same.
BearMama: I’m so sorry to hear this happened to you.
LoveYouMore: I’m a walking talking cautionary tale.
SoccerMommy#1: I’m sorry too. Life just feels so fragile these days.
TotesAdorb: I think it has to do with the kids entering high school. These four years are going to race by and then they’ll be gone.
BarkingUpTheWrongTree: News flash—they return. My oldest graduated from college in May and she’s moved back in. The rents are so expensive here. Even though she’s got a job she can’t afford an apartment, at least not yet.
SoccerMommy#1: The stakes seem so much higher, in every regard.
BearMama: Grades don’t really count until sophomore year, is that true?
LoveYouMore: I don’t think SoccerMommy#1 is talking about grades.
SoccerMommy#1: I wish. I long for the day when all I have to worry about is my DD’s grades.
BarkingUpTheWrongTree: Is there anything we can do?
SoccerMommy#1: I’m okay. There are lots of people who have it worse than me. Like Gemma. I feel so sorry for her. I think she’s still really struggling to get Study Right back on its feet.
BearMama: I feel bad for her too. I don’t think she had anything to do with the cheating scandal. She was just a victim of circumstance. I’m going to enroll my DS for AP Bio tutoring.
LoveYouMore: I’m going to wait a little bit longer. See how it all turns out. Kaplan has discounted their SAT tutoring packages btw.
WhatsUpWomen: I saw Gemma at Starbucks the other day. She was with some guy, really cute. I think she’s doing just fine.
SoccerMommy#1: You never know. She seems like the kind of person who would put on a brave front.
WineLuvva: Well Bee’s certainly popular, especially after the talent show. The Slutz. In a way it’s kind of brilliant. I admire the girls for taking a stand. Refusing to let that word define them.
LoveYouMore: Did Gemma ground her? Anybody know?
TotesAdorb: Just the opposite. I heard Gemma threw her a birthday blow-out a few weeks later.
SoccerMommy#1: Pizza and Sour Patch Kids. Not sure I’d call that a blow-out.
BarkingUpTheWrongTree: So your DD was invited to Bee’s party, SoccerMommy#1?
SoccerMommy#1: No, she just heard rumors. She would have loved to have been invited, but she doesn’t run with Bee’s crowd.
SoccerMommy#1: I gotta go ladies. DD calling me. I’ll see you all next year! Let’s hope it’s better than this year.
BarkingUpTheWrongTree: Bye! xx
TotesAdorb: Byeeeee xxx
LoveYouMore: Byeeeeeeeeee xxxxxxxx
MARLEY
Marley’s mother has barely spoken to her in three weeks. Since Gemma canceled Christmas, Ruth has basically been comatose. She sits at home all day long watching The Crown; she’s obsessed with the royals. She’s stopped her Pilates and spin classes. She’s stopped essay coaching. She put her phone away in a drawer. It chimes all day long. Texts from frenzied kids whose applications are due the first of the year.
Have you had a chance to edit my essay yet, Ms. Thorne?
Ms. Thorne can you please get back to me?
Ms. Thorne please, please, please can you give me the edits on my essay?
It’s Saturday, December 19. This morning her mother is driving her to her father’s house for Christmas. Marley’s been counting down the days.
She’s so close to leaving. All she has to do is be perfect for the next couple of hours. Pimple-free, hair washed, breath fresh, no signs of perspiration. Nothing showing that shouldn’t be showing, nothing that would disgust her mother and cause her to punish her.
Marley’s dressed carefully to mask her flaws and draw attention to her assets. Her eyebrows. Her nail beds, her ankles. The things that her mother claims credit for. Genetics. Everything good came from her, everything bad came from Marley’s father.
Her phone vibrates. BEE. Are you excited for Sac?
! Are you excited for New Hampsha?
The only positive thing that came from that terrible, horrible, no-good Thanksgiving when her mother screamed at Bee was that she and Bee were in contact again. They still didn’t acknowledge each other in school, nothing had changed there, but they’d started texting.
Kinda. Supposed to be a blizzard
Ooo sledding. Maple syrup. Pine trees
Borrring
You’ll have a great time. See you next year!!
Ya x
Bee just texted her an x! Just one x, but she’s so starved for affection she’ll take it. Plus, she knows Bee is the kind of girl who doesn’t just give out her x’s indiscriminately. Giddy with excitement, Marley goes downstairs.
* * *
Her mother sits at the kitchen island. Unlike Marley, she’s made no effort to pull herself together. Her white silk robe has a stain on the arm. She hasn’t brushed her teeth; Marley can smell her morning breath.
“Did you sleep well?” asks Marley.
Ruth grunts.
“Do you want me to make eggs?”
Ruth grunts again.
“Scrambled or poached?”
“Don’t rush me!”
Marley knows what’s required. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“Then don’t go.”
Marley swallows a burp. When she’s nervous she starts mouth breathing, takes in too much air, and belches. “I have to. They’re expecting me. Oscar is expecting me.”
“Oscar, Oscar, Oscar. Does he still lisp?”
“He doesn’t lisp.”
“He lisps.”
Her mother has no idea. She hasn’t said a word to Oscar in years.
“When he was a toddler. He’s fine now. Normal.”
Her mother leans forward. Her left breast falls out of her robe. Marley whirls around, opens the fridge, and pretends to be rummaging around for something.
Almost there.
* * *
At ten thirty, Marley’s mother is still in her robe, sitting on the couch, watching Princess Margaret suck up to LBJ with dirty limericks in order to get a bailout. Oscar’s playing the violin in a recital at three. It’s the Saturday before Christmas. There’ll be tons of traffic. Marley google maps the route. Two hours fifty-three minutes.
“Mom, it’s ten thirty.”
“And?”
“We were supposed to leave at ten.”
Her mother shuts off the TV, grabs her keys and bag from the counter, and gives her a death glare.
Is she going to drive to Sacramento looking like that?
“Well? Do you want to go or not?”
Marley gets her suitcase and follows her out to the garage.
She drives aggressively, speeding, swerving around corners. Marley clutches the door handle.
“Stop being so dramatic,” her mother hisses.
She doesn’t get on the highway, instead she takes San Pablo. Why is she going this way? Was there an accident on 80? Marley’s dying to check Google Maps but knows her mother will lose it if she sees her on her phone. Only 150 miles with her mother in the car. That’s nothing. Two hours and fifty-three minutes. She can sit through that.
But Marley doesn’t have to sit through that, because fifteen minutes later her mother drops her off at the Greyhound bus station.
She throws a $100 bill at her and speeds off.
* * *
December 19, 1:25 p.m.
Soleil are you there?
Marley I’m so glad you’re checking in! What are your holiday plans?
I’m on a bus to Sacramento. Going to my father’s
Ohh, the traffic must be terrible.
Express lane
The benefits
of busing it! Your mom didn’t drive you?
Marley looks out the window, fighting back tears. Sitting next to her is a boy, well, a teenager, no, a young man, whatever—he’s hot! He’s wearing a Stanford sweatshirt and has an adorable case of bed head. If Marley were a different kind of girl she’d chat him up. How did he like Stanford? Was he ever intimidated by how smart everyone was? Was it true that if you majored in CS you had job offers by the end of freshman year? He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of Juicy Fruit gum.
“Want a piece,” he asks.
“Um, okay. Yes. Thanks so much! That’s really, really nice of you. Are you sure? Like you might need it all for your trip. I mean not if you’re only going to Sacramento. But you might be going farther. Taking another bus or something.”
He gives her a strange look. He holds out the pack to her and her hand shakes as she takes a piece. She unwraps the foil, folds it into threes, and pops it into her mouth.
“Yum,” she burbles, sounding like a second grader.
He puts in his earbuds, shutting her out.
Could you be any more of a loser? Marley thinks, and immediately tries to banish the thought from her mind. She’s an expert compartmentalizer. Then she remembers what Soleil has taught her. You have to feel your feelings. And how do you do that? Ask yourself what is my body feeling? Hot. Itchy. Crick in my left shoulder. Not good enough. Go deeper. What is she feeling? Like shit like shit like shit. She squeezes her eyes shut and sees the Tesla speeding off, weaving in and out of traffic, her mother desperate to get away from her.
Mom was in a bad mood. She was supposed to drive me but she dropped me off at the bus station, threw a $100 bill at me and then took off
What? Really? Have you ever taken the bus to your father’s before?
No
Are you okay? Are you safe?
Ya I’m fine.
How did that make you feel—your mother dropping you off like that?
Did I Say You Could Go Page 17
