“Darling, calm down, I’m not judging you. Whatever you decide is fine,” she says.
“I just want to be done with him.”
“I know. I do, too.”
“I want to put him behind me. Behind us. Forever.”
Ruth sucks on her upper lip, thinking, and then finally nods her head in the affirmative. She’s such a fighter. Gemma knows it’s not in her character to let this go.
“Maybe it’s best,” she says.
“It’s not that I don’t hate him. That I won’t go to my grave wishing the very worst for him. I’ve imagined his death. Gunned down in a car. Pushed off a bridge. Dismembered,” says Gemma.
Ruth’s eyes bug out ever so slightly. Gemma knows she’s going too far, but she has to let this part of her have a voice.
“He fucked with my kid. He made her want to kill herself. I’ll never get over that, never stop hoping he’ll get his comeuppance. But at what point does my attachment, our attachment, to finding him become unhealthy? As long as I keep looking, he’s alive. I keep him alive. I keep us bound together. But if I stop—well, I think something will lift. Some darkness. Am I being naive?”
“No,” Ruth says. “You’re right. It’s time to let him go.”
RUTH
Ruth calls Marley from the car. “Sorry, got stuck at Gemma’s. Did you cook?”
“Yeah.”
Ruth’s stomach growls; she’s starving. She feels so light, a wisp, like she could just drift away. The nightmare is over. They’ve made it through. They’re moving on.
A car pulls out in front of her, causing Ruth to slam on the brakes. Normally she’d tailgate the person. Today she slows down. She feels herself swelling with love and gratitude. Maybe she can hit the mall after dinner. With Marley? No, she won’t drag Marley along. Marley’s made her position clear. No more shopping sprees and no more Eileen Fisher, which is a shame, because it looks so good on her. It’s time to let Marley make her own fashion choices. Let her wear H&M. Let her wear Brandy.
“Gemma’s made a decision. She’s going to stop investigating Cam.”
“Okay,” says Marley, as if this news is no big deal, but to Marley it is no big deal. Her focus is on Bee’s recovery, not tracking down Cam.
“I hate the thought of him getting away with it. I just hate it. But I think it’s the right decision. A positive step. We need to look toward the future.”
* * *
Ruth has arranged to have the Peloton bikes delivered on Saturday.
The doorbell rings.
“Would you mind?” she calls out to Marley.
An unsuspecting Marley pads away in her sheepskin slippers. The door opens. She hears Marley gasp.
“Where do you want these?” The deliveryman’s gruff voice.
Marley walks back into the room, her eyes wide.
“Are you surprised?” asks Ruth.
Marley’s face is flushed with happiness.
“They’re Peloton bikes. The best spinning bikes you can get. They have thousands of online classes. And not just spin. Yoga. Stretching. Lifting. I know you hate the gym. All those people watching.”
“I don’t know what to say, Mom. Wow!”
“They cost two thousand two hundred dollars a piece,” says Ruth. Another fault she’ll have to correct. Telling people what you’ve spent on them doesn’t make you deserving of love. She’s deserving of love no matter what, isn’t she? She doesn’t have to buy people off.
“We’re going to have so much fun,” Ruth squeals.
“Where to?” says the deliveryman, getting impatient with their little love fest.
The following morning, they take the Peloton bikes for their first spin. It’s glorious! The two of them competing, Marley unsuccessfully trying to chase her down. Ruth isn’t even repulsed by Marley’s profuse sweating. Look at her girl go! If she Pelotons five days a week, Ruth calculates, the weight will just slide off. By summer she could be nearly svelte. Maybe she could get into a bikini.
BEE
Bee’s exhausted. Three more weeks to go in her outpatient program. Then what does she have to look forward to? Online classes, but that’s the only computer access she’ll have. Her mother deactivated all her socials.
“You know both my parents died when I was six,” says Ruth, coming to a stop at a red light. “We have that in common, losing a parent at a very early age.”
Bee traces a B on the window with her finger.
“It fucked me up,” says Ruth. “I’ve never gotten over it.”
The light turns green and Ruth accelerates. The inside of her car is like a cockpit. It smells like mint and limes. After years of wearing nothing but Angel, Ruth has finally changed her perfume. It’s a big improvement.
“I wonder how it is for you,” says Ruth.
Bee was only three when her father died. She has memories, but she suspects her mother has fed them to her, and over the years she’s just claimed them as her own.
Like the time they went to the San Francisco Zoo and they were cleaning out the lion’s cage and they put the lion in with the cheetah, and the otherworldly screaming that ensued from both the giant cats at the injustice of being made to share a cage made her fly into her father’s arms. “It’s okay, Beelicious, I’ve got you,” he said. Beelicious. Nobody had ever called her that again.
She was so jealous of Marley, who got to spend a good part of the summer with her father. She remembers calling Marley one July and begging her to come back to Oakland.
“Please, please come home,” she pleaded. “Nothing is the same without you.”
Bee heard laughing in the background, music. The sound of footsteps, somebody being chased around the kitchen table.
“I can’t. We’re going swimming,” said Marley. “Daddy just put on my water wings.”
Bee’s throat swelled with jealousy. “I can’t believe you still wear water wings. What a goddamned baby.”
She didn’t even really know what goddamned meant, but she knew it wasn’t nice. Her mother said it when bad things happened.
Marley gasped, as if Bee had punched her, and Bee had hung up on her.
“I don’t even remember him,” says Bee to Ruth.
“Really? You don’t remember anything?”
“No.”
“Well, I do and it was worse, much worse for me. I was six, and I lost both my parents at once. Do you know how they died? Has your mother told you?”
Bee’s unsure of how to respond. If she says no, Ruth will be insulted. If she says yes, Ruth will go into all the gory details. She can tell by the edge in Ruth’s voice that she’s getting worked up. Soon she won’t be able to hold in her feelings any longer, and she’ll expel them at Bee.
Most of the rides with Ruth are okay. They talk about books and movies and celebrities. But a couple of times a week Ruth devolves. Devolve. Is that the right word? Vocabulary is not Bee’s strong suit. Malfunctions? Crumbles? Shatters?
“Has your mother told you?” Ruth repeats.
Bee can hear her pulse pounding in her ears. “Yes, of course she has. That must have been so difficult.”
“Difficult is an understatement.” She stops at a red light so abruptly the tires screech. “I died that day. What you see here? This person sitting in front of you?” Ruth bobs her head rapidly. “Is a corpse,” she hisses.
“I’m so, so sorry,” whispers Bee.
“Well, I’m sorry for you.” The light changes and the car behind them beeps. “Fuck you, mister,” says Ruth into the rearview mirror. “Your life was ruined, too, Bee.”
No, it wasn’t. Her life wasn’t perfect, but it was good, it was okay, it was getting better, wasn’t it?
As they make the turn onto her street, Ruth says, “It’s my mother I miss the most. I was her world. I was her—person—and she was mine.”
She shakes her head. “That’s all I want. Is that too much to ask? One person that’s mine?”
Ruth pulls into the driveway.
“
That sounds nice,” says Bee.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Ruth’s deflating now. The hot air seeping out of her.
“Tomorrow, I’ll bring snacks,” Ruth says.
Bee knows an invitation is required. “Do you want to come in?”
“When will your mom be home?”
“Not until late she said, seven or eight,” Bee lies.
“Really? She’s never that late.”
“New client, I guess.”
“Mmm,” says Ruth. “Right.”
Bee waits to be released.
“You can go now,” says Ruth, waving her away.
Bee unlocks the front door, aware Ruth’s watching her. She should tell her mother how weird Ruth’s being, but she doesn’t want to stress her out. She’s so worried about everything. Ruth’s taken a huge load off her by driving Bee to and from her program.
Bee lets herself into the house and shuts the door, her heart rat-a-tat-tatting.
MARLEY
Her mother is in a vicious mood when she returns from dropping Bee off.
“Ten times a week, times three weeks. That’s thirty rides,” she shouts. “You’d think she’d be more grateful.”
“Bee could Uber.”
“Yes, Bee could take an Uber, on my dime.”
“But I thought you wanted to drive her. You insisted, didn’t you?”
Her mother glares at her. “A part of me thinks Bee deserved what she got. She was so full of herself. Shoving her boyfriend in everybody’s faces.” Her head hinges forward, waiting for Marley to agree with her.
“You have nothing to say to that? Nothing to add?”
“Not really.”
“Fine, then go to your room.”
“It’s four thirty. For the night?”
“Yes, for the night.”
“But I haven’t eaten.”
“I think you can go one night without dinner, don’t you, Marley?”
Her mother follows her up the stairs and locks her in. “See you in the morning, my darling,” she trills.
April 8, 5:01 p.m.
Is it illegal for somebody to padlock their kid into their room every night Soleil?
Are you asking for a friend?
Maybe
Are you asking me to read between the lines?
I don’t want to get anybody in trouble. I’m fine. I can take care of myself. I don’t want you to call child protective services or anything. You have to swear you won’t
I can’t swear that Marley.
Then I can’t tell you
Face sighing. Okay I’m not going to press you for details. But if I feel you’re in any danger I’ll have no choice but to report it, so don’t put me in that position unless you’re prepared for that outcome, got it?
Got it
BEE
Her mother wanted to splurge and take the four of them out to Wood Tavern, but as soon as she suggested it, Bee got a stomachache. She wasn’t ready to leave the house yet.
Other than going to Alta Bates, Bee hasn’t been out in public. She’s desperately afraid of running into kids from school. She knows this will happen soon enough, but she’s not prepared. She has a skin but it’s newborn. A few more weeks of toughening up, then she’ll go out. But tonight—it’s lasagna and salad at home.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” says her mother, setting the table. “All of us together. It’s been a while.”
“Has it?” Bee throws the cherry tomatoes into a colander and runs water over them.
“Well, you’ve seen Marley, and obviously Ruth, and I’ve seen Ruth, and occasionally Marley, but the four of us haven’t been together. Not since—”
“You can say it, Mom. Not. Since. I. Tried To. Kill. Myself.”
Her mother sighs. “Not since you tried to kill yourself. There. Happy?”
Bee turns off the water. “Every time we say it out loud it loses its power. Remember the SLUTZ?”
“How could I forget?”
“Same principle.”
“Okay, you slutz.”
Bee cracks a smile.
* * *
The front door opens. “Hello, the house!” Ruth calls out. She doesn’t bother to ring the doorbell.
Marley follows her, an aluminum foil–covered plate in one hand, a Macy’s bag in the other.
“Marley made cranberry chocolate chip cookies!” Ruth crows.
She beams at Marley, enraptured. Bee loves that word. She’s recently discovered it and uses it all the time. Had she been enraptured with Cam? No, she had not. She’d been addicted.
Habituated, hooked, dependent, under the influence, strung out. All words to describe what happened with Cam. He was like a drug. He got into her bloodstream and started changing her cells. She lived for her fixes, his DMs. Eventually she overdosed on him (or he overdosed her) and now she’s detoxing.
Sometimes Bee feels eighty years old. She knows so much now. That you don’t actually have to do drugs to become an addict. That a person can do that to you, too. Make you obsessed with them. Own your every thought, every move. Until one day you wake up and realize everything you do is for them, is because of them.
Bee takes the plate of cookies from Marley. “You look so pretty.”
Marley’s blown out her hair. She’s wearing lip gloss.
“We’ve been spinning every day,” says Ruth. “Doesn’t she look good? She’s lost weight. I’m taking her to Lululemon this weekend. Do you want to come?”
And just like that Bee’s lightheartedness soars off and abandons her. Sustained happiness is not something she can count on yet. It descends upon her once in a while, a quaking, feeble thing.
“That’s such a nice offer,” says her mother.
“Maybe,” says Bee.
* * *
The lasagna is delicious. Her mother has put both sausage and ground beef in the tomato sauce. Bee gobbles up two pieces. She’s aware that Ruth is glad Marley is eating less, and her mother is glad Bee is eating more.
After the dishes are cleared, Marley says, “I got something for you, Bee.”
She hands Bee a Macy’s box. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a Hello Kitty sweatshirt. Bee’s immediately transported back to their first Aspen Christmas. When they still believed in Santa Claus. When they watched TV in their matching Hello Kitty pj’s, their hair damp and smelling of hot tub chlorine.
“I remember,” says Bee, touching the soft cotton.
“You two,” says her mother. “Look at them, Ruthie. Our darlings.”
Marley says, “And Gemma, I want to say how grateful I am to you.”
Gemma raises her eyebrows. “That’s so nice, Marls. But it’s me who should be thanking you. And Ruth. The both of you. I don’t know where we’d be without you.”
“I don’t know where I’d be without you,” says Marley.
Marley’s not done. She’s going around the table apparently. “And you, Mom? I owe everything to you.”
Ruth visibly stiffens. She looks like she’s bracing herself for something bad. Marley’s not a big emoter.
“Um, well, that’s very nice, darling.”
“I know I don’t say it often. Maybe I’ve never said it. But I wouldn’t be who I am without you.”
Ruth gives a little gasp. Pleasure slowly spreads across her face, like a tide coming in. Bee knows how much it means to her to have Marley say this in public, in front of them.
“Well, then,” says Gemma, with a huge smile. “Could it be a more wonderful night?”
Ruth gazes at Gemma with shining eyes.
MARLEY
Later that evening, nostalgia washes over her as she sits on the couch with her mother, watching Gilmore Girls. Oh, Lorelai! Oh, Rory! Oh, Stars Hollow!
“They’re just like us,” says her mother.
They’re nothing like us, thinks Marley.
Marley coughs. A few minutes later she coughs again, harder.
Her mother feels her forehead with the back of her hand. “Y
ou’re a little warm. Maybe you should hit the hay.” She frowns. “I forgot, setup for the block party will be underway at the crack of dawn. And Gemma never got back to me about it.”
Marley leans her head back and closes her eyes.
“Let’s get you to bed,” says her mother. “And if you feel better in the afternoon, we’ll make that trip to the mall.”
* * *
Hey B. Can you guys come to the block party tomorrow? Marley texts.
Mom really wants you to come
Will there be anybody from school there?
Nobody from school lives in our neighborhood. Please B. Don’t make me go through another of these stupid things alone. You should see the way my mother acts. It’s so embarrassing. Oh here’s my daughter Marley. She got 1550 on her practice PSATs
You already took a practice test? And you got 1550?
Haha Jk!! PLEASSEEEE!!
KK winky face
Can you come early to set up?
I guess. What time?
8:30?
8:30? You’re killing me Marls. But that should be ok. See ya then xxx
RUTH
Just as she’s about to turn off the light, Ruth’s phone pings. Her pod.
HappilyEverAfter: Yoo-hoo! PennySavedPennyEarned? Are you up? Burning the midnight oil?
PennySavedPennyEarned: Unfortunately yes. Made the mistake of drinking two espresso shots before going out to dinner tonight.
TortoiseWinsTheRace: Dinner where may I ask?
PennySavedPennyEarned: At a friend’s house.
HappilyEverAfter: You have other friends besides us haha?
PennySavedPennyEarned: Old friends. I haven’t seen them in a long time.
TortoiseWinsTheRace: Stop torturing PennySavedPennyEarned! Just tell her!
HappilyEverAfter: Very well, PennySavedPennyEarned. We want to extend a formal invitation to join our pod. Congratulations! You’ve made it into MY MOTHER MADE ME DO IT!
PennySavedPennyEarned: Really?? I’m so happy!
OneWayAtATime: We know we’ve put you through a long vetting period, but we promise you we’re worth the wait.
Did I Say You Could Go Page 24
