“I never even knew,” I mumbled. I had to learn to cast on myself one day. But it was way easier once something was already on the needle. Even moving to the next row felt less daunting than beginning a new thing I wasn’t even good at.
Knitting could be a metaphor for Grace.
I breathed the thought out of my head. Best to combine my calming strategies.
“You bummed about prom?” she said.
“No,” I answered a little too quickly.
“How’s the woman?” she asked.
I shrugged. “She is so upset about this case. I see her reasons. I agree with her reasons. The case is crap. Every day, I think about what I would do if I went to our fictional case school in real life.” I looked up from my knitting. “But it’s not real. It’s Mock Trial, right? I’ve wanted to win this for so long, so I need to do what I need to do?”
Claire looked at me. She and I both knew I was trying to convince myself of that rather than her.
“I see you, Emilia Ann Goodwin,” said Claire.
“My middle name? Really?” I said, though it did make me smile. “What do you see?”
“I know you love Mock Trial. It’s your life. And real trials will be your life. But I also know you don’t do it because you want to win. Not really. You do it because you believe in it. You believe in the law and the court and fairness and justice and all that stuff that I usually call a pile of flawed shit.”
“Are you encouraging me, here?” I said.
“I’m just saying I know you’ll do what you think is right. For the last few years, you haven’t had any personal connection to the case. This is different. And I know you’ll figure out what you need to do.”
“Wow, Claire. That’s deep,” I said.
“I’m an actress, darling. I’m always profound.”
I threw my yarn at her. It didn’t get very far because my yarn was wound so tightly.
Appropriate.
Just then, we heard the front door open.
“Honey! We’re home.”
“We’re?” asked Claire.
The boisterous, high-pitched squeals of Sheila’s four- and six-year-olds rose up the stairs.
I sighed.
“Wow. Kids coming over at seven o’clock at night,” said Claire.
“They don’t go to bed until about ten. Even then, they talk for an hour.”
“You’ve stayed over at their place?”
“Nope. They’ve stayed here. Twice this week already. They are in the bedroom next door. The older one takes the bed, and the little one has an air mattress.”
“You haven’t told me that,” said Claire.
“I’m in denial. Dad isn’t happy with me for not being thrilled he has a girlfriend. I fear next year I will be expected to be the nanny in addition to whatever household chores my father thinks warrants tuition.”
“Millie,” said Claire. “I love you and will miss you, but are you sure you can’t get out of here?”
“I was thinking about it. If we won nationals, there’d be scholarship money that would help me out. A lot. It’d be tough without it. I am not going to live with Mom because I still feel kind of weird about her leaving. And I don’t want to be a free babysitter for my brother, cute as he is. But maybe if I took out loans or went part-time or worked, I could do it. After a year, I could get in-state tuition.”
“That sounds … hard.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess we just have to win nationals, then. Piece of cake!” Claire sounded so confident.
I laughed.
“Mills! Can you watch the kids until Sheila gets dinner ready?”
The laughter died in my throat.
“At least he found a new servant in Sheila,” said Claire.
This time, I threw a pillow at her but not very hard. What she said was mean.
But true.
Claire got her stuff and fled before the kids could even speak to her. I made sure to lock my bedroom door before I came downstairs. I’d never locked it in my life, but the first time the kids stayed over, one dropped my laptop off my bed. It was fine, but my life was in there. I’d worked at a stuffy office for three summers to buy it.
“There you are,” said Dad. “Hiding in your room again.”
“Bye, Mr. Goodwin!” said Claire pointedly. “Thanks for the help on the school project, Millie.”
“Oh. Uh. No problem.” I smiled gratefully at her.
“Oh! Goodbye, Claire. I didn’t realize you were working.”
“Hi! Who are you? Can I touch your hair? Look at your clothes! Can I see what’s in your bag?” said Victor, Sheila’s little boy.
“Gotta go!” Claire said, and practically hurled herself through the window to get out of there as fast as possible.
“Millipede!” said Nina, Victor’s sister.
“Please just call me Millie,” I said.
“Millipede, millipede, millipede!” both of them sang.
I vowed right then to never have children.
“Millie, what would you like to do? Play with the kids or help Sheila with dinner?”
Neither. What I wanted to do was study First Amendment case law and try to find a way out of this defense or make it acceptable or maybe try to get Grace to speak to me again. I’d already done a load of laundry and mopped when I got home from school.
Victor spilled his milk on the floor.
“I’ll go in the kitchen.”
“Okay. Clean this up, too, would you?”
I gathered paper towels, wondering if it’d kill the man to do this. If he and Sheila ended up getting married, would he do more to help her?
In the kitchen, Sheila hummed around, stirring things and poking something in the oven.
“Emilia, how wonderful!” Sheila said things like that. “How wonderful,” or “Splendid!” Maybe she was attracted to Dad because his idea of family structure matched how she talked—straight out of an old black-and-white sitcom you’d watch late at night.
I didn’t bother telling her to call me Millie. She was the nickname averse type.
“Anything I can do?” I asked.
“Set the table, please,” she said in a voice I was sure came from dealing with Victor and Nina every day.
I did as I was told, a house specialty of mine.
“Did your dad ask you about next weekend?”
“No. I’ve given him the details I have. We are leaving early Wednesday.”
“What?” said Sheila.
“What weekend are we talking here? May eighth?”
Sheila cocked her head. “Yes.”
“Yes.”
“So, you are good with it?” she said.
“Yes? We’ve hit some bumps in the road with this last case, but we still have a team, and that’s the important part.”
“Oh good. I didn’t know if you’d be ready for such a big commitment. Wait. Did you say case?”
“Yes. Mock Trial. Isn’t that what we are talking about?”
“Oh, no. Greg! Could you come in here?”
Something crashed in the other room, followed by giggles.
“Yes?” Dad walked in.
“Millie is confused about next weekend.” Sheila gave Dad a death stare that she managed to throw 50 percent my way. Something was my fault here, and I wasn’t sure what it was.
“Sorry, sorry. I meant to tell her, but work stuff…” He trailed off. The trail-off was kind of Dad’s signature move. In speaking and in life.
“I’m going to the Mock Trial national’s competition next weekend. Remember how we won state? I can do this week. Or the weekend after.” I didn’t know what they wanted me to do, but from the way the conversation was going, I would bet good money they wanted me to watch the kids. My brain tried to knock itself against my skull in protest, but never let it be said that Emilia Goodwin wasn’t a team player. “But not next weekend. As this is the thing I’ve been working toward all year and have mentioned on at least half a dozen occasions these pas
t few months.”
“Oh. Well, the thing is, friends of Sheila’s have a lake house that is free next weekend, so we were hoping you could watch the kids while we have a few days away,” said Dad. “A Mother’s Day gift!”
“I haven’t had a vacation since they were born,” said Sheila. “It’d mean a lot.”
“Can you do this week?” I needed water. My tongue practically stuck to the room of my mouth, it had gone so dry. But Emilia Goodwin was still a team play—
“No,” said Sheila.
“Any other weekend, other than nationals?” I said.
“It’s usually booked up. It costs about two-hundred dollars a night. This would be a real treat. It’s Mother’s Day,” said Sheila.
“Then I’m sorry to hear that. I’m going to my national Mock Trial competition.” I wasn’t sure why this woman thought Mother’s Day would mean anything in this argument. My mother left and lived in Ohio.
Sheila glared at Dad. Dad glared at me. I would have glared, except Victor ran into the room and knocked me into a chair and then ran out again.
A beeper sounded. Sheila sighed like Claire and Raina do when they want you to know how hard their lives are. She turned to get the food out.
Oh, Sheila. This will be your reality if you move here. You’re getting a third kid.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said.
For the first time in my life, I was grateful there were two small bodies trying to ram themselves into my chest and shins or both.
“So, what’s this case, Emilia?” asked Sheila. “That will be keeping you away?”
“It’s the national competition. For Mock Trial. We are going to try to defend this club. They don’t believe in great stuff, but free speech, you know?”
Sheila really could cook. Her pesto salmon rivaled anything I’d ever tasted. But it swam on my plate in front of me.
“What do they believe, exactly?” she said.
“Oh. You know. It’s like they picked things directly from the news. Stereotypical stuff. Marriage is only between a man and woman. Gender is binary.”
Nina kicked my chair.
“That seems pretty cut and dry to me,” said Sheila. “Must be pretty easy to defend.”
“No, actually,” I said. I thought of Grace. What she said about it challenging people’s rights to even exist. “It’s basically trying to defend hate speech.”
“How is saying marriage is for men and women hate speech?” she said.
“It’s the way they said it that was so awful. And it excludes a lot of people. Like all the men who don’t want to marry women. Or women who don’t want to marry men. Or people who aren’t men or women.”
“Well, you’re trying to defend this club, right? Thank God. They aren’t promoting hate speech. They are promoting the truth. I know you were raised with the right values. I’m sure your dad would have something to say if you were going against them,” she said. “Right, Greg?”
Dad said nothing.
“Excuse me?” I said.
Sheila shrugged. “It’s almost over, so there’s not much to be done now. But I’m glad I’ll get a say in your life from now on. You need a woman to talk to.” She winked at my dad, and he smiled.
My mouth dropped open at that.
“Okay, time for dessert!” Sheila said, even though all of us had barely touched her wonderful salmon. The kids looked at each other, knowing this was a way to get out of eating real food.
“Yay!” they said.
“I’m full, thanks,” I said. I turned and didn’t bother to wait for anyone’s reply or permission. I had had it up to my bangs with Dad forgetting or just not valuing me or his general awfulness, which was really coming into full display.
Maybe he loved me, but love has to have some action behind it to count.
Sometimes when people spoke near the heating grate, I could hear their conversations from my room without even trying to snoop. That’s how I knew Mom and Dad were cruising toward divorce long before they told me. I heard Dad and Sheila talking after the loud children had been put to bed.
“She’s a little old for a rebellious phase,” said Dad. “She’s always been so … what was the word her teachers used … dutiful.”
“I don’t think she likes me. Maybe she doesn’t want to share you.”
Well. Those were words of someone who didn’t know me at all.
Dad laughed. “Could be. We’ll have to have a big talk before college. She hasn’t mentioned it, but our plan was always commuting. We’ll make sure to get her license this summer and that her schedule gives you a break from the kids and house stuff sometimes.”
And, those were even more so.
What was truly laughable were the assumptions Dad was making. That I’d go to school nearby. That I’d live at home. That I’d want to be some sort of servant. The thing is, I would have watched the kids any other weekend than nationals. I still did most of the cooking and cleaning for Dad and me. I remembered my grandparents’ and his secretary’s birthdays. I managed all the holidays and reminded him to go to the dentist. To Sheila, I must just look spoiled because maybe she thought Dad did that. But the ironed shirt he was wearing? The clean-ish house her children destroyed?
That was all me.
Maybe I should warn her. Let her know that she was getting a nice-enough guy (or maybe not?) but a pretty crappy partner. But then would she listen? I decided it was on Sheila to do due diligence, like Claire said. If she asked, I’d tell her the truth.
I knew she’d never ask.
I ate a granola bar and some chocolate kisses. I was still hungry, so I made myself some ramen in my little microwave attached to the fridge Mom had gotten me my last birthday. It was the single most satisfying meal I’d ever made.
“… wedding in the summer,” said Dad.
Sheila laughed. “Sounds good to me.”
“And I’ll talk with Millie. She’ll have to get used to the new setup sometime. Might as well be now,” said Dad. “School is important, but family comes first. She’ll see that your views make sense.”
Oh.
Dad.
No.
Just … no.
Two things happened in that moment.
The first was that I knew I’d be moving to Ohio the day after I graduated, one way or another.
The second, harder thing, was that I realized what I had to do about the national’s case.
MAY 4: SENTENCING MEMORANDUM
I hovered around the outside of The Dropped Stitch. My needles stuck awkwardly into my yarn. There was another bus heading right back toward my house that I could get on in fifteen minutes. The night air clung wet and warm to my bare arms. I really should have worn a sweater. This was a bad idea. Grace should have this to herself. Grace and Raina. I turned to leave.
“Hi!” said a nearly ecstatic voice. “OMG, did our civil disobedience-ish craftathon inspire you?” said Raina. “What do you have there? A scarf? A blanket? A vulva?”
“I don’t know yet. I just started knitting rows,” I said.
“Then it could be anything,” said Raina. She seemed calmer, more at peace these days.
“True,” I said.
Grace, who had been messing with a car door that didn’t seem to want to shut, came up beside her.
“Hi,” I said, quieter than I meant to.
“Hey,” said Grace.
“I have to check out some new wools that Carla emailed about,” said Raina. She ran to the door and went inside.
“She okay?” I said.
Grace shrugged.
“Are we okay?” I said.
“I don’t like this case. Defending hate speech. Standing up there like I believe I’m not supposed to have rights like other people. That I shouldn’t exist. That you shouldn’t exist, Millie.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to do it.”
“I know that, too.”
“I thought about quitting, still. Even as a witness.”
/> I sighed. “And I told you that would screw us all over. We have a full team again, and Ms. McClain fought for us to go to nationals without any of the guys who tried to screw me in the first place.”
“Yes, you did.”
“It was hard enough to find a team. We’re finally hitting our stride. Claire is probably literally the only person who can do this. We will have stiff competition at nationals. I know this case has some hard stuff to it. But I didn’t pick it,” I said.
“I know,” said Grace. She kicked a tiny pile of stubborn snow that had refused to melt. “I should just suck it up.”
“I don’t think that’s the only solution. I tried that for a long time. Don’t suck it up. Get angry,” I said. “Get so angry you can’t keep it inside and put it all out there in your opening. In your testimony now. I mean, don’t harm someone. That’d get us disqualified. But I just don’t think hating something means you take yourself out of the game.”
“Are you just saying that because you need me to win?”
“No. I told you all this already! Darn it. Does no one pay attention when I speak?” My head buzzed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t pick the case. It just felt like you didn’t care how I felt.”
“Grace,” I said, fighting hard not to sound like my dad. “Of course I care how you feel. I care how Izzy and Veronica feels, too. But I also care about Mock Trial. Not more than any of you, but I’ve cared about it longer. Because it’s been a part of me longer. It’s a long story I have never told you, but winning nationals could make my life better in so many ways. You need to appreciate that.”
Grace gave me a long look. “I do appreciate that.”
“With our draws we won’t have to be defense unless we make the final round. Then you can do what you want with this witness. Like I’ve been saying in every practice since we qualified—put everything you want to say out there. It just eats you from the inside if you don’t. Trust me. I’m practically an expert on that.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” I said.
“I think so. I hear what you are saying,” she said. “And I’m there for you. Not the case, maybe. But for you.”
“Good,” I said.
Six Angry Girls Page 23
