A Constellation of Roses

by Miranda Asebedo

  I look over at Ember’s dress again with renewed interest. That explains her and Mia’s love of Sunday thrift-store shopping.

  “This fabric was actually from a bridesmaid dress, but I cut it off at knee length and used the extra fabric to make long sleeves,” she explains, plucking at one.

  “That is so awesome,” Ramani says.

  “It is,” Adalyn agrees. Then she changes the subject. “Trix, are you going to bring someone from the city to homecoming?” She’s talking to me, but she hazards a glance over at Jasper when she says it.

  Jasper focuses on the cafeteria’s meat loaf, still not making any eye contact with me.

  “No,” I answer, taking a bite of ham sandwich rather than elaborating. Underneath the sandwich is another pink Post-it note. This one has a small, poorly sketched tiger who says in a lopsided speech bubble, You look grrrreat today! XOXO.

  Adalyn starts in on a detailed description of her date: a beautiful, talented volleyball star named Maya who goes to our archrival school, Buffalo Hills High School (a crime against Rocksaw High that could only be forgiven for true love), who Adalyn happened to meet at a sample sale in the city when they both picked up the same dress from opposite sides of the clothing rack. Then Adalyn verbally illustrates her designer dress that will not exactly match her date, Maya, because they’re going for a look that’s complementary, not matchy-matchy, and the Corvette she’s borrowing from her uncle to drive them to the dance. In the middle of her monologue, Grayson blurts out at Ember, “How’s your sandwich?”

  Ember freezes. A solid five seconds pass. “Um, good.”

  Everyone looks from Grayson to Ember, even Jasper.

  Grayson’s cheeks are nearly as red as his hair now that he’s got everyone’s attention. He swallows once, licks his lips, as if he’s building courage to get out his next words. He falters twice before sound comes out. “So do you have a date to the homecoming dance?”

  Ember acts like she didn’t hear him at all and shuts her lunch box. She gets up from the table, pops in her earbuds, and walks away.

  Ramani’s and Adalyn’s mouths are hanging open as they watch Ember disappear from the gym.

  “So was that a no?” Linc asks the table as a whole.

  Grayson busies himself with his meat loaf, the translucent tips of his ears glowing.

  “It’s a no,” I reply. “For both of us.”

  Adalyn bites her lip, looking at Grayson. She clears her throat. “So Maya’s coming to visit this weekend, Grayson, and she’s bringing a friend.”

  Grayson mumbles something unintelligible around a mouthful of meat loaf.

  “I’m going to go find Ember,” I say, latching my lunch box.

  I find her in the farthest corner of the library, curled up on a beanbag chair in a reading nook with her earbuds in. She jerks them out immediately when she sees me. “Why did you make me do that?” she asks, a frown creasing the skin between her dark brows.

  “Do what? Bail on Grayson when he was actually talking to you?”

  “Why did you make me go eat in there with all those people? I knew something terrible would happen.”

  “You thought they wouldn’t like you because you can read their secrets if you touched them. But they were actually really nice. You were the one who stormed off.”

  Ember puts her earbuds back in.

  “I think he was maybe working his way up to asking you to the dance,” I murmur loud enough that I know she’ll be able to make out what I’m saying. “I saw you nab that homecoming flyer on my first day here. Kind of seemed like you wanted to go.”

  Ember pretends like she can’t hear me.

  “I didn’t know you were making a homecoming dress. You don’t make a dress if you don’t actually want to go to the dance. Only Cinderella’s mice do that, right?”

  Ember purses her lips, like she’s trying not to laugh. “I wasn’t going to actually go. I’ve never even been to a school dance before.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Ember looks at me. “Really?”

  “Really.” Homecoming is about celebrating home, and that’s not something I tend to do. The idea of parades and parties and games and a dance to applaud Rocksaw High’s and the town’s shared history doesn’t sound all that appealing to me. I’m still trying to figure out what home means.

  “I just wanted to wear the pretty dress and have Mama do my hair and take my picture. Maybe send one to my dad, so he knows what he’s missing.” She says that last part with an edge to her voice.

  “You could even actually go to the dance. As in, there could be a picture of you physically at the dance. With a boy,” I tease her.

  “It’s not funny,” she says, biting her lip. “I didn’t know what to say. I was so embarrassed. What was he thinking? Everyone knows who I am. What I can do.”

  Something inside me softens for this girl who knows what it feels like to be betrayed by her own hands, whether she uses them or not. “Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe his deepest, darkest secret is that he has a crush on some girl who makes her own dresses and works in the kitchen at a tea shop,” I murmur.

  I leave Ember to mull that one over alone in the reading nook.

  I can’t believe I gave a pep talk to someone about attending a school activity. It’s like I’m becoming some alternate version of Trix. Never in my life have I worried about homecoming dances or dresses. But there’s nothing here about survival, and that’s what my whole life has been about. It feels wrong. How can I keep a straight face when Adalyn obsesses over crepe paper and chicken wire floats when there are girls our age working in motel rooms to pay the rent, to get a hit, or to feed a hungry baby?

  Girls like my mom used to be.

  Things like homecoming are inconsequential. And I can feel it again, that deep pit of anger inside me. And beneath it, a sad sort of jealousy. How does it feel to only ever have worried about dances and pretty dresses?

  And I definitely never wondered whether some boy was looking at me or his meat loaf. Jasper, having the nerve to ignore me all through lunch, even after we’d delivered pies and he’d taken me up to Cedar Mountain. Even after what I told him about my mom. And what he shared with me about his brother.

  With Shane, everything had been straightforward. The first night, there were Coke-and-cherry slushes at midnight. The next night he beat the crap out of some big, creepy john who tried to back me into a dark corner when I was on my way to the Starlite’s main office to pay the weekly rent.

  And then Shane and I made out in an empty motel room, his bruised and bloodied hands gentle as they wove themselves in my hair.

  Crystal clear.

  Right after the McCabe Bakery & Tea Shoppe closes, I hurry down to Jensen’s Office Supply while Mia and Ember are mopping up and Auntie counts the till. It’s warm, Auntie says the warmest autumn she can remember, and I don’t even need a jacket as I make my way down the sidewalks, nodding hello to the locals who pass and recognize me as one of the many McCabe women. Jensen’s is closed, too, but there’s a mail slot in the door. I pull all my waitressing tip money out of my apron pocket and stuff it in through the mail slot.

  I’ve thought about this all afternoon during my waitressing shift, that feeling of relief I experienced when I returned Mia’s ring. I’ve always stolen to get by. To survive. But I don’t need to do it anymore. Maybe Mia was right, and it was a gift. It definitely kept me alive. But now it’s time to say goodbye to stealing.

  It’s time to be a newer, better Trix. You can’t steal from people if you don’t intend to drift away again. And I mean to really put down roots here.

  Then I jog back to the tea shop because Auntie should be done balancing the register and filling out paperwork, and I know this time I’ll be able to drop that bag of cash into the bank deposit drawer without hesitating.

  Thirteen

  “I TALKED TO GRAYSON AFTER school today,” Ember says that evening as we’re chopping vegetables for dinner. Her phone blares her fa
vorite Ren and Reckless song, “Your Touch.” Its melody made up of crooning minor chords plays through the kitchen loud enough so that Mia and Auntie in the living room can’t hear what she’s saying.

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask. We’ve barely spoken to each other for the last twenty minutes, and while I’m used to long silences by myself, I can sense Ember is growing uncomfortable with it.

  “Did you know he plays the guitar?”

  “Something about the case he’s always lugging around gave it away.”

  Ember rolls her eyes and gives a small huff of laughter. “I think he’s going to ask me to go with him. To homecoming.”

  Mia sweeps into the kitchen, beaming at us. “Look at you two, working together, getting to know each other. I love this.” She pinches Ember’s cheek and makes a silly face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Homecoming,” Ember says, carefully not mentioning the boy who wanted to ask her to go with him.

  “Are you going to the dance?” Mia asks, her eyes lighting up. “You didn’t tell me. That must be why you bought that lavender gown last weekend. I wondered how you were going to turn that into a sundress. But now I see you had secret plans.”

  “I didn’t know then for sure if I was going,” Ember replies. She clears her throat before she announces, “But I’ve decided that I am.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Mia asks, shifting back into her normal protective mode. “You’re not worried about your gift?”

  “She’ll be fine,” I interject, because I’m beginning to see that Mia sometimes feeds Ember’s fear about her gift, about how people might treat her because of it. “She doesn’t have to hide away because of it.”

  Mia looks over at me, her pale face coloring. “Of course not. Oh, Ember, I’m sorry if that’s what you think I meant. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Ember says, sticking out her chin a little. “I’m not scared. Grayson knows what I can do, and he doesn’t care.”

  “Grayson O’Hare?” Mia squeals. “You’ve got a date and everything?”

  Auntie comes into the kitchen to glower at the salad we’re making, poking at a green leaf. “What’s all this about a date?” she asks.

  “Ember has a date to homecoming.” Mia sighs, her hand over her heart.

  “We’re only talking. He hasn’t actually asked me.” Ember looks uncomfortable with all the attention. “You can go with or without a date, you know.”

  “About time you started dating,” Auntie grunts. “When’s the food going to be ready? I’m starving. It better not be all rabbit food either.” She glares at the salad again.

  “The pasta should be done soon, Auntie,” Ember replies, smiling.

  “We have to start thinking about who Trix can go with,” Mia says, jumping to sit on the kitchen counter next to the salad. “There’s Jasper, of course. I see real chemistry there. And then there’s his friend Linc. He’s a handsome guy. Who else? Roger Umberger’s son, what’s his name? Todd? He’s a senior, I think, and he has the most beautiful blue eyes. He was in the shop this morning picking up a muffin before school.”

  “Todd Umberger is a tool,” Auntie says, standing on her tiptoes to look in the spaghetti pot.

  “I don’t need a date,” I tell her. “I’m not going.”

  “Of course you’re going. Don’t be silly. We’ll look for a dress for you this weekend. Buffalo Hills has the best vintage dresses. But I think the best place for shoes would probably be Rory’s Treasures on the main drag,” Mia says, steamrolling on.

  “I think I’ve already got a dress that would work for Trix,” Ember says. “The burgundy one I picked up last month, remember? I was saving it for something special, and this is it. It’s got awful puffed sleeves, but the color will be perfect for Trix, and I think I can make it into something she would really like.” She looks at me. “I mean, if you want it. If you’d rather go with someone else’s design, I understand.”

  Mia and Ember both look expectantly at me now.

  “The spaghetti is turning to mush,” Auntie interrupts. “We won’t even have to chew it at this rate.”

  Mia sighs, pulling a strand of pasta out with a fork and testing it with a pinch. “Honestly, Auntie, it’s barely al dente.”

  “I don’t like it mushy,” Auntie says. She looks over at me. “Roots, Trix,” she says pointedly, reminding me of my fortune. “You’re starting to wither.”

  “Fine,” I growl, crossing my arms. “I’ll go to the stupid dance if you stop talking about my stupid fortune.”

  “I can’t wait,” Mia coos. “I am going to find you the perfect date. And then I’m going to take a million pictures of you two. Maybe we can have one blown up to put on the mantel. Like a ten-by-twelve or something. Maybe bigger. Poster-size.”

  “Rein it in, Mia. It’s a dance,” Auntie says. “When one of them wins a Nobel Prize, you can think about putting another photo on the mantel.”

  “You tell me who you want to go with,” Mia goes on, ignoring Auntie, “and I’ll make him an Ardent Apple pie. You can deliver it. Ardent Apple always works.”

  “She doesn’t need pie, Mama,” Ember says, getting out the colander to drain the pasta.

  “Of course she doesn’t need a pie,” Mia says. “But I want Trix to know that she can use pie if she wants to.”

  “Maybe you should send a pie or two,” Auntie says to Mia. “I heard that Emmett Sorensen is single again. And I know very well he stopped to see you the last time he was in town, because I spied on you two from the kitchen. He was looking at your baked goods, if you know what I mean.”

  “Be careful you don’t burn yourself,” Mia says to Ember, ignoring Auntie.

  Auntie, in turn, ignores Mia, talking to Ember. “You don’t care if your mama dates, do you? She needs a new man.”

  Ember shrugs.

  “Enough, Auntie,” Mia says sharply.

  “You’re not getting any younger. Let me read your fortune. I bet it says you’ll die miserable and alone if you don’t ask Emmett out for yourself.”

  “Enough, Auntie,” Mia says again, looking flustered now. “You ask Emmett out if you think he’s so great.”

  “Maybe I will,” Auntie replies. “He’s a piping hot muffin, and I’ve got the butter,” Auntie crows over her shoulder as she goes into the dining room.

  “Oh my God,” Ember says, rolling her eyes.

  Auntie kicks Bacon off the dining room table and shifts the piles of magazines and books and puzzle pieces to one end. “Aren’t you going to set the table?” she calls to me.

  “Sure,” I say vaguely, looking around the kitchen at all the dishes in the cabinets. I pick out a set of four mismatched plates and a handful of silverware from a drawer.

  I put everything on the table, almost tripping over Bacon as he yowls and winds around my legs, hoping to be picked up or stroked.

  Mia brings glasses of water. Auntie trails behind, bearing the salad bowl she retrieved from the kitchen. She looks down at it disdainfully the whole time.

  Ember follows with a heavy, chipped crockery bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, setting it on the edge of the table and sliding it to the middle. I sit down next to Ember. Auntie takes the head, and Mia places herself across from me and Ember.

  Mia looks admiringly at the spread of food. “We should’ve gotten wine, Auntie. This looks like we’re at some fancy Italian place.”

  “I’ve got some moonshine behind the cereal in the cupboard,” Auntie offers.

  “Not quite what I had in mind.” Mia beams at me. “Connor loved pasta. He used to make his own, homemade. It was so much better than what you can get out of a box.”

  Auntie sighs, as if she, too, is thinking of Connor’s wonderful pasta. “Well,” she continues in a doleful voice, “aren’t you going to say grace before we eat, Trix?”

  I open my mouth, trying to remember what that one deeply religious foster mom used to say before dinner, but no sound comes out. I’m just gapi
ng like a fish.

  “Fine, I’ll do it.” She clears her throat loudly before she begins. “Dear bounteous Lord, thank you for hot men like Emmett Sorensen, even if my niece is too stupid to ask him out.” Auntie throws her head back and cackles, and I realize this is another one of her jokes.

  “Auntie,” Mia grumbles, trying not to laugh.

  “Amen,” Ember says solemnly with her eyes closed.

  “So yesterday I met the guy who runs the office supply store,” I say, changing the subject.

  “Mr. Jensen?” Mia asks, passing the salad to Ember after taking some.

  “He was a fine piece of ass back in his day,” Auntie says, dishing out spaghetti. “Almost as hot as my second husband.”

  Ember snorts as she serves herself.

  And then maybe it’s because we’re sitting at the table like a family and it reminds me of the Yangs and when I used to wish that I’d someday have a perfect family, too, but I finally ask about what happened to my father. “Mr. Jensen said Connor was attacked by a shark. And the principal said he was hit by a train. And you told Ms. Troy that he crashed a fighter jet,” I say, though it’s more of a question than a statement. I’m waiting for someone to tell me the truth. For someone to give me more than a face that looks something like mine, a forgotten baseball glove, a love of drawing, and a mysterious death.

  Mia looks like she’s about to cry, her eyes tearing up. She’s obviously been waiting for me to ask her about it. She presses her lips together and takes a deep breath through her nose before she repeats what everyone keeps telling me: “You look like him, you know.” She looks at Ember. “Show Trix that one of Connor and your dad.”

  Ember gets up and brings a picture over from the mantel. I missed this one in my searches, probably because it was lost in the sea of Ember photos.

  “That’s Uncle Connor on the right. My dad’s the one on the left.”

  Ember’s dad is the man I notice first. He’s strikingly handsome. He has short black hair, brown skin a few shades darker than Ember’s, and a happy grin that makes dimples in each of his cheeks. His hand is on Connor’s shoulder, the gesture casual, like they’ve known each other a long time. Then my eyes fall on Connor. He’s average looking, a little shorter than Ember’s dad. He’s pale like Mia, with gray-green eyes and dark hair, a smile that’s almost timid, as if he’s not sure that he wants to share it.