by Liz Hsu
After finishing my tea, I went to my room and called Ray. The bedroom was suddenly too hot, my shirt sweaty again as the phone rang a second time.
“Hi,” I said when she answered.
“Hi, um, sorry I didn’t text you back about tomorrow. I think I’d like to meet your band, but I, well, I’m sorry I didn’t write that.” She sounded fumbling and awkward—shy like she used to be—not at all like the cool, gorgeous girl she’d seemed to have become.
I felt my throat tighten with nerves, even as I was relieved she was interested. “Great, but that’s not why I was calling. My band sometimes plays at this restaurant-bar downtown. Sometimes we hangout, grab dinner, and listen to hear other musicians. Well, tonight is standup comedy. I was going to go with my friend, Knox, but I thought maybe you could use something to laugh about.”
“A comedy show?” she asked.
“Yep.” I felt a grin spread across my face. I plucked at my damp shirt, glad I hadn’t showered yet, because I would’ve needed to do it again.
“Tonight?”
“It starts at eight. It’s actually close to your dad’s condo. I can get you soon, and we can grab dinner. Or I can meet you at seven fifteen and walk over there together, so we can walk extra slow.”
“I already ate, but I’d like to go. Let me ask my dad and I’ll text you.”
“Cool, keep me posted.” I tried to say it nonchalantly, even though my belly flipped as I clicked off the phone.
A thrill raced through me when I got her text. See you at 7:15! I’ve never seen a comedian before—thanks for the invite.
I rushed to shower and then stood for several moments in front of the mirror in jeans, wondering what shirt to wear and how to style my hair. Genetically, I was pretty lean and thankfully tall—taller than her, at least, but I didn’t look like her boyfriend. I’d seen photos she’d shared with me. He had that blond hair, washboard abs, and basically everything I wasn’t look. I’d die of embarrassment before I admitted it, but I modeled my hair after Lang Lang. He was kind of my piano idol. I wondered if I should wear it shaggy like it was, or gel it up. In the end, I left it and put on a gray button-down with rolled-up sleeves.
I was a bundle of nerves, so I sat down at the piano and played Liszt’s “La Campanella” from the Grandes Etudes de Paganini, then Ben Bernie’s “Sweet Georgia Brown,” both of which I would perform competitively in a few weeks. I practiced until it was time to leave. The rhythm of the piano and the songs I’d been practicing for months helped me calm down.
Despite the piano soothing my nerves, I blasted the AC on the way to Ray’s. I had Dr. Ericson buzz me into his guest parking and texted Ray. Coming down or do you want me to come up?
A dunk dunk dunk on my window had me jumping, and I turned to see her laughing and pulling her hand back. Her smile and laughter, looking like, well, like Ray, loosened something that had been coiled tight inside me. I hurried out of the car and saw her in her tiny shorts, a loose sweater, and flats. Something ignited in my chest.
Her rash had faded. She appeared healthy—maybe a little too thin from her recent hospital stay, but still fairly normal, even if her collarbones stood out in sharp relief over the neckline of her sweater.
Conversation was a little halting as we walked to the Bob’s Bar and Bistro. I didn’t want to ask about moving here. When I was stressed I didn’t enjoy discussing what bothered me. Tonight was for distractions, for making her laugh. We found a high-top after waving to the owner. Ray chatted with the waiter in her talkative Southern way. We’d barely ordered two pops and some pretzels with cheese dip when Knox sidled up to us.
“Yo,” he said, sliding into a chair.
“Knox, this is one of my oldest friends, Ray. Ray, Knox. He’s going to be a senior at Rosalind High, too. He’s also the drummer in our band.”
I forced myself not to tell him to back off as his eyes widened at her sweet Southern “hi,” which seemed to draw on for days.
He raised a quick eyebrow at me—or I thought he did, it was hard to tell with his thick mop of brown curls—and replied, “Hi.”
“So, what’s the name of the band after all?” Ray asked, making me realize I’d just been saying “the band.” She perched eagerly at the edge of her seat, foot tapping.
“The Snowblowers,” Knox said.
“Is that something dirty?” a pink-cheeked Ray asked in a hushed voice.
I snorted on my pop and Knox chuckled. “No, just stupid. Ray, do you know what a snowblower is?” She shook her head and Knox asked in disbelief, “How can you live in Michigan and not know that?”
“Her dad lives in a condo,” I said before turning back to Ray. “It’s like a lawnmower for snow. You use it to get the snow off driveways and sidewalks. Some people don’t like doing it, so they paid, and still pay, us to do it. It’s how we saved up enough for the instruments. We thought the name fit—the Snowblowers.”
I smiled at the O her lips made, and Knox took over the conversation, all excited about this new set he’d been working on. Out of all of us, he was the only one without a summer job or camp. After a few minutes of talking about the drum solo he wanted to add to a song, he asked Ray, “Do you go to Rosalind? I think I would have remembered seeing you.”
“Maybe,” Ray teased back. “It’s a big school. I’ll be a junior this year.” I couldn’t help the speeding of my pulse. She must have looked it up: it was a big school.
“So you do go there?” he pressed as he leaned in, his messy mop flopping into his eyes.
Her lips curved up as she cast a quick glance at me before saying softly, “I might.”
My stomach fluttered as I nodded at her so she’d know I heard her. She hadn’t decided, but she might actually go to school here. Having a crush on Ray in Savannah was annoying, but having a crush on her here—that might be worse. She drew me to her like a neodymium magnet, but someone like her would never date someone like me. And I was way too busy for a girlfriend anyway. The band was my one fun outlet. Even if I stood a chance with a girl like Ray, I wasn’t sure I would be much of a boyfriend, between studying, piano, band, and robotics club. But I could dream, I guess.
The lights dimmed and the owner came up and joked the easily offended should leave—typical comedy. As the sets started, they weren’t Comedy Central, but Ray’s laugh and the genuine smiles she threw my way might have made it the best show I’d ever seen. When she slipped off to the bathroom, Knox leaned in and whispered, “Dude, she looks like a model. How are you even friends with her?
“Our parents are friends,” I admitted with great reluctance.
He laughed and turned back to the show. “Should have guessed.”
I bristled but said nothing. Clearly, it was obvious even to my best friend that a girl like Ray would have never chosen to be friends with me.
“Why haven’t you introduced us before? Wait. Wait, I remember. Doesn’t she live in Savannah?”
“Yeah, she does. She splits her time between her parents’ houses, but she might be switching schools. That’s her story though, so don’t ask.”
“Cool, I got it.” He zippered his lips, like the jokester he was and we fell silent, expect Knox tapping out a drum sound on the table.
I felt as much as saw Ray slide back beside me. I heard her panting louder than she should, and forced myself to try to relax and watch the show. It didn’t matter how we’d become friends or what Knox thought. Ray needed a friend here, now. She was going through a lot. As her laugh tinkled like chiming bells, I promised myself, I’ll be her friend. Somehow, I’d make time with her so she didn’t have to deal with everything—with lupus, with moving, with starting a new school—alone.
We said our goodbyes to Knox around ten. Ray looked the happiest I’d seen her since we went sledding last Christmas. We strode home, and I was extra conscientious to keep the pace slow. I didn’t want to strain
her heart.
“Charles, I really appreciate you asking me to this,” she said. “It was sweet. I needed a laugh.”
“Hey, I had fun too. I know you’ve had the worst two weeks, maybe of your life, and you have a lot of things to think about. But I want you to know, if you move here, I’d be your friend. I know I don’t have the same social circle you used to have, but you wouldn’t be alone. Knox is a weirdo, but he’s a great guy—loyal to the end.”
She looked completely brittle—fragile—a moment. My stomach fell. I wanted her to feel happy, not worse. I was trying to think of what to say when she grabbed my hand and said, “That means a lot. Good gracious, it means a lot. ” She dropped it quickly, and we kept walking. “It makes sense to move here. I’m not as smart as you, but I still want to get into a good architecture program. Ugh, can you imagine missing the first whole week of school, if I go back there?” She wrinkled her nose.
“You’re smart. But, yeah, it’d be tough for anyone to start the year behind.”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes. I want to think on it because these have been the worst two weeks of my life. While I have my whole life back home, it means a lot, you trying to make me laugh and reminding me I’m not alone. It means a lot you visited me in the hospital. I liked the dog, too. I needed something to hold on to in there.”
“We’re friends, right?” I said, trying to keep it casual. The sight of her vulnerability did something terrible to my insides. She’d always seemed so independent and brave.
“Yes, friends.”
I nudged her shoulder with mine. “What are friends for?”
“I hope I can be as good a friend to you as you’ve been to me,” she whispered.
Suddenly, we were at the condo. I didn’t know how to respond. But it was already late, considering a few days ago she’d been in the hospital. “Do you need me to walk you up?”
“No, the door’s just there and then an elevator. Hey, thanks again. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. What time did you say you could get me?”
I froze for a moment, my insides doing a happy dance—she wanted to listen to the band!—and tried to sound casual. “Six thirty?”
“Cool. I get to see the robot?”
I laughed. “Yep. It’s there.”
She opened the door, her back to me as she said, “I’ll answer Knox’s question tomorrow about Rosalind High.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Night.”
“Later, gator.” With a flash of a grin over her shoulder, she was gone.
I shook my head at both how much fun I’d had tonight and how much I couldn’t wait for her answer tomorrow. A little worry also had me cranking the AC in my car. If she stayed, I couldn’t let her distract me. First quarter grades were the last thing all my early application schools would see.
Caltech—Los Angeles—had always been my dream.
Go faster, I willed my legs. The haze of humidity, the glow of the street lamps, and the swinging of Spanish Moss from the lumbering oaks in the menacing ghost tour area had me glancing over my shoulder, peering into the dark night. My feet pounded, radiating pain to my knees, on the winding cobblestones underfoot. Something stalked me, if I could just move faster—
“Chrissy, please!” My eyes flew open, at the sound of a loud voice. Shallow breaths filled the room. Perspiration covered my body. “Ugh,” I groaned as I pulled off my sweat-soaked sheets in disgust and headed to see what the fuss was with my mom. One of my medications could cause vivid dreams. That nightmare was just, well, disturbing.
“I think we both know this is best for her,” Dad was saying, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. “If she’d stayed there, who knows what would have happened? She needs more time to recover. I’m not spoiling her; she’s been really sick.”
I walked slowly in front of him so he knew I could hear, grabbed a cup, and poured some coffee. I couldn’t hear what Mom was saying, but judging by the jaw-clenching and pacing from Dad, it was something nasty.
After I’d downed half the cup, I had the fortitude to say, “Dad, please put her on speaker.”
“Are you sure?” he asked in Swedish. “She’s in a mood.” I nodded, and he switched back to English. “Chrissy, your daughter wants to talk to you. I’m putting you on speakerphone.”
“Hi, Mom,” I said hesitantly.
“Hi, baby girl. How are you feeling?” Her voice dripped with fake sweetness like it normally did when we were in public.
“I want to stay here.” I risked a quick glance at Dad. “At least for a semester, or maybe a year, if it’ll mess up getting into college to switch midyear.”
“Rayanne, I just don’t know if your dad is capable of handling you. He never wanted children. This might be too much for him, and I don’t want you to get hurt.” She said it so gently I almost wanted to believe her.
“I can handle Ray,” Dad said firmly. “I want her to stay. You’ve been complaining about the bills. I can get her insurance covered. Ray wants to stay.”
I nodded at Dad. “Mom, I want this.”
It was nerve-racking, but it was the right thing for so many reasons. Junior year was important on my transcripts and I didn’t feel capable of starting school yet. I dreaded thinking about starting behind. I knew I was mostly to blame for Mom having ‘just’ an associate’s degree, at least that’s what she always said to me. I wanted to be an architect, and that took good grades and lot’s of school. Jeff had agreed I should stay. And at least I’d have Charles; I wouldn’t be all alone. Plus, I liked my doctors here.
My heart raced again, but I repeated firmly, “I want to stay in Michigan.”
Mom and Dad agreed to call their lawyers and work out the details of a consent order and custodial parent swap if this was really what I wanted. I assured them it was. Then I left them to talk as I went to shower away my weird dream. Holy guacamole, I loved not fighting over the shower and bathroom with three other people. Having my own bathroom for the first time in my life was amazing. Guests could use it, but we hadn’t had any, so it felt like my own. I was sure Dad’s girlfriend, who lived in Chicago, would eventually visit, but it hadn’t happened yet. Anyhoo, she’d probably use his.
When I came out, Dad had food ready for me: some toast with Swedish caviar paste, a few pieces of sliced cheese, and a glass of water. Maybe because I’d grown up with Swedish food, but pickled herring and fish eggs had always seemed like the perfect breakfast to me. Or cheese. I loved the hard white cheese Mormor and Dad always had. Surströmming you could only find at my grandparents’—Americans hated the smell—but Kalles Kaviar or Prästost we could buy at Ikea, and Dad always kept some in the fridge.
“Miraculously, I’ve gotten an emergency appointment with the lawyer,” Dad said as I ate. “Someone canceled last night. Do you want to come or stay here?”
I chewed for a moment. “I’d like to stay and let my friends know.”
He kissed my head. “I’ll be back soon.”
I called Jeffery as soon as I finished eating. He was supportive, just like before. He ended the call with, “Honey, you call me. Night or day, you call.”
“We’ll talk soon, big guy. Keep some air in my bike for me, ya hear?”
My heart buzzed like a cicada swarm as I imagined not having Jeff right next door, like he had been my whole like. I washed and dried the breakfast dishes by hand as I worked up the nerve to call Ross. After tidying the already clean kitchen, I found his contact and took a deep breath.
“Hi,” I said tentatively when Ross picked up. I fidgeted with the hem of my cut-off shorts as I waited for him to respond. These cut-offs had become ridiculously frayed with all my nervous picking over the last few weeks.
“Hey, pretty girl, are you ready to come home tomorrow? I can’t wait to see you and show you all the ways I missed you.”
I jerked a thread out of my short
s and twirled it between my fingers. “I’m staying in Michigan.”
He was quiet a moment. “You’re going to miss the first week of school? Are you still sick?” His voice was tinged with worry, and I was glad. I didn’t want to think I’d dated a monster for almost seven months.
“Ross, I’m staying in Michigan—living here.” I breathed in deeply. “My dad and I talked about it, and it would be better for me to do at least one semester here.”
“When did you decide this?” His voice had an edge to it.
“This morning.”
“And you didn’t want to talk to me about it?” He sounded shocked or disappointed—I couldn’t tell which.
“The phone goes two ways, you know?” I said, maybe a little too harshly, then counted to ten for patience. “This is what’s best for me. I’m going to have this disease for the rest of my life. I need to learn how to manage it. We thought it would be a good idea to let me start school a month later, like theirs do, and stay with my medical team.”
The silence on the other end was brutally tense. Finally, he said in a flat, maybe pained voice, “Well, I guess this is the end of us, then.”
Even though part of me was relieved, especially because I knew a breakup had been looming, his callousness hurt. Like the fountain of tears I’d been lately, I felt a few trail down my cheeks. “Yeah, I guess so,” I said.
In a nicer tone, he said, “Rayanne, I hope you get better. I will miss you. You really are one of a kind.” Now he sounded wistful.
“Thanks, Ross. Anyway, I gotta go call a few other people and let them know. And work—I need to quit officially.” And just because I was feeling a little petty, I added, “I’m sure Carolyn will want to know you’re officially single now.”
