by Cat Patrick
He has kind eyes and a huge, openmouthed grin. Clearly, I got my hair color from him, but his skin is ghostlike and freckled, whereas mine is more creamy porcelain, like Mom’s. Wearing 90 SPF sunblock, I am capable of getting a tiny tint of tan; I see from photos that Dad is either white or burned.
I can almost hear an easy, booming laugh erupting from the worn images. His uniform of choice seems to be faded jeans and untucked shirts, and in it, he’s big and strong, ready to fight off monsters real or imagined.
Jamie pauses at a photo of my father teaching a preschool-aged me to swim. In the picture, he’s looking at my younger, more scraggly self with a mixture of admiration, curiosity, and blatant love. I feel like I’m going to cry.
Jamie glances my way and then turns the page.
“Is this your grandmother?” she asks quietly.
“Where?” I say, leaning toward her now. She turns the book in my direction and points to the background of a photo of my dad holding baby me.
There, standing behind us, is someone I hadn’t even noticed.
Someone I don’t know, but recognize.
Someone I haven’t met yet, but will.
My heartbeat quickens as I grab the dictionary and yank it back to my side of the desk island. I lean in closer and closer still, wishing that I had one of those tiny magnifying glass things that diamond dealers use.
There, in the middle of Spanish, with Jamie staring at me like she’s embarrassed to know me, something clicks.
The woman in the background of the photo is very clearly my grandmother. She is looking at baby me with such love and devotion that it almost hurts.
More than her expression, her appearance is the dead giveaway. Her hair matches mine and my father’s, and much of the rest of her is carbon copied in him and sprinkled in me.
“Twenty minutes,” Ms. Garcia calls to the class, interrupting my analysis.
Jamie mutters something profane under her breath and grabs our paper. She begins furiously translating.
“Want help?” I offer.
“No, keep obsessing,” she says without looking up.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Twenty minutes later, Jamie has turned in the lab paper we’ll get back next week with a bright red B+ on top, and we’re gathering our things. I’m carefully sliding the dictionary back into my bag, trying not to let any photos loose.
“What are we doing for lunch?” Jamie asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Just then, I remember what I’m doing. I straighten up and look at my friend.
“Luke asked me to lunch today,” I say.
“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed. I think I see a flash of something in her eyes. Annoyance? Jealousy? “That’s okay, I’ll go with Anthony.”
“Sorry, J.”
I notice then that Anthony is leaving in a hurry, and I wonder how she’ll really spend her lunch hour.
As I walk to meet Luke, my mind is on the photos. One photo, really. One person, specifically: my grandmother.
I can’t believe that I didn’t recognize her this morning. Now, I consider what that recognition means.
On one hand, I have an older, wiser role model who (presumably) loves me and might want to bake me cookies and braid my hair. Well, okay, just the cookies.
But on the other hand, my single future memory of her is the darkest one I’ve got: my grandmother is the older woman wearing the pretty beetle brooch at the funeral.
My brain twists and turns as I round the corner to the commons. I see Luke leaning against the far wall, bag dropped to the floor next to him. His eyes are cast down; he appears to be deep in thought. As soon as I wonder what he’s thinking about, his eyes are on mine. He smiles, pushes off the brick wall, and picks up his bag.
For some reason, my brain chooses that exact moment to figure it out. I stop halfway across the commons. A boy nearly collides with me. Luke looks confused.
The funeral.
Grandma.
Mom.
There is only one logical explanation. I don’t want to think it but the thought shoves its way to the front of the line anyway.
It’s Dad’s funeral.
My dad is going to die.
There.
Thought.
13
I am almost completely distracted by Luke by the time we make it through rows of student cars and reach his…
Minivan?
He laughs at my baffled expression at the sight of a car usually reserved for soccer moms. Apparently it was his soccer mom’s car before she replaced it with an oh-so-economical SUV.
As he starts the engine, Luke confirms that, yes, I’m still fine with going to his house for lunch instead of going out for pizza or something. Apparently his mother has taken his baby sisters shopping for new clothes in the city today.
Apparently Luke has baby sisters.
“How old are they?” I ask, looking around the van.
“Almost three,” Luke says. I screw up my face in concentration as I try to figure out the math.
“Are you wondering whether one of my parents is remarried?” Luke asks with a laugh.
“Sort of,” I confess. “It’s a pretty huge age difference.”
“Yeah, it is,” Luke says. “My parents had me young.”
“And they decided to have more kids later?”
“Yep,” Luke says. “They divorced and remarried each other. Then had the twins.”
I must still have a funny look on my face, because Luke keeps talking.
“I know it’s weird. Want to hear the saga?”
“Yes,” I say enthusiastically.
“Okay,” Luke says, smiling. “So, we lived in Chicago when I was born. My parents were high school sweethearts. They got married young, right after graduation. Can you imagine?” he asks, but doesn’t let me answer.
“Anyway, they had me when they were twenty-five or something. They were superpoor, so we lived in my grandparents’ basement. My dad was in law school and my mom took care of me and worked nights to help pay for it. I guess they were pretty happy despite the no-money thing.
“After school my dad got recruited by a big law firm in New York. We moved there when I was around five or so.”
“You lived in New York? That’s so cool,” I say, remembering the city from visits I’ll have as an adult. I can’t wait to go.
“Yeah, it was. I mean, I was young, but I remember a lot of it. My mom used to take me around the city. It was really fun. You know how some childhood memories just stick with you?”
“Yeah,” I lie, trying to plaster a nostalgic look on my face. Luke pauses and smiles at me. He looks like he wants to ask something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues his story.
“Anyway, the fun didn’t last long. Dad made partner and my parents started fighting because he spent a lot of time at work. Like, a lot. I don’t remember him being home much for a few years.”
At least you remember him at all, I think.
Luke exits the freeway and turns right, toward the newer housing development across the highway from mine. I am happy to discover how close we live to each other.
Luke goes on. “So when I was about ten, they got a divorce. For two years, I didn’t see my dad at all. He sent cards on my birthday and stuff…”
Cringe.
“… and I know he paid child support. We moved to Boston. My mom took a job at a furniture store. She worked a ton and so I spent the summers with my aunt and uncle.”
Luke pauses again, as if he’s waiting for me to say something. Unsure how to respond, I look back until he is forced to return his eyes to the road. He continues.
“Then one day Dad showed up with flowers and begged Mom to take him back. Eventually, she did, and he took a job in Boston at a smaller firm and came home at five thirty every night. It was like New York had never happened.
“It was all pretty weird, but that’s my parents. Then one day they shock me with news that they’re havi
ng twins.”
“Wow,” I say when he’s finished.
“I know, sorry. That was really long and boring,” Luke says.
“No, not at all. It sounds like a movie.”
Luke laughs and says, “Oh, I’m sure we all have our movie dramas,” in a way that makes me think he can see into my soul.
“What about your parents?” he asks casually.
“My mom sells real estate,” I say, eyes on the houses we’re passing.
“What about your dad? What does he do?”
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. Luke glances at me.
“Sorry for bringing it up,” he says.
“It’s no big deal,” I lie. In truth, it’s a very big deal, particularly today, but it’s nothing I need to share with a potential boyfriend who seems to play no part in my future. I’m relieved when we reach Luke’s house. Luke’s very new, very large house.
We go in, and after a quick tour of the main level, Luke fixes turkey sandwiches in the kitchen while I scan a mantel in the library bursting with framed photos of him and his little sisters. I feel a little twinge of jealousy at the sight of the happy siblings.
A particular photo of Luke when he looks to be eleven or twelve catches my attention, then magnetically draws it back the first few times I look away. In it, he’s clearly going through a tough-guy fashion phase. I can’t stop looking at it.
Finally, I focus on shots of his baby sisters.
“They’re adorable,” I say about the little girls when Luke brings in lunch.
“Yeah, they really are. You should see them in real life. They say the most hilarious stuff.” Luke is beaming, and the thought of him serving as older brother to these two precious ladies feels right. “Anyway, you’ll meet them sometime,” he adds. “Here you go,” he says, offering me a plate.
“I didn’t know you were on a crew team,” I say before taking a bite of the best turkey sandwich on earth.
He frowns, and I consider that he might have shared that with me already. Instead, he replies, “I need to keep you away from the photos.”
“It’s cute,” I mumble through bread and turkey, admiring a photo of Luke and his teammates. He looks oddly out of place among the Ivy-bound prepsters, but strangely at ease just the same.
“Ha-ha,” he replies sarcastically, and then smiles. “I’m not really into team sports, but crew was pretty fun. You have no idea what cold is until you’ve been dunked in the Charles River at six in the morning.”
We share a laugh and then finish our lunches before Luke gives me a guided tour of the rest of the house. It’s gorgeous, and with every new room, I search for traces of him.
Luke does his homework here. Luke watches TV there. Luke plays video games here. Luke eats dinner there.
Upstairs, there are four bedrooms bordering a U-shaped balcony that overlooks the main entryway. In one corner is the master bedroom; closest to it is the twins’ bedroom. Next is the guest bedroom.
And then, we approach Luke’s room.
My heart races a bit as I take in the dark wood and deep blue walls, which stand in stark contrast to the lightness of the rest of the house. I can see a well-worn guitar leaning against a low chair in the corner. A massive oil painting of a girl’s ear rests against the wall. It’s strange and beautiful at the same time, and I can’t help but wonder who the ear belongs to. Does Luke want to paint my ear?
The covers are thrown in a modest attempt at making the bed, and I find myself wanting to run over and smell the pillows.
Somehow, I manage not to act like a total stalker.
We’re tight on time, so I don’t get much farther than the doorway, and too soon, Luke is gently guiding me away from the only place I care to be at this second.
“We should go,” he says softly, placing his hand on my back. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
I reluctantly agree, but as we make our way back down the grand staircase and out to the minivan, I feel an unmistakable pull from his bedroom.
There is just so much Luke in that room. I want more of it.
We drive back to school in comfortable silence and walk inside hand in hand. Just before parting ways in the middle of the commons, Luke turns to face me.
“Want to go out on Saturday night?”
“Yes,” I say, maybe before he’s even finished his question. I grin at him and he laughs at me.
And then he moves closer.
I hold my breath, considering that Luke might kiss me right here in the middle of the commons. Just as I’m deciding whether or not I can kiss with an audience, Luke, staring intently into my eyes, raises a hand toward my face. Slowly, softly, he rubs his thumb along my jawbone. I’m hypnotized by the most perfect kind of touch. Oddly, it feels even more intimate than a kiss.
“Talk to you later,” Luke whispers, before breaking the trance and heading off in the direction of his next class.
“Bye,” I breathe after him.
I stand still, relishing the moment. Then, just before I turn to float to History, a familiar outfit catches my eye. At the other end of the vast common area, Jamie stands in front of the soda machine, staring at me.
I wave and she waves back, but there is something missing in her simple gesture. I consider going over and talking to her. But before my feet can move, Jamie turns and leaves.
14
“Jamie?”
“Hi! Why are you answering like that?”
“I’m just surprised that you’re calling, I guess,” I admit.
“Why?” Jamie plays dumb.
“You seemed upset today,” I say softly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I imagine the guilty look on her face on the other end of the phone. I can hear it in her voice, and that’s enough for me. I’m moving on.
“So what’s up?”
“Not much,” she says. “Had dinner, watched some TV.”
“Me, too.”
“Did you say anything to your mom about the stuff you found?”
“What? No!” I practically shout into the phone. “I can’t talk to her about that,” I add at a lower volume.
“I hear you,” Jamie says in a way that annoys me. Jamie’s mom will never be sneaky like mine. She’ll support Jamie through everything.
“Anyway, I did it,” she says.
“Did what?” I ask.
“Ugh, your messed-up memory is so annoying sometimes,” she says with a heavy sigh. “I met Ted after school.”
And then, I remember.
I remember the relationship that will destroy a marriage, ruin a career, and break my best friend’s heart. I recall notes about trying to talk her out of it, and more notes about trying to ignore it.
I remember the future when it all plays out, and suddenly I feel sick to my stomach. Jamie is stubborn, but I should have tried harder.
“Oh, Jamie. Are you okay?”
“Okay? Are you serious? I’m better than okay. He’s amazing.”
I can’t help but wonder if this is in response to Jamie seeing me with Luke.
“Jamie, I just think you need to really consider what you’re doing. This is a big deal.” I’m trying to sound like a concerned friend and not a parent, but it’s coming out the other way around.
“I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“J, I want you to be happy. I just don’t think this is right. I’m really worried about you.”
“Well, don’t be,” Jamie snaps.
I know she’s pissed, and yet, I have to keep trying. I ignore the notes that told me never to tell Jamie about her future.
“He’s not going to leave his wife, and you’ll just end up hurt. You’ll even try to…”
“SHUT UP, LONDON!” Jamie shouts into the phone. “I told you not to tell me anything, and you wrote it down, so I know you know. Don’t even try to pretend you don’t.”
“Fine,” I say forcefully. “I won’t tell you. But you don’t have to remember the future to know tha
t a grown man only wants one thing from a high school girl.”
“Don’t be a bitch, London.”
“I won’t, if you stop acting like a slut.”
We’re both silent, and I immediately want to suck the biting words back into my mouth. But it’s too late. My memory is right: Jamie and I won’t talk again for a while after this. Still, I try to fix the situation.
“J, I just worry about you.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry anymore. We’re done.”
Click.
15
10/27 (Wed.)
Clothes:
—Black cardigan with yellow tank underneath
—Faded Levi’s
School:
—Math test (read chapters 5 and 6 before school)
—Downloaded a couple cool logo samples for graphic design project (in backpack)
—Finish English essay & print before Friday
Drama:
Check out Dark Memory file on computer. I think it might be Dad’s funeral. Can’t deal with how unfair that is! Almost asked Mom about him today, but decided it was a bad idea (see envelope of stuff she’s hidden from me). WHY?? I want to meet him before anything happens.
Jamie is seriously pissed! She ignored me in Spanish (notes say she has all week), then came over after school for a borrowed clothes swap like we were breaking up. Barely spoke to me, then ripped the BFF poster in half!! I feel bad but this is crazy.
Bright side:
Luke and I have a date on Sat. night!! Unfortunately, we didn’t talk much in study hall today. He was sketching a giant ear (?) most of the time and then he had to go help his mom at lunch. Think he was about to kiss me before he left! Maybe Sat.
16
“Have I ever changed something that was supposed to happen?” I ask my mom as we pull into the parking lot before school. My head is heavy and it’s only 7:24 in the morning.
“What do you mean?”
