by Kyla Stone
“Always trying to fix everything, Little Miss Perfect. Sorry to burst your precious bubble, but I’m beyond fixing.”
I think of the memories the photographs dredged up. I think of Lux as a little girl, who used to make up all those games and stories. The one who used to crawl into my bed and wrap her scrawny arms around me late at night.
Where is that Lux now? Somewhere along the line, she cut herself off entirely from me and Dad, encasing her heart in barbed wire that ripped your flesh if you got too close, if you tried to touch her.
When did that happen? When Mom died? Did the process of ossifying her heart begin then? Did we betray Lux by not being there for her when she needed us? Entangled in our own grief, did we inadvertently do something Lux saw as unforgivable?
I reach out and touch her arm. “That’s not true.”
She snatches her hand back like she’s been burned. “It’s not like you care anyway. You hate me.”
“I’ve never hated you.”
Something closes over Lux’s face. “You always were a horrible liar.” And then she’s gone.
After a moment, the car roars out of the driveway. The front door’s still open, letting in drafts of freezing air.
I just stand there, paralyzed on the top step.
Alone.
29
Lena
Eli texts me Friday afternoon. Is the nurse there? H wants 2 go sledding. U in?
There are a few softly rolling hills in southwest Michigan. The biggest one is at Brewster’s Farm. The owners charge five dollars for a giant black tube and hot chocolate in Styrofoam cups. I haven’t been there since senior year, when Edward Thorpe tried to stack two tubes, fell off like an idiot, and sprained his ankle. Besides, it’s the third week of March and there’s hardly any snow.
No snow, I text back.
Hello? Snow Machines. Closed for season this week. Last chance. H misses U.
My stomach somersaults. Just Hadley? My fingers hover over the screen. But no, this isn’t me. I can’t type that. I’m not a flirt. I’m the quiet one, the wallflower. I don’t know how to do this stuff. But still, I want to go. Badly.
When?
4. See U There.
It’s already 3:45 p.m. I throw on some insulated leggings and track pants, a sweater, and my puffy black coat. I peek my head in Dad’s room. Ellie is sitting in the navy La-Z-Boy, a book in her hands. She’s reading The Wizard of Oz aloud, one of Mom’s favorite books. She must have pulled it from the bookshelf, or maybe Dad asked her to read it. Dad’s eyes are closed, his breath ragged in his chest.
Ellie looks up, her giant hoop earrings swinging. Ropes of rose-colored pearls encircle her neck. The light winks off her rings, the amber stones the size of nickels. “How are you, my dear?”
“Is he sleeping? I heard you reading.”
“I like to think we can still hear each other, even in the deepest sleep. I’m hoping it gives him good dreams.”
“Is he—is it almost time?”
“I’m afraid so, honey. He’ll be at peace soon.”
“Okay,” I mumble, because what else is there to say?
Ellie gestures at my clothes. “You going somewhere? Please tell me it involves a boy.”
The bright red creeping up my neck tells her all she needs to know.
She smiles wide, her raspberry lipstick bleeding a little into the fine lines around her mouth. “Well, you look lovely. Look how you want to feel, that’s what I always say. Have fun, darling. You deserve it.”
On my way to Brewster’s, I stop at the post office to overnight my package of prints for the committee’s March 28th deadline. If they approve me, my spot in the gallery is ensured—my shot at the prize money, the internship, my chance at a whole new life.
I say a quick prayer over the box, not knowing to whom exactly, maybe to the universe.
If I deserve anything, I want so badly to deserve this.
I shield my eyes from the sun. It’s such a relief from the dark foreboding of the house, the walls closing in. Death crouching in the corners, waiting to pounce.
I need a distraction.
Who am I kidding? Eli Kusuma is more than a distraction. My stomach somersaults again when I see them waiting for me at the bottom of the hill.
Hadley’s bundled in a fuzzy pink coat and a hat with yellow pompoms. She squeals and hugs me like we’re best friends. It doesn’t take much to earn the complete loyalty and adoration of a two-year-old.
Eli’s dressed in dark jeans and a black leather coat, a gray knit cap squashing down his hair. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Hey, Lena. You prepared for an adventure of epic proportions?”
The sound of my name on his lips sends an uncomfortable zap of electricity sparking through me. I clear my throat. “Let’s do this thing.”
We pay the fee, grab our tubes, and trudge up the hill. There are a dozen families with little kids yelling, laughing, and slip-sliding down the hill. No one our age. Because they’re all away at college or working, I think with a twinge.
Eli settles in a tube at the top of the hill. I help Hadley climb on Eli’s lap and sit down next to them on a second tube. “I must warn you,” Eli says. “Hadley and I play to win. Are we gonna demolish her, Chipmunk?” “Yeah! Me win!” Hadley yells.
“That’s my girl.”
“Then let’s race!” I push off with my hands and whoosh down the hill. The cold air nips my cheeks. My hair lifts off my neck and flies behind me.
Eli and Hadley’s tube punches into mine at the bottom of the hill.
“Me win?” Hadley asks hopefully.
“You sure did,” I say, trying to climb out of the tube without falling on my face like an idiot. “Just you, though. Not your daddy. He definitely lost.”
Hadley giggles. “Again!”
We go again. And again. After an hour, I can’t feel my fingers anymore. We stop at the little station at the top of the hill to grab steaming hot chocolate in Styrofoam cups. Hadley plops down on her butt and plays happily with clumps of snow. I sip the watery hot chocolate through a straw, warmth filling my stomach.
Eli stands next to me, his presence like a wall of static electricity. “How’s your dad?”
“It’s almost time.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
I kick at a clod of snow with my boot. I realize I want to tell him everything. It hurts too much, keeping it all inside. “He keeps telling me he’s found peace, but he seems upset, and he won’t talk to me about it. Like he feels guilty about something.”
“We all do things we regret in life. Maybe when your life flashes in front of your eyes, all you see is everything you did wrong.”
My throat tightens around my words. “He refuses to take pain medication to make the end easier. That’s the real reason he wanted to come home to die. He wants to suffer.”
“That must be really rough for you,” Eli says gently. His eyes are warm and kind.
I blink rapidly, look away. “I hate seeing him in so much pain.”
He touches my arm. “I know.”
“Daddy!” Hadley holds up two handfuls of snow.
“You rock, Chipmunk.”
Her face lights up when he looks at her. My heart twists in my chest.
“Ball! Ball!” She mashes the snow between her fingers.
I squat down in front of her. I don’t want to think about death now, here, when I’m surrounded by so much life. “Watch my cup, okay?” She takes the Styrofoam cup and holds it carefully.
I mash up a chunk of snow and roll it between my gloved hands until it’s mostly round. She trades me the hot chocolate and I hand her the snowball. “Ball. Right?”
She grins so hard little dimples pop out on both sides of her cheeks. “Ball!”
“What do you say, Hadley?” Eli says.
“T’ank you,” she says in the most serious, adorable voice I’ve ever heard.
I stand up, brushing snow off the knees of my pants. When I glance at Eli, he
’s staring straight at me. The corner of his mouth tugs into one of his cocky smirks. My pulse jumps in my throat, my palms suddenly damp even though I’m freezing. “What?”
“You,” is all he says. It’s a line, probably one he’s used a dozen times before on a dozen different girls. He’s looking at me like he knows my heart is palpating and my thoughts won’t organize themselves properly. He knows, and he likes it.
Heat flushes my neck and travels up into my face. He might like it, but I don’t. I’m exposed and vulnerable in all the ways I hate. A sharp, spiky resentment pricks me. “Can you stop please?”
Eli rolls his shoulders and clasps his hands behind his back. His smug grin only broadens. “Stop what?”
“Nothing. I just—I don’t know.”
“Don’t leave me hanging. Spit it out.”
I lick my dry, chapped lips. “Just—everything was fine a few minutes ago. But now you’re acting like you used to, back in high school.”
“What does that mean?”
“Arrogant. Entitled.”
His eyebrows knit together. “Big words, college girl. You think I’m arrogant?”
I shrug uncomfortably. I need to shut up. I’m making things worse, but the words keep tumbling out of my mouth. “Honestly? You’re a jock.
In high school, you strutted around like a male queen bee. No offense.”
His smile fades. “No offense?”
“I mean, why wouldn’t you, right? You had everything—popularity, good looks, sports, all the girls.”
“And you think that makes me what? Shallow? Stupid? An asshat?”
My face flames. “No. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe.”
He takes a step back, folds his arms over his chest. “Wow.”
I hate the way he’s looking at me, like he’s disappointed. “I’m not trying to judge you or anything.”
“It sure sounds that way.” His voice has an edge to it. “You know, I’m not an awful guy now, and I wasn’t then either. I never bullied anybody or treated girls badly. Do you have evidence to the contrary?”
“No.”
“You know what else? I kind of resent the implication. Yeah, I loved to play football. I went to some parties, drank some beer, had fun. I loved my girlfriends and was good to my mom. My life was pretty good. I’m not going to apologize for that.”
“I never said—”
“You did.” Eli keeps his gaze on me, his face inscrutable.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. The cold seeps in through my track pants. Hadley draws designs in the snow, giggling to herself. I’ve upset him, and the suckiest thing is I don’t even know what makes me do crap like this.
This is what I do, what I always do. This is why I’ve never had a real relationship. I go into retreat mode. I can’t let anybody in. Because why? Because I need control. I need things ordered and neat, in nice predictable boxes. Because I know this doesn’t mean anything to him.
This is all just a game, a distraction, a conquest. And what is it to me? More than that, whether I want it to be or not. It is. My heart is pulling me in directions I’m afraid to go. Standing here, it’s becoming increasingly clear that I’m not in control of anything.
Abruptly, he lets out a hard laugh.
“What?”
“You’re so dead set on pigeonholing me a jock, and yet I’ve spent most of my life fighting against the nerdy Asian stereotype. You should have seen them at MSU. My roommate, all the guys in the dorm—they were shocked my scholarship was for athletics. Like we can’t jump, hold onto a damn ball.” There’s something else in his voice now, a sliver of resentment.
“And that’s funny?”
“Yeah, yeah it is.” He shakes his head, a dark lock of hair falling into his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I played a jock too well.”
“No,” I say firmly. “I was out of line.”
He goes silent again. We both watch Hadley scooping up piles of snow. The wind picks up, scraping through the trees at the bottom of the hill. “I need to tell you something.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“No, I want to. When Nyah got pregnant, I was as scared out of my mind as anybody. But my dad ran out on us when I was seven. I still remember it. It was the worst day of my life. He went back to Indonesia and got himself a brand-new family. No need for the old one anymore.
“There was no way in hell I was turning into him. It wasn’t really even a decision. I knew I was gonna be there for this kid. You know what else? I didn’t fully get what that would mean, that it would be me giving up my dreams. I was the guy, so of course I’d still get to go to college, still get to play ball. Sounds selfish, doesn’t it? You pegged me as just that kind of guy.”
Shame forms a stone in my throat. It’s hard to swallow. “I’m sorry if—”
But he just keeps going. “Nyah’s parents kicked her out. They were hardcore born-again Christians, and not the forgiving kind. We took her in. She moved in with my mom when she was six months pregnant. I went off to college, and then Hadley was born. Instead of partying on weekends, I came back here. I changed diapers and fed her bottles while Nyah tried to sleep. But it wasn’t enough. Nyah was exhausted, depressed, and when Mom called me, I knew from the tone of her voice. Nyah was gone. I spent a week wrestling with my own conscience. And then I came home.”
I hear the pain in his voice, the sacrifice that a decision like that cost him. He had big dreams, just like I do. He had the talent and the scholarships to go with it. He’s only twenty-one, still at the beginning of his life, yet he gave up that big shiny future in exchange for diapers, exhausted nights, and long hours stuck in a small-town job.
And all this time, I’ve still thought of him as who he was—or who I thought he was. I didn’t have a clue. “Eli, I didn’t mean what I said.”
“I think you did.”
“I was wrong.”
He just looks at me.
This time I don’t look away from his gaze, even though my mouth goes dry and my stomach drops down to my toes. “I’m sorry.” I want to say more. I want to put my hand on his arm, his chest, feel the beat of his heart. But I can’t. I don’t.
“Apology accepted,” he says finally.
“Thank you.”
“Forget it. It’s not like you’re the only one who’s ever stereotyped a baller.”
I sip the last of my hot chocolate. Behind us, kids squeal and shriek in delight as they sled down the hill. “Are you angry at Nyah?”
“For awhile, yeah. I resented the hell out of her. But you know what? It takes two to tango.” He scoops up Hadley and brushes snow off her fuzzy pink coat. “And now I have this.”
“She’s wonderful.”
A shadow crosses his face. “I still miss football. I miss my friends. I miss college. It’s right, what I’m doing. I know that. But that doesn’t make it easy.”
“It’s hard trying to figure out how to be loyal to your family and have your dreams.” I think about my mother and her painting, my father and his photography. I think about Lux, drifting so far away I can barely see her anymore.
I got away. I escaped. I left Dad and Lux all alone in that cramped, shadowed house. I got to chase my dreams. Where did that leave her? I blink the thoughts away. “Maybe it’s impossible.”
“Exactly. Most people don’t get both.”
Hadley whispers something in Eli’s ear. He grins. “The Chipmunk wants to know if you’d like to go get ice cream.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You aren’t frozen enough?”
“Not yet. I can still kinda sorta feel my toes. So? You in?”
“Wanna icy?” Hadley says to me, making a goofy face.
“Ice cream in winter is one of our things, just so you know.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Superman ice cream is our absolute, all-time favorite dessert. We love to make our lips blue, don’t we, Chipmunk?” He tickles her ribs and Hadley squeals with delight.
<
br /> “Now you’re just weirding me out.” But I can’t help it. In spite of everything, I’m smiling.
This feels right. It feels good. I don’t want to fight this warm, happy feeling infusing my very pores. I don’t want to retreat, to shut down, to run away.
I want to be right here, right now. Nothing more and nothing less. “How can I say no?”
30
Lux
It’s been three days since the last fight with Lena. I can’t bear it in that house. Every day, I pause outside his door, determined to go in this time.
The harsh sounds of his breathing keep me up at night. I can hear it rattling deep in his lungs. It sounds like someone is pressing Saran wrap over his face. Each ragged breath is a battle for survival. A battle he’s losing.
Sometimes, the breathing noises stop. My heart clenches in my chest as I wait, ticking off the seconds, my mind screaming, Breathe, breathe! Just as abruptly, it jerks to a start again. Each time, fear lodges in my heart like a splinter. Each time, I back slowly away from the door, my heartbeat thundering in my ears, my stomach churning.
Tonight, I stand in front of his door like every other night, staring at the grains in the fake wood. My body weighed down, my legs cemented with dread. The thought of facing him, of meeting his sad, defeated eyes and knowing the truth—that I caused this, that I caused it all—It makes me want to sink through the floor and disappear. Forever.
He doesn’t really want to see me. Why would he? Why dredge up sleeping monsters? Why remind him of the complete and utter failures of his youngest daughter? He must hate me. If I were him, or even Lena, I would hate me too. I do.
Still, I have to do this. He’s my father. My legs are jelly, my heart sloshing like water in the cavity of my chest. I push open the door, listen to it creak on its hinges. I take a step into the room, then another. I stand there and stare at him.
The light is on, but he’s sleeping. Dad’s eyelids are stained eggplant purple, his lips blue. His sagging jowls are yellowed with fatigue and sickness.
