Dedication
To Edith, Emily, and Jane
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Afterword
Back Ad
About the Author
Books by Claire Needell
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
Alone at the breakfast table, Melanie still wore her pajamas—pink shorts and a matching tank with white flowers; her hair was pulled off her face by a dark purple headband. Her face shone from vigorous morning scrubbing. Her feet were bare, and she was chilly in the air-conditioned apartment, but too lazy to get her sweater or slippers from the bedroom she shared for twenty-four more hours with her sister, Erika. Melanie was supposed to get up early to help Dad pack his moving boxes, but she hadn’t set her alarm. It was late, she knew that, but what was summer vacation for, if not sleeping in? At any rate, her sisters weren’t doing much work either, from what Melanie could see, and Dad was not even around.
Erika, who was sixteen and a year ahead of Melanie at Rose Dyer High School, lay curled up on the couch in the adjacent living room reading a large book with a diagram of something that looked like an atom or a cell on the cover. The Russells lived in a three-bedroom apartment in Battery Park City, overlooking the Hudson River. It was a largish apartment for the neighborhood, but still felt cramped to Melanie, who often wished they could afford a townhouse, or a duplex, someplace with stairs. She thought if they had stairs she could get along better with Erika, who was nearly always in her way, and was generally too large for the apartment. Melanie, like her oldest sister, Jan, was petite, while Erika was tall, and given to taking up the entire couch, so no one else could sit there. Even if Erika had a more normal personality, Melanie thought she might hate her simply for her size. Big people annoyed Melanie. Even though Erika was skinny as a rail, her arms and legs were rangy, and she took up far more space than Melanie did in the small room they had been forced to live in together for the last fifteen years, simply because neither of them had the good sense, as Jan had, to be born first.
Jan, who was leaving for college the next day (and surrendering her room to Erika!), stood near the table drinking coffee. Jan was dressed in cobalt-blue shorts and a white peasant blouse. She didn’t look dressed to help anyone pack boxes, but more like she was off to get brunch with her boyfriend, Adam. Anyway, that’s what Melanie would be doing if she were leaving town tomorrow. Melanie, exhausted, lay her head down on the table. She had been up until two, reading a novel from the summer homework list, and she still had an entire nonfiction book about climate change to read and write about in the next week. Summer homework was a stupid waste of time. “I don’t know why I got up. Dad’s not even packing. What time is it?” Melanie asked.
“It’s nine thirty,” her mother answered. Julia Russell had just come out of her bedroom and was dressed for a meeting, although Melanie hadn’t remembered her mother mentioning that she’d be leaving Melanie and her sisters to deal with Dad’s move. It was classic. Mom had some business meeting on the day Dad planned to move out. It was better than her mother causing a major scene, Melanie figured, but in a way it was just as dramatic. Her mother was definitely trying to prove something, but what, Melanie couldn’t say—that she wasn’t going to help Dad with anything ever again? That he had to run his own life from now on? Or that she didn’t need him? She was already too busy to hang around on his last day ever as her husband.
Julia Russell was a fashion writer and worked mostly from home, unless she had a meeting, and then she was usually dressed as she was now—pencil skirt, sleeveless blouse, strappy sandals, hair swooped into a low, messy bun. Julia was stylish and young-looking, though she had gray around her temples that she refused to color. She said it made her look less desperate than the women her age who insisted on being blond, “like a band of aging sorority girls.”
“Dad’s packing in there,” Mom said, gesturing toward the bedroom, as she cleared a crumb-filled plate from the table. She said these words casually, as if he were going on an overnight trip and not moving everything he owned to a storage locker in Bushwick.
Jan caught Melanie’s eye across the table, frowned, and shook her head, annoyed. Jan, unlike Melanie, wasn’t stuck forever in Battery Park to deal with her parents’ separation. Not that their parents saw it as anything anyone else had to cope with. They acted like the whole thing would barely be noticed, as though Dad had always just been visiting, as though his long trips overseas on previous book projects had been rehearsals for this inevitable day when he’d leave for good. For a moment, a heavy silence hung over them, until it was broken by Erika, who leaped up suddenly from her place on the couch.
“Darn it,” Erika exclaimed. “Friggenhoffer!” Erika had accidentally kicked a mug of hot tea from the side table, spilling its contents onto the new off-white area rug. But Erika couldn’t swear like a normal person. She had to use corny words that made her sound like a total imbecile. Erika was a walking mishap. Why her mother bothered to buy anything nice while Erika lived there, Melanie did not know.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” her mother said, exasperated. Erika ran for the kitchen, practically hyperventilating.
“Sorry, Mom!” she said, dashing back and forth with rolls of paper towels and a bottle of stain remover. Erika was frantically blotting at the spot, spraying it with the stinking chemical cleaner, getting hysterical as the tea stain refused to be scrubbed away. Sympathetic, Jan picked up the empty teacup, patting Erika on the back as Erika tearfully dabbed at the carpet. “Oh, God, I ruined it,” Erika said. “That was so stupid, an infinitude of stupid! Your new rug, Mom!” Erika kneeled on the carpet, vigorously rubbing the stain. “Ugh. It’ll never be perfect.”
“Okay, Erika, it’s not that big a deal,” Julia said evenly. “That’s why I got it. Shows almost nothing.” Mom had bought the rug the week before, along with a new deep red armchair, a set of velvet-trimmed pillows, and a bulbous, modern-looking lamp. Melanie could tell her mother was annoyed about the stain, but she was tiptoeing around Erika. If it had been Melanie who’d spilled something, it would be another story. Everyone always assumed the worst about Melanie.
It was odd that Mom was redecorating before Dad even moved out. Dad was leaving the country for six months to research a book about a Hong Kong real estate tycoon. At first, that was the only reason he was leaving, to work on his book. But then Mom put her foot down, insisting that he either stop with his excuses for spending half the year away, or move out permanently so she could have a “real life.” Melanie had heard her mother use that phrase a dozen times, each time accusing Dad of being unwilling to “live a real life together.” It gave her a chill each time she heard her say it. Did she mean the summers they spent in that spider-infested cabin in Maine hadn’t been real? Their dinners out in Chinatown, all the family trips to Puerto Rico and Mexico, the time they went to Paris and she bought blue suede boots and tried frogs’ legs, which tasted like fishy chicken? None of that had been real for her mother? That there was something false about her childhood gave Melanie a pounding headache. It wasn’t fair for one person
in the family to decide what was real and what wasn’t.
“What’s all the commotion?” Dad came out of the bedroom dragging a bear-sized black suitcase, which he left looming by the front door. He was wearing flip-flops, khaki shorts, and a New York Yankees T-shirt that was so washed out you could barely read the letters. It creeped Melanie out that her father had clothes that were older than she was. She wondered if now that he was leaving he would buy some new clothes—or would he start his new life with a bunch of smelly old T-shirts and ink-smeared sweatpants?
“Nothing, David, no major catastrophe. You can go back to your packing. You have about twenty minutes before the moving guys get here.” Dad ran his hand through what remained of his hair and glanced around the apartment, as though moving out had only just occurred to him. Half a dozen open boxes sat waiting to be filled with the contents of Dad’s desk and bookshelves, boxes that had been sitting open in the living room for at least a week.
“Julia, can you take it down a notch, please? No one wants a fight today.”
“You pay by the hour, you realize? Whatever you don’t have organized, they’re just going to throw into boxes, and there’s a lot of stuff around the girls and I really need. How are the movers supposed to tell what’s yours and what’s ours? David, you really have to get your shit together!” Mom had started off speaking in her reasonable, you-know-I’m-right voice, but then gave up and started swearing, hands on her hips, color rising on her well-made-up cheeks. Melanie hated when her mother did that. She got in trouble for talking that way to Erika. It was one of a dozen ways her parents were both hypocrites. Their fights were louder and longer than any of Melanie and Erika’s, and now they were breaking up for good. It wasn’t like Melanie got to choose whether or not to live with Erika all those years.
Dad gave Mom one of his blank stares, as though he had no idea what she was saying. He looked around at his daughters for support. Jan and Erika turned away, both of them scrubbing out the now nearly invisible stain on Mom’s carpet. Dad had been procrastinating packing all week. It had been bad enough with him sleeping on the couch. But then there was Mom, redecorating around him, and Dad, not even packing up his enormous stacks of color-coded files. Dad kept papers on every article and book he had ever written in his so-called study, which was really just a very large, very messy desk at the far end of the living room, behind a printed rice paper screen he’d sent back from Hong Kong on one of his trips. Now the living room was divided in half—with Mom’s new furniture on one side, and Dad’s half-packed boxes of books and folders on the other. The painted screen, with a red-lipped Asian woman on it, was the dividing line, and Melanie wondered who got to keep it.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Jan said. “We’ll help Dad with the study.” Jan disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a roll of packing tape and a pair of scissors. The night before, Dad had been in the kitchen packing his family’s silver, but he still hadn’t finished. He’d spent too much time calling them in to tell everyone about the gravy boat he had finally found, after misplacing it last Thanksgiving, or to tell them about the sugar bowl with the lion’s head on it, and how his grandfather had brought it with him from Germany, the only piece of silver from his father’s side of the family, which had been carried across Europe in their great-grandfather’s backpack. Why? Melanie wanted to ask. Why did that make her father happy? That some man running for his life had nothing in the world he cared about more than a sugar bowl?
Jan took a large cardboard box from a stack against the wall and folded it into place, while Erika taped the sides down, smoothing the tape with the edge of her scissors. Jan was only slightly taller than Melanie, although she was three years older. But Melanie was the prettier of the two. Jan had narrow hazel eyes, while Melanie had large blue eyes, with dark lashes. Both Melanie and Jan were attractive, but Erika, on the other hand, was striking. Erika was one of those natural blondes with olive skin and hazel eyes—an unusual combination that, in itself, made her appearance intriguing. She also had the elongated limbs of a fashion model, and was so obviously that physical type that she had even been scouted for modeling work last year by a friend of Mom’s in the fashion business. Erika had appeared in an ad that ran in all the major magazines, an accomplishment many girls her age could only dream of, but which was, for Erika, merely a curiosity, a way she happened to have spent an otherwise uneventful afternoon, a way to make some money to put away for college or graduate school, although with her talents she was likely to win scholarships to the top science programs in the country.
Erika, Melanie thought, was the main reason her life was not all it could be. Erika got on her nerves in a way she could not control, which in turn got her into trouble with Mom and Dad, both of whom worshipped Erika, and who were constantly on Melanie’s case for her “anger issues.” Erika was an irritating freak of nature who had somehow been born to Melanie’s own parents.
Erika was unlike anyone else in the family—a giantess with a giant weirdo brain. Just looking at her sister could make Melanie’s blood boil. Erika moved her long, dusky limbs in a quiet catlike manner, but she still somehow managed, mysteriously, to remain a total klutz. Of course, it was always Melanie’s fault if she lost her temper or simply couldn’t stand to be around her sister.
Watching Jan and especially Erika running around helping Dad pack made Melanie suddenly furious. She didn’t think it was fair the way her father procrastinated, and then expected everyone to help him. She hated the way Erika doted on their father, when he was the one who was causing all their problems.
“Thanks, ladies,” Dad said, smiling. “If you guys have that covered, Melanie can help me with the silver cupboard in here.” Melanie knew this was coming, but still could not find it within herself to move.
“Yeah, right, I have about three hundred pages to read today,” Melanie said. “Anyway, you should have packed it yourself, like Mom said.”
Dad stared at her, his round-eyed, raccoon-looking stare. Even Mom frowned, although Melanie was only taking her side. “Mel, I’m asking for your help. I’m moving out today, and I’d really appreciate it if this family could show me some consideration. I’m still your dad. This book is going to pay your college tuition, so you could get your ass in gear.”
“David,” Mom started, but Dad held up his hand. “It’s what we agreed, Julia. I would stay here until Jan left for school, and we would be amicable about all of this. Melanie needs to understand. It’s not some tragic divorce where everyone hates everyone. We all care about each other and take care of each other like always, but we’re just choosing to live apart. No one’s a bad guy. Now come give me a hand, Mel. It’ll take half an hour.”
From the other side of the room, Melanie could hear the thunk, thunk of Jan and Erika tossing one folder after another into boxes. Her mother busied herself with clearing the breakfast dishes and then disappeared into the bedroom. Melanie was beginning to doubt her mother had anywhere to go at all; she was just trying to act busy so she wouldn’t have to help Dad. Melanie knew she should do what her father asked her, but somehow her body would not comply. If her father would stop staring at her, she might have been able to obey, but there was some coiled animal in her that she could not tame. She leaned back over her book. “No,” she said. “I’ve got stuff to do.” She hadn’t intended to pick a fight, but a white sheet of anger had blanked out her brain, the way a computer screen is sometimes wiped clean by an otherwise undetectable surge of power. Something surged in Melanie’s brain—a mood so far beyond her control it seemed to have a voice all its own.
Her father let out a deep sigh. “Melanie Russell, get your butt in here and help your dad before eight Russian dudes get here and turn this place inside out.” Her father’s face was turning red; even the top of his head was flushed. Jan and Erika kept their heads down, refusing to be drawn into her fight.
“If you’re in such a rush, why are you wasting your time arguing with me?” Melanie said. It was as though her mouth had
been taken over by aliens. She stared at her book. She had read the same sentence at least five times, and it still had not sunk in. She could feel the small hairs on the back of her neck rising. Her father sighed again.
“This is really disappointing behavior, Melanie. It’s not the right tone at all. I’m leaving the country in two days, right after I drive Jan to school. Do you really want this to be the way you say good-bye?” His voice was less angry now than sad.
“I don’t know, Dad,” Melanie said. “I’m not the one doing all the yelling.”
After that, the room stayed quiet, until forty-five minutes later when the doorman buzzed that the movers had arrived. By that time, Mom had left for a meeting, and Jan and Erika had packed Dad’s desk, including, even, the yellow-glazed sculpture of a bird with big, black smudgy eyes that Melanie had made for Dad in first grade. Melanie had gotten dressed and retreated to her room to read, never having packed a single object. She had lost track of time, read a dozen or so pages, and then dozed off.
The bird was the first thing Melanie noticed was missing when she came out of her room—her little clay bird. It was impossible to think of it being stored away for a year in some storage locker, and even harder to think of it being unpacked in some entirely new place she would never live. Irrationally, she wanted to demand the bird be found, that they open every box until they located it, but it was too late. All the boxes were gone. If she had wanted to keep the bird sculpture safe until her father moved back from Hong Kong, she should have asked him hours ago.
As Mom predicted, the movers left a mess of dust and wads of packing tape strewn around the apartment. There were empty spaces, like scars, everywhere Dad’s things had been—even in the coat closet, which had big gaps where Dad’s winter parka, his never-worn ski jacket, and the tweed sports coat they all made fun of had recently hung.
Dad’s study was now only a corner of the living room with nothing in it. The Chinese screen looked small and purposeless without a desk to conceal. When Dad left with Jan to meet the movers at his storage unit, he’d kissed Erika good-bye at the door, but Melanie had gone groggily to the dining table with her book, pretending, again, to read. “Good-bye, Mel,” Dad had said, and he came over to her and kissed her on top of her head.
The Word for Yes Page 1
