by Amber Smith
Dr. Greenberg whispers something to Ingrid. I keep one eye on the agitated fish while Ingrid and I toss days and times at each other. Finally she hands me a card to remind me of my appointment next week: Wednesday at 3:00. On the ride home I don’t even try to talk to Callie.
But I do decide right then and there that I’m going to let Jackie bring Callie to her appointments from now on. I will call the office on Tuesday afternoon and tell Ingrid something’s come up. School, work, transportation, et cetera. Dr. Greenberg is going to be useless anyway. He doesn’t get me, I can tell already, doesn’t get our family, but then again, no one does.
CONSTELLATIONS
THE SHOP WAS SLAMMED only an hour ago, the Sunday after-church rush. But as the crowd begins to thin, all that’s left is Callie, Aaron, and Ray. They seem to be here all the time recently, which, I suppose, is okay. I suspect, like me, Callie and Aaron sometimes feel weird about being at home, like when they remember about grape juice stains on the carpet or a particular crack in the wall . . . things we’d rather forget.
I had to work, but Callie and Aaron wanted food, so we walked here together—the first time we’d been out walking like that since we were little. We cut through the park, but there wasn’t much to say to one another.
She called this morning. Aaron talked to her first. Then he put Callie on the phone. I don’t know what Mom said to her, but I heard Callie say “Yeah,” “Fine,” and “Okay.” That’s it. Then she passed the phone to me.
Mom sounded distracted. Exhausted. Defeated. I tried to cheer her up. I told her that things were going great and tried to be upbeat. “Callie’s doing great—she’s back at school. And I love my new school too. I’m making friends. Things will be great once you’re back home, Mom,” I told her. Great. Great. Great.
“Brooke?” she said weakly. “I just want this to be over.”
“We do too.”
She was quiet—I wondered if she was crying. I heard a click on the line. And she said she had to go.
“I love you, Mom—everything’s going to work out. You’ll see, okay?”
“I love you, too.”
Dial tone.
I feel like I’ve been dragging a hundred-pound shadow behind me all day.
Aaron and Ray sit next to each other at the counter, talking, their voices low. I’m purposely wiping down only the tables within earshot of where they’re sitting so I can eavesdrop on their conversation. I glance over at Callie, who sits alone at a table for two in the corner with her legs pulled up to her chest. She’s pretending to do homework, with her books open in front of her, but all she’s really doing is staring out the window at the park across the street.
I remember what Dr. Greenberg said about people needing space. Maybe he wasn’t so wrong about that one.
From what I’ve gathered, Ray wants to help Aaron get a job at his company. Sounds like it would be a sweet gig for Aaron. Full-time with benefits, holidays, sick time. A real job—a grown-up job. This would be perfect. But perfect means pressure, means getting our hopes up; it means there’s a good chance this won’t work, because if there’s one thing Aaron’s not good at dealing with, it’s pressure.
“You know, the boss is doing a big hiring in the next couple months,” Ray tells Aaron, then takes a sip of his coffee. “Getting ready for the holidays. Supposed to be one of the busiest years. Or so they say,” he tells him with a shrug. Ray is such a dad. I find myself smiling at him in spite of myself. He’s the kind of dad I always dreamed about, the kind of dad I used to imagine was trapped somewhere deep inside of ours. Jackie appears then, walking over to them with a freshly brewed pot of coffee. She fills Ray’s cup up to the top without even asking if he wants more. I guess that’s the kind of thing you just know about someone when you’ve been married for so long.
“Yeah, but a place like that . . . I would need to get my GED to even get an interview, wouldn’t I?” Aaron asks, prepared to pull out every excuse not to take advantage of this help we’re being offered. Dad’s social security benefits help a lot, but it still isn’t nearly enough. We’re struggling. And every day that passes, the bills keep piling higher and higher. I’m making only enough at Jackie’s to cover some of the utilities. I want to yell at Aaron, shake some sense into him—Do whatever you have to do, just try—but I bite my tongue, focusing hard on the coffee-stain rings that seem to be permanently fused to the surface of the table I’m working on.
“I know you’ll think I’m meddling, Aaron,” Jackie begins, the coffeepot hovering over his cup. It seems like he’s practically living off coffee and cigarettes these days.
“That’s because you are, dear,” Ray interjects, patting Aaron on the shoulder as he stands. He wanders toward the door like he’s not in much of a hurry to get wherever he’s going.
“Well, too bad, so sad!” Jackie pretends to yell at Ray’s back as he leaves.
He raises an arm in the air, but it’s unclear whether he’s shooing her or waving good-bye—either way, it somehow manages to be a loving gesture. The bell on the door dings as he opens it. “Bye, girls,” he calls out. “See ya, Owen,” he says just before the door swings closed.
“All right,” Jackie admits, “I am meddling—I’m a meddler. Here’s the thing,” I hear her tell Aaron. “I signed you up to take the GED at the Adult Ed Center.” She pulls a folded piece of paper from her apron pocket and slides it across the counter. “That has the dates and times of the tests. You be there. I mean it.” She points a stern finger at him, like a warning.
“Yeah, but—” he starts to protest.
“Dude, I’d listen to the lady,” Owen mumbles, pushing a mop across the tile floor as he moves in between us. He looks up at me with a grin and then raises his eyebrow in this mischievous way, like we’re suddenly the best of friends. “She’ll hunt you down if you disobey—she’s the Godmother,” he says, pretending to whisper in Aaron’s ear, but talking more than loud enough for Jackie to hear.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie mumbles, her voice flat and monotone. “Get outta here,” she teases as she swats at him with her hand. “Hey, where’s your hat?”
“See what I mean?” he says, looking back and forth between me and Aaron, pointing a thumb at her as he pulls his folded-in-half JACKIE’S hat out of his back pocket. “Vicious.”
“Little punk,” Jackie mutters. Then she refocuses her attention on Aaron and sighs. “Good kid. Like you.”
“Jackie, look,” Aaron begins. “I appreciate what you and Ray are trying to do, but—”
“But what?” she interrupts. “You’d rather do things the hardest way possible? Rather do it all alone? Struggle? You’re stubborn.” She points her finger again. “Just like your . . .” But she stops herself from finishing.
I feel my blood getting hot on Aaron’s behalf, almost like I can feel his blood inside of me, simmering. “I’m not like him,” he finally tells her, a tiny tremble in his voice that I’m pretty sure no one else can hear but me.
“No—no, Aaron.” She places her hand on his arm and squeezes gently. “It wasn’t an insult. Your father was . . . a complicated man. Not all bad. Not all good. You know? Just like the rest of us.”
He shakes his head, looks down into the bottom of his coffee cup.
“So, what is it, then?” she asks him. “You think you can’t pass the exam, is that right?”
He turns around, as if he can feel me listening. I look away.
“Huh?” she prompts, shaking his arm like a little earthquake.
“Yeah, maybe,” he admits, so quietly I almost can’t hear him. “So?”
“So . . . you’re wrong. You’ll study. You’re a smart boy.”
Then she smiles that award-winning toothpaste smile at him and adds, “I really wish you could’ve known him when he was your age. He was a different person then.” I wait for Aaron to detonate. But, thankfully, the bell on the door dings, interrupting her.
I consider telling Aaron that I’ll help him study, but something ke
eps me standing here, silent. Maybe it’s because I’m starting to get really sick of taking care of everyone else. Sick of feeling responsible for everything that goes right, everything that goes wrong. So I stand here, feeling so weighed down I can’t even move, with both of their backs facing me.
Jackie picks up the pot of coffee, tousling Aaron’s hair with her free hand before walking away to greet the new customer.
Then it’s the three of us: me, Aaron, and Callie, forming a triangle in the empty space. A constellation. Something invisible holds us in formation, keeping us from moving toward one another, but keeping us from moving away, too.
“Brooke?” Jackie calls across the room, snapping me out of my trance. “Can you give me a hand?”
Somehow I didn’t notice that there’s now a line forming at the front counter. When I look back, both Aaron and Callie are watching me. While I’m rushing to fill coffee and tea orders, I see Aaron, out of the corner of my eye, walk over and sit down at the little table with Callie. His back is to me, so I can’t tell what he says to make her laugh. But she does.
I have the overwhelming urge to scream at the top of my lungs, to shout both of their names, get them to turn around, to look at me and see that I’m my own person and I have my own life and I’m so sick of worrying about them all the time. But I don’t. I reach into my pocket for my phone instead.
Hi, Dani! Sorry, I forgot to respond the other day. How’s your weekend going?
She writes back nearly instantly, and I start to feel a little lighter: going great now, girl! you?
OK . . .
what r u doing right now? wanna hang?
I can’t. Sorry. At work.
bummer :*(
I take a deep breath, fill my lungs with air, releasing it slowly as I type what feels like the riskiest words I’ve ever dared even to think: I was going to stay after school tomorrow to study in the library. Wanted to let you know. Just in case . . .
I lower my phone as the screen fades to black, trying, unsuccessfully, not to get my hopes up as I wait for a response. Just when I begin to think this reckless experiment has become an utter failure, as I’m shoving my phone back into my pocket where it belongs, I hear the most wonderful one-note chime. I fumble to get my phone out of my pocket, nearly dropping it.
i’ll be there! :)
I smile to myself, the screen glowing at me like a signal from a different star across the galaxy.
FREAKS
I LOOK OUT THE WINDOW. Fall has swooped in silently, like a fever breaking. And overnight the trees have taken on the appearance of bursting into flames—oranges, reds, yellows—the whole world suddenly combustible.
I reserved a table for Dani and myself in the library. It’s become our ritual over the past couple of weeks. I have exactly fifty-two minutes before the next bus leaves. We’re going to cram in one last study session for our first psych exam of the semester, which, Dr. Robinson warned the class, is going to be a “make or break” kind of exam.
I check my phone for the time and see that Dr. Greenberg has left another voice mail. That’s the third one in two weeks. Each time he calls, I let it go to voice mail. He’s concerned. He wants me to reschedule. I don’t call back, over and over again. You’d think he’d get that I’m not going to return the call. I delete the message.
Dani’s three minutes late.
Waiting is the absolute worst. When I’m waiting, I’m stuck in the present. I can’t lie to myself when I’m in the present. When I think about now, I can’t help but accept how complicated everything has become. I don’t have enough space in my mind to keep track of everything. School, for one thing. I had no idea how much more work these extra AP classes were going to be. Then there’s Aaron, Callie, Mom—always Mom, there in the back of my mind—taking up all my thoughts. Being in the present is like coming up for air, and coming up for air only makes me realize I’ve been suffocating. Easier not to breathe at all, like maybe with enough practice I can learn to live underwater like those aquarium fish, lie myself into believing things are okay, that this is what life is supposed to be like.
“Hey, sorry.” Dani comes in like a whirlwind of energy, talking fast. “Tyler’s having an existential crisis over some boy he met online.” She starts explaining more about whatever it is that’s going on with Tyler and how he thinks he’s being catfished, but I’m having trouble paying attention—the air in the room feels too thin. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“What?” I clear my throat. “Nothing,” I lie.
“Are you sure?” she asks, squinting like she’s trying to see me better. She pulls out the chair opposite me.
“I just have a lot on my mind, I guess. Sorry.” I quickly try to wall up those soft places inside of me, the ones that want to show themselves too often these days, especially when I’m with Dani. She sits down and lets her arms fall against the table, and the series of silver bangles lining her wrists clang, making so much noise people turn to look.
Whenever she’s around, I feel like people are looking. But then again, whenever she’s around, I’m always looking too. I could try to build up an immunity to Dani, and then I wouldn’t have to feel my insides turn to gelatinous mush every time I saw her, except for the fact that I don’t really want to be immune anymore.
I shrug and tell her, “Family drama,” as if it could ever be that simple. I try to laugh, but it falls apart in my throat, and somehow I think I might actually start crying in front of her. I feel my chin tremble in that way it does. “God—sorry!”
“No, don’t be sorry,” she tells me, her voice gentler and quieter than I’ve ever heard it before. “Seriously, what’s going on?” She reaches across the table to touch my arm.
I dab my eyes with my sleeve before any of those traitorous tears can fall. I try to rearrange my face so that it’s smiling, but my voice sounds all weird and mangled when I speak again. “I’m fine. I’m seriously, totally, completely fine.”
“No you’re not.”
“I think it’s just this damn exam,” I tell her, slamming my book closed too loudly. Her face turns so open and soft as she gazes at me, no hint of a smile on her lips, no joke on deck in her mind. “Stop looking at me like that, I am fine. Robinson has me freaked out! That’s all, okay?” I realize I’m raising my voice only when this boy at the next table swings around in his seat, a crazed look of study stress in his eyes.
“Hey, do you mind having your breakdown a little quieter, please?”
Dani spins around in her chair so she’s face-to-face with this kid. She stands then, shouldering her bag, and starts collecting up my things in her arms before I even know what’s happening. “Come on,” she tells me. As we pass the boy at the next table, she extends her arm all the way and holds up her middle finger inches from his nose.
My pulse quickens, a dull throb echoing its beat in my temples. I’m a little scared this is about to blow up into something dangerous—because that’s what usually happens—but the boy only shakes his head and looks back down into his open textbook. Dani pushes forward, full speed ahead, walking tall, taking long, confident strides out through the doors of the library.
“Dani,” I call after her, trying my best to follow behind her as she leads the way down the hall. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that, you know.”
She stops and turns around so abruptly I almost run right into her. “Sure I did. He was being an asshole.”
That’s when I realize something else about Dani. She isn’t just beautiful and cool and smart and funny—she’s tough. Like, the real kind of tough. Not the insecure, defensive, covering-up-fear-and-weakness kind of tough, which is what I’ve always thought of Aaron, and Dad, even. Or maybe that’s what I’ve always secretly thought of myself, too.
She’s the real thing, more real than I could ever hope to be.
“Come on, let’s get some air.” She grabs my hand like she’s been reaching for my hand for years, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I let her le
ad me through the corridor and down the stairs—I think I might let her lead me anywhere.
It’s only once we’re sitting outside on the bench under this enormous tree that she does let go, gently placing my hand in my own lap, leaving my fingertips electrified. “Okay, you have my undivided attention. Go. Tell me.”
“What, are you being my therapist now?”
Her face remains still, like a frozen pond. “No, I’m being your friend. I know I’m always joking around and everything, and you really don’t know me very well, but I’m serious when it comes to serious stuff. So, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, really. I’m just upset because I think I’m going to have to drop a couple classes.” Not a complete lie, anyway.
She purses her lips as she considers this. “Would it really be so bad to have a little extra time? Especially when you can spend it hanging out with your awesome new friends, like me?”
“Not when you put it like that,” I say, trying not to smile too much.
She somehow manages to wait the perfect amount of time before speaking again. “Is that really all that’s wrong?”
“Not exactly,” I admit.
“Well, I’m here. Happy to listen.”
I open my mouth, no idea what I’m going to say. “My dad,” I hear my voice tell her, seemingly without the permission of my mind. “He died a few months ago. Unexpectedly. And . . .” I swallow hard, somehow convincing myself I’m telling enough of the truth. “It’s been really tough. My little sister isn’t doing well with it, and my older brother moved back home to help out. We’re all still adjusting. And changing schools right now—even though this is what I wanted—it’s just been hard.” Having you sitting next to me like this, looking at me like that, is also hard, I don’t say.
After a moment of silence her voice cuts through; solidly, smoothly, she asks, “What happened to your dad?”
