“Or so you think.”
Her mother’s breathing became a little ragged, like she were scaling a cliff. One false step, and she’d plummet. Saskia felt bad, but not bad enough to play nice.
“Saskia . . . I love you.”
Saskia clenched her jaw and tried to keep the tears from flowing. Above all, she didn’t want to cry in front of her father.
“I never . . . planned for this to happen,” her mother continued.
“Mom . . .”
“If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t be so evasive. I’d let you know what was happening every step of the way. But I can’t go back. What’s done is done. So you’re going to have to come to terms with it.”
It wasn’t what her mother had said that riled Saskia. It was what she hadn’t said. She hadn’t said, “If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have had the affair. I’d choose you and your father over Ralph.” Saskia burned with the desire to point this out, but she didn’t. There were so many accusations she wanted to make. You’re a cheater. He’s practically a kid; you’re the reason this family’s broken.
But she kept her mouth shut. Why stomp on something that was already shattered? What was the point?
“What did she say?” her father asked when she hung up.
“She wants me to move back—with her and Ralph.”
Her father snickered uncomfortably. “So they’re shacking up?”
“People don’t say that anymore, Dad.”
“Forgive me. They’re living together?”
“I guess.” Saskia turned away, unable to stomach the pain he was trying to hide.
“That was fast.”
When she didn’t reply, he pretended to busy himself by cleaning the kitchen counter. It was spotless. “You think you’ll go?” he asked.
She was aware that she could hurt her father, too. Both of her parents had become as vulnerable as newborn kittens.
Saskia moved the wastebasket so her father could throw away the imaginary crumbs he’d collected. “I’m not going to live with Mom,” she told him. “I like being an only child.”
After a few days Saskia’s mother gave up on phone calls and started texting. Saskia didn’t mind. It was easy to ignore those, too. Almost as easy as it was to obsess over Cornelius.
Practice makes perfect, she thought.
But she couldn’t block out the manila envelope that arrived a couple days later by certified mail from Arizona. As soon as she saw that it was from her mother’s law office, she knew what it was. Divorce papers. She tore open the envelope and felt her stomach tighten.
Once her father signed, it would be official. But was he ready to? It wasn’t like he was coping well. His five-o’clock shadow was morphing into a fledgling beard—not a good look. She’d found more cigarettes, too, a whole pack stashed under a hand towel in the bathroom.
Would the papers push him over the edge?
Since he was working a double shift, she had plenty of time to decide how to break the news. She could leave the envelope on the kitchen table, the first thing he’d see when he came home. Or she could toss it into the trash, pretend it had never arrived. Better yet, she could send it back to her mother with a Post-it note. Screw you, Ma. You, too, Ralph.
In the end, she shoved it under some newspapers on the coffee table. She figured her father would find it eventually. Or maybe it would get buried in the recycling.
She wanted to curl up in bed but willed herself to work on the Pride and Prejudice paper. She hadn’t abandoned her old self entirely.
It was a struggle to fill up the first page. She was too distracted and antsy. Two hours in, she blew up the font, changed the spacing from double to triple, and called it a day.
Saskia wondered which was worse: turning in a terrible paper or not turning one in at all. But what did it matter? There was only one class at school that still captured her attention: Early American Innovation and Ingenuity. Specifically, the Robert Cornelius assignment. Funny, she’d had no trouble writing that ten-page paper. In fact, she had stopped herself at fifteen. She no longer felt shy about the oral presentation, either. Maybe because thinking about Cornelius allowed her to ignore the rest of her messy life.
On the day of the presentation, she felt nervous but also ready. She had her facts down pat. She’d read so much about Robert Cornelius, she was pretty sure she knew more about him than anyone else in her school, maybe even anyone else in the state of Connecticut. Though her hands shook when Mr. Nash called her name, she approached the front of the classroom with her head held high.
I’ve got this, she thought.
She delivered the speech pretty much as she’d rehearsed it, without even glancing at her notes. When her allotted fifteen minutes passed, she found she had more to say and continued on with details about Cornelius’s life and times. After a while, Mr. Nash caught her eye. He tapped an imaginary wristwatch.
“One more thing?” she said.
She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t resist. She retrieved the daguerreotype from her backpack. Holding it up, she told everyone what it was and how it had been made.
Mr. Nash seemed to perk up. He asked to see the daguerreotype up close. Then he suggested Saskia take it around the room so that everyone could see it. When she reached Josh McClane, her confidence waned. It was the way he looked at her, like she was an easy target.
“That really him?” he asked. He held another deck of cards in his hands. It probably wouldn’t be long before Mr. Nash confiscated that one, too.
“Yeah, that’s him,” she said, a defensive edge to her voice.
“Where’d you get it?”
She chose to ignore the instigative gleam in his eye and started to move on to the next kid.
“You swipe it?” he persisted.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
She straightened her shoulders and sized him up. Maybe she was an easy target, but she wasn’t about to let Cornelius be. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“So you did.” His eyes crinkled impishly at the corners. “Hey, it’s okay with me. I’m not gonna judge.”
“Is that it, Saskia?” Mr. Nash asked.
Grateful, she turned to him and nodded.
“Well done. Take note, everyone. This is what it means to go above and beyond.”
She smiled, pleased that she’d aced the presentation, but wishing Mr. Nash hadn’t put her on the spot. Compliments made her uncomfortable. She never knew what to do with them: accept them, and you seemed smug; disregard them, and you seemed ungrateful.
Returning the daguerreotype to her backpack, she glanced back at Josh to see if he were still appraising her. She wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or sorry that he wasn’t. All she knew for certain was that he might have figured out her secret a little too easily. Either she was an open book, or he was far more shrewd and observant than his distracted card playing suggested.
When she got home, she found her father asleep in the living room. She opened the windows to air it out. The smell of cat piss was not fading. Then she checked under the newspapers on the coffee table. The divorce papers were still in the same place, untouched. Unnoticed.
Later on, when her father had woken up and they’d eaten another bland microwaved dinner, Lila called. She wanted to know if Saskia was up for the party.
“What party?”
“Ethan’s party. Come on, we talked about it.”
“We did?”
“Yeah, we did. So you in?”
Saskia sighed. She did recall the conversation. She also remembered how Josh had asked Paige if she were going to be there. “I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess? What else do you have going on? Another date with the daguerreotype?”
Saskia groaned. “Okay, fine, I’m in.”
&nb
sp; “Good. I’ll pick you up at eight. Hey, and don’t take this the wrong way, but can you not wear gray?”
“Got it. No gray. What about black?”
“Jeez, don’t get too crazy on me.”
When Saskia hung up, her father gave her an inquisitive look but didn’t ask any questions. Maybe he was just glad she was going out like a normal teenager.
She retreated to her room and poked through the sparse, drab contents of her closet. Truth be told, she would have preferred to stay in. Nestling in bed with the picture of Cornelius now felt like a comforting ritual. Something to look forward to. The party, on the other hand, inspired only dread.
She kept flipping through hangers, not sure what she was looking for. Not sure she even had it. No gray, Lila had said. And Saskia knew why. Gray meant forgotten and forgettable, ashes and dust. It meant dreary skies, old age, crumbling tombstones, the daguerreotype of someone who had died lifetimes ago. Most of all, gray meant depressing.
CHAPTER FIVE
The day her father resolved to take her to Connecticut was the day she’d thrown away most of her clothes. Online, she’d helped her father pick a U-Haul attachment for the car. They’d both decided smaller was better. They’d pack minimally, just the basics, and leave most of their old things behind. It was part of her father’s “fresh start” philosophy.
She gave her betta fish, Marrakesh, back to the pet store, bowl and all. Her father posted his exercise equipment on Craigslist. They carted boxes of clothes to Big Brothers Big Sisters. Goodwill came to pick up books, kitchen items, old electronics, and most of their furniture.
The clutter of life, her father had said. Who needs it?
Her bed had been the last thing left in her old room in Arizona. It looked like a lone island surrounded by hardwood floor. And Saskia, marooned on top.
To be honest, she was happy to be marooned. All the curious stares and conspiratorial whispers at school had left her exhausted. She’d stopped checking her social media accounts weeks ago and refused to post anything new. She wouldn’t give the trolls anything more to feast on. She felt like Hester Prynne with a big letter on her chest. Only she had an “S,” not an “A.” An “S” for “sucker.” That’s what she was. A sucker for trusting her mother, for failing to see what was happening right in front of her face. A sucker for being at the same school, and sometimes in the very same room, as Ralph.
Saskia was deeply ashamed that she and her friends had ever called him “the cute sub.” What had they been thinking? After news of the affair got out, she could no longer stand the look of him. Everything about him was heinous: his hawkish nose and stupid smile; his nasal voice and giddy, puppy-dog walk. Several times she’d thought about tripping him in the hallway.
When she thought back to those last days in Arizona, she was glad to be gone. Glad to be somewhere—anywhere—else. Even Coventon, though it sounded like a place where witches vacationed. She even kind of liked the new house: a small ranch, everything on one floor. But Saskia knew that no matter how far away you moved, you could never really escape your past, which was why she wasn’t entirely surprised to find a piece of her old life in her closet. A little red skirt hanging at the very back.
Frowning, she held it at arm’s length. She remembered how Heather had said it was “too loud” and “fake glam,” like Saskia “was trying too hard.” Then again, her former best friend hadn’t liked to be outshone. But Lila wasn’t like that; Saskia was pretty sure she’d approve.
Wiggling into the skirt, Saskia wondered what the party would be like. In Arizona, she’d only been to one “real” party: keg in the corner, cigarette and pot smoke swirling in the air. Saskia remembered being intimidated and wanting to leave long before a drunk Heather was ready to. Hopefully tonight wouldn’t be so hard-core.
Getting into the Buick, Saskia was promptly enveloped in a cloud of perfume. It was sweet and spicy, like orange blossoms mixed with hot sauce. The scent suited Lila perfectly. She was wearing lipstick, too, and glittery nail polish. Saskia self-consciously adjusted the collar of her shirt, so her bra strap didn’t show.
“Does Ethan throw a lot of parties?” she asked as they began to drive.
“One or two a year, when the stars align,” Lila replied.
“Which stars are we talking about?”
“Well, Ethan’s parents have to be out of town, and Ethan’s brother’s got to be home from college. He’s the one who buys the beer. When those things come together, the parties are epic.”
Saskia nodded and looked out the window, watching the shadowy landscape coast by. She wondered if she would fit in at an “epic” party in Coventon. She doubted it. She was more like Joan Fontaine in Alfred Hitchcock’s Laura, unsophisticated, naive, and in way over her head.
“I like your skirt,” said Lila, glancing at her. “You know, you should wear red more often. Sometimes it seems like you’re living in a black-and-white movie.”
You don’t know the half of it, Saskia thought. “Ethan’s brother sounds cool. I don’t know many guys who would buy beer for their little brothers.”
“Those two are close—and kind of the same. Both top of the charts in smarts and dorkitude.”
“Where does the brother go to college?”
“MIT.” Lila turned up the radio full blast. “I love this song,” she yelled, bopping her head along to the lyrics of a propulsive chart topper about raising the roof, then burning down the house.
“What does he study?”
“What?”
“WHAT DOES ETHAN’S BROTHER STUDY?”
But Saskia couldn’t hear the answer. Aerospace? Aerodynamics? Aero-something. It was impossible to understand Lila over the thick, booming bass.
They arrived a few minutes later. Lila parallel-parked into a tight spot in front of what must have been the party house. It was impressive—big and brick, with an expansive front lawn and wraparound porch. It occurred to Saskia that Lila had passed a railroad crossing sign a few minutes ago. Heck, the old saying must be true: Ethan lived on the right side of the tracks.
“Just so you know, I’m only having one beer,” Lila said as she slid out of her seat. “Designated driver. I’ve got to protect my passengers.”
“Thanks,” Saskia said appreciatively. Her dad would be pleased, too. He was always warning her about drunk driving. He’d made it clear that if she ever needed a ride, day or night, he’d be there, no questions asked. But she’d never needed to take him up on his offer, and she didn’t want to tonight.
Ethan himself opened the front door to greet them. He was tall, with dimples and a toothy smile. Saskia didn’t register the dorkitude, but she’d take Lila’s word for it. Ushering the girls inside, he led them past luxe brocade furniture, lacquered surfaces, oriental rugs, a grand piano. Stuff that most certainly was not from IKEA.
The party was in the basement, a shame since the basement was not like the rest of the house. Though large, it was stark and industrial, with pull-chain ceiling lights, concrete walls, and metal shelving. It was probably a hipsters’ paradise, but Saskia had never liked windowless places. Besides, it was a little claustrophobic. There were a lot of people jammed together—sixty or more. Saskia recognized some faces from school, but knew hardly any names. Almost immediately she wished she were home. What she wouldn’t give to be watching an old movie right now, microwave popcorn in hand.
Ethan offered her a cup of beer. “Just one thing,” he said. “If you need the bathroom, use the one down here. Upstairs is off-limits, ’kay?”
She nodded. Before she knew it, he was off to attend to other arrivals.
She sipped her beer gingerly. She didn’t particularly like the taste or smell—it reminded her a little bit of B.O.—and tried to listen to Lila. The music wasn’t as loud in here as it had been in the car, but it still made conversation difficult. When Lila introduced her to a couple of girls, Sa
skia had trouble catching their names. Then again, maybe the confusion had less to do with the music and more to do with her nerves. Maybe she was too anxious to focus. Again. She wished she hadn’t worn the red skirt. She felt like a stop sign.
Sometimes Saskia had trouble wrapping her mind around how much she’d changed since the affair.
When she finished her drink, Lila handed over her own cup. It was still full. Saskia downed it as quickly as she could. Liquid courage, she thought. Right now she could use all the courage she could get. Her fingers were literally trembling.
Fortunately, the second beer seemed to help. Some of her worry lifted. She began to feel lighter, less stuck in her own head. The smoky atmosphere of the basement seemed to enhance her buzz.
Lila, meanwhile, was on a natural high: giggling, cracking jokes, making the people around them laugh. She grabbed Saskia’s arm, pointed to a guy in a fedora, and said something about remembering him from nursery school. “I’ve gotta go talk to him. He was my first friend—like, ever.”
A sober Saskia would’ve felt worried when Lila disappeared, wiggling through a clog of people. But a buzzed Saskia went to find the keg for a refill. She waited in line until it was her turn, then took the hose and pressed the button attached to the spigot. Nothing. She wondered if she was doing it wrong. She probably was.
“You have to pump it first,” a female voice said from behind.
“What?”
“Pump it.”
The girl came forward and reached for the black ball attached to a metal straw atop the keg. She pumped the ball up and down several times. Then she took Saskia’s cup, held it at an angle, and pressed the button. Beer streamed out in a golden arc.
“Thanks,” Saskia said, taking back the cup.
“No problem.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“Once or twice.”
“I’m Saskia,” she said, with effort. The girl looked down at her and smiled. She was very tall, NBA-player tall, with frizzy red hair, white skin, and squished features that were concentrated at the center of her face as if by pushed by a centripetal force. Saskia couldn’t decide if she were very beautiful or very ugly.
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