by Cat Patrick
I stand at the sink for a while. The dishes done, the house quiet, I let myself think of Gram. It was just a few weeks ago when I told her I was sick of doing the dishes and that we should start using paper plates. She smiled from her comfy chair, still sorting through the ads in the Sunday paper. She told me that dishwashing would make me a better person. I told her it worked both ways.
Then my seventy-five-year-old grandmother came over and took the sponge from my hand. She brushed back my hair and told me to finish my homework.
I burst into tears, wishing for even one moment back. One irrelevant moment. My shoulders shake with my cries, but then I hear the clank of the washing machine lid in the other room.
I wipe quickly at my face and turn the knob of the dishwasher, filling the room with a familiar whoosh. I wipe down the counter and then wander out of the kitchen in search of life. In search of distraction. I find Dad and Debbie in the laundry room.
“For the millionth time, the soap goes in here,” Debbie is saying, her voice teasing, not exasperated like Mom’s always used to be when schooling Dad on housework. Debbie isn’t nearly as stereotypically evil as a stepmother should be. And it’s clear that she really does love my father. Even if he seems to be clueless half the time.
“Hi,” I say from the doorway. They both look up and smile. “Dishes are done.”
“You didn’t smash any?” my father asks, acknowledging the fight he witnessed.
“No. Simone and I just had to work through some things. We’re cool now. I’m going to visit her tomorrow.”
“Thank you so much for helping out around the house, Caroline,” Debbie says warmly. “You really didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, thank you, Coco,” Dad says, and the sound of my childhood nickname from him feels nice. “You saved me from having to do it … wrong.” He smirks at Debbie; she swats him.
“You load with no order,” she says.
“There’s a method to my madness,” he counters. “You just can’t see it.”
“No one could see it,” she says, laughing. Then she remembers I’m standing there. “We’re going to watch a movie; would you like to join us?”
Although at one time that thought might have made me cringe, now it actually seems comforting—almost like a hug. “I’d like that,” I say, a little timidly. “Let me just go upstairs and change. I’ll be back in a few.” I turn to leave them with their linens.
“Oh, and Caroline?” Dad says, more serious this time. I turn to face him. “Your mom called again today. She’d really like to talk to you. Maybe you want to give her a ring before the movie?”
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” I say, then turn and walk away.
I’ve only talked to my mother once in the past three days; I might never speak to my sister again. Teddy has been keeping me up to date on the goings-on with Gram’s estate—which is leading up to a battle between my mom and aunt since Gram’s will wasn’t that clear. The thought turns my stomach, my grandmother’s possessions being sorted through and fought over, proving she’s never coming back.
An hour later I’m settled in, watching the movie with Dad and Debbie—on a Saturday night—when my phone rings. I grin from ear to ear when I see Chris’s number. He’s finally calling.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Sweet Caroline. Bah da da. Good times never seem so good—”
I hang up and cover my mouth as I laugh. I told him not to sing that damn song. He must have continued his chorus for a while because my phone doesn’t ring again for a few minutes. My father glances over at me, his finger on the pause button, but I tell him to go on without me. Then I take my phone to my room.
“I thought we had a deal,” I say the minute I answer.
“I said I would try. I have amazing willpower, but tonight, I just couldn’t resist.”
“You’re a terrible singer,” I say. I stop in front of my dresser mirror, sliding my hair behind my ear; there’s already a blush high on my cheeks.
“Since karaoke’s out,” Chris says, “where would you like to go on our date?”
“I don’t remember agreeing to a date.”
“You don’t remember asking me out?” He pretends to be surprised. “You seemed pretty insistent, and I interpreted that to mean that you’re completely and hopelessly in love with me. Did I read too much into it?”
“Wow.”
“In fact, I thought we both decided this was fate. And believe me, Caroline. You don’t want to tempt fate.” He sighs. “I think we have no choice but to see this thing through. It will be difficult, but I think we’ll persevere in the face of—”
“Oh my God. If I say yes, will you shut up?”
“Yep.”
I close my eyes, biting back my smile. “Since I’m new in town, maybe you should pick where we go. But nothing fancy.”
“Would it worry you if I said I already had an idea?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’ll pick you up in a half hour.”
I find the most date-worthy outfit I have—a denim skirt with tights and black boots paired with a soft black sweater. It’s actually dressier than I thought, especially when I twist my hair up into a knot. I take the time to apply makeup, something I haven’t done since my grandmother—I stop the thought, shaking my hands at my side to wave away the pain. When it clears, when I can breathe again, I avoid my reflection and head downstairs, determined to have a good night. The moment is odd, me standing in the entry of the living room as my father and his new wife snuggle next to each other on the couch. I swallow down the lump in my throat, remembering that my parents actually used to love each other—but now they love other people. It’s tragic and sad and I look away as I call to him.
“Dad, do you mind if I go out with a friend?”
I hear the blanket rustle and when I look back, he’s standing there. “Which friend?” The dad in his voice throws me.
“He’s … he’s a friend from back home. He goes to school here and he wanted to hang out for a couple hours. If I can’t or whatever, it’s fine. I just need to—”
“You’re seventeen years old, Caroline,” he says, bewildered. “You’re allowed to have friends.” Debbie gets up to stand behind him, wrapping her arms playfully over his shoulders as she grins at me.
“Is this a date?” she asks.
I want to flat-out lie—save myself the embarrassment—but I don’t this time. I roll my eyes. “Sort of. But it’s nothing serious. I barely know him.” My dad’s eyebrows quirk up. “I mean I know him,” I correct quickly. “But we’re not like—” I stop, aware that I’m losing this word battle. “It’s our first date.”
“You like him,” Debbie teases. “Is he coming now? Can I peek out the window when he pulls up?”
“Please don’t,” I mumble, but she and my father are already at the curtain, pulling it aside as they whisper to each other. It gets me how cutesy they are, as if the idea of having a kid around makes them giddy. Then I remember that my brother told me they’ve been trying to have a baby. Maybe that’s why they’re directing all this parental involvement on me—practice.
“What kind of car does he drive?” my father asks.
I shrug. “No idea. But I hope the windows are tinted dark.”
“I bet he drives a Toyota,” Debbie says, brushing her hair away from her face. “A silver one.”
“Why would you think that?” I ask.
“Because he’s parked out front.” She widens her eyes at me. “Very cute, Caroline.”
I’m washed in the kind of humiliation that I thought only my grandmother could bring out in me. The sadness hits again with sudden ferocity; I wish Gram were here to tease me instead. The joy of the moment fades away, and I tell Dad and Debbie that I’ll be home by eleven before grabbing my jacket.
I walk out, rethinking this entire adventure, when Chris gets out of the car, watching me over the hood. “I forgot the corsage,” he says smiling. “But we can still take photos if you like.”
“Not that kind of date, Christopher,” I say, glancing back to catch my stepmother in the window. She waves politely and then lets the curtain fall shut.
Chris’s goofy grin transforms into something more serious. I pause at the door. “What?” I ask.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs.
I stare at him, my stomach fluttering as I fight back the urge to giggle. “You say it like you’re surprised.”
“Oh, I’m not,” he says. “I know you’re beautiful. I’m just not sure why you’d agree to go out with me.”
“I’m the one who asked, remember?” I smile. “And what’s with this false modesty? You seem to be fully aware of your charisma.”
Chris comes around the car to open my door, making my breath catch with his sudden proximity, the heat that radiates from his body to mine. Under his jacket he’s wearing a button-down plaid shirt, his hair is combed smooth, and he smells amazing. It strikes me that I’m on a grown-up date, not the sort of party hookup that Simone finds herself involved in. My nerves start to twist as I duck inside Chris’s car, then lift my gaze to his. I vow to leave my guilt behind—if only for tonight.
“So where are we going?” I ask as Chris drives us through the darkened streets. “It’s not some sketchy underground karaoke club, is it?”
“Not on a first date,” he says like I’m crazy. “I save that sort of thing for anniversaries.” Chris turns into the parking lot of a small coffee shop and cuts the engine. “I thought we’d go to the park.”
“To the park? Uh, you know it’s cold enough to snow, right?”
“We’ll have hot chocolate, obviously.” He motions to the building in front of us. “Besides, it’s beautiful at night. I think you’ll like it.” He says it quietly, as if he’s really thought about it. I want to reach over and take his hand—something I wouldn’t normally do. This all seems different, though, easier. Or maybe I’m just desperate for a distraction.
Chris and I go inside and get a couple of large cocoas, along with a slice of pumpkin pie, extra whipped cream. Once it’s packaged up, we drive to Cedar Hills Park a few blocks away. He takes the drink carrier and pie, and I steal glances at him as we walk across the grounds; he has an amused smile on his lips the entire time.
“What’s with the corny grin?” I ask as he leads us down the paved walkway.
“Corny?” he says. “This is my victory grin.” Chris stops at a park bench overlooking the huge pond with a fountain in the middle. Lights turn the mist from blue to red to green, and I think that he’s right. It is beautiful.
“Is this where you take all of your dates?” I ask playfully when I sit down next to him. He looks over, surprised.
“No.” He hands me a hot chocolate, and the cup is warm, taking the chill away even as I breathe out puffs of white air. “Just you.”
There’s a flutter in my stomach, and I look down into my lap to hide the blush on my cheeks. “Are you always this charming?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m sure you’re very popular on campus,” I say, taking a sip from my hot drink. “And at parties from what you tell me.” He laughs.
“Are you asking if I’ve had a lot of girlfriends?”
“Uh, no.”
Chris leans back against the green-painted bench. “Yes you were. And the answer is yes, I’ve had a lot, but nothing serious.”
“Maybe you should have taken them here, then,” I mutter, earning another laugh. To be honest, I’m glad he doesn’t have an ex to be hung up on.
“You’re such a smart-ass.” Only he says it like it’s his favorite thing in the world. Chris looks away and I watch as the lights dance across his face. He’s so comfortable—even confident. I wish he’d put his arm around me, snuggle into me, anything. And then I think that I’ve never been so attracted to anyone in my life. He turns to meet my stare.
“See, it’s not so cold,” he murmurs.
“Not now.” We both grin before he unwraps the pie and hands me a fork. I immediately dip it into the whipped cream and then lick the edge. I hope it looks flirtatious, but Chris only side-eyes me before knocking his knee against mine.
“Let’s talk about you,” he says. “What’s a secret wish that you’ve never told anybody?”
“Shouldn’t we build up to secrets?”
He shakes his head. “No. That’s where we start. Now spill one or I’m taking the pie.” He grabs the container and holds it away from us.
“Bully,” I say. I consider clutching my fork like a butcher knife, pretending to stab him, but I’m not sure if we’ve reached the joking-murder point in our relationship. I decide instead to cross my arms over my chest—up for a willpower challenge. When he sees I’m not going to budge, he reluctantly lowers the plate to set it back on his leg.
“You win,” he concedes. “But you still have to tell me your wish.”
“How will you even know if it’s really a secret?” I ask.
“I’ll just have to trust you.”
I like his answer. There isn’t anyone else in my life who would say that to me right now. I exhale, thinking of any wish worth mentioning. “Hm … I guess I wish I was fluent in French, like my sister Natalie,” I say.
“Aw, what?” Chris calls out. “That’s like … such an overachiever thing to say. No fair. You have to be embarrassed to make it count.”
I push him. “Whatever. What’s yours?”
He catches my hand and runs his gaze over me, his smile fading when he meets my eyes. “I wish I had the guts to kiss you right now.”
It knocks me out: The way he says it sends my body into an absolute free fall. “Then why don’t you?” I ask, surprised at my own boldness.
He takes his hand reluctantly from mine. “I’m shy.”
I laugh loudly. “Christopher, you are not shy. Not even a little.”
“Not normally,” he says. “Just with you. It’s completely unsettling.” He smiles. “But thrilling as hell.” He looks embarrassed, and I decide he’s right—it does count more.
I poke at the pie with my fork to do something other than stare and smile at him. At this moment everything is right—the stars have aligned or some other romantic crap. I’m totally lost in him.
Chris moves closer, his thigh against mine. “Although I appreciate the encouragement,” he says, “you don’t exactly strike me as the kissing-random-guys-on-park-benches type.”
“You don’t really know me all that well. …”
“Not yet,” he says seriously, before turning back to the pond. “But I will. Until then I want to play hard to get a little longer.”
“Tease.” I shove him sideways. Chris doesn’t bring up kissing me again, but just the mention was enough to make my body downright warm, even in the frigid weather. We stay a while longer, talking and not talking, comfortable either way.
And as we get up to leave, he takes my hand.
TEN
STAY
Monday morning before school, Mom, Natalie, and I scramble to finish boxing up Gram’s stuff and separating it before the Salvation Army truck comes. We’ve been here since five in the morning; I haven’t gotten up that early since … forever. Yawning, I reach from the ladder I’m standing on to grab another bin from the high shelf in Gram’s closet.
“I can’t find her necklace,” Natalie says from over near the dresser. “Have you seen it? I hope we didn’t accidentally pack it.”
“Which?” I ask, my arms elbow deep in tiny paper.
“The one she always wore—the one with her initials on it?” she says. “It’s not in here. You don’t think Aunt Claudia took it, do you?”
My stomach sinks. The necklace is in my dresser drawer at home. It was Gram’s favorite—the one that I used to twist and twirl while she read me bedtime stories when I was little. It’s gold and classic-looking and not my style … but it’s her. It’s mine.
“Why do you want it?” I ask, stalling. Nat looks away from me when she answers.
“She told me to keep it,” she says quietly. “The night she died. Because we have the same initials and everything.”
I want to cry in that way when you do when something is so unfair, but you know you have to do it anyway. Overtired and distracted by how conflicted I am, I teeter on the ladder. I reach out and grab for the high shelf to steady myself, but it’s not bolted into the wall, and it teeters too. I fall from three steps up and land with a loud thud on Gram’s carpeted closet floor.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Natalie says, rushing over. She holds out a hand and pulls me up, her concern shaming me even more. “What happened?”
“Freaking ladder is wobbly,” I say, brushing my backside even though I didn’t fall into anything dirty. “But I’m fine.” I touch my right hip—it’s tender. “Ouch, that’s going to leave a wicked bruise.”
“You have to be careful,” Nat says, shaking her head and returning to the dresser. “Jeez, I thought I had the gold medal in klutziness.”
“Well, you did fly over the handlebars of your bike and skid across pavement on your face that time,” I say, righting the ladder and climbing back up, holding on to the door frame to ensure I don’t fall again.
She laughs and shakes her head at herself. Then we fall into a silent moment; I know it’s almost time to leave for school.
“I’ll keep my eye out for the necklace,” I lie quietly, not ready to give up my piece of Gram just yet.
“Thanks, Coco,” Natalie says, a far-off sadness in her eyes. I can see how much she wants the necklace, how much it would mean to her—but I decide to keep it anyway.
Joel passes me a note after first period. He walks away without words, leaving me stupefied. I haven’t heard anything since his one-word text on Friday night—YOU—and now he’s back and passing me notes like a seventh grader?
For some reason I don’t want to read what he wrote in front of Simone, so I linger in the English classroom after everyone else is gone and peek at the note when I’m alone.
Meet me in the auditorium at lunch.
