by Emery Lord
I walked to where he stood and lifted to my tiptoes, fitting both arms around his neck.
“Hi,” I said into his shoulder. I’d missed this smell—laundry detergent and shampoo.
He held me tight. “Hi.”
When we finally pulled away, I held the lapels of his jacket, an olive green that made his eyes look bright. He kept his hands on my waist and nodded to the mezzanine doors. “It was amazing, Janie. Really.”
“Thank you. And thank you for coming.”
“Of course.” His gaze moved between my eyes, reading me from left to right and back again. “Do you have plans right now?”
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “I’m all yours.”
We drove to the outskirts of Oakhurst, where the farthest-back neighborhoods stretched into forest and farmland. There was a patch of undeveloped land out here, framed by trees, where Max once took me to watch airplanes. I parked my mom’s car beside Max’s, and he hopped the fence first, flannel blanket thrown over his shoulder. He offered me a hand, which I held as we stamped through tall grass.
We stayed quiet as Max laid out the blanket, and I held the corner to keep it down in the breeze. And finally, we sat, facing each other with legs crossed, two kids settling in for a hand-clapping game at recess. Two kids looking only at each other.
“So,” I said. “Tell me about seeing your dad. You said it went well?”
“It did, yeah. Not as awkward as I thought. But there’s some … news, I guess.”
“Okay.” I braced for terrible news—a genetic illness, a cross-country move that would impede their relationship.
“Margot, my dad’s wife? She’s pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” I said it like I didn’t understand the meaning of the word. A half sibling. Max’s parents were a near decade younger than my own, so having a baby seemed downright ordinary. Why had I never considered this? Max, someone’s older brother. “Oh. Holy shit.”
He laughed, as if my crudeness resonated with his feelings exactly.
“Have you …” I ventured, hesitating, “… decided what you’ll do with that information?”
“Yeah,” he said, and I startled a little. I hadn’t expected certainty, simplicity; I’d expected the debate between missing an opportunity to know a sibling and having to reconcile with his dad. Max gave me a half smile. “Easy decision, it turns out.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but I didn’t need to. I knew because he’d confided in me, about his dad and Margot, about Chicago and time lost. We weren’t breaking gap year rules at all—he’d made a decision, at last. “You’ll go to Northwestern.”
He nodded. “I will, yes.”
“I think that’s exactly right.” Northwestern seemed so Max-ish—the Midwestern hominess of Evanston, with a lake and a skyline nearby. And Adler Planetarium waiting for him, just a little to the south.
“Me too. It’s close enough to get to know my dad a little, but on my terms. And this way, I can get to know my brother. I don’t think I’ll ever regret that, you know?”
“Brother,” I repeated. It came out a whisper.
“Yeah.” He all-out grinned, a flash of teeth, and shook his head in disbelief. “Wild, right? I know it’ll be like more of an uncle-nephew thing with the age difference. But. Yeah. I woke up this morning and still couldn’t get my mind around it.”
“And you’ll be in Chicago with Kayleigh and Tess and Laurel!” The realization came with relief—my people together, in a little pocket of Illinois—and searing jealousy that they’d all have each other close, a train ride away. “And oh—Kayleigh’s niece is there! Maybe playdates with your …”
“Brother,” Max finished, with an incredulous chuckle.
“Max.” I marveled at him, sure and peaceful. I was grasping his knee, my hand having reached for him without meaning to. “I’m so happy for you.”
He bobbed his head. “Thanks. It’s a lot, still, with my dad. I’m nervous to put myself out there. Like, I’m literally putting myself in Chicago. Mostly because I see myself at Northwestern, but … you know.”
Putting himself out there in Chicago, putting himself out there emotionally, willing to test the water. But this was Max, after all. Willing to go after the thing he most wanted to happen.
“What?” Max asked, paranoid. “What’s that look on your face?”
“Um, thinking that I admire you, actually.”
“Oh.” A small smile. “Thanks, Janie.”
In the distance, I heard rumbling, the sound growing like the orchestra tune-up before a show, and we scrambled to lie down. I imagined us from above, the way the approaching airplane would see us, if it could: A boy who thought about the improbability of flight: the engine, the dynamic angles soldered just so. A girl who thought of the people inside: The same takeoff point in the same vessel, but how many destinations? How many passengers with suitcases of bathing suits? How many with a rumpled black dress for an unexpected funeral? A change of suit for tomorrow’s meeting. Joy, pain, drudgery. All crammed inside a metal canister with wings.
Max saw engineering and history; I saw short stories.
After the plane had disappeared, the sound remained in my ears. Or the memory of the sound, anyway. Max asked amiably, “You ever think about evolution?”
It wasn’t what I expected him to say, but it wasn’t surprising either. The reliable tide that pulled me back to Max: he always felt familiar, but never enough to predict his next move. “Sometimes. What about it?”
“Pretty much the only way anything survives is by adapting. And I’m not great at it.” He cleared his throat. “I haven’t been great at it, this year.”
“Mmm.” I wanted to comfort him, to say I’d watched him grow. But I didn’t want to deny him this revelation or minimize whatever he was working through. “Me neither. But still trying.”
“You feel any closer to a college decision?”
“No,” I said, laughing. I’d feel certain of NYU one day, then wake up the next feeling a pull toward IU. I couldn’t parse my feelings, and I had an appointment with Ms. Pepper after spring break for exactly that reason.
“You wanna talk it out?”
“Not right now. But soon.”
Now, I only wanted to kiss him as I’d daydreamed about last year, in this same spot. It was hard not to feel like I’d wasted time since then, gone about this all wrong, and could we ever do it right. But as another plane rumbled nearby, I put my palm to Max’s cheek. Between raw potential and near magic, after all, there is a lot of trying again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The next Saturday, I stopped by the Oakhurst flea market around noon. The forecast had called for drizzle, ninety-percent certainty. I knew this from Kayleigh, whose family had converged on her house for the wedding tonight. If Lisa’s mother quotes her ominous weather app to Lisa one more time, Kayleigh had texted last night, I’m going to snap. Should be a fun weekend!
My mom had prepared her supplies despite the forecast, packing up the truck borrowed from a neighbor. And here she was, under a blue sky, with mild temperatures. She’d purchased a few decorative items to outfit the booth, made little pennant banners with patterned triangles. Already, two pieces boasted Post-its with SOLD in my mom’s block print. The chalkboard sign sat at the front of it all: SECOND TIME’S A CHARM.
“Look at you,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Good! Good,” she said, nodding and wiping her hands. She wore her painting apron at my dad’s suggestion, to “highlight her as the craftsperson.” The flecks were a record of her projects, a story told in confetti pattern. “The mini cookies are helping, as an icebreaker. Cameron and I keep sending people to each other’s booths. It’s not a bad business model!”
“Is Dad with Cam, then?”
“You just missed him, actually. He ran to the grocery store.” She gestured back at the navy credenza. A white vase had been relocated from our living room to its tabletop. “I forgot to pick up some peonies.
I thought pale pink would make the color really pop.”
“I could have stopped on my way!”
“That’s okay, honey.” She smiled at two women passing by, nodding as a hello. “He wants to help, but he worries about hovering. It was a good errand for him.”
“It’s really your pièce de résistance.” I’d watched her crouched over the detail work, sweat on her brow. I’d seen her throw her hands up when the primer dried unevenly; I’d seen her call it a night in the throes of frustration. She was always back to it the next weekend, undeterred.
“Oh, well. Thank you.” My mom glanced over her shoulder, surveying her work. “It has good bones.”
An older couple paused near us, eyeing a small coffee table.
“I should get out of your way,” I said. “Good luck!”
I stepped away from my mom’s little oasis, the space that she’d carved out for herself. Every hour, toiling, scrubbing, detailing—she’d been working on something but also working through something. Trying to process life without her mother. Maybe visualizing her life without her oldest daughter living at home. And figuring out a life with my dad.
“Hey, Mom?” I turned, and she looked up. “You know I’m for it, right? If you say yes to Dad.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” she said, a little teasingly. She knew why, but I think my reasons mattered to her, too.
And there were many. Because the man had done an all-out moral inventory. Because he kept showing up, present but not pressing. “Because he ran to the store for peonies.”
She smiled, the creases by her eyes like tiny paper fans. As I walked off, she called, ever the parent, “Go say hi to your sister! And be affirming, okay?”
I bought cookies from Cameron, who was already running low on business cards. The man in front of me had been asking about custom designs for his son’s fifth birthday; Cameron responded about turnaround time and bulk pricing. Her cheeks were pink, either from the bustle of talking to so many people or excitement. She looked both like the little girl I’d always known and as grown-up as I’d ever seen her.
“What?” she asked, when she caught me staring.
Grammy would be so proud of you. I’m really going to miss you next year, more than I ever would have imagined when we were kids. I can’t wait to meet the girl you become, next week and next year and when we are both old. There are a lot of ways I wish I were like you, even though I’m the older sister.
“Nothing,” I said. “I think you’re going to have a busy summer.”
“Yeah!” She exhaled, but not with her usual huffiness. With ready energy, hands on her hips. Sometimes, I saw flashes of our mom in her, so clear that it was almost startling. Then she added, a sly smile creeping up, “I might even need an assistant. You busy?”
“Taste-tester only. On a volunteer basis,” I said, and she waved me off.
Cameron had never really needed me in an obvious way, but I was starting to realize that she was always paying attention. I wanted to be the older sister who could go off on her own to the big city, set an example of dream-chasing. But I also wanted to be the big sister who stays close enough to show up at the occasional dance performance, to drive home the night her little sister gets dumped for the first time. Both were good choices.
“Max and his mom stopped by earlier,” Cameron said. “Bought a bunch of cookies to take to Ryan’s track meet.”
“That’s nice,” I said mildly, though I already knew. He’d texted before and since, on his way across town to watch Ryan compete. They’d stop by the wedding later, after dinner and first dances.
Cameron raised an eyebrow over the wire frames of her glasses. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
I most certainly was not. Because what was going on, for the past week, was Max and me finding ways to see each other every day without our friends noticing. Sitting in his car in the Cin 12 parking lot until the last possible moment I had to get home. Meeting at a coffee shop in Carmel after borrowing my mom’s car. I’d kissed Max Watson more in the past week than I had in the past year, making up for lost time.
I bit off nearly half the cookie I’d purchased and, through the icing and crumbles of sugar, quoted Cameron to her face. “I dunno. It’s just me and Max.”
That night, Kayleigh’s dad said his vows to Lisa in their backyard, under a billowy tent. Lisa carried a pink bouquet, complete with a few roses from the garden Kayleigh’s mom planted many years ago. All four Hutchins kids stood by their dad, Kayleigh in a blue dress to match her brothers’ blue suits. Lisa’s son stood at her side.
I sat between Tessa and Morgan in a middle row. A strange parallel to the folding wooden seats at Aaron’s funeral, where my friends had been behind me. In Pepper’s Shakespeare unit, I’d learned that traditionally, tragedies end with death; comedies end in marriage. Life was both tragedy and comedy—that seemed clear enough. It just depended on which point you called the beginning and which part you called the end.
During the first dance, I thought of my parents. Wondered if I’d witness this moment the way Kayleigh did now. She looked serene, Brady’s arm around her as they watched their dad whisper something to Lisa.
“You think she’s good?” I asked Morgan.
She looked like a modern-day Lucille Ball in a halter-cut sundress, one side of her hair clipped back. “Yeah. I think she’s really good.”
The dance floor opened up after that, and couples swayed to a Sam Cooke standard. We angled our chairs so we could be full spectators.
“I love this song,” Tessa murmured. “If the DJ knows what he’s doing, it’ll be an all-generation fan favorite next.”
As if on cue, the opening bars of “I Want You Back” sang out. Kayleigh burst onto the dance floor with her aunts, and I tugged Tessa up with me. TJ spun with his wife and tiny baby girl, who’d slept through most of the celebration so far. Brady gave a committed lip-synch, while Reid gamely played an invisible bass.
After a few songs, Tess and I retired to our table, winded and happy. Ryan and Max showed up shortly after, handsome in their ties. I thought of them appearing at my grandmother’s repast, this time last year. Staying late, making sure I wasn’t alone.
The speakers switched over to simple guitar chords, an acoustic cover of a song I’d always loved.
Catching my eye, Max signaled toward the dance floor with his thumb.
I cocked my head like, Really? Dance? You? and he shrugged. For the first time in a long while, walking toward him felt simple. Not loaded with emotion or nerves, preparing to plead my case or to mediate for space between us. Being near him felt like it used to: irresistibly easy, my home base.
We met somewhere in the middle, between other pairs. A short way to go, in the end—across a few squares of wooden flooring.
“Hello.” I put my arms around his neck before he could change his mind. But he was relaxed; I could feel it before his hands even touched my waist.
“Hello,” he said.
“Well, well. Look at you. Dancing.” I hesitated, worried that he’d trot off like a spooked horse.
“Am I?” Only Max could make two words sound that self-deprecating. “Or am I swaying awkwardly with my arms around your waist?”
I smiled, eyes flicking down. “I like the tie.”
“Thanks. It’s no Armani but …”
“Saving that for prom?” I teased. But when I realized what I’d said, my eyes went wide. I hadn’t meant to imply prom with me, necessarily.
“Would you want to go together still?”
“Yes,” I said, surprised by the blunt question, and just as surprised by my immediate answer. “I would.”
“Cool. Good. Sorry. Was that not fancy enough? I figured a promposal would be a little …”
“Oh my God.” Of course I knew he’d read all my e-mails. But faced with my confession that I’d hated those marriage jokes …
“Too soon?” He grinned.
I pressed my face into his chest, both hiding an
d getting closer. I felt his laugh more than I heard it.
“We’ll dance at prom?” I pulled back to look at him, suddenly needing a firm answer on this.
“Sure,” he said. “Even if I embarrass us both.”
I peered at him. Was this really a worry? I thought of Ryan’s words at the baseball field, reminding me that Max guarded himself with good reason.
“You couldn’t,” I said. Sure, there were boys who would spin me with panache and finish with a dip—I knew that. Boys whose ease would compensate for my hesitation. But I’d rather figure it out with Max.
I rested my cheek on his chest. We were still leaving Oakhurst in mere months, and I had no idea what the time between would hold. Certainly no idea about the after.
“I can practically hear that, you know.”
I looked up. “Hear what?”
“You worrying.”
I don’t think my mouth smiled, but my eyes did. “Ah, that.”
“We’re gonna figure it out, you know.” The way he looked at me, brushing my bangs aside, it was a wonder everyone didn’t know exactly what we’d been up to the past week.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” He leaned down and said quietly, the words right beside my ear. “We’re really smart.”
Mr. Hutchins and Lisa left through two lines of sparklers down the driveway, off to a downtown hotel for the two nights before our Monday morning spring break exit. They got into their car with Just Married scrawled in Kayleigh’s brightest pink lipstick. It was driving off into the sunset, roll credits on a rom-com. A happy ending. But only if you saw it as an ending.
Morgan, Tessa, and I stayed after with the Hutchins kids, folding tablecloths and boxing up pillar candles. Kayleigh’s brothers got into the leftover booze toward the end, and tried to one-up each other on the dance floor. Brady’s boyfriend held his phone out, laughing as he took video. The Hutchins boys harmonized loudly, showing off their a cappella pipes.
I glanced over at Kayleigh, wondering if she noticed Reid occasionally glancing at Morgan, checking to see if she was watching, laughing, impressed. I’d seen them talking earlier by the dessert table, and honestly, they wouldn’t have noticed if someone had popped out of the cake.
