Finding Yvonne

by Brandy Colbert

  Ortiz’s eyes are so warm it’s easy to keep going. And the more I talk, the lighter I feel.

  “I also realized… I’m alone. A lot. Violin keeps me company.” I’m not worried about Ortiz feeling sorry for me, but it is hard to say those words aloud without feeling a bit pitiful. “Playing makes me feel better, and I was thinking… if my music makes me feel better, maybe it can make other people feel better, too. People who need it.”

  “Hence music therapy.”

  I nod.

  “Well, I think your heart is in the right place, which is the first step. Music therapists don’t make a lot of money. You’d have to be committed.”

  “I figured.” I shrug. “That’s not important…. I want to like what I do.”

  “You’d have to get board certified after completing your degree. And then you’d find yourself in some challenging situations with your clients. Do you think you’d be up to the task?”

  “I think maybe I’d like to try.” It feels like a natural progression for me where conservatories never did.

  She tilts her head as she looks at me. “Well, I think that’s wonderful, Yvonne. I’m proud of you.”

  I duck my head. “Why?”

  “I thought you were going to quit. I had to tell myself that if you made that choice, it was right for you and it wasn’t my place to discourage you from doing so. But I’m glad to see you want to stick with it, in your own way. I’d wager that the most fulfilling occupations aren’t the most high profile.”

  I hesitate but decide to continue. I’ve been so honest with Ortiz up to this point. “Do you think I’d be good enough to teach? Like, teach lessons to kids who’ve never had them? Not at a school—more like an after-school program.”

  I keep thinking about the woman at Cooper Youth Center. How she confirmed they had a music program but no one to teach strings. I don’t know if they’re hiring or if I’d even be qualified, but I’m curious. It would help fill my time. I wouldn’t have to be alone so much or rely on Sabina and Warren to keep me company.

  “I do. You have the talent and knowledge, Yvonne. The challenge is finding the best way to put it to use.”

  “I’m not sure music is what I want to do…. I’m considering culinary school, too.”

  “You cook!”

  “I bake.”

  “A woman of many talents. I salute you,” she says with a smile. “I’m not going to tell you which way to go. I have total faith that you will make the right choice for you. You have choices. That’s the most important thing.”

  I wish I could capture Ortiz’s confidence and bottle it up because I need it. Some choices are easier than others, and I still have the most difficult one ahead of me.

  28.

  What’s the big deal about Holden Caulfield, anyway?” Sabina yawns and tosses her paperback of The Catcher in the Rye to the end of the bed. “Can you believe they’re still teaching this book?”

  “Isn’t it supposed to represent the universal theme of adolescent alienation?” I say in the Very Important Voice our literature teacher uses.

  “It’s boring and outdated.” She nudges the book with her toe as she looks up at me. “Sorry we have to be here.”

  Her moms finally started to complain about how little they’ve seen her at dinnertime in the past couple of weeks, so she invited me over tonight to eat and do homework.

  “I like being here. It’s better to be around people lately.” I tap my pencil against the edge of my AP government textbook. “Sabs… do you think they know?”

  “Mom and Mama Jess? I swear, I haven’t told them.”

  “I know you haven’t. I just feel like they were looking at my stomach.”

  She pokes my arm. “They weren’t looking at your stomach, girl.”

  “I feel like people are. Like they can tell. Don’t mothers have that instinct? Like, they can sense another mother?”

  “Have you been looking at those mommy blogs?”

  I poke her back. “No. I just feel like people have been looking at it lately.”

  “You’re paranoid.”

  “Well, you’re looking at it now.”

  “Because you’re talking about it, bozo!”

  “Bozo?”

  We look at each other and burst out laughing at the same time. It feels good. Unfamiliar these days.

  She picks at a loose thread on one of the pillows, her smile fading. “Have you decided yet?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t think I’m ready for a baby, but then lots of people aren’t and they make it work.”

  Sabina nods, her face unreadable.

  “But it would be easier to just get it taken care of and go on with my plans like normal. Lots of people do that, too.”

  Footsteps approach from down the hallway, and Sabina and I fall silent until Mama Jess knocks and sticks her head in.

  “Hey, I forgot about these cookies I picked up after work,” she says, holding out a bakery box. “Want some?”

  Sabina bounds over, peering into the box. She plucks a giant chocolate chip cookie from inside and breaks off a piece, popping it into her mouth.

  Mama Jess smiles at me. “Yvonne?”

  I barely ate anything for dinner, so she’ll probably think something’s up if I decline a cookie. I get up and take one, too. “Thanks.”

  “I need milk,” Sabina says, her mouth full of cookie. She looks at me to see if I want some, but I shake my head.

  She disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone with Mama Jess.

  I sit on the edge of the bed with my cookie, unsure of what to say. I’ve never felt self-conscious about being alone with Mama Jess; she’s the easiest of Sabina’s parents, by far. But it doesn’t help that she’s a shrink and seems to be able to suck information out of anyone without even trying.

  “How have you been, Yvonne?” She leans against the doorframe, balancing the bakery box against her hip. “We haven’t seen much of you around here lately.”

  “I’ve been good. Just staying busy with school.”

  If my textbook weren’t open behind me, I’m not sure I’d believe that sentence myself. I’ve been walking around school in a haze. Sometimes I can barely remember that I’ve done the reading and have no recollection of completing the assignments I hand in.

  “Wrapping up your applications? I know Sabina’s happy to be done with hers.”

  “I haven’t really decided what I’m going to do yet. I’ve just had a lot going on.”

  Mama Jess nods and looks at me for a long moment before she speaks again. “Yvonne, I don’t want to overstep any boundaries, because I know you have a father who loves you, but… if there’s anything Cora or I could ever do for you, I hope you’ll let us know. You’ve been close to Sabina for a long time, and we’re so happy she has a friend like you. We love having you here.”

  “I’m happy to have a friend like her.” I smile at Mama Jess; big, so maybe I can ward off the tears threatening to well up. “And thank you… I’ll remember that.”

  Sabina walks back in then, carrying a glass of milk with half her cookie dunked inside. “What are you guys talking about?”

  “How great I am,” I say before cramming a bite of cookie into my mouth. It’s good—chewy and moist, with a touch of sea salt.

  “Guess I have good taste in people.” Sabina looks at Mama Jess. “Can you leave that box in here?”

  She does and takes a cookie before blowing a good-bye kiss across the room.

  I turn to Sabina. “You’re sure she doesn’t know?”

  “I’m sure I didn’t tell her. You know she lives on some spiritual plane above the rest of us.”

  “Sabs, what would you do? If you were in my position?”

  She lets out a long, loud breath. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know.”

  “I’m practically a walking ad for abstinence before marriage, I guess.”

  “No,” she says firmly. “This isn’t punishment for having sex.”

&n
bsp; I stare at her. “How can you say that when you’re so against sex before marriage?”

  “I’m against it for me, not you.” Sabina sighs. “I wish I’d never said that to you that day… about being worried.”

  “It was the truth, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t mean it to sound so judgy. What I meant was that you deserve the best, and I don’t want guys taking advantage of you.”

  “They’re not taking advantage of me if I want it as much as they do.”

  “I know, but I think about Omar and how things could have gone really wrong with him. You don’t even know his last name, and he lied to you.” She doesn’t sound disapproving, just concerned. Like a sister. “You’re alone so much, and I keep thinking about that night you took him home…. What if something bad had happened?”

  “It didn’t,” I say softly. Though I’ve thought of that, too, and how lucky I am that he was only a liar and not something worse. Still, it bugs me, wondering what else he might have lied about. A small consolation is that my STD tests came back negative. The nurse said they wouldn’t follow up unless there was an issue, but I still called them to make sure. The relief that washed over me when she said everything was negative was brief but intense. One less thing to worry about.

  “I know.” Sabina pauses. “Look, I don’t want you to think you have to keep things from me because we don’t see eye to eye on the whole sex thing.”

  “Okay. But I don’t want to feel like you’re judging me. How can you promise you won’t do that?”

  “I’m not perfect. I can’t stop worrying about you just because you tell me to.” She picks at a hangnail on her thumb, then stops and looks at me. “But I promise I’ll try to remember we can still have wildly different beliefs and be best friends.”

  “Well, I don’t know how much you’ll have to worry about.” I twist my mouth to the side as I contemplate what I’m about to say. “I don’t know how soon I’ll want to have sex again.”

  “Not even with Warren?”

  I consider this. I’m unsettled by how we left things at his apartment, but I love Warren. Still… every time I think about having sex, I shudder. Sabina said what happened isn’t punishment, yet I can’t help feeling that way right now. It feels like I’ll never be able to have sex again without thinking I’ll get pregnant, no matter how many precautions I take. The nurse at the clinic said this feeling was normal and that it wouldn’t last forever.

  “Maybe Warren. Maybe sometime in the future.”

  I’d like to think we can get back to a good place, but I don’t know if Warren will get over this. I hope he does. I might not have the energy to keep convincing him I never meant to hurt him.

  Sabina nods, then looks down at her hands for a moment before she meets my eyes again. “Did you know there’s such a thing as an abortion doula?”

  I shake my head.

  “They provide support for girls and women getting abortions… like the doulas that help during childbirth. But the opposite, I guess.”

  “Do they do abortions?”

  “No. Childbirth doulas don’t deliver the babies. Doulas are, like, trained companions. To make the process easier.”

  “Oh.” I never knew something like that existed.

  Sabina sets her glass on the nightstand. “I didn’t mention it because I don’t want you to think I’m trying to tell you what to do.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  She chews on her lip. “You keep saying how much I’m helping you by being here, but you help me, too. My life is so structured and planned out, and you remind me that it’s okay to be spontaneous sometimes.”

  “Well, I think we all know I could use a little more structure.”

  “That’s why we balance each other out.”

  We eat too many cookies and finish our homework, and I think it’s strange how there is a difference between being alone and being lonely.

  I think about what Warren said, how his father is blood not family. Sabina isn’t my blood, but she is my family. Even when I am lonely, I’m never truly alone with her by my side.

  29.

  I was planning to show up unannounced at Omar’s, especially since he’s still not answering his phone, but then, out of the blue, he calls. He wants to see me, and I’m relieved when he asks if I can meet him at the house, because at least there will be other people there. I can’t believe I had sex with someone I’m now worried about being alone with.

  I could have stopped talking to him—deleted his number and avoided the beach for a while. But I still want that closure. It seems necessary; maybe because I’ve never had closure with the one person who was always supposed to be here. And I want to confront him about his lie.

  Someone finally mowed the lawn at the communal house, but now there’s not much lawn to speak of. It’s just an expanse of brown, cracked patches; nothing like a proper drought-tolerant yard with neatly landscaped plots of deer grass, succulents, and lavender. I pick my way across the dry earth.

  Like last time, the main door is open, and I can see into the living room through the screen. Keely is sitting on the couch, alone. She’s staring at her phone, and I guess she didn’t hear me walk onto the porch because she doesn’t look up at all.

  “Um… hi.” My voice comes out so small that I clear my throat and start over. “Hi, Keely.”

  “Door’s open,” she says without looking up. And when I step inside, she briefly turns to say, “Omar’s not home yet.”

  She’s not scowling, but she doesn’t bother to smile, either.

  “Oh… okay. Should I come back?”

  Keely shrugs. “Up to you. You can wait in here if you want.”

  I haven’t been inside the house since the first night I was here. The front room is larger than I realized, and it just looks like a normal—albeit shabby—living room without bodies filling every square inch. Other people are here, their voices floating from different rooms of the house.

  Keely is barefoot, wearing pilled yoga pants and a cropped T-shirt. Her face is free of makeup, and she looks younger than every other time I’ve seen her.

  “He had to run an errand, and it’s taking longer than he thought,” she says. “He should be back soon.”

  It would have been nice if he’d called to let me know that himself. “Thanks for letting me wait in here.”

  She shrugs again. “Sure. I’m going upstairs to practice.”

  She bounds up the stairs on the balls of her feet, and I perch on the edge of the dumpy couch, trying not to think about the questionable stains and where it was before it ended up here. Even the walls in this house are dingy.

  A couple of people walk through the room as I wait, nodding or waving hello like they know me. How could you even keep track of who’s supposed to be here and who’s not when so many people are living here?

  Suddenly, the sweet, sad notes of Keely’s viola wind their way down the stairs. I sit up and listen, trying to figure out what she’s playing. I recognize the music. Mozart, I think, but I can’t remember the name of the piece. I want to hear more, because she and Omar have only played contemporary when I’ve seen them on the beach, and the jam session was improvised.

  I stand and move closer to the stairs. I still can’t hear as well as I’d like. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be upstairs—Omar didn’t show me the second floor when he gave me a tour that first night. I look around, but no one is watching. I slowly walk up the staircase, following the sound of her viola. The notes lead me to a door at the end of the hallway. It’s cracked open, and I peek through the sliver of space. Keely is standing next to a window, playing with her eyes closed.

  I remain outside the room for the rest of the movement. Until the last note fades and she relaxes, holding the instrument and bow by her side.

  And then she turns and looks right at me through that crack in the door.

  Fuck.

  I back away, mortified, but she flings the door open before I can move down the
hallway.

  “Can I help you?” It reminds me of the first day I talked to Omar, only his voice was kind. Friendly. Keely sounds like she’s talking to the shitty neighbor kid who won’t leave her alone.

  “Sorry.” I twist a thick band of braids around one hand. “I’m not trying to be a creep; I just wanted to hear you better. You’re so good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Was that Mozart?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice is flat but she looks at me curiously. “How long have you been playing?”

  “A while now… eleven years.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  I nod, trying to think of something to say that would prove how much I know about music. As I’m searching for the right words, I look over her shoulder to the open doorway. “Is this your room?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The one you share with Omar?”

  I can’t read her look. Surprise that I knew they shared a room? Embarrassment that she has to talk about it with me?

  “That’s the one,” she says.

  From what I can see, it’s plain and cramped, with a couple of music stands, sheet music everywhere, a shabby bureau against the wall, a window that needs to be cleaned, and a bed.

  A bed. One bed.

  Omar explicitly told me they didn’t share one, but I don’t see a pallet or a sleeping bag on the floor. He lied again.

  That’s when I recognize the look in Keely’s eyes: pity.

  “Sorry to bother you,” I mumble before heading back to the stairs. I have to get out of here. I’m not going to stick around and see what else he’s lied about.

  “Wait.” As much as I want to leave, Keely’s voice makes me stop. “What are you guys?”

  I turn around. “Nothing.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “He left for two weeks and didn’t tell me. And him sharing a bed with you is the second thing he’s lied to me about. I was going to tell him tonight… that I don’t want to see him anymore. That I don’t trust him.”

  “Well. I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but… you dodged a bullet.”