16 Things I Thought Were True

by Janet Gurtler

  I start walking fast to get ahead of her. I am fricking popular on Twitter. I rock on Twitter. “For your information, I’m going to meet some of my Twitter friends at a tweetup in Seattle.”

  “Yeah? When?”

  “We’re working on it. It’s hard to get everyone’s schedules in sync.” I have been talking about it with online friends, but doubt it’ll ever really happen.

  “Whatever,” she says. “I’m going to pay for our trip to BC. Are your Twitter friends doing that?” She catches up with me and tugs on the back of my T-shirt. “Slow down, okay?”

  I walk a little slower. She’s offered her car and her money. She wants to be my friend. Is that so wrong?

  “Amy,” I say, “you don’t have to pay for everything.” I dig in my pocket and take out the twenty dollars she gave me. “Here.”

  She shakes her head and holds up her hands. “No. Keep it. I feel stupid for lying to you, taking your money.”

  I try again, but she steps back, so I shove it back in my pocket. “Fine. But we’ll split everything on the trip. You’re doing me a huge favor.”

  “Well, you’re doing me one too.” Her cheeks turn pink and she glances away from me. “More than you know. Anyhow, don’t worry about me. I can afford it.”

  “No. We split it. But I’m going to book a hostel. Not a fancy hotel. It’ll be cheaper.”

  “A hostel? Wow. Like world travelers. Poor ones.” She sticks out her hand. “Deal. I will travel like the poor people.”

  I laugh but reach out and take her hand and squeeze lightly.

  “Friends,” she says. “I’d like to get more followers on Twitter, like you. I only have six.”

  My cheeks glow with pleasure. “I’ll help,” I tell her as we reach the spot where we go separate ways. “You really want to drive all the way to Victoria?” I ask.

  “Totally,” she says with a grin. And then she giggles. “With Adam too. And his junk.”

  I ignore that. “I have no idea how else I would swing this.”

  “Yeah, you don’t.” She grins and holds up her wrist, which has about twenty colorful bracelets wrapped around it. “I’m going to make you a bracelet for the trip.

  I look at the bracelets. They’re pretty cool. Some are string, some are beaded, and some have charms hanging off them.

  “You made those?”

  “I’m crafty. Since I was a kid. I make lots of stuff.”

  “Cool.” I nod.

  “I made one for Adam too. Do you think he’s the type of guy who would wear bracelets?”

  “I doubt it. But maybe he’s the type of guy who needs to.”

  She grins. “Yeah. He is.”

  I wave and laugh and run to the gift shop, arriving a couple of minutes late from my break.

  “You look pretty happy about leaving me one less gift shop employee next weekend,” Theresa says when I rush behind the register to relieve her.

  “You know already?”

  “Who do you think gave the okay? Adam texted me.”

  “Thanks so much,” I say.

  She jokes around some more before she leaves me, which is kind of new and kind of nice. When she leaves, I find myself humming. I don’t bother to pull out my phone. I don’t even check for updates. My break is over and it doesn’t even bother me.

  And then, all of a sudden, that worries me too. If I don’t reach five thousand, something bad will happen. I know it. I’m as superstitious as my mom.

  chapter eight

  There’s no getting around the fact that I’m nervous. There are comfort zones and then there’s this—traveling with two people I barely know. To Canada. My comfort zone resides in Tadita, most of it online. I don’t let my mind wander too much to what’s at the other end of the trip.

  I can’t believe I’m actually going to see my dad. It’s something I’ve dreamt about my whole life. The thought of him as a real person makes me want to hyperventilate. My insides get quivery at the thought of what might happen. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll see that I’m not so bad. Maybe he’ll accept me, even after all this time. As much as I try to deny it, I can’t bury my hope. Maybe he’ll see that I’m worth knowing.

  I tell myself that whatever happens, happens. That I’ll deal. Secretly I’m a little proud. For the first time in my life, I’m doing something about this. I’m going to meet my dad. My father. I’m not going to hide. I just hope I can handle it.

  Ten minutes before Amy’s supposed to pick me up, there’s a series of raps on the front door. I glance up from my Twitter feed, where I’ve been posting like crazy.

  Ever feel like you’re diagonally parked in a parallel universe? #Ido #roadtrip

  Josh is still snoring under his blankets, but Jake’s out in the living room. I hear him answer the door. With a deep breath, I tuck my phone into my backpack and stand, slinging it over my shoulder with one last look around my bedroom. Next time I’m in here, I’ll have met my father. I walk out, stopping in the hallway in front of Mom’s, room and tap at her door. There’s no response, but I push it open anyway.

  “Mom?”

  She’s lying on the bed, on top of her covers. She’s wearing a fitted T-shirt and the black velour shorts she bought me for Christmas last year.

  She coughs, sounding fragile and tired. “How’re you feeling?” she asks me.

  “I’m good,” I tell her. “How are you feeling?”

  She coughs again. “I miss my cigarettes.” She pushes her bottom lip out. The hospital stay seems to have cured her of her lipstick addiction. With her pale face and untidy hair, she looks like a little girl who woke up from a nightmare.

  “You’re doing great.”

  “I’m scared,” she says with a sigh.

  I don’t know if she’s scared because of her heart condition or because I’m starting out on a trip to finally meet my dad. I don’t ask. She could have pulled out everything in her arsenal to stop me from going to Victoria—pity, fear, guilt, whatever it took. But she hasn’t. I know she wants to tell me not to go, and I respect her restraint even though resentment swirls around my overactive brain. She hasn’t brought up his name again. We haven’t discussed him once—or why I’m going to Victoria. We’re following family protocol by not discussing it.

  “I want to smoke so badly,” she says.

  Jake’s laughter floats into the room from the front hall.

  “That’s your friend with Jake?” She places her book on the bed beside her and slowly moves into a sitting position and then swings her feet over the side of the bed.

  I almost tell her Amy’s not a friend exactly, that she’s more like a chatty coworker with a car. But it makes both of us happy to think I have friends again, so I nod.

  “What about the boy? Adam? Is he coming here too?”

  “No. I told you. We’re picking him up after. He lives closer to the outside of town.”

  She sighs. “I’m still not happy about you traipsing off with two kids I don’t know.”

  “Liar,” I say lightly. “You’re happy I’m going somewhere with real people.”

  She stares at me as she pushes on the bed and slowly stands. “It has been a while, but this isn’t exactly the way I would want it.”

  I swallow the sarcastic responses that pop in my head.

  She takes a shaky step forward. “Can you bring me my robe?”

  “Sure.” I put down my backpack and reach for the pink terry cloth robe on the door handle behind me. Everything about it is familiar, even the faint odor of smoke that clings to it. I hold it, proud of her for giving up her cigarettes even though she loves them so much.

  For a fleeting moment, I wonder if I could give up the Internet if I had to. But that thought makes my head and stomach hurt, so I take a deep breath and hand her the robe.

  She stares me down with her practiced Mom glare as
she puts her arms into the sleeves, and when she pulls the belt around her, it emphasizes her tiny waist. She’s incredibly thin, and I remember how physically fragile she is right now.

  “It’s going to be all right,” I say softly and move to help her walk, but she shakes her head and wobbles forward.

  “Just be careful.” She touches the side of my face. “Be careful.” She opens her mouth as if she’s about to say more, but then clamps it shut, shakes her head, and clears her throat. “Well, come on, I need to meet this Amy girl.”

  I pick up my bag and follow her to the hallway. When we turn the corner to the living room and front foyer, Jake is leaning against the wall, smiling down at Amy. She’s talking a mile a minute. He’s watching her as if she’s explaining the meaning of life.

  Jake is handling Mom’s condition and recovery well, but Josh seems to be dealing by ditching his ’70s vibe and becoming more responsible. Before Mom came home from the hospital, he shaved off his moustache. He’s selling his classic car and getting a more reliable one. I heard him talking to a girl on the phone and asking her to dinner—a girl he’d already taken out once. And yesterday he was talking to Jake about putting some money into the down payment of a condo.

  Jake was the one who said he didn’t want to move out yet or leave until Mom was feeling better. It’s a role reversal. Josh was always a mama’s boy. Josh is still the one who keeps the lawn trimmed so the neighbors don’t complain, but it’s Jake who doesn’t want to leave me to handle Mom on my own yet. He has no idea how grateful I am.

  Amy spots my mom and me and stops talking midsentence, but Jake doesn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Hey,” I say. “Amy, this is my mom. You’ve obviously met Jake.”

  “How old do you have to be to cross the border?” Mom asks instead of saying, “Hi, Nice to meet you,” like a normal person might.

  “I’m eighteen,” Amy says and straightens her back to stand as tall as she can. She barely comes up to Jake’s armpit. He doesn’t appear to mind, based on the goofy grin on his face.

  Mom shuffles forward and stops beside Jake, leaving just enough room for me to squeeze by them in the hallway.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. McLean,” Amy says. “You look very good for someone who just had a heart attack.”

  Mom glances at me.

  “It wasn’t a heart attack,” I remind Amy. “Just a blockage.”

  “Oh. Sorry. I knew that. I just meant you’re so pretty and young. My mom looks like she could be your grandma.”

  “Well, that’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all day,” my mom says and smiles more genuinely than I’ve seen in a while.

  She’s so easily charmed, but I smile too because, as far as I can guess, Amy wasn’t even trying to charm. She pretty much says whatever is on her mind. She’s not one to lie. Well, except when she made me give her five dollars because she got busted for eating popcorn. There was that. But she did pay me back—with interest.

  “It’s true,” Amy says. “My mom’s hair is gray and she’s round.”

  Jake laughs.

  “I don’t mean to sound mean. She is round. She calls herself that.” She shrugs. “We don’t care, my dad and I. She’s big-boned.” Her eyes light up. “Oh. I made you all something,” she says. She reaches into her hoodie pocket and pulls out a handful of something. “Hold up your wrist,” she says to me. I do as I’m told, and she slips a thick, colorful, rope bracelet on it. I turn my wrist over, admiring it. It’s made of soft material, like a T-shirt or something.

  Then she turns to my mom. “Wrist,” she says.

  “What?” My mom frowns but does as she’s told.

  “I had to make one for the whole family,” Amy says and ties a beautiful bead bracelet with a heart pendant on it around Mom’s wrist.

  “It’s really pretty,” Mom says.

  “It’s my hobby,” Amy answers.

  She turns to Jake and puts two dark leather, knotted bracelets in his hand. “I didn’t know if you would wear these, but I didn’t want to leave the brothers out.”

  Jake grins broadly and slides both bracelets on his wrist.

  Amy frowns at him. “One is for the other brother.”

  “Yeah. Well, we’ll see if he deserves it.”

  Amy smiles and looks to me. “I thought you said your brothers were dorks,” she says without a trace of irony. “He’s not a dork.”

  Jake throws his head back and laughs like it’s the best joke he’s heard in years. Mom makes a sound in her throat like she’s covering up laughter. I roll my eyes and step between Amy and Jake.

  “I meant dork in the nicest possible way. Okay. We should go,” I say to Amy and put my hand on her back to move her out the front door. I make a mental note to explain to her the concept of tact.

  Amy digs her feet in, giving my mom a laundry list of the routes we’re taking and how she’s had the car inspected and her dad gave her his credit card. Amy tells her she’s loaded up on snacks and drinks, and we’re completely prepared for the trip.

  Jake is watching us as if he’s mesmerized. I wonder if someone took his brain out or if he’s developed a drug habit. Jake doesn’t stare at girls like that. And his cheeks are blotchy. I look at Amy and try to see her through his eyes, but all I see is a tiny, quirky girl with brown hair and a skinny build. She’s pretty, but nothing like the girls Josh dates. Of course, part of the beauty of Jake is that he sees people from the inside. And whatever it is inside of Amy, he seems to like it.

  “Come on, motor mouth,” I say to Amy, and she laughs, but Jake gives me a dirty look and it makes me giggle inside.

  “Text me,” Mom says, and her voice breaks at the end of the sentence. I look at her pale face with her naked lips pressed tightly together, and my heart swoops. It hits me with a force. I’m going to meet my father. I wonder if the fear in her eyes is for me—or her.

  “I’ll be on roaming, so it’ll be expensive.” I don’t want to chat with her while I’m doing this. It’s too confusing. “But if there’s an emergency, text me.” I stress the word emergency. I don’t want to deal with her drama, but I am worried about her health.

  “I can give you my cell number,” Amy says to my mom. “My dad bought me a texting plan for the weekend, and I have unlimited texting and calling from Canada.” She looks at my mom and then at me.

  “Nice of him,” Jake says.

  “He worries.”

  “I’ll get a pen and paper,” Mom says.

  “No. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Jake darts into the living room and trots back holding his phone. “Here, put your number in my contact list. Just in case.” He hands her his phone. “I’ll text it to my mom after.”

  “Sure. Yeah.” She types in her info and then looks up at him, and they both smile. I watch the both of them.

  “My dad invented Sour Cats,” she tells Jake, as if it’s natural she should tell him everything about her. Based on Jake’s goofy smile, he doesn’t mind.

  “Did I tell you how she pretended to be poor and made me give her five bucks?” I ask.

  “I did not make you,” she says and glares at me then looks at Jake. “I got caught eating popcorn at work. It was the first excuse that came to mind. I felt really bad about it. She made me take her five dollars.”

  I barely resist the urge to tease her some more.

  “I only got the job at Tinkerpark to make new friends. I was homeschooled for a long time.”

  “Yeah. People probably don’t get you,” Jake says. “That happens to me all the time.”

  I look back and forth between them and then glance at Mom. Her eyebrows are raised and she’s trying to cover her amused smile with her hand.

  Miraculously, Amy doesn’t say anything—but she’s beaming.

  Jake glances at her. “So, um, text me. When you get there. Let me know how you’re doi
ng. Um. How Morgan is doing. You know, so we don’t have to rack up her phone bill.” I open my mouth then close it and put down my gym bag to slide on my laceless sneakers.

  “Be careful, Morgan, okay? Don’t let this guy hurt you.” Jake reaches for my bag. “I’ll carry it to Amy’s car for you,” he says.

  “It’s okay.” I shake my head and take the bag from him. This guy is my dad, after all. I open the door and wait for Amy to follow me.

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a few days,” I say to my mom without looking at her.

  “Morgan…” Her voice is hoarse. I look at her, and her lips are pressed tight and her hand rubs her chin. “Whatever happens, whatever you find out…just remember that I love you.” She blinks quickly.

  I walk outside and Amy follows me. Jake slips on shoes and walks behind us, and the two of them gab all the way down the sidewalk to the street where Amy’s car is parked. I glance up at the sky. Black clouds are swirling in the air and it’s cool. Amy pops the trunk, and I throw my stuff in and walk to the passenger door. I’m about to jump in the car when the front door of the house opens and Mom runs outside. Her robe pops open and she grabs it and wraps it around her.

  “Morgan?” she yells. Loudly.

  I glance around to see if any neighbors are outside. Mrs. Phillips next door will have a great time with this. She thinks my mom is crazy already. She’s mostly right.

  Mom sniffles loudly. “I’m sorry,” she cries. She drags a hand under her nose, clings to her bathrobe with the other, and bats her eyes, her mouth quivering. There’s an instant ache in my chest. It was already there, but it’s bigger now and it hurts my lungs. I inhale deeply as if I’m hollowed out.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeats.

  The words slice through the wind and cut into me like the cold in the air. I want to yell and ask why she’s sorry now, eighteen years later, but I lift my hand in the air, wave, and then open the car door.

  Jake steps closer. “Don’t worry, Chaps. She’ll be fine. I’ll take care of her.” I get in the passenger side, and he walks around and opens the driver’s door for Amy, holding it while she climbs inside. And then he steps back to the sidewalk, watching while Amy fires up the car. I wonder who is going to take care of me. And isn’t that the point?