He gave me a thumbs-up.
I gave him an A-OK.
He touched the tips of his fingers to his thumbs and put the circles over his eyes like glasses.
I pretended to ask for the check.
He mimed eating a banana.
I acted like I was crashing cymbals together, and then he started laughing, and so did I. We were doubled over, trying not to make any noise, and everyone else in the wings was glaring at us.
“WHO IS THAT?” Miss Murphy hollered from the audience. “DO NOT MAKE ME COME BACK THERE.” That made it worse, and I snorted.
“Sorry, Miss Murphy!” I called.
“Chloe, absolutely no talking in the wings. If I have to ask you again, you’re out of here for the day. Is that clear?”
“It’s clear!”
I was glad she yelled at me. The other kids would hate me if she didn’t.
Tuesday, April 11
Grady and I were just goofing around. Right?
I’m NOT going to do what I did last year. No flirting with someone else’s boyfriend. It only leads to disaster.
Wednesday, April 12
I’m panicking.
Chloe,
If you and your father think you can railroad me like this, think again. Yes, I moved to Mexico. Yes, I privileged writing over baking cookies, or whatever it is your father thinks a wife should do. Yes, I practiced self-care. Yes, I broke free of the constraints placed upon modern women. That does not mean I should or will relinquish my rights as a mother. I am not letting go of you without a fight.
What is she talking about??? I have to find Dad right this minute.
Thursday, April 13
I got it out of him. She wants shared custody. She wants me to live with her in Mexico for at least half the year. That’s why mediation failed. I’m too scared to write right now.
Friday, April 14
I don’t want this. I don’t want to leave Tris, or Dad, or Snickers, or even Miss Murphy. I don’t want to miss a second of my horrible high school life.
Saturday, April 15
Dad swears no sane judge would grant her custody. He says she moved to another country by choice, leaving me with him, and any court would interpret that as an admission that he’s a fit guardian. And that furthermore, judges like to keep children in place, if possible, to avoid disrupting their routines.
I’m trying to believe him, stop Googling, and calm down. He’s an attorney. He knows about stuff like this. And he’s probably not just trying to make me feel better.
Sunday, April 16
Last year, all I wanted was to move to Mexico. I was picturing reading novels on the beach and wandering around town wearing a straw fedora while the cute local guys whispered “Who is that?” to each other. But I never thought about what it would be like to live with Mom without Dad around. And I know why I never thought about it: because it would have ruined the fantasy. Mom doesn’t want to be a parent, not for real. She doesn’t make dinner. She doesn’t care if I miss curfew. She doesn’t sign my permission slips or notice my grades or buy my birthday presents or pretend my school events are fun or remember I need to get my teeth cleaned. I’m not saying she’s supposed to do any of this stuff because she’s a woman. It doesn’t matter who takes care of the house and the kid(s). In our family, it’s Dad, and that’s fine and great. In some families, it’s both parents, or a single parent, or a grandparent. I just want to live with someone, anyone, who cares about me, and that someone is not my mother.
Monday, April 17
Dear Mom,
I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch. To be honest, I was mad at you for leaving, and I didn’t want to talk.
I’m writing now because I wanted to tell you, first of all, Dad and I aren’t trying to railroad you. He almost never mentions the divorce to me. He did tell me the mediation wasn’t going well, but he didn’t say why. Until I got your email, I didn’t realize there was a disagreement about custody.
I also wanted to tell you something. It’s hard to say, but I have to say it. Basically, I want to live here full-time. I hope this doesn’t hurt your feelings. It’s not about loving Dad more than you, or anything like that. It’s that I have my whole life here—school and everything—and I don’t want to leave.
OK, well, I really am sorry I haven’t emailed in so long. I’ll be better about it now.
—Chloe
Tuesday, April 18
She hasn’t written back yet. It’s the second day of spring break and I’ve barely noticed. All I’m doing is staring at my inbox.
Wednesday, April 19
Still nothing. I guess this is a taste of my own medicine. I can’t complain, since I did the exact same thing to her for so long. But it’s still the worst.
Thursday, April 20
What if she’s not writing back because she’s gearing up for a court battle, and she doesn’t want her emails to be seized as evidence? What if she wins and I have to live with her and Javi half the year?
Friday, April 21
I told Noelle what’s going on, and she said nice stuff (“Seriously? That sucks,” “I’m sure your dad will get custody,” “Divorce is the worst”) and also some stuff that was supposed to be nice, even if it made me flinch a little (“Wow, your mom sounds crazy”). But it was odd, because I confessed all these embarrassing, scary details, and I guess I assumed she would tell me about her parents’ divorce in return. It’s not that I’m dying to know about their divorce in a gossipy way. It’s just that when one friend tells a secret, it’s normal for the other friend to tell a secret too. It’s like swearing a blood oath. You both have to cut yourselves.
Maybe she’s more private than I am. Maybe she doesn’t trust me yet. Maybe she doesn’t mind being in awkward situations, because she’s so cool and confident. Maybe she doesn’t want to hear the truth about what’s happening with my parents, so she’s shutting down the conversation and hoping I’ll get the hint.
It’s weird that Grady and I aren’t even friends, and we’re so much more comfortable talking about this stuff than Noelle and I are.
Saturday, April 22
I rode my bike around today trying to memorize the town. Before now, I’ve never really thought about the stone walls colonial New Englanders built with their own hands. Imagine how long it must have taken! The walls are beautiful. They’re works of art that connect us to our forebears. I can’t leave them! And why have I never visited Emily Dickinson’s house, or Louisa May Alcott’s house? They’re less than an hour away by car. I go to Walden Pond only to sit on the beach whining! What is wrong with me? I should be taking meditative walks around the lake and thinking about how lucky I am to have Dad. If I get to stay here, I swear I’ll be different. I’ll appreciate my town instead of constantly complaining about how boring it is. I’ll look at things instead of racing by them on my bike while drowning out my own thoughts with a podcast. I won’t be such a spoiled brat.
Sunday, April 23
Chloe,
I understand your point of view. Truly, I do. But as your mother, the woman who has cared for you since your first moments of life, I have my own opinions about what’s healthy for you. I will and must navigate by my own stars. If you’re angry with me for pursuing the course I know to be best, well, I can accept your anger. I’ll absorb it, like a judo practitioner. As Clementine said in Bikram class yesterday, I’ll “meet rage with kindness.”
All my love,
Mom
Mom,
I’m not angry. I just don’t want to live with you. Please don’t treat me like a child. I’m old enough to have my own opinions about what’s best for me.
—Chloe
Monday, April 24
Dad’s birthday. Miss Murphy came over and made dinner (salmon), and afterward we sang to him and I brought out a cake I’d baked (chocolate, from a mix). We didn’t talk about Mom or the divorce, but I could feel everyone silently stressing out about it.
Tuesday, April 25
I raced out of rehearsal today, so I was the first person at the bike rack, but I couldn’t get my lock undone, and everyone was streaming past watching me struggle. I was almost in tears when Grady came over and said, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I dropped the lock. I needed a break from it.
“OK.”
I could tell he was about to leave, and I didn’t want him to. “Wait. I was lying.”
I told him about my mother, and the custody issue, and not wanting to move to Mexico. He nodded through the whole thing and winced at the right points, and when I was done, he said, “That’s so messed up.”
“What was it like when your parents got divorced?”
“They started out saying, ‘Oh, it’s going to be totally amicable. We’ll split everything 50-50—the money, you, whatever.’ And then they got into it and it turned into Alien vs. Predator. I was 10, but I was like my mom’s best friend at the time, because she and Dad used to be so wrapped up in each other, they didn’t have other friends. So she’d come home from seeing her lawyer and tell me every detail. They spent three weeks fighting about who was going to get this watercolor painting they’d bought at a yard sale. I remember her always saying, ‘It’s not the money; it’s the principle.’ She’d say that at least once a day.”
“Did it upset you when she told you that stuff?”
“I always thought I wanted to hear it, because it made me feel like a grown-up to be in on the secret, but then afterward I hated that I knew. You’re an only child, right?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, I was then too,” he said. “It’s the worst. No offense. You know what I mean. It’s the worst when all the pressure is on you.”
“I wish I had someone to roll my eyes with.”
“Exactly. Like, someone you could turn to and whisper, ‘They’re insane,’ when your parents are fighting.”
We were still standing by the bike rack, shifting our weight from foot to foot. Most of the other kids had left, aside from a few who were waiting for rides.
“So they didn’t fight about custody?” I asked.
“No, because my dad didn’t want it.”
I must have looked horrified, because Grady laughed and said, “Yeah, he’s a dick. The thing is, I used to be on his side. He always said my mom was passive-aggressive and didn’t appreciate him, and I thought he was right, but now I’m like, what was she supposed to be so appreciative about? The way he never really worked or took care of me?”
“He sounds like my mom,” I said. “Maybe we should set them up.”
Grady laughed, but suddenly it felt awkward, like I’d reminded us both of what happened last summer. And of the fact that we were having a serious conversation, the kind you have with a friend you trust, when we weren’t supposed to be friends anymore.
“Is Reese waiting for you?” I said.
“No. Hannah’s mom picked them up early. I guess I should go.”
“You’re walking?”
“Yeah.”
“OK, well . . . It was nice to talk to you.”
“I hope your mom writes back. Or I hope she doesn’t, I guess.”
“There are no good options,” I said, and we laughed together, the sad laugh of two kids whose parents suck.
Wednesday, April 26
I couldn’t wait to talk to Grady again today. All I want to do is spend hours hearing his thoughts on divorce. I found him in the back of the auditorium, waiting to be called onstage and drawing in his notebook, and I sat down right next to him, which seemed exciting and strange but also totally normal, like yesterday’s conversation had canceled out all the months of hating each other.
He was sketching Izzy and Rob embracing on the stage, glancing up at them and then back down at his notebook.
“That’s really good,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said. He didn’t sound conceited, but he sounded like he’s aware that he’s an excellent artist.
“Can I ask you a question? How long does it take to feel normal after your parents get divorced?”
He stopped drawing. “I don’t know if you ever feel normal. Especially when your parents start going out with new people.”
“Is your dad remarried?”
“My dad, no. But obviously my mom is.”
“Do you like your stepdad?”
“I try to like him. He always seems disgusted with me, though. But whatever. He has a job. He’s good to my mom. He’s Bear’s dad.”
“Is he nice to Bear?”
“Yeah, very.”
“So he can be nice, just not to you.”
Grady laughed a little. “I guess so.”
We looked at each other, and I felt so sad for him, and he looked so brave, and his eyes were so beautiful, and I wanted to punch his stepfather in the face and then kiss Grady and kiss him and kiss him until he felt better.
I stood up. “I have to go.”
“Oh. OK.”
“Thanks for listening to me.”
I was already walking away when he said, “Yeah, sure.”
Thursday, April 27
I’m in love with Grady. Oh God.
Friday, April 28
I could tell him. We’re in high school—it’s not like I’m trying to break up someone’s marriage. But no, no, I can’t do this again! It doesn’t matter that I loathe Reese. She’s a person with feelings, and she loves Grady. Also, I’d only be humiliating myself. Grady is clearly crazy about her. They’ve been together for months now. They make out in the halls. They’re never not holding hands. So, fine. I won’t say anything, which is (a) the right thing to do and (b) the dignified thing to do.
Saturday, April 29
Tris texted.
What’s going on with you
and Grady?
What nothing what do
you mean
Stop you know what
I mean
You guys have been
talking at rehearsal
all week
It’s really bad
I think I like him
!!!
I do like him
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Do not tell anyone
Of course not
But didn’t you hate him
a week ago?
You and Elliott brought
us together
And he’s still the easiest
person to talk to
Besides you obvi
I’m my real self around him
I’m my real self around Elliott
but because I don’t care what
he thinks of me
You don’t have to go out
with him you know
No I like him
He’s growing on me
He’s so into me I’m like what’s
wrong with you?
Anyway what are you going
to do about Grady?
Nothing. You’re the
only person I’m
telling
I can’t be around
him anymore
I don’t trust myself
If I keep talking to him
I’ll try to kiss him or
something
I told you he was hot
I know
I told you you were making
a big mistake
I KNOW I KNOW
Very comforting, I’m sure! But Tris did try to tell me. He’d have to be a saint to resist saying “I told you so” now that I’ve finally seen the light.
Sunday, April 30
I woke up intending to get all my homework out of the way right after breakfast, and then I picked up my phone. Now it’s dark outside and all I’ve done is memorize every pixel of every picture of Grady on the internet.
Monday, May 1
So to summarize, I turned down a gorgeous guy who makes me laugh, is easy to talk to, and was crazy about me because I wanted to sit around waiting for texts from a cheater who saw me a
s, at best, a booty call. What sense does that make? And why did it make total sense to me a few months ago?
Tuesday, May 2
It feels like it should be possible to go back to last summer and redo it. All those times we brushed against each other by accident during work—it was so annoying then, and now I would give anything to brush against Grady. We were half naked by a pool! We had literally hours every day to talk! I didn’t appreciate any of it!
Wednesday, May 3
So far I’ve been avoiding Grady at rehearsal, which is easy enough to do if I hide in the girls’ dressing room whenever I’m not onstage. But Hell Week starts this Sunday, and the whole cast will be together 24/7. Somehow I have to steer clear of Reese, Grady, Hannah, and whichever new enemies I make in the next four days.
I told Noelle about my realization, and she said I should definitely tell him how I feel. But I’m pretty sure she’s mostly excited about the possibility of me messing up Reese’s relationship, which is exactly what I don’t want to do.
Thursday, May 4
I have this one selfie Grady and I took last summer. We’re sitting on towels in the grass, our lips are blue from the rocket pops we just ate, and we’re giving each other mustaches with our index fingers. Grady’s raising one eyebrow, and I’m laughing so hard you can see my tonsils. I stare at this picture for hours every night, and stalk Grady online, and think about him as I’m falling asleep. Then I see him at rehearsal the next day and it’s almost a shock. It’s like I’m surprised to be reminded that he’s real, this person I’ve been obsessing about in my mind for hours. And then usually, at some point, I see him and Reese hugging or something, and that’s a shock too, because when I’m daydreaming about him, of course I don’t think about her.
The Year of Living Awkwardly Page 17
