Lipstick Apology

by Jennifer Jabaley

  “It’s okay to be hurt,” Jolie said. “It’s okay to be confused. This grief will always be a part of who you are. But one day you’ll wake up and realize you didn’t dream about the plane crash or think about the apology. And you’ll know that you’ve started to heal.” She handed me the box. Across the paper, written with a thick, black Sharpie, it read: These have always belonged to you.

  Jolie smiled at me. “It’s your decision what to do with this information.”

  Inside were my mother’s diaries.

  EPILOGUE

  “NOW THAT was some New Year’s Eve party,” Georgia said, lying in her sleeping bag on my bedroom floor.

  “That’s how we do it in the city,” Lindsey said, grabbing the pillow from under Carly’s head.

  “Still sleeping!” Carly bellowed.

  “I’m still a little surprised I was invited,” I said.

  “Why?” Lindsey asked, sitting up. “People like you for you—not just because you were half of a wonder couple.”

  I smiled and tried not to look too surprised.

  “Even Andi,” Lindsey said, somehow reading my insecurities.

  “I can’t believe it’s a new year,” Carly said, climbing up to sit next to me on the bed.

  “It’s going to be a better year,” Lindsey said, stealing a glance at the diaries stacked up on my desk.

  “I hope,” I said softly, thinking I was lucky to have such good friends help me through my crisis.

  “No hoping about it,” Georgia said. “I have confirmation.”

  “Oh, jeez,” I mumbled.

  Georgia stood up as if addressing a crowd. “After Sister Ginger . . .” She looked at Lindsey and Carly. “That’s my psychic. After she finished telling me that I should mail my evil twin sister story line pitch to the Rhapsody in Rio writing department, I asked her if she could do a tarot card reading for Emily.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Interesting!” Carly said.

  “Very!” Georgia exclaimed as she unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a piece of paper. “Sister Ginger’s tarot card reading for Emily Carson.” She dramatically extended her arm. “High Priestess, Strength, the Lovers. All upright.”

  Lindsey and Carly looked at me for interpretation.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what she’s talking about!” Georgia opened her eyes wide. “High Priestess means secret knowledge. Strength means courage. Lovers means harmony and union. Sister Ginger’s interpretation? Emily’s heart understands, Emily’s heart mends, Emily’s heart loves. LOVES, Emily, LOVES. There’s romance in your future!”

  Lindsey and Carly clapped, and we all laughed.

  AFTER CARLY AND LINDSEY left that morning, Georgia and I hugged goodbye and promised to see each other for spring break. Then she took a cab to Penn Station and the train back to Pennsylvania.

  With all my friends gone and Jolie at Dr. Reeve’s house, the apartment seemed especially quiet. The phone rang and startled me.

  “Hey,” Anthony said. “When Harry Met Sally is on TV. Want to watch it together?”

  “Sure.” I grabbed the remote and cradled the phone in my neck. “What channel?”

  There was a knock at the door. When I opened it, Anthony was smiling.

  “What? I thought we were going to watch it while on the phone . . .”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Anthony handed me a white pastry box.

  We sat down on the couch with our legs propped on the coffee table and ate crumb cake. As friends turned into lovers on the TV screen in front of us, I wanted to finally tell him how I felt, but I couldn’t find the courage.

  “What?” Anthony asked.

  Just say it. But I couldn’t. I looked out the window at the river. “Does it get any easier?” I asked him. “The pain, the grief?”

  Anthony thought for a long time. “Sometimes. But mostly it’s just different.”

  I nodded, still looking out at the rocky waves of the Hudson. “In Pennsylvania, I lived near the Delaware River,” I said. “That river was so calm. Peaceful.” Like my life was. “And this river is so turbulent.” Like my life here is.

  Anthony was looking out to the Hudson. He craned his neck to the left, getting a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty in the distance.

  As I looked out to the proud face of Lady Liberty, thrusting her flaming torch into the sky, I realized something. The Statue of Liberty, the universal symbol of freedom, was perched on a small twelve-acre island in the middle of the rocky, turbulent Hudson River. And suddenly it occurred to me: maybe that’s because the road to freedom is never a calm journey. Maybe you have to battle the currents to reach the ultimate goal. Freedom from the grief. Freedom from the mystery. Freedom from the truth.

  I had spent three months looking out at the crashing waters but never seeing the opportunity.

  I got up from the couch and raced toward my room.

  “Where are you going?” Anthony called after me.

  “Here, help me.” I thrust some of the diaries into his hands. “Follow me.”

  I couldn’t wait for the elevator. I took the four flights of steps down at lightning pace and raced out the door and down toward the park. I crossed the bike path and the stretches of snow-covered lawn and reached the edge of the river.

  “Maybe we should have put on coats?” Anthony laughed.

  I looked into Anthony’s soft brown eyes. “Do you know that one day I looked under my mom’s bed and found three milk jugs filled with coins? When I asked her what they were, she said she had been secretly saving spare change so I could get a really nice prom dress.” My eyes welled up. “And when my dad’s mom died, my mom went out and secretly took German cooking classes so she could make all the meals my dad thought he’d never taste again. And she was a really great artist and art historian, but she gave up her career to be a mom.” I swallowed hard. “That was who my mom was. These—” I lifted the diaries off my chest. “These stories are not how I knew her. They aren’t who my mother was to me.”

  I stepped to the railing along the river, lifted the stack of notebooks into the air, and flung them toward the dark water. The pages fluttered in the wind and the water splashed over the inked words. They didn’t sink at first but floated with the breeze.

  Anthony handed me the remaining books, and with vigor I propelled the books into the air, watching them flap violently, crash, and float.

  I was flooded with such a sense of renewal I looked up toward the darkening sky and yelled at the top of my lungs, “I FORGIVE YOU!”

  Anthony threw his head back and screamed, “FREEDOM!”

  Then I started shouting the word freedom too. Together we were lunatics but with only each other for an audience. We danced around on the snowy grass, singing and laughing, until the sun had completely set and we were all at once in complete darkness.

  I reached over and took Anthony’s hand and we walked back toward the apartment.

  “You know,” I said, trying to figure out how I could possibly thank him for being there for me. “I’m sorry about how I’ve acted. Things between us . . .”

  “Oh, come on, Em.” He stopped walking and looked me in the eyes. His own were dark and shiny. “You know how I feel about you,” he muttered.

  “I do?”

  He stepped closer and whispered, “When you’re around, music plays in my head.”

  My eyes welled. “Music,” I repeated softly.

  “Well, you know.” He grinned. “It’s the Jaws theme. Da dum. Da dum.” He jabbed me in the stomach.

  I laughed.

  He grabbed the zipper of my jacket and pulled me toward him.

  Then he kissed me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  THIS BOOK marks a new journey for me, one that would not have been possible without my wonderful agent, Tricia Davey. Thank you for picking my book out of the slush and giving it a chance. Thank you for your friendship and commitment to finding me the perfect home at Razorbill. Thank you to my extraordinary editor, Lexa H
illyer. Without your insight and talent, this story would have lacked so much heart. Thanks for your direction, your dedication, and your patience. Thank you to Carol and Abby Crawford, the earliest readers. Your feedback was instrumental in getting me to the next step.

  The foundation of this story is about family, and I’m so blessed to be surrounded by a close-knit family and circle of friends. To my parents, Tom and MaryAnn Lovelidge: thanks, Dad, for teaching me to dream big and want more. Thanks, Mom, for teaching me to work hard, set goals, and manage both career and family. Thanks to both of you for encouraging me to pursue this dream. Thank you to my in-laws, Ron and Kay Jabaley: thank you for your enthusiasm, pride, and constant help with the kids. Thanks to my brother, T.J., for your interest and input. To my very best friends and sisters, Jackie and Kristen: life without you guys is simply unimaginable. Thanks for always listening and offering your words of wisdom. Thanks for supporting this book as well as everything in my life.

  But mostly, I thank Chris. Thanks for believing in me all the way. My journey started the day you handed me a laptop and said, I know you can do it.