“You promise to tell me if it ends up not being okay?” she asked seriously. “I mean, with classes or anything else.”
I thought then about my dad. I didn’t think whoever had sent those stupid texts really knew anything about him, or me. But the texts had gotten me wondering about who, and where, my dad really was.
He was supposedly some guy my mom had met one night fifteen years ago. “A boy in a bar,” my mom called him, who was a do-gooder on his way to Africa when they crossed paths. That was awesome and everything, to think of my dad being that person, except he didn’t sound at all like the kind of guy my mom would ever go for. Seth was my mom’s type—supernice, and smart and buttoned-up—except not gay like Seth was now. Actually, the whole setup didn’t make any sense. My mom didn’t go to bars, ever. She hardly ever drank. I don’t know when I stopped believing the story. It was kind of gradually, over time, and I’d never really cared before about finding out the truth. I’d figured that if my dad had been worth finding, he would have tracked me down a long time ago.
And then came the texts.
As much as I wanted not to care about them. They were bugging me. It was bugging me. I wanted to tell my mom that she didn’t have to protect me anymore, that I could handle knowing the truth about my dad. But looking at her tired eyes, that way she was smiling at me like she was trying to make me feel her love through her teeth, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t rip the whole thing open. I didn’t want my mom to think she wasn’t enough for me. Also, I was a little afraid that what she’d tell me might make me mad. At her.
Besides, there were other, more important things I needed to talk to her about. I needed some advice. I couldn’t go into any secret club nonsense obviously. My mom would have charged down to Grace Hall in the middle of the night and taken the place apart brick by brick. She’d also definitely hire Leelah back on the spot. And that would be the end of the Magpies, and Dylan. Instead, I’d have to get my questions in through the back door.
“Did you belong to a sorority in college?” I asked her instead.
Sorority, secret club. It was a safe way to get in most of my questions.
“A sorority?” My mom looked confused for a second, then kind of embarrassed. “Yes, I’m afraid to say I did. In my defense, pretty much everybody at Duke belonged to one. It didn’t feel like there was much of a choice.”
“Was it fun?” I asked. “I mean, were you glad you did it?”
“Glad?” She wrinkled her forehead and tapped a finger to her lips. “I don’t think glad would be the word I’d use. I survived it, let’s put it that way.”
It was funny imagining my mom at something like a Maggie meeting. If I was a Goody Two-shoes, my mom was a saint.
“What kinds of hazing stuff did you have to do?” I asked, feeling this weird secret bond with her.
“Wait, what’s with all the questions about sororities, Amelia?” My mom narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re not planning on running off to college early, are you?”
“No,” I said, scrambling to think of an excuse. “I’m writing a paper on sororities, for my Moral Controversy in America class.”
Wow, where had I pulled that out from? I was getting better and better at this lying thing.
“Moral Controversy in America? Have I heard about this class before?”
“Yes, you were there when I picked it.”
“I was?” She looked confused. “Do you still take regular classes, too, like math?
I rolled my eyes. “Mom, come on.”
“Well, if it’s for a paper, then my honest answer is that I think sororities are bad. I think they’re terrible, actually. I think they make girls feel awful about themselves under the guise of sisterhood.”
That didn’t sound good. And she wasn’t even playing it up on purpose to talk me out of something. That was her real unbiased opinion. But then again, a secret club wasn’t exactly the same thing as a sorority. Not at all. Actually, they were really, really different. High school and college were totally different.
“But for the record, should you end up in a sorority, I won’t hold it against you.” She put a hand on my forehead. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I said, pulling my head away. “And how old were you when you first went out with boys?”
My mom blew some air out of her cheeks. “Wanted to?” she asked. “Or actually did? Because I always spent more time thinking about boys than actually being with them. As you know, romance has never been my forte.”
“When did you start liking boys?”
I’d been wondering lately if my late blooming might be genetic.
“Before I answer this, are you already dating somebody? Because our agreement was fifteen, but only after we talked about it. I won’t be mad, though, I promise. You can always tell me the truth, no matter what.”
“I’m not dating anyone, Mom,” I said, making sure to look her in the eyes. “I would tell you, I swear. It’s just research, for the same paper.”
“The same paper?” she asked, her eyebrows scrunched low.
It had been a bad lie. It didn’t even really make sense.
“Yeah, it’s a two-parter.”
She looked skeptical still.
“Uh-huh. Okay, let’s see, I guess I was thirteen maybe,” she said, wiggling her hand around like it might have been even younger. “It’s hard to remember exactly. But I am sure that I never kissed anyone until I was fifteen, at least. Maybe even twenty.”
She looked at me like she was trying to drive her point home, but then she smiled. One of the things that was great about my mom, as a mom, was that she always knew when she was being kind of ridiculous.
“Oh, okay,” I said, suddenly feeling kind of lonely. Thirteen was younger than fifteen. Only by two years, but they felt like big years. Maybe there was something wrong with me. Not that I could really expect my mom to make me feel better when I wasn’t even telling her what we were really talking about. “Thanks. That was all I needed to know.”
She leaned forward to give me a hug, talking into my hair.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it home for dinner, Amelia. I was trying to get out the door, and then I got stuck on the phone and—”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “It’s not like you want to stay at work, I know.”
And I did know that, even though sometimes it sucked anyway. My mom’s eyes were glassy when she leaned back to smile at me. When she got really tired, she was a total crier. She ran a hand down my cheek.
“You are one sweet girl, Amelia.”
She kissed me on the forehead, then pushed herself off the bed and headed for the door. My mom was almost there when I realized that I really didn’t want her to go. I needed to talk to her more. I needed to tell her everything.
“Mom,” I called after her.
She turned around in the doorway. “What, honey?”
“I got tapped by—”
Her phone rang then, and she patted her coat pockets looking for it. When she finally pulled it out, she looked aggravated when she saw who was calling.
“Ugh, sorry,” she said, turning to answer it. “Hello, yes, hold on just one second.” Then she turned back to me, her hand muffling the phone. “Victor is in Tokyo, and he apparently thinks the world revolves around his time zone. But I should probably take it. He’s called me four times today. Can it wait, Amelia?”
I stared at the phone in her hand and her trying-so-hard face. If I’d told my mom that I needed her to hang up the phone right then, she would have. I knew that. I also knew that she would do anything to make sure I didn’t get hurt by the Maggies or Dylan. And I knew that I could trust her with everything. But maybe I just wasn’t ready to, after all. Not yet. Not until I understood what there was to tell.
“It can wait,” I said.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “This is your time, not theirs.”
“I know, Mom,” I said, and it meant a lot that she’d
said that. It meant everything. “I’m sure.”
Kate
APRIL 30, 1998
Three weeks, four days, and five hours. That’s how long it’s been since Amelia was born.
I feel like it should be getting easier. But it isn’t.
The first few days were the toughest, though. In the hospital, all by myself, trying to figure out how to breast-feed in the middle of the night. I had a hard time just getting out of bed. Everything hurt. And then there was picking her up out of the little plastic bassinette.
She’s so small and soft. Like her bones are made of sponge. It’s a sick joke that nature made them so damageable.
At least the baby nurse Gretchen is paying for comes today. I’ll be grateful when she’s here, even if the only reason my mom paid for her is so that she could rush out of town after three short nights at the Essex House. Gretchen still had the nerve to get teary when she was leaving, though. Surely tears of disappointment.
Mothers. I am one now. That’s the craziest part. Me: a mother. To an actual, real live person.
The nurses in the hospital kept telling me that I should have Amelia sent to the nursery so that I could get some rest. They promised to bring her back in for feedings. I know they kept offering because I was alone. My roommate, whose husband was there to help with her baby all day long, didn’t send her baby away.
So I didn’t either. Amelia’s not going to get less because it’s just me. Not yet. Not ever.
Kate
JUNE 30, 1997
He called me up to his office today to tell me that my memo of collateral estoppel was the best he’d ever read by a summer associate. That’s like having the president come out of the Oval Office to give you a pat on the back. It never happens.
I can already tell that the best way to get over Seth won’t be another boy; it’ll be by being the best summer associate Slone, Thayer has ever seen.
Kate
NOVEMBER 27
Kate was standing in the kitchen, finger poised over the coffeemaker, when there was a knock at the kitchen door. It was barely light, only a few minutes past seven a.m. She hit Start and made her way over to the windows. When Kate peered out, there was her next-door neighbor Kelsey, bouncing foot to foot in running pants and a bright yellow Nike shell, a knit cap pulled low over her short pixie hair.
Kelsey had six-year-old twins, whom she stayed home with full-time, and a gorgeous Brazilian husband, who was as visibly devoted to her as she was to her children. Kelsey’s idealized image of motherhood had always made Kate feel inadequate. Not because of anything Kelsey did, but because of how unconflicted she seemed. She wanted to be a full-time mother, and so she was. There was no push and pull, no wobbly balancing act in which someone was forever the loser—Amelia, Kate, her job.
In the weeks since Kate’s friends had gone home, Kelsey had been a lifesaver. She’d dropped off casseroles, bought groceries, and done laundry for Kate, all without being asked and without the expectation of a thank-you. She’d almost seemed disappointed when Kate had told her that she’d be going back to work and would no longer be in need of her help.
“Are you locked out?” Kate asked when she opened the door.
“No, no, I’m fine,” Kelsey said, waving a hand. She was still bouncing back and forth on her toned legs. “I just wanted to check in and see how your first day back was.”
“Oh, yeah, it was—” Kate hesitated, suddenly unable to recall anything that had happened at the office.
Ever since she’d gotten that text about Amelia’s not jumping, everything had been fuzzy and hard to keep track of. It didn’t help that she’d stayed up half the night reading Amelia’s texts. She’d started with the ones between Amelia and Sylvia, because they’d seemed least likely to be too upsetting. She’d marveled at the intricate minutiae in their conversations. A rogue pimple, someone’s poor choice of shoes, an accidental hallway brush against a particular boy, the details of the strange dream one of them had had the night before—all of them topics worthy of dissection in the seemingly nonstop stream of messages that passed between the two girls. There were so many texts that it was hard to believe the girls were ever physically in the same room. But they had been, almost until the very end.
MAKE A RUN FOR IT, I’LL COVER YOU, was the last text Sylvia had sent Amelia when she’d been in Mr. Woodhouse’s office.
Sylvia had admitted to Molina that she’d helped Amelia sneak out of the headmaster’s office minutes before she died. But when Sylvia had ducked into the bathroom afterward, Amelia had disappeared. Like everyone else, Sylvia had had no idea what could have driven Amelia to the roof, or off it.
“Are you okay, Kate?” Kelsey asked. She’d stopped bouncing and was staring at her, concerned.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m just distracted.” Kate shook her head hard. “I was making coffee. Do you want to come in and have some?”
The invitation was an impulse, an unfamiliar one. As helpful as Kelsey had been recently, the two women had never sat down alone over coffee. But Kate wanted to now. She wanted to sit with Kelsey and pretend the two of them were close friends.
“Oh sure,” Kelsey said, looking taken aback. She checked her watch. “But I should probably make it quick. Gabriel’s with the boys, and he’ll need to leave for work in a few minutes.”
Kate went to get the coffee as Kelsey sat down at the kitchen table. When she came back, she placed a mug down in front of each of them, the whole time telling herself that this was the way this kind of thing was done. An impromptu invitation, a casual conversation. This was how spouseless, childless people survived being completely alone. Maybe she was supposed to offer muffins or cookies or something, too. She had neither. Kate could feel Kelsey staring at her.
“I’m sorry, I know I’m acting strangely—”
“No, no, not at all,” Kelsey said, quickly and unconvincingly. “I’m the one who knocked on your door at seven a.m.”
Kate smiled down into her coffee cup and tried not to cry. Kelsey was so sweet and generous. She was the kind of person who was meant to be a mother, not someone like Kate, who’d been too distracted by her own ambition. If Kate had been less busy, if she’d paid closer attention, maybe she’d have been able to prevent whatever had happened to Amelia.
“I got an anonymous text yesterday saying that Amelia didn’t jump. It has me, I don’t know, rattled.”
“Oh my God!” Kelsey gasped, cupping a hand over her mouth. “That’s awful. Who would do something like that?”
“I don’t know.” Kate shook her head. “But I think whoever it is might actually be telling the truth.”
“Really? I thought the police—” Kelsey stopped herself. “Oh, I guess I don’t know any of the details. But I didn’t realize there was ever any question.”
“There wasn’t.” Kate took a sip of coffee. “At least, not according to the police. But I never had that much confidence in the detective who did the investigating. He seemed in such a hurry to get on to a more exciting case or something.” Kate hated the way she sounded, defensive, accusatory, desperate. “Deep down, I also never believed that Amelia would kill herself. And now, with this text. Last night, I found some suspicious notes in her room, too.” Kate shrugged. “All of it together—it seems like maybe there was something going on in Amelia’s life that I didn’t know about. That I probably should have. Something not good.”
“Oh,” Kelsey said. She looked down at the tabletop, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “Listen, I didn’t tell you this before because there didn’t seem to be any point. But now, I don’t know.”
Kate’s stomach clenched. “What?”
Kelsey took a deep breath, then wrapped her hands tight around her mug.
“I saw Amelia with a boy a week or so before she died. Here, going into the house.”
“Really?” Kate’s heart picked up speed. “A boy, here?”
Going into the house to fool around, surely. It didn’t have to be that, but how blind w
as Kate going to be? How long was she going to let herself believe that having good grades and being a star athlete equaled not having sex? Amelia had asked Kate outright just weeks before she’d died about when she had first started liking boys. Kate had taken Amelia’s “academic research” excuse at face value. It wasn’t so much that she’d actually believed it at the time; the question had set off alarm bells. Maybe she’d allowed herself to believe it because it was easier that way.
“He could have been just a friend. I don’t know,” Kelsey said, but it was obvious she didn’t really think that. She paused, looked down, took another deep breath. “I only saw them on the steps, on their way inside and again when they were leaving.”
“Amelia hanging out after school with a boy in our empty house doesn’t exactly sound like friends to me,” Kate said. “It’s embarrassing how naive I’ve been. But Amelia was such a good kid. I got lulled into a false sense of—”
“It wasn’t after school, Kate.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“It was in the middle of a school day,” Kelsey said quietly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to belabor the point. Maybe it’s not even important, but it feels like it could be.”
“The middle of the day?” Kate asked, sounding angrier than she’d intended.
Amelia skipping school? She wouldn’t have believed that any more than she believed Amelia had cheated, if Kelsey hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say something about it before . . . I just . . .” Kelsey’s voice was wobbly. She looked sick with worry. “I didn’t want to tell you anything upsetting if it didn’t matter. But now that you’re saying that you think maybe Amelia didn’t kill herself. And there was something about that boy. I don’t know, he made me uncomfortable.”
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