Mom entered the room. “Chloe is out like a light. Just checked on her and she’s snoring louder than Grandpa.”
Zach’s gaze cut meaningfully to mine as he placed our bowls on the table. I nodded at him. I needed to talk to my mother. As much as I dreaded giving her more to worry about, it had to be done.
Mom oohed and aahed as she picked up her fork. “Zach, you really should move in with us.”
He smiled, and I couldn’t help wondering if Mom would say that knowing that a few nights ago we had been making out in a closet . . . and on the front porch. I gave my head a small shake. Didn’t matter. Not anymore. We weren’t anything but friends.
He’d said himself he was trying to move on. And I was going to let him do just that.
Dinner was actually nice. We talked about school. Mom asked Zach about football. She followed the sport more closely than I did. He regaled her, filling her in on all the player drama on and off the field. And there was Mia. She always put on an entertaining show.
“This was wonderful,” Mom said, gathering her dishes and smiling in a way she always used to do. When things were more carefree. “I insist you head home now, Zach. I’ll do the dishes.” She leveled her gaze on me. “And you, too, Willa. Upstairs. Get on that homework.”
Zach and I took our dishes to the sink and left the kitchen. I walked him to the front door. “Thanks for tonight,” I said.
He shrugged, burying one hand deep in his front jeans pocket. “Think about what I said. You should talk to your mom.”
I nodded. He was right, of course. “Okay. I will.”
He looked at me pointedly, cocking an eyebrow.
“I mean it. I will.” I shoved him in the shoulder good-naturedly, realizing the moment my hand connected with his very solid body that it was a bad idea. It only made me want to keep touching him in a way that was more than friendly.
“Good.” He fist-bumped my shoulder in a buddy move that I totally hated. Even though we had agreed this was the way it would be between us.
“You didn’t have to do any of this, Zach.”
Carry my loaded sister upstairs. Cook dinner for my family. Make small talk with my mother.
“That’s what friends are for, right?” He held my gaze for a long moment.
“Yeah.” I nodded, fighting down the lump in my throat. Friends. That was right. We were friends. I wasn’t going to lose that.
I watched him walk down the drive and cross the yard into his house. Closing the door, I turned back to the kitchen. Mom had already put Mia to bed, and now she was cleaning up. I inhaled a fortifying breath. We were alone now. There would be no better time to talk to her about Chloe.
She was humming lightly as she wiped down the counters and that made me pause. She was cheerful. In a good mood. I hated to rain on that, but Zach was right. We needed to talk.
Her phone rang from where it sat on the counter and she answered. “Hey, babe. How are you?”
Dad. I took a step back, giving her time to talk with him. They both worked long hours and didn’t even live in the same city most of the week.
She sank down on one of the barstools, smiling. “I actually had a pretty nice night. Chloe went to bed early, but Willa and Mia and Zach and I all ate together. Zach cooked. It was really good. Delicious.” She crossed her legs. “I miss you, too. Tell me about your day. Hope you didn’t hit up another fast-food drive-thru.”
Whatever Dad said made her laugh. Brought joy and light to her eyes. She looked happy. And lately she just looked stressed. Overworked. Worried. Not happy.
“Oh, I’m thinking about taking a long bath and watching reruns of Golden Girls until I fall asleep . . . Yeah. Wish you were here too . . .”
I backed out of the kitchen. Our conversation could wait.
I’d let her have a relaxing evening. There was time enough for reality tomorrow.
GIRL CODE #14:
Friends say what needs to be said, even when it can be hard.
Flor
WE sat in a back booth at Farah’s family’s restaurant, our books spread out in front of us. I loved study groups here, and not only because Farah’s mom and aunts supplied us with endless amounts of pita, hummus, tabouli, and grape leaves.
Cedars Mediterranean Grill was peaceful with mellow lighting and music that reminded me of something that played softly while you were getting a massage. Not that I’d had a spa day since Mom left. Mom used to take me with her. I missed that.
“What did you get for number seven?” Farah asked, scooping hummus onto a triangle of pita and then topping it with a heap of tabouli. She took a messy bite, somehow managing not to spill it on her notebook.
Jenna flipped a few pages in her notebook, scratching her head with the back of her pen. “Um. ‘When words are used in quick succession and begin with letters in the same sound group, creating a repetition of similar sounds in the sentence.’”
Nodding, Farah scribbled down the definition for alliteration. “Thanks.”
Just then her mom came over with a plate that smelled heavenly. “Here, girls.”
“Mom, we have plenty,” Farah protested.
“Nuh-uh.” I reached for the plate. “Leave that right here.”
Farah’s mother beamed as she handed it over to me. “There you go.” She patted my shoulder. “Flor is a good eater.”
“My favorite thing,” I exclaimed as I plucked a tiny spinach pie off the plate, unashamed that I loved food. No salads for me. I bit into the triangle-shaped pastry and groaned. It was still warm.
Willa reached for one too. “I don’t even like spinach, but these are amazing, Mrs. Barry.”
“The key is to make a good dough. I still can’t make them as good as my grandmother, but I try.” She shrugged helplessly.
“I can’t imagine them better,” Willa said.
“She tries every week,” Farah said.
“You make them every week?” I moaned as I reached for another one. “That’s it. I’m moving in with you and becoming your sister, Farah.” I looked at her mom. “What do you say, Mrs. Barry? Need another daughter?”
Farah snorted. “I already have two sisters. Thanks, but I don’t want another one.”
“Farah,” her mother chided. “You love your sisters. They’re your family. No matter what. The bonds of family can’t be broken.”
I nibbled on the corner of my spinach pie, watching their interaction and feeling a little hollow inside. I could only think of my mother and how different she was from Farah’s mother.
Farah’s mother would never have left her. She and her husband might have divorced, but they were there for their children. They were unified in that sense. None of their children had been cast aside after they split up.
Farah grudgingly nodded as her mother pressed a kiss to the top of her head and wandered off, stopping where Farah’s cousin, the hostess, neglected her duties in favor of draping herself across the old-fashioned wood bar and flirting boldly with the bartender.
Moments later Mrs. Barry was chasing Farah’s cousin back to her post at the front of the restaurant.
Farah giggled. “Serves Angela right. He’s too old for her.”
“I don’t know.” I took a sip from my straw. “What is he?” I assessed the bartender. “Maybe thirty? Your cousin’s twenty-one. Older guys are sexy.”
Farah shook her head. “Ew. I’ll take a hard pass.”
“Maybe that’s what you need,” Jenna suggested. “A hot older guy to take your mind off Zach and Ashlyn.”
I felt my smile slip. Willa cut a hard look to Jenna. One of them must have kicked or pinched her under the table, too, for bringing up the subject of Zach. We were doing fine, I had to admit. It was nice not talking or thinking about him and just hanging out with friends.
“What? What’d I say?” Jenna exclaimed.
“We’re trying not to talk about him,” Farah said in a tone that made it seem that they had discussed this plan already.
Great. My life ha
d become a topic among my friends. And not in a positive way. It’s like I was the senile aunt and they had to talk ahead of time about how they wanted to handle me. I could hear it now . . . the three of them discussing what subjects to avoid. For God’s sake, don’t say Zach’s name.
Jenna shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry.”
I shook my head. “It’s fine, guys. You don’t need to tiptoe around me.”
“I think we need to add a new tenet to our girl code.” Jenna reached for her laptop. “Something about friends never being afraid to say what needs to be said.”
“That’s right,” I agreed. “Even things that are hard to say should be said.”
“Everything?” Farah questioned. “I don’t know about that. Sometimes people don’t need to spill everything that’s on their minds.”
I glanced at Willa. She didn’t offer up an opinion.
“You’re good at wording these, Wills.” I nodded at Jenna’s laptop. “You should do it.”
“Maybe we should focus on what Jenna said . . . friends should always say what needs to be said.”
“Needs?” Farah cocked her head. “That’s very broad.”
My phone buzzed and I glanced down at the screen. I practically dropped my drink back on the table in my haste to reach for it. I gripped it in both hands and stared at it.
“It’s my mom.” I couldn’t help the slight trip in my voice.
Mom barely answered my texts. I only got one-word replies, and they were always delayed if and when she responded. Actual phone calls? Hardly ever. I told myself to be patient. She was going through a thing. I knew the world always talked about men having midlife crises, but I’d learned they weren’t exclusive to the male gender. No, indeed. Women could go through them. Women like my mother.
Willa, Farah, and Jenna all exchanged looks and then fell silent, understanding the rarity and significance of my mother’s calling me. Farah’s eyes widened as she reached for some more pita.
Willa smiled and nodded encouragingly as I answered. “Hey, Mom!”
“Hey, Flor. How are you, baby?”
I smiled at the sound of her voice. There was a lot of noise in the background wherever she was. “Good. What about you? Are you still in Playa del Carmen?”
“Oh no. I’m in Costa Rica now. I’ve been here for two weeks with my friend Lito.”
Lito? I’d never even heard of this friend before. And Mom had never mentioned going to Costa Rica. What happened to Australia? “Oh. So I’m going to Costa Rica for Thanksgiving instead?”
I stared down at my plate with its forgotten food. I could feel my friends staring at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at them as I waded through this conversation. Suddenly I wished I had taken the call in the restroom, where I could have had some semblance of privacy instead of sitting here trapped in the corner of a booth.
“Oh, baby, Lito lives on a boat and there’s not a lot of room.”
A pause fell and I couldn’t think of anything to fill the silence. My friends had just heard me ask about Thanksgiving, and now they were waiting to hear my response.
“Ah, sure.”
They were still looking at me. Jenna and Farah stared expectantly, their gazes bright and optimistic. Only Willa looked a little wary. She, better than any of them, knew the situation with my mother. As much as I would discuss, anyway.
Mom droned on in my ear. “Hope you understand. Maybe Christmas break—”
“Sure,” I quickly cut in. “Maybe.”
“It’s so good to hear your voice, baby.”
“Yeah, same here,” I murmured.
“The beaches here are amazing. Like nothing else in the world. You really need to come someday . . .” Her voice kept going.
I pretended to listen, murmuring at appropriate intervals, trying to act like I wasn’t breaking a little inside. Trying to put up a good front. I should have been over this by now. She’d walked out on us over a year ago, and this was my life now. I should have been accustomed to it.
I guess there’s just no getting used to heartache. It finds its way in even when you think you’ve closed all the doors and windows.
GIRL CODE #15:
True friends listen . . . and eat burritos with you.
Willa
ON the way home from school on Thursday, I finally got up my nerve and asked Zach the question that had been burning on my mind. “Are you going out with Ashlyn now?”
I figured we were back on solid footing as friends, and friends could ask each other anything. The guy had cooked my family dinner, after all. The old Willa would have asked him without hesitation, and I was trying so very hard to find my way back to the old Willa . . . to get back to her. To the way we were before.
Hopefully, I didn’t sound jealous. I only wanted to project friendly interest. No more than that.
He shrugged a non-answer as he stared ahead at the road. “We’re going to the party after the game.”
The party. He meant Kennedy Watson’s party. It was outside town at her family’s lake house. Flor and the others planned to go. There was going to be a long caravan of kids heading out after the game. No one cared that it was a forty-minute drive. The party would be big and probably wouldn’t get busted because there were no neighbors for miles around. No one to complain about the noise.
“What about you? Any plans for the weekend?”
“Yeah. I might go to the party too.” I hadn’t planned on that until I said it, and then it was too late. It was out there.
“Really?” He shot me a skeptical glance. “Well, look at you. Going to parties now.”
I smoothed my hands over my knees. “It is my senior year. I should live a little.”
He sent me another glance—this one looked a little puzzled. As though he didn’t know me at all, and I guess that was about right. I didn’t quite feel like I knew myself anymore, so maybe he didn’t either.
“That’s right,” he finally agreed. “You only get one senior year. Might as well do it right.”
Was he trying to say something? Like he didn’t think I was doing my senior year right? Or was I just mind-fornicating the situation? I expelled a breath and looked out the window, staring unseeingly at a blur of shopping centers.
So now I was committed to going to a party I didn’t really want to go to just because I didn’t want Zach to think I was at home moping for him. Even if I was the one who’d demanded we keep our relationship limited to friendship. Still.
Flor was probably right. I needed to go out on a date. It would be like one of those juice cleanses that flush out all the toxins. Instead of a juice cleanse, it was a boy cleanse.
Only that date wasn’t going to be with Grayson. He hadn’t asked me out. Which was kind of awkward because I knew that Flor had talked to him. She’d told me she was going to. Evidently he wasn’t interested in me. That could have been a blow if I had wanted to go out with him.
Zach and I parted in the driveway, and I escaped into my house. He didn’t follow this time. No surprise dinner, I guess. I tried not to feel deflated.
The TV blared loudly. Chloe looked up for a split second before her gaze shot back to the TV. “Project Runway marathon,” she volunteered as though I’d asked. “I missed this whole season. I should be all caught up for the finale now.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing all day?” From the smell of it, Mia needed a diaper change.
Her eyes shot to mine, full of fire. “I’ve been taking care of my daughter. It’s hard staying home with a kid all day. It’s not the life of a carefree teenager, to be sure.”
My phone started going off in my pocket. I grabbed for it eagerly. Anything to end this conversation before it turned into full-fledged ugliness.
“Hey,” I answered a little breathlessly, glad to escape Chloe—and I hadn’t even been home for two minutes yet.
“I’m on my way,” Flor announced in my ear. “I’ll be there in five.”
“Where we going?”
“Yesss.”
I dropped my backpack and scooped up Mia from where she played on the floor. I couldn’t leave her in a dirty diaper, and I wasn’t going to waste another breath on Chloe. In less than five minutes, I managed to change her diaper and return her to the living room.
“Where you going?” Chloe asked as she fished chips out of the bag on her lap.
“José’s.”
“Ooh, bring me back a burrito. Chicken with black beans, sour cream, and guac.”
Annoyance trickled through me. She had her own car. Not that she went much anywhere in it. “I might not be coming straight back here. It will get cold.”
“Fine,” she pouted.
Flor honked from the street and I hurried outside.
“It’s like you must have some sixth sense,” I said as I shut the door after me and buckled into my seat.
“Let me guess. Chloe?”
I nodded with a sigh.
“Is she ever moving out?”
I laughed briefly. “I think I’ll be moving out before she does.”
We got our burritos to go. Neither of us, however, felt like eating at either of our houses. I’d seen Chloe watch Project Runway before. It usually involved a lot of screaming. Especially if her top picks didn’t make it through. José’s was loud and crowded as usual, so we drove to the Fielding Elementary playground. It was our spot—where we first met.
It was empty in the evenings after school. We parked along the street and walked across the lawn until we settled onto the bench the teachers always sat on while kids played. At least that’s how it had been when we were students here.
We took out our burritos. Unwrapping the tin foil around mine, I watched as Flor took a bite out of hers. The cheese immediately dribbled down the sides of the tortilla. She always asked for extra cheese in addition to steak, sour cream, and guacamole. I loaded my burrito with veggies. No cheese.
I bit into mine and caught a strip of red bell pepper from falling onto my lap.
“I can’t get over how you can ruin a perfectly good burrito by putting vegetables in it.” She shook her head like this was a travesty.
The Me I Meant to Be Page 12
