Страница 48 из 60
“Where’s his wife? Why did he take the baby?”
“She’s still at their apartment. She’s going through . . . a lifestyle crisis.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “What does that mean? She’s a lesbian?”
“No.” Cricket pries his eyes from the sky to glance at me, and I see that he’s uncomfortable. “She’s much younger than Aleck. They married, got pregnant, and now she’s rebelling against it. This new life. She stays out late, parties. Last weekend . . . my brother found out that she’d cheated on him.”
“I’m so sorry.” I think about Max. About Cricket in my bedroom. “That’s awful.”
He shrugs and looks away. “It’s why I finally came back. You know, to help out.”
“Does that mean you’re still fighting with Calliope?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Cricket runs his fingers through his dark hair, and the part that had flopped down sticks back up. “Sometimes she makes things so difficult, more than they have to be. But I guess I’m doing the same thing right now.”
I allow the thought to hang, and my mind returns to Max. It fills with shameful, retired fantasies about our future. “Do you think . . . did Aleck’s wife do that because she got married too young?”
“No, they got married too
wrong.
The only person in my family who thought it would last was Aleck, but it was clear she wasn’t the one.”
The one.
There it is again.
“How did you know? That she wasn’t the one for him?”
Now he’s staring at his hands, slowing rubbing them together. “They just didn’t have that . . . natural magic.You know? It never seemed easy.”
My voice grows tiny. “Do you think things have to be easy? For it to work?”
Cricket’s head shoots up, his eyes bulging as they grasp my meaning. “NO. I mean, yes, but . . . sometimes there are . . . extenuating circumstances. That prevent it from being easy. For a while. But then people overcome those . . . circumstances . . . and . . .”
“So you believe in second chances?” I bite my lip.
“Second, third, fourth. Whatever it takes. However long it takes. If the person is right,” he adds.
“If the person is . . . Lola?”
This time, he holds my gaze. “Only if the other person is Cricket.”
chapter twenty-eight
Cricket isn’t the only thing I have to earn. I have to earn back my parents’ trust.
I’m a good daughter,
I am.
I have plenty of faults, but I keep up with my homework, I do my chores, I rarely talk back, and I like them. I’m one of the few people my age who actually cares what her parents think. So I’m dressing like someone responsible (all black, very serious), and I studied like crazy for my finals, and I’m doing whatever they ask. Even when it’s awful. Like taking Heavens to Betsy for her late-night walk when it’s forty degrees outside, which, by the way, I have done every night this week.
I want my parents to remember that I’m good, so they’ll also remember that Cricket is good. Better than good. He came over to formally apologize to them, though I don’t think it helped. His name is still ba
hmph.
”
At least Mr. and Mrs. Bell don’t know what happened. My parents didn’t call them. I probably have Andy to thank for that, maybe even Norah. She’s been surprisingly cool about all of this. “Give them time,” she says. “Don’t rush anything.”
Which is what I know I need anyway. Time.
The memory of Max is still bitter and strong. I didn’t realize it was possible to have such an ugly breakup when you were the one who did the breaking up. And I’m pretty sure I’m the one who did the breaking up. At least, I did it first.
And then he did it better.
I feel terrible about how it ended, and I feel terrible for not being honest with him while we were together. I want to apologize. Maybe it would get rid of these bad feelings, and I’d be able to move on. Maybe then it wouldn’t sting whenever my mind summons his name. I’ve left several messages on his voice mail, but he hasn’t called me back. And he’s still gone from the city. I even went to Amoeba to ask Joh
Max’s last words haunt me.
Am
I nothing to him? Already?
I’m not ready for Cricket, and his hands are full anyway. With Aleck too depressed to give Abigail his attention, she’s decided that Cricket is the next best thing. He’s home for winter break—we’re both on winter break—and I rarely see him without Abby hanging from his arms or wrapped around his legs. I recognize that feeling, that
need,
inside of her. I wish there was someone I could hold on to.
Lindsey helps. She calls every day, and we talk about . . . not Max. Not Cricket. Though she did guiltily a
A person can be sad and happy at the same time.
I’ve moved my Marie Antoinette dress and wig and pa
that
was the right decision. The last few weeks of school were miserable.
“Who died and turned you Goth?” Marta sneered, turning up her nose at my all-black ensemble. Her friends, the trendiest clique at Harvey Milk Memorial, joined in, and soon everyone was accusing me of being a Goth, which—even though it’s not true—would have been fine. Except then the Goth kids accused me of being a poseur.
“I’m not a Goth. And I’m not in mourning,” I insisted.
At least my new wardrobe helps me blend into my neighborhood. In the winter, the Castro turns into a sea of trendy black clothing. Black helps me disappear, and I don’t want to be seen right now. It’s amazing how clothing affects how people see—or
don’t
see—you. The other day I waited for the bus beside Malcolm from Hot Cookie. He’s served me dozens of rainbow M&M cookies, and we’re always debating the merits of Lady Gaga versus Mado
It’s odd. Me, the
real
me, and I’m unknown.
The few people who do recognize me always ask if I’m feeling okay. And it’s not that I feel great, but why does everyone assume something is wrong because I’m not costumed? Our usual bank teller went so far as to mention his concern to Nathan. Dad came home worried, and I had to assure him, again and again, that I’m fine.
I am fine.
I’m not fine.
What am I?
The blinking Christmas lights and flickering menorahs in the windows of the houses, hardware store, bars and clubs and restaurants . . . they seem false. Forced. And I’m u
I spend my break working at the theater—I take extra shifts to fill my spare time—and watching Cricket. Throughout the day, I can usually spot him through one of the Bells’ windows, playing with Abigail. Abby has sandy-colored hair like her father and grandfather, but there’s something sweet and pure about her smile that reminds me of her uncle. He bundles her up and takes her on walks every day.