family. The lake. Polo shirts. Sunglasses. Insignias. Rowboats. Beautiful people. Money.
“Is this us?” she asked, delighted. Before I could answer, she pulled two pushpins from the wall. Centered the collage above the mantelpiece and pressed the pins into its corners. Then stood back, and frowned. “Or were you making it for your mom?”
“Why would I make it for my mom?” I balked.
She blinked at me. “Because she sent you that package?”
I snorted. “Please. I don’t make anything for my mom.”
She edged back toward me. “Why not? I mean, I know she made you cry before we came up. But she seems … nice.”
“Mothers always seem nice when they aren’t yours.”
“Mine doesn’t!” She guffawed, plopping down on the floor beside me. I laughed with her.
“She’s only nice to show me I’m not,” I offered, once our humor had faded. Instantly, I felt guilty—my mother was the one who’d urged me to “be sweet.” Maybe she really was as nice as Ev thought and it was only my own cruel mind that turned it to meanness.
Ev began to braid my hair. Silence settled over us. “You think …,” she began, once she’d restarted the braid for the third time, “you think it would have been better if I’d gone out with John?”
“Aren’t you guys … together?”
“A girl can still have a little fun.” Her voice sounded sad, as though even she was disappointed in herself.
“But I thought …” Her fingers deftly wove the plaits she’d made. I realized no one had touched me for a good while. The words sounded so simple, so stupid, as they tumbled out, but I couldn’t help myself: “I thought you loved John.”
She paused as she considered my question. “I do.”
“But he doesn’t love you?”
She smiled proudly. “John LaChance has wanted to marry me since I was six years old.”
“So what’s the problem then?” I found myself growing irritated at the tug on my hair.
“It’s complicated.” She pulled hard at my scalp. “He … he can’t give me what I need. Not all of it. Not now.”
“But that’s not love,” I pressed, thinking her selfish. “Love is sacrifice. Putting someone else first.”
“Exactly,” she said, “that’s exactly what I told him. I’m not asking for much, just that he keeps his word, you know?” She sat back, gripping the braid in her hand, and squinted her eyes in appraisal. “You’re so kindhearted, Mabel.” She let the braid go. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble.”
I opened my mouth to tell her it wasn’t fairy tales I believed in, just the tender way I’d seen John grasp her hand.
But she was already off to the next subject, nodding toward the collage. “Tomorrow you can do your family.”
I watched her push the bolt into place on the front door. Together, we brushed our teeth, turned out the lights, and drew the bedroom door closed behind us. She locked the bolt there too.
I listened to her sink into sleep. It was best to let her believe the project had been spur of the moment. That it wasn’t something I’d done hundreds of times before. I was proud of myself for biting my tongue. For not replying, “No, Ev, I never do my family.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Girl
I had no idea where Ev was sneaking out to—or who her mystery “other man” was—but as June edged on, she spent less and less time in Bittersweet. John, too, steered noticeably clear of us. I missed his shy charm, how Ev danced around the kitchen humming when she knew he would be coming by, the lap of Abby’s tongue across my fingertips. But every time I asked about him, Ev’s response was to pluck an Empire apple from the full bowl atop the kitchen table and disappear down the road. She returned in the evenings, and sometimes after midnight, tight-lipped as to her whereabouts. I kept my ears open for the growling, unknown motor I’d heard in the night, but she wandered in soundlessly from then on.
Dear Mom,
I’m beginning to realize I’m a person
“Is this us?” she asked, delighted. Before I could answer, she pulled two pushpins from the wall. Centered the collage above the mantelpiece and pressed the pins into its corners. Then stood back, and frowned. “Or were you making it for your mom?”
“Why would I make it for my mom?” I balked.
She blinked at me. “Because she sent you that package?”
I snorted. “Please. I don’t make anything for my mom.”
She edged back toward me. “Why not? I mean, I know she made you cry before we came up. But she seems … nice.”
“Mothers always seem nice when they aren’t yours.”
“Mine doesn’t!” She guffawed, plopping down on the floor beside me. I laughed with her.
“She’s only nice to show me I’m not,” I offered, once our humor had faded. Instantly, I felt guilty—my mother was the one who’d urged me to “be sweet.” Maybe she really was as nice as Ev thought and it was only my own cruel mind that turned it to meanness.
Ev began to braid my hair. Silence settled over us. “You think …,” she began, once she’d restarted the braid for the third time, “you think it would have been better if I’d gone out with John?”
“Aren’t you guys … together?”
“A girl can still have a little fun.” Her voice sounded sad, as though even she was disappointed in herself.
“But I thought …” Her fingers deftly wove the plaits she’d made. I realized no one had touched me for a good while. The words sounded so simple, so stupid, as they tumbled out, but I couldn’t help myself: “I thought you loved John.”
She paused as she considered my question. “I do.”
“But he doesn’t love you?”
She smiled proudly. “John LaChance has wanted to marry me since I was six years old.”
“So what’s the problem then?” I found myself growing irritated at the tug on my hair.
“It’s complicated.” She pulled hard at my scalp. “He … he can’t give me what I need. Not all of it. Not now.”
“But that’s not love,” I pressed, thinking her selfish. “Love is sacrifice. Putting someone else first.”
“Exactly,” she said, “that’s exactly what I told him. I’m not asking for much, just that he keeps his word, you know?” She sat back, gripping the braid in her hand, and squinted her eyes in appraisal. “You’re so kindhearted, Mabel.” She let the braid go. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble.”
I opened my mouth to tell her it wasn’t fairy tales I believed in, just the tender way I’d seen John grasp her hand.
But she was already off to the next subject, nodding toward the collage. “Tomorrow you can do your family.”
I watched her push the bolt into place on the front door. Together, we brushed our teeth, turned out the lights, and drew the bedroom door closed behind us. She locked the bolt there too.
I listened to her sink into sleep. It was best to let her believe the project had been spur of the moment. That it wasn’t something I’d done hundreds of times before. I was proud of myself for biting my tongue. For not replying, “No, Ev, I never do my family.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Girl
I had no idea where Ev was sneaking out to—or who her mystery “other man” was—but as June edged on, she spent less and less time in Bittersweet. John, too, steered noticeably clear of us. I missed his shy charm, how Ev danced around the kitchen humming when she knew he would be coming by, the lap of Abby’s tongue across my fingertips. But every time I asked about him, Ev’s response was to pluck an Empire apple from the full bowl atop the kitchen table and disappear down the road. She returned in the evenings, and sometimes after midnight, tight-lipped as to her whereabouts. I kept my ears open for the growling, unknown motor I’d heard in the night, but she wandered in soundlessly from then on.
Dear Mom,
I’m beginning to realize I’m a person
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