She still avoids my gaze.
“Are you being like this because I tried to kiss you?”
“No.” She’s blushing.
“Get over yourself.” I say this gently, trying to joke, clear the air. “It’s no big deal.”
“It’s a big deal for me,” she says. Then she bursts into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just really need to get home. My phone died and now we’ve slept in. Mom’s going to be trying to get hold of me.”
I get out of the bed. “She treats you like a little kid.”
“I know.”
I say, “It’s not a bad thing. Growing up fast blows.”
“Yeah— can we just go? Please, Ivy?”
I’m still dressed from the night before. I grab sunglasses from my bag. We head downstairs. I mumble, “I was only fooling around.”
“Do you even remember?”
“Remember what?”
“What you said last night.”
“What did I say?”
“About Isabel?”
“Oh, shit.” What
did
I say? I put on my sunglasses.
Callie says, “Later. Everyone’s already getting in Xander’s car.”
Xander nods a short hello to us. We’re all quiet in the car. Callie watches out the window as we drive off. There’s a stormy gathering of clouds on the horizon. We pull up at Callie’s and she jumps out, hurries up the path. I get out my side of the car and watch her.
Her mom yanks open their front door. She’s red in the face as she yells, “Where were you?” Uh, full on. She glances at me.
I hear Callie say, “I was … um.” She’s not making it any better. She just got out of Xander’s car. If you’re caught lying, it’s time to switch to the truth.
Her mom bursts into tears. She says, “I couldn’t call you, Callie. Last night she died.”
Callie
For a moment I’m confused, remembering Ivy’s story about Isabel. Then I realize with a sickening lurch that Mom’s talking about my granny. Granny’s dead. My mouth tastes bitter.
“No,” I say.
“What were you doing with Ivy? I forbade you to see her. Whose car is that?” She pulls me into the house. Her grip is tight. The house is too warm. She says, “Where did you go? Who was driving that car? Why didn’t you answer when I called?”
“The battery doesn’t last long on this. I’ve been telling you I need a new phone.”
Her eyes brim and she looks like a young child. “I called Rebecca’s house. Woke them all up.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. And I didn’t mean to say that about the phone. I should have charged it before I left. I’m sorry I lied. I went to a party with Ivy. I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew you’d never let me go if I asked and I didn’t know we were spending the night and now I wasn’t here when Granny died—” It hits me. It seems impossible that Granny’s not here anymore. Her whole life, all the moments that made it, all of it over. I start to cry.
Mom softens, tells me it’s okay, hugs me, but I know she’s upset about the party, about Ivy. Worse—she’s
disappointed.
I whisper into her hair, “I wish I hadn’t gone, Mom. I’m sorry.”
It’s enough for the moment. There are things toorganize. Mom draws me into the house and we are swept into a blur of family visits, and the endless details of a funeral, which is rapidly arranged for three days later, on Sunday. We discuss flowers and music, who will speak, the order of service. Mom and I select the coffin.
I’m helpful, sweet, and Mom doesn’t mention the party, Ivy, my disobedience, her disappointment. Grief is like the ocean. It rushes over me in waves, sometimes knocking all the air out of my body with the force of memories, and then there are lulls when I feel fine, like nothing is wrong.
As the days hurtle by, Ivy calls loads, being supportive and endlessly kind, offering to come over, offering to help. But I don’t see her. I don’t see Rebecca either. She texts and calls. At least we’re not annoying each other anymore. I don’t go to work and Ana is understanding. I cocoon with my family until the funeral, which is
“Are you being like this because I tried to kiss you?”
“No.” She’s blushing.
“Get over yourself.” I say this gently, trying to joke, clear the air. “It’s no big deal.”
“It’s a big deal for me,” she says. Then she bursts into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just really need to get home. My phone died and now we’ve slept in. Mom’s going to be trying to get hold of me.”
I get out of the bed. “She treats you like a little kid.”
“I know.”
I say, “It’s not a bad thing. Growing up fast blows.”
“Yeah— can we just go? Please, Ivy?”
I’m still dressed from the night before. I grab sunglasses from my bag. We head downstairs. I mumble, “I was only fooling around.”
“Do you even remember?”
“Remember what?”
“What you said last night.”
“What did I say?”
“About Isabel?”
“Oh, shit.” What
did
I say? I put on my sunglasses.
Callie says, “Later. Everyone’s already getting in Xander’s car.”
Xander nods a short hello to us. We’re all quiet in the car. Callie watches out the window as we drive off. There’s a stormy gathering of clouds on the horizon. We pull up at Callie’s and she jumps out, hurries up the path. I get out my side of the car and watch her.
Her mom yanks open their front door. She’s red in the face as she yells, “Where were you?” Uh, full on. She glances at me.
I hear Callie say, “I was … um.” She’s not making it any better. She just got out of Xander’s car. If you’re caught lying, it’s time to switch to the truth.
Her mom bursts into tears. She says, “I couldn’t call you, Callie. Last night she died.”
Callie
For a moment I’m confused, remembering Ivy’s story about Isabel. Then I realize with a sickening lurch that Mom’s talking about my granny. Granny’s dead. My mouth tastes bitter.
“No,” I say.
“What were you doing with Ivy? I forbade you to see her. Whose car is that?” She pulls me into the house. Her grip is tight. The house is too warm. She says, “Where did you go? Who was driving that car? Why didn’t you answer when I called?”
“The battery doesn’t last long on this. I’ve been telling you I need a new phone.”
Her eyes brim and she looks like a young child. “I called Rebecca’s house. Woke them all up.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. And I didn’t mean to say that about the phone. I should have charged it before I left. I’m sorry I lied. I went to a party with Ivy. I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew you’d never let me go if I asked and I didn’t know we were spending the night and now I wasn’t here when Granny died—” It hits me. It seems impossible that Granny’s not here anymore. Her whole life, all the moments that made it, all of it over. I start to cry.
Mom softens, tells me it’s okay, hugs me, but I know she’s upset about the party, about Ivy. Worse—she’s
disappointed.
I whisper into her hair, “I wish I hadn’t gone, Mom. I’m sorry.”
It’s enough for the moment. There are things toorganize. Mom draws me into the house and we are swept into a blur of family visits, and the endless details of a funeral, which is rapidly arranged for three days later, on Sunday. We discuss flowers and music, who will speak, the order of service. Mom and I select the coffin.
I’m helpful, sweet, and Mom doesn’t mention the party, Ivy, my disobedience, her disappointment. Grief is like the ocean. It rushes over me in waves, sometimes knocking all the air out of my body with the force of memories, and then there are lulls when I feel fine, like nothing is wrong.
As the days hurtle by, Ivy calls loads, being supportive and endlessly kind, offering to come over, offering to help. But I don’t see her. I don’t see Rebecca either. She texts and calls. At least we’re not annoying each other anymore. I don’t go to work and Ana is understanding. I cocoon with my family until the funeral, which is
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