P.S. We are fine.
It wasn’t the response she’d been hoping for—far from it—and the cool tone of the note hurt so much that she broke down in tears in one of her classes and had to leave. What did “we are fine” mean? She wanted details! Riley was seven and Danny twelve, and she longed to know them. How did Riley like school? Did she love music, the way Lisa had? Did she play an instrument? Did her hair smell the way it used to, like sunshine and baby powder? How was Danny doing? Did he miss his big sister? And had her mother recovered from Lisa’s “suicide”? She wanted to know, but it was clear her father would not be the one to give her the answers.
Now she found herself surrounded by someone else’s family. She’d met Celia’s parents, Paul and Ginger Lind, for the first time the night before on Christmas Eve, when everyone gathered to open presents. She’d been nervous, meeting them, but they acted as though they’d known her—and loved her—all her life.
There was another nonfamily member at the Lind Christmas dinner. Travis was a longtime friend of Celia’s. His long curly blond hair reminded Jade of Grady, though Travis wore his in a ponytail. She thought he was a cousin at first, he fit so easily into the family, and she could tell he’d shared many holidays with them. Like everyone else at the table except Charlie, who had flown to Portland with Jade, Travis was a teacher. He taught at the community college with Celia. Paul and Ginger taught high school, Shane and Ellen taught elementary school in Seattle. They all asked Jade about her own plans to teach, and she felt their approval when she told them she wanted to teach music on the middle or high school level. They asked her nothing about her past, and for the first time, she felt as though her past was unimportant. It had nothing to do with who she was now.
“What’s the story of your necklace, Jade?” Ginger asked halfway through the meal. “It’s so intriguing.”
Jade touched the pendant at her throat. This was the first time she’d worn it since leaving home. A sign of how safe she felt with Celia’s family. “It was a gift from a friend,” she said. “I like it because it’s jade, like my name.”
“White jade?” Ellen asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Jade nodded. “The Chinese call it mutton fat jade,” she said.
“Mutton fat!” Ginger laughed. She had a girlish laugh that Jade was quickly coming to love.
“What does the Chinese symbol mean?” Shane asked.
“This side means ‘hope,’” she said, touching the pendant, “and this side”—she flipped it over to expose the second symbol—“means happiness.”
That launched a discussion of heirloom jewelry, with Ellen describing her great-grandmother’s cameos and Ginger, her grandmother’s emerald earrings. Jade listened, touching her pendant over and over again during the rest of the meal, thinking about how easily she’d lied about the meaning of the symbols and wishing she could tell someone the truth.
* * *
Everyone helped clean up after the meal, even the men. Jade’s father had never been one for cooking or cleaning, so it surprised her when Paul put an apron over his sweater and jeans. “The sooner we get cleaned up, the sooner we can jam,” he explained.
Celia had told her that her family was known for its jam sessions, but until they’d finished the dishes and moved to the living room, Jade hadn’t really understood. Suddenly, all the instruments came out. Charlie and Shane played guitars. Paul and Travis played banjos and Celia the mandolin. Although Ellen and Ginger didn’t play instruments, Ginger sang along and Ellen banged a tambourine. Jade had brought her violin at Celia’s insistence—Celia didn’t have to twist her arm too hard. She wanted Jade to play the “Dance of the Goblins” she’d wowed her and Charlie with the night they first met, but Jade knew she would never again play for anyone the way she had that night. That had been too great a risk. And anyway, playing with Celia and her family, her violin turned into a fiddle. They played mostly bluegrass with some country and old rock thrown in, and the evening passed at lightning speed.
After a couple of hours, the older generation and Ellen went to bed, and that was when the music changed to something more serious and intense. The four of them—Celia, Shane, Travis, and Jade—sounded incredible together. They all knew it, too. Jade had chills as they played, the chemistry between them magical. Ironically, she was the weakest musician of the four of them. Classical violin and fiddling were different animals. Travis also knew how to play the fiddle, though, and he gave her tips, and she started to fall in love all over again with the instrument in her hands.
She thought about her father while they played, wondering what he’d make of her playing bluegrass … and how he’d feel about her bonding so closely to another family. She remembered his note—a friend can easily become a foe—and it angered her.
She watched Celia as they sang and played. She wasn’t worried about Celia ever becoming a foe, but she knew she could never tell her who she really was. Celia was a happy person in a happy family. Telling her would be like throwing a handful of dirt into a glass of clean water. She couldn’t do it.
* * *
On Sunday, she went to Celia’s church with her. Jade had given up on church long ago, but she knew it meant a lot to Celia, who said her church was an “open and affirming” congregation. That meant gays and lesbians were welcome, Celia explained, but Jade was still stunned when Celia held her hand during the service.
“So,” Celia said as they drove away from the church, “what did you think?”
“Totally different from the Catholic church I grew up in, that’s for sure,” Jade said.
Celia glanced at her. “Do you believe in God, Jade?”
It wasn’t something Jade thought about often. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, liking that with Celia, she didn’t have to lie about her opinions. “I believe something set everything in motion. That’s as close as I come to God, I think. I don’t like religion, to be honest. Religion seems to have twisted the idea of God into a way to control people.”
Celia smiled at the road in front of them. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “For me, it’s all about the people in the church. Taking care of each other, you know what I mean?” She glanced at Jade again. “I love my church. If any single one of those people you saw there today had a problem or a crisis, everyone else would reach out to help.”
That wasn’t the church Jade remembered from her childhood. When her family had a crisis—the crisis she’d brought on them—no one reached out to lend a hand. Instead, they pushed them away.
That night, after Celia fell asleep, Jade went out on the balcony bundled up in a quilt and looked out over the city. The air was cool and misty and she could see the lights of Portland below. Everything looked so beautiful. She felt choked up. Celia was the best person she’d ever known. The kindest, warmest, smartest—and sexiest—person ever. And she was in love with Jade.
But Celia didn’t know her. She didn’t know Jade was a liar and a fake. Would she still love her if she knew? Jade would never be able to put that question to the test.