Trip’s hand stopped over the engraved surface. He didn’t look up as he asked, “Was?”
God. It had been so long since I had to talk about this. Everyone I knew at sixteen had been in my life at twelve... I’d already been through the story with anyone who I considered a friend. Everyone else just made it up. I didn’t think I wanted my mother’s desertion to be the first thing Trip found out about me.
I tried to sound casual as I shrugged and offered, “She died a few years ago.”
I wondered if he was fooled by my attempt at nonchalance or if he could actually hear the lump in my throat. In any case, he pulled his hand away from the jewelry box as quickly as if it had burned him. I hoped he wouldn’t ask too many questions-it was my first attempt at lying about the situation and I didn’t really like how it felt. But he didn’t even raise his head as he simply offered, “I’m sorry.”
Again I shrugged, trying to seem unaffected. “It was a long time ago.”
He refocused his attentions on the photos taped around the perimeter of my mirror as I tried to ignore the knot of guilt growing in my belly. He was pointing to a picture of me as a little kid; Dorothy Hamill haircut, sitting on a Big Wheel, wearing a white karate uniform and an American flag draped across my shoulders. “Is that you?”
I leaned over his shoulder, pretending to get a better look. My arm grazed his back, which caused me to shiver. And I may have imagined it, but I swear he flinched a little from the touch as well.
“Yeah. That’s me, all right. I was pretty obsessed with Evel Knievel back in those days.”
Trip started laughing. “That’s hysterical.”
“I was kind of a tomboy.”
“No way. I’m not buying it.”
Then in one fell swoop, he grabbed my snowglobe off the dresser and flopped down backwards onto my bed. He propped some pillows behind his head and crossed his feet at the ankles, shaking the thing like it owed him money.
You’d think I would have been a nervous wreck having Trip first in my room, then in my bed. The sight was definitely surreal, but more phenomenal than terrifying.
“Make yourself at home.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t impose.”
At that, he flashed me a devastating grin and held up the globe for me to see. We both watched as a blizzard overtook New York City, before the storm subsided into harmless flurries.
“It makes music, you know,” I said. I walked the few steps over to my bed and sat on the edge. I wasn’t even self-conscious as I overlapped my hand around his and turned the globe over to wind up the bottom.
Trip gave it another good shake, instigating another snow storm as the plucky strains of “New York, New York” filled my room.
I remembered the Christmas my mother bought it for me. We’d taken a trip into the city, just the two of us, to see the tree at Rockefeller Center. I felt so cosmopolitan-even if I wasn’t able to put that description to it at the age of eight-walking around amongst the noise and excitement of New York with the crisp, winter chill all around us. She was wearing this phenomenal green velvet coat with fur-lined trim. I loved the way it felt against my cheek whenever I’d lean into her throughout our sightseeing. It felt special to have her all to myself for the whole night, a rare event that didn’t occur too often after my baby brother came along. Even before then, I remember the feeling of always wanting to keep her close so she wouldn’t just slip away.
I watched Trip balance the snowglobe on his chest with one hand and tuck the other one behind his head. He had such a contented look on his face that it made me feel calm, too. Maybe a little too relaxed.
“She didn’t die.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My mother. I lied. She didn’t die, she moved out. When I was twelve.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I lied about it. I guess you asking about her just caught me off guard. I thought it would be easier to just say that she died. Not that you wouldn’t have found out eventually anyway. It’s just... I never had to actually tell anyone about it before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, everyone around here already knew everything. Or thought they did. I never had to explain, you know?”
“Why’s that?”
“Small town.”
“Oh.”
The song ended and Trip looked up to meet my eyes. I couldn’t really discern the expression on his face, but I hoped it wasn’t pity. He broke the silence when he asked, “You want to talk about it?”
I reached over and grabbed a scrunchy off my nightstand and started playing it with my thumbs. “Not really. Is that okay?”
“It’s your life, Layla.”