Tonight the Streets Are Ours

Can’t say that to my parents.

I remember when I was eight years old, when I finally really understood where babies come from—or at least, where my brother really came from. I asked him, “But what if Mommy and Daddy hadn’t adopted you? What if your birth parents had kept you? Or what if somebody else adopted you instead? What if Mommy and Daddy got the call about some other little boy two weeks before they got the call about you, and then by the time you were available, they weren’t looking for you anymore?”

“That was never going to happen,” he answered with the confidence of a nine-year-old who’s got it all figured out. “I always belonged to our family, even before Mom and Dad knew it, even before you were born. We didn’t have to come together exactly the way we did. But one way or another, it was going to happen.”

I always liked this explanation because it meant that if he and I ever lost each other along the way, we would always find each other again. That’s how it seemed to me, as a stupid little kid.

I don’t know what else to say. Why is it that I can find a million words to write about a party, and I can’t think of a single word to explain how I feel right now?

Arden turned away from the computer and hugged her quilt around herself, chilled to the bone. Because this, Peter’s story—this was why you needed to love people while you could, while they were right there in front of you. Because if you waited, it might be too late.

And that, of course, made her think of her mother.





When Arden’s mom left

Arden’s mom did not leave because of the dress. But if the dress had never existed, maybe she would still be here now.

Arden had seen the dress in a photo of the movie star Paige Townsen, featured in an issue of Us Weekly a few months ago, which Arden had borrowed from her friend Naomi. Naomi was on stage crew and was a celebrity gossip junkie. Deep down, Naomi really did believe that stars—they’re just like us!

Although Arden didn’t think she was anything like a star, she wished that she were when she saw this dress. It was maroon, with cap sleeves and a belt at the waist that could create the illusion of a well-defined waist even though Arden did not exactly have one for real. The dress was classy and stately and seemed like it belonged in a movie from the 1940s, along with a veiled hat and elbow-length gloves. Arden clipped the image from Naomi’s magazine and taped it to her mirror.

“Wouldn’t it be great to have a dress like that?” Arden asked her mother one night as her mom quizzed her on the elements of the periodic table.

Her mother stood to inspect the picture more closely. “I don’t know where you could buy such a thing.”

“Oh, it’s by some designer and costs a trillion dollars,” Arden assured her. “You can’t buy such a thing.”

“I could sew it for you,” her mother offered.

“Really?” Arden blinked. Her mother had needlepointed wall decorations and done quilting. She’d sewn dresses for Tabitha when Arden was little. But Arden didn’t know that her mom could make human-size dresses, too.

“I bet I could figure it out. And then you could wear it to the Winter Wonderland dance!” Her mother smiled in the way she did whenever she solved a problem—even though this time, Arden hadn’t even known that a problem existed.

“If Chris and I are still together then,” Arden cautioned. It was hard to imagine Chris breaking up with her—they’d been a couple since last April, so another few weeks together seemed like it should be a given. But it didn’t totally feel that way.