Her house is big, way nicer than mine, and has a fancy brass doorknocker in the shape of a horse’s head—but it’s all shiny and I don’t want to mess it up with my sweaty fingerprints, so I just knock on the door old-school style.
The two brand-new Lexuses (Lexi?) in the driveway stare me down. When did they get those? Meg’s parents already had nice cars, and they weren’t even that old. I bet they bought them for each other and put big red bows on the roofs like those rich people in the commercials. Meanwhile, I was getting a job and trying to figure out how the hell to take care of their granddaughter.
I knock on the door again and then try the doorbell, which is less like a bell and more like a freaking classical orchestra.
There’s no answer.
But I know someone’s home because the curtains behind the large foyer window move slightly. I glance down at Hope in her car seat on the porch beside me. She’s clearly visible from the window, the bright red of her sun hat standing out like a giant “you are here” arrow. Meg’s parents know Hope and I are here, and they don’t care. Not like I should be surprised—they haven’t contacted me once since Meg died, not even to check up on the baby.
I’ve never understood them. For two people who don’t seem to like each other that much, they sure are perfect for each other. Both are workaholic control freaks, attached to their kids in all the wrong ways—making sure Meg and Mabel were on the Ivy League path, behaved like perfect little clones at their work functions, and kept company with the right people. (I, of course, wasn’t the right people.)
But the cancer made them more psycho. They couldn’t control Meg’s disease. Or her choice to continue the pregnancy. And now I guess her death amped the crazy up that much more.
I knock one last time. Nothing.
“Well, I never liked you very much either,” I say. If they’re on the other side of the door, they probably heard me. I hope they did.
As I make my way back to the car, I have an impulse to call someone and freaking vent. And for some reason, Joni is the first person who pops to mind. But then I remember that (A) I don’t have her number, and (B) she and I are not friends. I don’t know her, she sure as hell knows nothing about my life, and we’re gonna keep it that way.
I’m about to pull out of the driveway when some movement catches my eye and Meg’s younger sister, Mabel, steps out from around the side of the house. She looks directly at me and makes the international extended-pinkie-and-thumb phone gesture. Then she disappears the way she came.
I grab my phone out of my jeans pocket and discover I have one new text. Meet at the four-way stop sign at the end of our street in five min.
What the hell?
I coast down to the end of the block, and a few minutes later, I see Mabel approach in the rearview mirror. I get out of the car.
“Hi,” she says. She’s gonna be a sophomore this year. Meg and I hung out with her sometimes, especially when Meg was mostly confined to their house. She’s very different from Meg. Lots of sparkly nail polish and pushup bras (not that I was looking) and considers “shopping” a legitimate hanging-out activity. Honestly, if I’d never met Meg, I probably would have ended up hooking up with her sister. Mabel’s exactly the kind of girl I used to go for.
“Hi, Mabel.”
She opens the back door of my car and goes to unbuckle Hope out of her car seat.
“Wait, no—” Hope is asleep and I’d like to keep it that way. I’m beginning to think I should just drive around all day. It’s the only thing that actually mellows her out. But I’d probably have to sell a kidney in order to pay for the gas.
Mabel lifts her up as if I didn’t say anything, grunting a little with the weight of her (six-month-old babies who have been fattened on formula and pureed sweet potatoes are way heavier than you’d think—sixteen pounds at her last doctor visit), and cradles her against her chest. Hope squinches her face up and makes little fists. I brace myself for the inevitable wailing, but she settles in and falls right back into her slumber.
Why does Hope seem perfectly happy with everyone except me? I’m about to reach out to take the baby from Mabel—out of nothing more than spite and jealousy—when I notice the tears running down Mabel’s face.
“Hey, you okay?”
She just sniffles and nods and breathes in Hope’s baby smell. That smell is pretty amazing, I have to admit.
Remembering my conversation with Alan, I say, “Her name is Hope.”
She smiles. “Good. I know that’s what my sister wanted.” She’s holding on to the baby like she’s the most precious thing in the entire world, and something gurgles up from that place deep inside me. Hope is Mabel’s niece. Her family. She’s known her for all of two minutes and is already head over heels in love.
I wonder if this is what Meg would have looked like, holding the baby like this, gazing at her with adoration…
No. Stop.
I clear my throat. “Mabel, listen.” She looks up at me. “I’m sorry.”