Birdie looked hopeful for the first time in their conversation. “So what is it? What’s wrong, Joaquin?”
The words suddenly pushed themselves out of Joaquin’s lungs, making him feel lighter, freer. “I don’t trust myself,” he said. “And there’s no way you can fix that, Birdie. So leave me alone.”
She was still crying when he finally let go of her hands and walked away.
GRACE
For days after meeting up with Maya and Joaquin, Grace was a mess.
She felt on edge, sleep deprived, and overcaffeinated. She kept dreaming of Peach in her little sailor outfit, sailing away on a boat, crying as lustfully as she had the day she had been born, and Grace couldn’t get to her, couldn’t reach out, couldn’t hold her baby.
She woke up gasping, her arms outstretched, the sound of Peach still ringing in her ears.
Grace knew what it was, of course. She was convinced that she had chosen the wrong parents for Peach, that Daniel and Catalina wouldn’t stay together and that they would divorce, just like Maya’s parents had. She still felt bad about asking Maya whether or not the adoption would be invalid. That had been a supremely stupid thing to say, Grace knew that, but she couldn’t help herself at the time. The idea that she had picked the wrong parents, the wrong home, for Peach sent her into a panic that clawed at her back whenever she was alone—whenever her mind was quiet. You did it wrong, a voice would say, and Grace would shiver. You had one job as Peach’s mom, and you completely, royally fucked it up.
Before Peach, Grace hadn’t really given her biological mom much thought, but now this strange woman kept dominating her mind. She wondered if her bio mom had ever worried about her, or Maya, or Joaquin. She must have, though, right? Even if Maya and Joaquin disagreed with her, Grace knew more than they did. She had lived it. They couldn’t possibly understand the pull that Grace felt.
She wished she could ask her mom about it, or even her dad. They had always had an agreement that if Grace wanted to know anything, all she had to do was ask, but that put all the pressure, all the responsibility, on Grace. There were questions she didn’t even know how to ask, and sometimes she felt that if her parents really wanted her to know things, they would just tell her. Why did she have to ask the questions, anyway? Weren’t they the parents? Wasn’t she the kid?
But now, in a way, she was the mom. And Grace hadn’t quite figured out how to make up the difference between the two spaces yet.
One thing she did know, though: staying home with her parents was slowly beginning to drive her insane.
Grace knew they were trying to keep her occupied, keep her from feeling completely left out from friends who never called anymore. (Grace suspected that they just didn’t know what to say, and honestly, she wouldn’t have known what to say in response.) But they were her parents, after all. They were boring, and plus, they had actual jobs. Grace found herself home in the mornings, watching talk television with her untouched history textbook in front of her. She especially liked all the courtroom judge shows. Those people’s problems always seemed much worse, yet much more easily solvable, than her own.
When her parents were home, they tried to keep her busy. “Come with me to yoga,” her mom had suggested one morning, and Grace had just rolled over in bed and pulled the covers back over her head. “Wanna learn how to golf?” her dad had asked one day, and Grace didn’t even reply to his question because it was so ridiculous. (Later, though, he made her help him wash the cars, and Grace sort of wished she had said yes to golf instead.)
One of the reasons Grace had given up Peach was because she hadn’t wanted her life to stop (“You’re so young,” her parents had implored over and over again), but nobody had told Grace that her life might stop anyway, that she’d be trapped in the amber of her pregnancy, of Peach, while the rest of the world continued to change around her.
One afternoon, when her mom was working from home, Grace leaned her head into the office. “Hey,” she said. “Can I borrow the car?”
“May I ask why?” her mom said without looking up from her laptop.
Grace thought fast. “Um, Janie called. She wants to know if I want to meet her at the mall.”
Her mom looked up from her laptop.
Fifteen minutes later, Grace was driving to the mall, all the windows down so she could feel fresh air again. Her mom hadn’t asked too many questions after that lie, and Grace hadn’t bothered to explain anything beyond the basics. Nobody needed to know that she hadn’t talked to Janie since that ill-fated day back at school, that Janie hadn’t so much as texted her since Grace had punched Max’s friend in the face. Grace couldn’t even be that mad at Janie about it, though. She hadn’t been a good friend to Janie. She had stopped calling and texting. She’d ignored Janie’s calls and texts because she didn’t know how to explain how she felt, how to explain the rawness of this new world. If the situation was reversed, maybe Janie wouldn’t have called or texted her, either. Grace had no idea. She only knew who she was now, and that was a girl who didn’t have friends anymore.
But she did have Rafe.
“Hey!” he said when he saw her wandering down the gadget aisle of Whisked Away. “Let me guess—your mom got insomnia again and bought that thing that cooks salmon in the microwave.”
“I hope not,” Grace said, wrinkling her nose.
“Okay, good, because it doesn’t work. I didn’t want to say anything,” he added as Grace smiled at him. “I work here. I shouldn’t trash our amazing gadgets and supplies, but it’s really bad. Your microwave will never recover.”
Grace laughed at that. “Well, we don’t have a microwave. My parents don’t believe in them.”
Rafe widened his eyes at her, then walked over and carefully put his hands on her shoulders. “Grace,” he said quietly. “Is this a cry for help? Just blink if you need me to make a call.”
She laughed again. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” he said, moving his hands from her shoulders and taking that warmth away. “Starving. I had to take a make-up quiz during lunch. Did you eat already? Please tell me your parents at least believe in eating lunch. Otherwise I might actually have to call Child Protective Services.”
Grace laughed a little less this time. It wasn’t as funny now that she knew Joaquin. “I’ll buy,” she said. “But I only have enough cash for me to eat.”
“You sweet talker,” Rafe replied, then started to take off his apron. “Give me two minutes.”
They ended up at a sandwich place just down from the store. (Grace tried to keep the distance short. The last thing she needed was to see anyone she knew from school.) “Can I ask you a question?” Grace said as they tucked into their sandwiches.