“Because we don’t want you to be sad,” her dad said, sounding every bit as sad as he didn’t want Grace to feel. “We didn’t want you to think that you weren’t wanted, and we saw what you were like when you came home from the hospital after having her. We don’t want to do anything that would make you feel that bad again.” He glanced at Grace’s mom before adding, “We’ve made a lot of mistakes, I think. But we love you more than anything. And God, Grace, we’re trying to make it better, but we don’t know how to fix you.”
Grace tried desperately not to think of the hospital, of that drive home that felt like it was tearing something out of her body, the farther away she got from Peach. “I want to find my biological mom,” she said. “I want her to know that I’m okay. And I want you to be okay with that.”
“We are,” Grace’s mom said. “We will be. Whatever you need, Gracie. We’re always going to be there for you, no matter what.”
Grace remembered how tight her mom’s grip had been on her hand during her contractions, how she had never left Grace’s side, how her dad had watched Netflix for hours with her without saying a word. The older she got, the more human her parents seemed, and that was one of the scariest things in the world. She missed being little, when they were the all-knowing gods of her world, but at the same time, seeing them as human made it easier to see herself that way, too.
“Grace, have you talked to any other girls who have been through this?” Michael asked. “A support group, maybe?”
Grace shook her head. Talking to strangers about Peach seemed impossible, almost like a betrayal.
“There are a lot of girls who are in the same situation you’re in,” Michael said, but his tone was gentle. “Is that something we can maybe explore, at least?”
Grace nodded.
“I think we’re going to make some really good progress in this room,” Michael said with a grin, and Grace sat back in her seat and closed her eyes.
Progress, she thought, sounded exhausting.
“So let me get this straight,” Rafe said. “Elaine from down the street tattled on me?”
“And me,” Grace said, sipping at the last of her milkshake.
“Elaine from down the street needs a hobby,” Rafe muttered.
Rafe had texted her the afternoon after the therapist’s appointment. Got running shoes?
What? Grace had responded.
Let’s go for a run. Meet you in thirty minutes behind the park?
No thanks, Grace started to reply, then looked at the letters and deleted them. OK, she sent instead. You’re on.
Rafe was the kind of running partner that she liked: quiet. Her shoes still fit, and while she wasn’t in the best shape of her life to be sprinting up a hill, the stitch in her side and the wheeze in her lungs made Grace feel like her old self, like she still had one thing that was the same even after so many changes. The weather was cool, the autumn air finally feeling like autumn instead of just an extra-long summer, and when she and Rafe made it to the top of the hill, Grace turned to him and smiled. “Not bad,” she said.
“Kill me,” Rafe had wheezed in response, his hands on his knees.
Grace had just laughed.
Afterward, they sat side by side on the roof of Rafe’s car. Grace felt both cleaner and heavier, like someone who had done half their chores but saved the worst ones for last.
Sitting with Rafe on the edge of a parking lot, though, made all of it seem a little less heavy, at least.
“You know why Elaine from down the street called your parents, right?” Rafe said, and there was an edge in his voice that Grace had never heard before.
“Because she thinks I’m trying to get impregnated by every boy north of the equator?”
Rafe laughed a little. “Ha. Maybe. But c’mon, Grace. You’re a white girl and I’m Mexican. Do the math.”
“You think so?”
“I mean, I’m not one hundred percent sure, but definitely ninety-nine percent sure.”
“You know that I don’t care about that shit, right?” Grace said. “Fuck Elaine from down the street if that’s her problem.”
Rafe couldn’t hide the smile that played at the corner of his mouth. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not fuck Elaine from down the street.”
“Shut up!” Grace giggled. She had no idea why she always giggled with him. She couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing. “You know what I mean!”
“Yeah, and you know what I mean, too,” Rafe said. “Don’t worry, I’m not, like, mad at you about it. But you don’t see things the same way I do sometimes. You don’t have to.”
Grace nodded. “I think we should put a For Sale sign on Elaine’s house,” she said. “Like a neighborhood cleanup.”
Now it was Rafe’s turn to laugh. “You go for it,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Grace rested her feet on the edge of the car’s bumper. They were sitting out on the far edge of the parking lot by the mall, the one that looked over the city. From that angle, it almost looked like a big town. Almost.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Hit it,” Rafe said, then sipped at his milkshake.
“So you know my brother, Joaquin, the one I told you about? He’s half Mexican, but he grew up in a bunch of different homes with different families. Do you think . . . I mean, I think it’s hard for him.” Grace wasn’t sure what she even wanted to say, or how to say it.
“Are you asking me to comment on this as a Mexican kid? You know that’s racist, right?”
Grace waited an extra breath before answering. “I don’t know how to ask some of these questions,” she admitted. “But Joaquin’s my brother, and he’s hurting, and I don’t know how to help him.”
They were quiet for a second. Rafe shook his milkshake. Grace had never seen him so contemplative before. “Some people think you’re less Mexican if you don’t speak Spanish, and some people don’t care. But then there’s religion—which church does your family go to, you know? How do you celebrate Christmas? Where’s your family from originally? Are you first or second generation? What traditions do you have? All these things go into it, and if you don’t have them, and the rest of the world sees you as all in on that, then it’s gotta be hard.
“I mean,” Rafe continued, then paused. “It’s like with Elaine down the street. She made assumptions about me, probably, but at least I can go home and talk to my brother about it and we can laugh about how stupid she is. I’m proud of who I am, and I would never want to be anyone else, and when people are assholes, at least I can go back to my family for support. If your brother doesn’t have any of that, then that’s got to be fucking hard.”
Grace listened, then scooted over until their legs were pressing next to each other. It had been a very long day, after all, and she wanted to feel a little less alone in the world. Rafe didn’t move away. “Do you think you could talk to Joaq?” she asked.
Rafe smirked. “What, teach him how to be Mexican?”
“What? No! No, I would never—”
Rafe smiled down at her. “Relax, I’m kidding. And yeah, sure, give me his number, I’ll text him. Maybe we can hang out. Besides, I’d like to shake his hand after he almost beat up that guy for calling you a slut.” Rafe’s voice was dark again. “Asshole.”
“Adam is definitely an asshole,” Grace agreed. “And thanks.”