“Is this what you want, Gracie?” she asks, peering into my watery eyes.
“Yes.” No hesitation. I know this is what I’m supposed to do, what I want to do, but it’s still hard as hell. Because getting what you want always means giving up something else.
Emmy nods knowingly. She runs her thumbs over my cheeks and winks before enveloping Eva in a hug.
True to form, Luca gives me a noogie as I pass him to get into his truck. I slap his butt and he yelps. He’s just started the engine when a brown UPS truck pulls up behind us, blocking the driveway.
“Dammit,” Luca says.
“Oh, chill, it’ll only take a second,” Eva says from the back seat, but I’m sort of with Luca on this one. My entire body feels like it’s lit on fire. Like, if I don’t go now, I never will. Or something will happen to prevent this whole thing. Luca’s truck will break down before we even get off the cape. Manhattan School of Music will call and cancel. New York City will sink into the Atlantic. All of these thoughts are totally stupid and paranoid, but, hey, my butt’s in the car, so I’m already way ahead of where I’d ever thought I’d be.
We watch Emmy walk over to the driver and sign for a package a little smaller than a shoebox. She tells him thanks but frowns down at the package. When she lifts her eyes, they land right on me.
The truck rumbles away and Luca’s just about to throw the truck into reverse when Emmy walks over and knocks on my window. I roll it down.
“Is that for me?” I ask, even though I can’t possibly imagine why it would be. But Emmy nods and holds up the package.
There’s my name right above the Michaelsons’ address. My full name.
Margaret Grace Glasser.
Written in a chicken-scratch handwriting I’d recognize anywhere.
Suddenly I’m standing in the driveway, the box in my hands. I don’t remember getting out of the truck, but Eva’s right there next to me, Luca on my other side, his finger trailing over the return address label.
No name.
At least, not a person’s.
Mountainside Behavioral Health Center. Portland, Maine.
I feel Eva’s hand press into my lower back as I tear the package open. The tape is stubborn and I’m pretty sure I get a paper cut on my thumb, but I barely feel it. I keep tearing until all I see are balls of white tissue paper.
Carefully, I sift through them until my hand collides with another box. I lift it out. It’s a simple white box, square and light. Luca holds the ripped-to-shreds UPS package while I remove the lid and blink at the contents, hardly believing my eyes.
It’s a necklace.
Triangles of aqua sea glass, edged in rusty red copper. At first, I’m confused. I angle the box in Luca’s hand to check my name, wondering for a split second if this was meant for Eva instead of me because I know Mom never got around to giving it to her. But no. It’s my name. And looking closer at the necklace, I can tell it’s not the same one Maggie made for Eva. The glass is lighter, more blue than green. I remember Eva’s had a little smear of copper on one of the triangles, but this one is nearly flawless, the copper applied expertly around each cool edge.
Hot and cold.
Calm serenity rimmed with fiery energy.
Us.
There’s no note, but that’s not too surprising. The necklace speaks for itself. The return address speaks for itself.
She granted my wish.
She’s getting help. She’s still my mom and I’m still her daughter and we’re still us, somewhere under everything we’ve been through.
“That’s beautiful,” Eva says. “Did she make that?”
I can only nod, the tears blurring my vision.
“Want me to help you put it on?”
She takes the necklace out of the box, and I lift my hair so she can circle the delicate chain around my neck. Her hands linger on my throat as the cool glass settles on my chest, just above my sternum.
I look down at the necklace. It’s not a lot. Such a small thing, really. But it’s something. A start. A hand reaching out. A change. Maybe it’ll all go to shit again. Maybe real healing for Mom and me will take a few rounds of falling apart and coming back together. I don’t know. Time will tell, I guess.
For now, I can breathe. I know where she is and that she’s safe, and I can breathe. I can go to New York with her necklace pressed against my heart and play out my Fantasie.
No, I never thought I’d be doing this without my mother.
I never really thought I’d be doing this at all.
And I sure as hell never thought I’d be doing it with Eva’s hand in mine.
I would never think any of it, all this missing and sadness mingling with happiness and relief.
But that’s the funny thing about wishes.
Acknowledgments
In many ways, I feel like this is the book I was always going to write. Teen me needed this book, even though she didn’t know it at the time. Adult me? I still need this book for a lot of different reasons, and it makes me immeasurably happy that it has found its way into your hands. So, first, I must thank you, dear reader. For persevering, for believing in yourself and in me, and for sharing in Grace and Eva’s journey because of and regardless of what their story might mean to you. You are not alone.
Many thanks to my agent, Rebecca Podos, whose unfailing faith in me carries me through many freak-outs and worries. Your editorial eye, humor, friendship, and unparalleled GIF game are a daily inspiration. You championed Grace and Eva before they were even Grace and Eva, and I’m forever grateful.
Thank you to my editor, Elizabeth Bewley, who took a chance on this little book and gave me the freedom to say what I needed to say through Grace and Eva. I’m so grateful for the support you’ve given my girls. Thank you for giving me room to mess up and for being ready with encouragement as I journeyed through this story. Your insights made this book all that I hoped it could be.