Rev said his mother would be working for the afternoon, and this, combined with the knowledge that she’s an accountant, had me imagining someone harried and wearing a pencil skirt. Not a woman with short-cropped hair and voluptuous curves, dressed in a flour-speckled red T-shirt and jeans. She has a bright, welcoming smile, radiating so much warmth that I feel lucky to be invited inside.
She whispers hellos and embraces each of us like we’ve all been coming here after school for years. It’s kind of weird, but also kind of nice to be welcomed so openly. She smells like vanilla and sugar and baby powder. When she gets to me, she whispers, “It’s so nice to meet you. Call me Kristin,” and ushers me into the house.
I’m confused by all the whispering, but I whisper back, feeling foolish. “Hi. I’m Juliet.”
Declan leans close enough to speak low. “The baby must be sleeping.”
“Oh.” His breath brushes against my ear, and heat flares on my cheeks. “I’ll be quiet,” I say.
“Nonsense,” whispers Kristin. “Just go downstairs if you’re going to make any noise.” She presses a baby monitor into Rev’s hand. “I’ll bring some cookies down, but then I need to go into my office.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He glances at me, and his voice is dry. “Want to come downstairs and make some noise?”
I know he’s teasing, but my cheeks practically catch on fire because it just sounds suggestive.
Kristin swats him. “Go on downstairs, you. I have work to do.”
It’s so normal, so unassuming. My mother was never like this—she wasn’t around enough to see my friends come over all that often. Regret seeps into my chest, but the boys are going down the steps, leaving me to follow.
The lower level is covered by hardwood floors, and the entire space is wide open. One corner has a television mounted on the wall and a sectional sofa. Another corner has two doors that probably lead to a laundry room and a bathroom. The third corner has colorful mats, a play chalkboard, and boxes of toys stacked neatly along the wall. The final corner, half enclosed by the stairs, has thick black mats on the floor, a weight bench, and some kind of punching bag suspended from the ceiling. Free weights sit racked along the wall, under a row of mirrors.
Rev glances at Declan, and some kind of unspoken message passes between them, but I can’t identify it before he looks back at me. “Do you want something to drink?”
I inhale to answer—but my throat catches. Being in the presence of a loving mother reminds me of how much I’ve lost. My brain locks up as grief tangles up the gears inside my head.
I should be at the cemetery—I haven’t visited her in days. Not since I ran from the dance. And now I’m . . . what? Hiding?
Yes. I’m hiding. Hiding behind their normalcy, their lack of sorrow.
They’re not even my friends.
Guilt punches me in the chest. Hard. I feel myself caving in from the force of it.
What would I tell her? Sorry, Mom. I was intrigued by a boy.
Kristin comes down the stairs, and the pressure on my chest snaps. I take a moment to turn away, inhaling deeply, blinking away tears. She sets the plate on a table behind the couch, and half tiptoes back up the stairs.
Thank god. I don’t think I could have handled maternal attention right this second. My body feels like it’s on a hair trigger.
I need to get it together. This is why people avoid me. Someone asks if I want a drink and I have a panic attack.
“You’re okay.” Declan is beside me, and his voice is low and soft, the way it was in the foyer. He’s so hard all the time, and that softness takes me by surprise. I blink up at him.
“You’re okay,” he says again.
I like that, how he’s so sure. Not Are you okay? No question about it.
You’re okay.
He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “But if you’re going to lose it, this is a pretty safe place to fall apart.” He takes two cookies from the plate, then holds one out to me. “Here. Eat your feelings.”
I’m about to turn him down, but then I look at the cookie. I was expecting something basic, like sugar or chocolate chip. This looks like a miniature pie, and sugar glistens across the top. “What . . . is that?”
“Pecan pie cookies,” says Rev. He’s taken about five of them, and I think he might have shoved two in his mouth at once. “I could live on them for days.”
I take the one Declan offered and nibble a bit from the side. It is awesome.
I peer up at him sideways. “How did you know?”
He hesitates, but he doesn’t ask me what I mean. “I know the signs.”
“I’m going to get some sodas,” Rev says slowly, deliberately. “I’m going to bring you one. Blink once if that’s okay.”
I smile, but it feels watery around the edges. He’s teasing me, but it’s gentle teasing. Friendly. I blink once.
This is okay. I’m okay. Declan was right.
“Take it out on the punching bag,” calls Rev. “That’s what I do.”
My eyes go wide. “Really?”
“Do whatever you want,” says Declan. “As soon as we do anything meaningful, the baby will wake up.”
Rev returns with three sodas. “We’re doing something meaningful right now.”
“We are?” I say.
He meets my eyes. “Every moment is meaningful.”
The words could be cheesy—should be cheesy, in fact—but he says them with enough weight that I know he means them. I think of The Dark and all our talk of paths and loss and guilt.
Declan sighs and pops the cap on his soda. “This is where Rev starts to freak people out.”
“No,” I say, feeling like this afternoon could not be more surreal. Something about Rev’s statement steals some of my earlier guilt, to think that being here could carry as much weight as paying respects to my mother. I wish I knew how to tell whether this is a path I’m supposed to be on. “No, I like it. Can I really punch the bag?”
Rev shrugs and takes a sip of his soda. “It’s either that or we can break out the Play-Doh.”
We head to that corner of the basement. Rev straddles the weight bench and sits down while Declan sits on a yoga ball and leans against the corner. They fall into these positions so easily that I wonder if this is their space, the way Rowan and I claim her room or the plush couch in my basement.