The room is full of the sound of scissors slicing and pens gliding across construction paper. Lee Lee puts her pen down and then says, “Sam, what are you good at? What do you like to do?”
Sam stops writing. She thinks—longer than I expect—and says, “I don’t know. Nothing like writing poetry or making art. I’m just . . . I don’t know. I don’t really like making things as much as I like enjoying them; like, I mean, I’d rather read a story than write one. I’d rather go to a museum and see art than paint something,” she tells us. “So pretty much, I’m lazy, I guess. And I have no talent.” She laughs a little.
“Maybe that means you’re good at listening,” I say. I think about all the conversations we’ve had, how Sam always looks at me like she is really focusing on my words, taking all of me in. How she is a good observer, always noticing my mood and asking if I’m okay. “You’re a good friend,” I tell her. “That’s a talent.”
“Sure is,” Lee Lee says. “Not everyone knows how to be that.” Lee Lee gets to talking about one of our friends who isn’t really our friend anymore. She keeps saying she doesn’t care, but you wouldn’t know it by the way she keeps going on and on. It’s almost like she isn’t talking to me or Sam. Like she is caught in her own replay of how our ex–best friend kissed her boyfriend.
And while Lee Lee is reliving her heartache, Sam seems like she is in her own world too. Her face is stuck on a smile, her eyes bright and thankful. She looks at me and says almost in a whisper, “You’re a good friend too.”
31
víspera de A?o Nuevo
New Year’s Eve
I write my resolution in black Sharpie marker on top of a background made out of cut-up scriptures, words from newspaper headlines, and numbers from last year’s calendar.
Be bold.
Be brave.
Be beautiful.
Be brilliant.
Be (your) best.
32
hermanas
sisters
Ever since my talk with Maxine, she’s been making an effort to spend time with me—and really be with me. Not late, not checking her phone. Tonight she invited me over to her apartment. Mom took no time to say yes. A few of Maxine’s friends are coming over, and she wants me to meet them. She picked me up early enough to go to Safeway to get snacks: chocolate pretzels, cheese and crackers, mixed nuts. She takes out serving dishes from the cabinet, and I pour the pretzels and nuts into separate bowls while she arranges the crackers around the chunk of cheese in the middle of a small tray. “Thanks for helping,” she says. She sets the food out on the coffee table.
Maxine’s apartment has two bedrooms, and each has its own bathroom; plus there’s a half bathroom, for guests, in the hallway. The living room, dining room, and kitchen blend into one another in one big space, separated by furniture and appliances. There’s a framed world map in the center of her living room wall, black-and-white photos to the left and right. One of the Eiffel Tower, the other the Brooklyn Bridge. Her living room looks like she bought a whole showroom at a furniture store—everything matching and perfectly in its place. “I love your apartment,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” Maxine says. “Don’t open that closet, though,” she says, laughing. “Have to have at least one messy space.”
There’s a knock on her door, and when Maxine opens it, two girls come in. “Max!” They exchange hugs and file in. Maxine introduces us. I make mental notes so I can remember their names. Bailey is the one who has hair braided in big thick cords and pinned back into a maze of rows that make a full bun at the back of her head. Kira is the one with straight hair, a light brown color like her eyes.
Bailey says, “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I smile and wonder what Maxine has told them.
Bailey and Kira sit in the living room. I join them.
Maxine pours iced tea and offers the snacks to everyone. “Eat up, ladies,” she says.
Kira wastes no time getting to business. “So, lay it on us,” Kira says. “What’s the deal with you and Jon?”
“There’s nothing to say. We broke up. That’s it.”
“He’s trying to get back with her though,” Bailey says. “Calls her a million and one times a day.”
“You’re not picking up, are you, Max? I mean, what does he have to say?” Kira asks.
“He still thinks he has access to her stuff. Didn’t he ask to use your car the other day?” Bailey asks.
Maxine says, “That’s not all he calls about. He called the other day to apologize. He said he was sorry for everything.”
“Well, we know that,” Kira says. “He’s been sorry from day one—”
“Oh, come on,” Maxine says. “None of us knew Jon was going to cheat on me. I mean, we had a good two-year relationship.”
Bailey’s voice is softer now, like she knows what she’s about to say might hurt Maxine’s feelings. “Max, Jon may not have been cheating on you that whole time, but, well, he was kind of using you. I mean, always needing your car, always asking for money—even if he didn’t cheat, the writing was on the wall that the two of you didn’t need to be together.”
“Why? Because he lost his job? I’m not a gold digger. I didn’t care that—”
“He got fired. That’s not losing his job. He got fired because he kept showing up high and late,” Kira says. “I mean, let’s be honest.”
I stuff my mouth with pretzels and listen to the soap opera tales of Jon and Maxine.
“All right—he had some issues. You can’t help who you love. And besides, the point is, We. Broke. Up. Remember? I let him go,” Maxine says.
Kira and Bailey say, almost in unison, “Just don’t take him back.”
Maxine looks at me. “I hope you have good friends to keep you from making stupid mistakes,” she says. She sits next to me on the sofa.
“My friends wouldn’t have let me date a guy like him in the first place,” I tell her. “And definitely not my mom.”
Maxine looks part offended, part surprised.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”