“How about: let me stay at her house so I didn’t have to go to foster care?” Zoe cried.
Alice felt a wave of indignation. But she forced herself to breathe. She was the adult here, she needed to remain rational and in control. “I was grateful to Kate for that, Zoe. But that doesn’t excuse what she did.”
“Help me, you mean? When I really needed it?”
“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Alice’s voice broke unexpectedly. “I’m your mother.”
With her mouth already open to respond, Zoe glanced at the cushion where Alice’s head had just been. Alice followed her gaze to a chunk of hair left behind on the cushion—blond at one end and a lightish brown at the other.
“Oh,” Alice said, her hand rising instinctively to her head. She knew now was the time to say something calming, to whisk the hair away with a smile so as to not traumatize Zoe. But she was momentarily frozen, unable to react. Her hair.
Zoe picked it up.
Years ago Alice had seen a stand-up comedian do a skit about hair. When attached to someone’s head, he’d said, hair was lovely. People smelled it, brushed it, ran their fingers through it. But once it left your head, he said, hair became something to be feared. A hair in your soup could have a restaurant shut down. People had cleaning companies brought in to remove dog hair from furniture.
It had brought the house down. So true, Alice had thought. A hair off your head was not a good thing. It was gross. Disgusting. Yet here was Zoe, on the couch beside her, holding a chunk of her hair like it was the most precious gem. It undid Alice.
“You were sick, Mom. I didn’t want to worry you with my problems.”
Alice closed her eyes. “Honey. I shouldn’t have got so upset with Kate. But when you confided in her, I … I was jealous.”
“You were?”
“I can see how much you like her. And I … understand why you like her.”
Zoe went quiet for a moment.
“I do like her,” she said. “She’s really nice and easy to talk to.”
“All right, all right.” Alice smiled.
“But I like you more,” Zoe said. It was downright juvenile how silly that comment was. And it was even more juvenile how much Alice enjoyed hearing it. “Kate doesn’t know the way I like to loop my Cheerios on a straw and suck them off.”
Alice smiled. “That is quite weird.”
“She doesn’t know how I can only watch TV on the floor while folding laundry.”
Alice saw the direction this was headed and she felt her eyes fill. “Yes, I never really understood that.”
“I can’t crawl into bed with Kate and sleep beside her because she’d probably think that was creepy.”
“True,” Alice agreed. That was definitely only something a fifteen-year-old girl could do with her mother. The tears began to slide, unchecked, down Alice’s cheeks, and Zoe’s. Zoe leaned over and laid her head against Alice’s chest.
“I still need you, Mom,” Zoe said.
“You have me, Mouse,” Alice said, and at least for now, the words felt true.
THREE
The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.
—MARK TWAIN
53
“I made a comment in class this week,” Zoe said. It felt childish, reporting back her success to Dr. Sanders, but Zoe couldn’t deny it felt good. It almost made the horrors of putting up her hand worth it. She’d done it in English, of all classes. They’d been having a class discussion about The Outsiders. When she’d raised her hand, Mrs. Patterson had done a double take.
“Do you … have some thoughts on this, Zoe?”
“Uh, well … I think S. E. Hinton did a good job of looking at life as an outsider,” she muttered. “Ponyboy felt like an outsider in his own town, he didn’t feel safe walking the streets in his own neighborhood because he was a greaser. He felt angry about that, and that it wasn’t fair. But he came to realize that, in a way, everyone is an outsider and he needed to change his outlook.”
It had come out fast, in a long line without pause or inflection. By the time she finished, she was breathless and her heart was a drum in her ears. But the important thing was that she’d done it. There was something to be said for little wins. It almost made her want to do it again.
“I’m impressed,” Dr. Sanders told Zoe. “How did it feel?”
“It felt uncomfortable,” she said. “But … it could have been worse.”
Dr. Sanders didn’t smile exactly, but he seemed pleased. It made Zoe feel like punching the sky. Mrs. Hunt had made her promise she’d meet with Dr. Sanders at least three times, and she’d been dreading it, but now she realized it had some upsides. It was actually pretty nice, having someone to talk to.
The truth was, her week back at school had been brutal. For the first few days while Harry still had been suspended, Cameron had continued to spill water every time Zoe walked into the room. On top of Cameron’s antics, there were the expected whispers and stares. Then there were those who felt bad for her, and Zoe suffered equally under their gaze. In fact, in a way, kindness was worse than cruelty because the pressure to respond graciously could be crippling, and she inevitably failed at it.
Still, things weren’t all bad. She and Jessie Lee and Emily had taken to sitting with Harry and a few of his friends at lunchtime, which Emily, of course, loved. Most of the time Zoe sat in silence, worrying that everyone thought she was the weird mute chick, but she managed to follow along with the conversation, even laugh a little.
She hadn’t seen Kate since that day at her house. She thought about her sometimes, hated the way they’d left things. But she couldn’t do it to her mom.
“Well, I think we can consider that a successful first week, don’t you?” Dr. Sanders said.
Zoe nodded.
“So,” he said, glancing down at the folder in front of him. “I thought today we could talk a little about your parents.” He looked up, expectant.
“Er … okay.” It seemed like a strange thing to talk about; then again, maybe it wasn’t. On TV everyone seemed to talk about their parents in therapy.
“Why don’t you start by telling me about your childhood?”
He watched her carefully. Zoe felt uncomfortable under his gaze.
“Well … I guess, there’s not much to tell. I’ve spent my whole life in Atherton. I lived with my mom and my great-great-grandma until I was two, when she died. Since then, it’s just been Mom and me.”
“And your dad?”
Zoe shook her head. “He’s not in my life. I don’t even know who he is.”
Dr. Sanders was quiet for a moment. “It must have been strange, growing up without a father.”
“It wasn’t strange. You don’t miss what you don’t have. And my mom more than made up for him not being around.”
“You didn’t feel cheated, not having a father figure in your life?”