She stares at me with such heartfelt hope. I’d love to buy in, but I can’t just ignore reality. “I’ve got an unpredictable career,” I say. “I work long hours. I never know where my next paycheck is coming from. I’m going to need a new place to live. I mean, there’s no way I can be a single parent.”
“I get it,” Paige says, nodding in agreement. “You’ve got plenty of good reasons not to do it. All I’m saying is, if it’s something you really want, trust me, you’ll figure it out.”
33
By the time my bedroom door is pushed open, there’s no sun coming through my windows. The ceiling light bursts on and Mom doesn’t say anything at first. She sits on my bed and stares at a drawing on my wall. It’s a cartoon version of me. The artist gave me circle glasses like John Lennon and made it so my fingers were doing the hand signal that means peace.
Mom takes a good look at me. “I like your hair.”
“It’s horrible.”
“I think it looks nice.”
The makeup people at The Mindy Love Show turned me into one of the cartoon models from my Barbie video game:
The day didn’t go anything like I’d planned because I didn’t get the money to save the studio and no one paid attention when I played my guitar. Gavin finally cried, but not from my song, so it didn’t count. Also, I didn’t even get Mindy Love’s autograph because Gavin squeezed my wrist and pulled me off the stage before I had a chance to ask her. When we got backstage, Gavin told Felicia she was unbelievable, which is what Dad says about the song “Across the Universe” but I know unbelievable also means “terrible.”
I know what I’m supposed to say next, but I don’t even get a chance because Mom says it first. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I knew this change would be hard for all of us. Sometimes I just forget everything’s a little harder for you.”
This time I’m not mad at her for forgetting. I don’t want to be mad anymore.
“I miss your father during the day too, you know.”
“I know,” I say, but actually I didn’t really know until now. It wasn’t always just me and Dad in the studio. I can remember one day when I was jamming on guitar and Dad was jamming on drums and we finished our song and the audience started clapping but really it was just Mom clapping because the rest of the audience was just stuffed animals that I lined up in a row on the couch. Mom has always been the loudest one in my audience.
I grab my Wally the Walrus stuffed animal because I want to put something between Mom and me before I tell her the truth.
“Okay,” I say. “I was trying to get some money for the studio so Dad’s music days wouldn’t be over, because you said I could pay for it if I wanted to. I don’t know how much money we need, but Felicia said she’ll pay me in six to eight weeks.”
Mom turns her whole body to me. “I understand you were trying to help, but you can’t go to the city by yourself. You know that.” Her forehead loosens and she pulls me in close. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
That makes me think of Sydney, which makes me realize that I still have a lot of questions. “Gavin said he and Sydney were supposed to have a baby.”
She stops squishing me. “He told you that?”
“Yes. And he told Mindy Love and her whole audience too.”
“Really?”
“He said it didn’t happen because he was scared. Scared of what?”
Mom stares at the wall before she answers. “It’s normal to feel scared when you’re doing something you’ve never done before. It’s like when you first learned how to swim. You wouldn’t even get in the water. But there was one boy who jumped right in. Everyone’s different.”
August 2006: Dad holds his arms out wide and Mom points her phone at me, and my swimmies are pinching my arms. Dad promises he’ll catch me, but I can’t get my feet off the concrete, so Dad just lifts me up and dips me into the pool and everybody cheers like I did it on my own.
“Is that why you and Dad are taking so long to have a new baby?” I say. “Because you’re scared?”
She gives a tiny nod and it’s barely anything, but it’s enough of an answer. I wonder if maybe that’s why people say no all the time, because there are so many things to be scared of.
I want to talk to Gavin right now. I think maybe he’s the only one who really understands me. “Can I go downstairs for a little while?”
“Not right now, honey.”
“Why? Am I grounded?”
“I don’t know. I have to discuss it with your father.”
“Can I just go see Gavin?”
“No. Gavin needs some time to himself.”
Now my heart is attacking. “Is he mad at me? I’m sorry he had to go all the way to New York City to get me. I already told him I was sorry. What else should I say to him?”
“Joan, listen to me. This has nothing to do with you.”
“But why not?”
I fall onto my bed and pull the blanket over my legs. Mom hugs me through the blanket and tells me she loves me and strokes my hair. But none of it makes me feel any better because I’ve got a giant bruise on the inside of my body.
The next morning, I go downstairs to see Gavin but he’s not there. His room is cleared out and the dresser is empty and the closet is full of naked hangers. The blankets are pulled tight and it’s a strange thing to see, because I don’t think Gavin made his bed once the whole time he stayed here.
I hate going to sleep because adults do so many things when you’re not around, like pack their bags and leave.
I press my head into his pillow and smell him. I look up at the Awake Asleep poster on the wall. It’s weird because it hangs in our house, but it’s really a memory from Gavin’s life. I wonder if he liked looking at it every day or if it bothered him because memories come in different ways. Some make you feel warm all over and others jab a stick into your side.
I reach over to shut off the lamp but first I look in the garbage can and I open the drawer next to the bed and reach my hand in and feel around but everything is empty. I was hoping to find a note. He never said good-bye.
Across the Universe
34
There she is, waiting below: Veronica. It’s been nearly three months since I saw her at the funeral. She spots me coming down the airport escalator, her shoulders scrunched up in giddiness. Sun-soaked hair, freckled doll face, and that stretched smile that reveals only her top teeth. Anticipating my touchdown, she lets out a puppylike yelp and then launches herself at me. I hug her for what feels like days.
Pulling away, she reaches for my face. “I love the beard.”
“Mom hates it.”
“Of course she does.”
We exit the terminal and cross the street to the parking lot. Two beeps unlock the doors of a black BMW. “Is this your car?” I ask.
“Nope. I don’t have a car.”
We both get in. The leather seats are oven warm.
“Is it Tim’s?” I ask.
“Tim and I broke up months ago,” Veronica says casually. And then, seeing my confusion, “I told you that.”
“When?”
She reaches her arm back and reverses the car. “When I was in L.A. You had bigger things on your mind, obviously.”
“I had no idea. I’m sorry to hear it.”