That’s her. Skye Gilchrist. His sister.
I did what I’ve been doing since I arrived. The mental equivalent of sticking my fingers in my ears and singing “La-la-la, I can’t hear you.”
If I can’t hear you, you can’t hurt me.
What complete and utter bullshit.
“Skye?” the voice says again.
I turn. It’s Jesse’s mother. I recognize her immediately. When I was thirteen, she was already a half inch shorter than me. She seems tiny now, but she walks with a purposeful stride that makes everyone give way. She’s dressed in casual wear, with a wool coat, killer boots and a hijab.
I’ve lived in cities where the hijab is more common, but it was rare enough in Riverside that when I first went to Jesse’s house, I tried very hard not to stare. I’m embarrassed by that memory now, but Dr. Mandal only smiled and later said I could ask her anything. I didn’t, not then, but as Jesse and I became friends, I did ask, haltingly, and I got my answers, with patience and kindness.
“Dr. Mandal,” I say. “It’s good —”
She pulls me into a tight hug with a whispered “It’s so good to see you,” as fierce and sincere as the hug. When I step back, Jesse’s dad is right there, with a hand on my shoulder and a “Welcome home, Skye.”
I should have known they’d be here. They always went to Jamil’s games. Jesse’s dad is an engineer and his mom’s a doctor, so getting time off isn’t easy, but they would make it work, whether it was for Jesse’s math competitions or Jamil’s football games.
“Come over here where it’s quieter,” Dr. Mandal says as another cheer goes up. Then she leans in and whispers, “Jasser’s finished, so we don’t need to pay quite so much attention.”
I smile, and she steers me toward the end of the stands. I ask how they’ve been, and then I wave at the track field and say, “That’s new. For Jesse, I mean. He’s doing awesome.”
“Yes, he’s doing well in track.”
The “in track” part speaks volumes, as does the cloud that passes behind her eyes and the twitch in her husband’s lips. Mr. Mandal doesn’t say much – he’s as quiet as Jesse – but I see pain in both their faces. Not disappointment. Just concern that their high-achieving son isn’t doing as well as he used to.
“I know it won’t be easy being back,” Dr. Mandal says. “If you ever want to talk…”
She takes a pen and paper from her purse and jots down her cell number. The Mandals were always kind to me. When I became friends with Jesse, his mother approved. You bring him out of his shell, she said. I didn’t quite know what she meant then. I do now. She saw something in Jesse, a hesitancy, a lack of confidence. She never guessed his brother had a lot to do with that – Jamil was so careful around them. Having someone like me for a friend – brash, bold, maybe a little too confident – helped Jesse. Helped both of us.
So I know why she was so kind to me then. Now, though? Now she has every reason to be no more than civil. But she gives me that hug – in front of everyone – and she gives me her number, and I want to cry. I just want —
“There you are.” Jesse’s voice floats over. “I thought I saw you guys sneak —”
He sees me and stops short.
“I believe you remember Skye?” his mother says, her voice lilting with sarcasm, and even if I can’t see her face, I know she’s giving him a look.
“I was just inviting Skye to join us for dinner,” she says.
“What?” Jesse says.
She speaks slowly, as if he needs it. “We are going out to dinner, and I am inviting Skye to join us.”
“I —” Jesse says. “I can’t. Homework. I’ve got homework.”
“And you’re actually intending to do it? I’d be thrilled to hear that… if it wasn’t Friday, and your homework can’t possibly be due until Monday.”
“It’s fine,” I cut in. “I appreciate the offer, but my aunt’s expecting me.”
“A cold drink, then,” she says. “Afterward, I’ll drop you at your aunt’s.”
“You guys can,” Jesse says. “I have to stick around. Team meeting.”
“Really? Since when —”
“That’s fine,” I say. “Really. I do appreciate the offer, but I’m already running late. Mae expected me right after school. Another time?”
Jesse mumbles something, and before I can make it clear that I’m talking to his mother – not him – he turns to go. His dad takes a step that way, as if to speak to him, but Jesse has broken into a lope, already out of reach.
“I am so sorry,” Dr. Mandal says. “That was completely unacceptable.”
“No, it’s fine. This has been hard on him. I get that.”
Her lips tighten. “That is no excuse. I’ll speak to him, Skye. Clear up this nonsense.”
“No,” I blurt, in genuine alarm. “Please. Don’t. It’s tough, and he’s having trouble with me being back, and sure, I’d like to talk to him —”
Did I just say that? Not helping, really not helping.
I hurry on, “But there’s no rush. I’ll be here all year.” I try for a smile. “We’ll be fine.”
Just fine. Just fine. Everything’s fine. Really, really, really.
“I should go,” I mumble. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble.”
“You haven’t done anything, Skye,” Mr. Mandal says. “We’re the ones who are sorry. If Jasser is…”
He trails off and his wife finishes, “If Jasser is being an ass. That’s what my husband is too polite to say.”
I sputter a laugh at her language, and she gives me another quick hug and says, “Come to tea tomorrow, Skye.”
I tense. “I —”
“Tea with me. Only me. Aftab will find some excuse to take Jasser out, and however cranky our son has become, he’s still a boy who does as he’s told. They’ll have a father-son afternoon, and you’ll come to tea, and we won’t talk about Jasser.”
“I —”
“This isn’t a trick, Skye. Aftab won’t ‘accidentally’ bring Jasser home early while you’re there. I’d just like to talk. To catch up. Can we do that?”
I nod and agree to come by tomorrow at two.
I’m standing outside the Mandal house. It’s almost two, and I don’t want to be late, but I’m not sure I can do this. I feel the weight of Dr. Mandal’s number in my pocket. I can call. Text even. Tell her I can’t make it.
The house hasn’t changed. Not one bit. It’s a beautiful home, an old two-story on a street I know well. We used to live in a place not much different from this, on a similar street, so quiet I can hear leaves rustling in the autumn breeze. One pirouettes down beside me and brings voices from the past.
“Jasser? Can you rake the leaves for your dad? He hasn’t had a chance since his promotion and – Oh, Skye. I didn’t know you were here. Never mind, then. You two go play.”
“Uh, we’re thirteen, Mom,” Jesse says. “A little old for playing.”
“You know what I mean. Why don’t I take you two to a movie? My treat.”
“We’ll do the leaves first,” I say.
“And then I’ll take you guys to a movie,” Dr. Mandal says.
“Sure. I’ve got my own money, though.”
“True, but if you’re raking leaves, I’m paying you for it. That payment will be a ticket and popcorn and soda. Or you don’t get to rake my leaves.”
We went to see an overblown sci-fi flick and snickered at the ridiculousness of it. Jesse’s mom took us – “chaperoning” – but she sat a few rows back. Jesse and I whispered all through the movie, sharing our popcorn, and sometimes we reached into the bag at the same time, hands brushing, and my cheeks would heat, and maybe that should seem silly now, but it doesn’t.
The more I’m in Riverside – revisiting places that remind me of Jesse, doing things that remind me of us – the more I remember how I felt about him, which wasn’t childish or silly at all.
The front door opens. It’s Dr. Mandal, and she doesn’t call me over, just stands and watches, as if to say she’ll understand if I change my mind. I steel myself, and I walk toward her, and she smiles and pushes the door open wide.
I go inside and…