THIRTY-FOUR

There was comfort in having a deadline.

Dee looked at her calendar.

Then she made a list.

The thing was, knowing she might die made things simpler. It put life into perspective. Things that had seemed enormous became trivialities, and there were some things she wanted to do. Needed to do.

Dee woke early on a Saturday and stood next to Gremma’s bed. Gremma rolled over, saw her roommate less than twelve inches from her nose and, to her credit, did not flinch or even gasp. She simply blinked once and said, “Paranormal emergency?”

“No,” said Dee. “But I need your help.”

She had thought about this. All night, she had tossed and turned, racked with shivers and nerves and so many doubts she thought she might choke on them. But she needed to do this.

And she wanted backup.

“Would you come home with me?” she said.

 

There was little traffic before eight in the morning on a Saturday. They got through a coffee drive-through in record time, and Dee sipped a hot chocolate. She felt jittery enough without too much caffeine in her system.

Gremma parked on the curb and looked at her. “You want me to stay outside?”

Dee had also thought this over. “No. Mind coming in?”

Surprise flashed across Gremma’s face. “A-all right.” She was so startled it took two tries to unclip her seat belt and follow Dee up the walkway, past the overgrown plants and up to the porch.

Dee did not bother knocking on her front door. Nor did she remove her shoes. She simply walked inside.

She heard voices in the dining room, but she ignored them. With Gremma at her heels, she hurried to the stairs and up to her bedroom. She pulled the empty backpack from her shoulder and placed it on the carpet, then glanced around herself.

There were a few things she wanted—old childhood books and knickknacks. A picture of herself and Gran. A snow globe with unicorns. Then she went to her desk and opened a drawer.

Tucked inside a folder were her passport and birth certificate. She slid both into her backpack.

“Social Security,” said Gremma. It was the first time she had spoken and Dee looked up, startled.

“You’ll need your Social Security card when you apply for jobs,” explained Gremma. There was no surprise or judgment in her voice. Rather, she looked… satisfied somehow. As if all her wild theories were coming to fruition.

Dee found her Social Security card at the bottom of the drawer.

Gremma was the one to zip up the backpack and haul it over her shoulder. “Anything else?” she asked.

Dee shook her head. Together, they walked down the stairs—and right into Mr. Moreno.

He froze in astonishment; apparently, he had not heard them come in. Dee’s stomach shriveled up, but she forced herself to meet his eyes.

“What are you—” he began to say, but Dee forged ahead with her plan. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dropped it in his palm. A moment later, her house keys joined it.

“No more,” she said. She meant to say the words firmly, but they came out thin.

Comprehension dawned across his face. A muscle jumped in his jaw and his fist clenched. “Deirdre—”

“Don’t,” said Dee. “Just—don’t.”

She knew all the things he would say.

Family does not abandon family; no one will ever want you besides us; if you leave you are a bad daughter; you are the worst daughter; you should—

Her mother came out of the kitchen, her thin fingers wound in an anxious knot. “Dee?”

Dee looked down. This was the hardest part. Jumping off a sinking ship to save oneself was one thing, but abandoning others in the jump…

It was self-preservation.

And she might feel horrible about it, it might give her nightmares and anxiety and she might spend years crying about it, but the thing was—she would have those years.

That was the beauty of saving her own life.

“I’m your father,” Mr. Moreno started to stay, but again, she cut him off.

“You’re an addict. You could have been my father. But you could never be both, not at the same time.” She looked up at him, and suddenly her throat was too full. “If you ever want to change that… well. You know where I am.”

She turned to her mother. “You too,” she said simply. That was the only gift she could offer—simple words.

A quiver ran through Mr. Moreno’s whole body. He shifted on his feet, reached for Dee. She stepped back.

He stepped forward. She could see the energy coiling in his muscles, the fury kindling to life behind his eyes.

Fear beat hard within her. She needed to leave, to escape, but he wouldn’t let her run.

And that was when Gremma reached into her overly large purse and withdrew a fire ax. She hefted it over her shoulder. In her red leather jacket, she might have been Little Red Riding Hood—a Red who carried an ax and wore wolf pelts as accessories.

“All right,” said Gremma. “We’re leaving now.” She beamed at Mr. Moreno, her pretty smile sharp as a blade.

Dee loved her roommate in that moment. For her fearlessness, for not asking questions, for being here.

Dee turned back to her parents.

And she said the words that both freed and shattered her in the same breath.

“Bye, Mom,” said Dee. “Bye, Dad.”

She walked out the front door and didn’t look back.

She cried.

When Gremma went to the dining hall for lunch Dee retreated to the safety of her bed.

She curled up with her pillow and began to shake. It was inevitable; she felt the sorrow climb up her throat until it was impossible to hold in. It began with a small, tiny sob, and then the rest broke free. It was almost a release, this howl of grief that clawed inside of her. She had never truly given it voice before.

This was how babies were born—sobbing, gasping for air.

Perhaps a rebirth was the same.

She cried herself out until her sobs were dry and her voice hoarse. Her eyes ached; her sinuses felt overfull. By the time Gremma returned to the room, Dee was sitting on her bed, staring at nothing in particular.

Gremma watched her. “You know, you learn a lot in human-science classes,” she said. “Fear is one of the strongest human emotions. It serves an important biological function—mainly ensuring we as a species didn’t get eaten alive by saber-toothed tigers. Fear keeps us alive, tells us when to run or escape, but fear has its downsides, too.

“I don’t get scared,” said Gremma. “I mean, I can get scared, but I really don’t have to. My parents own a mansion in Seattle and after I came out, they were fine with it. I mean, I found in their browser history they’d googled ‘How to be a supportive parent to a gay kid.’” She shook her head in fond amusement. “Some kids tried to bully me in middle school, but I pushed one out of a window. That’s how I ended up at Brannigan.” This time, there was a hint of smugness to her smile. “Point is, my life is pretty good. I don’t get scared because I didn’t grow up thinking there was much to be afraid of.”

Dee gazed at her dully.

“The human body isn’t designed to withstand that much fear on a daily basis,” Gremma said. “That’s why soldiers have PTSD. You go through constant terror for too long and it screws you up chemically.”

She stepped forward, until she was by Dee’s bed.

“I’m staying at the beach house for part of the summer—my parents think I’m finally old enough to stay there longer than a week on my own. You’re coming with me.”

Dee froze.

“I already asked my parents,” continued Gremma. “They agreed. Actually, they were downright giddy—I think they think you’ll be a good influence on me or something. No idea why. I mean, you’re the one making demonic pacts. But you’ll have a place to stay—” Her voice cut off as Dee slammed into her. “Omf.”

Dee hugged her tight, let her panic-stiff fingers dig into Gremma’s shoulder blades. Gremma was still for a moment, then her arms went around Dee. They stood there, and somehow the hug was not awkward or too long. It was a conversation in physical gestures: Thank you and You’re welcome all tangled together.

Then, “You pushed a kid out a window?” Dee mumbled into Gremma’s shirt.

Gremma let out a soft sigh, her voice almost regretful. “It was on the first story.”