“How do you feel?” her mother asked when they got home the day after the baby was born.
“I’m happy for the—Rebecca.” India waved her hand around her middle where Rebecca had lived for so long until so recently. “She’s like an old friend. It was great when she was here, and I miss her now that she’s gone, but I’m so happy for her for the wonderful life she gets now.”
Her mother nodded and said nothing.
“And I’m happy for Camille. She wanted to be a mother so much and now she is.”
“Yes,” her mother said carefully, “but I didn’t ask how Rebecca and Camille feel. I asked how you feel.”
India was surprised when her eyes spilled over. She hadn’t even realized they were filling up. “I feel sad and happy and tired and grateful and excited and scared and worried and weird,” India admitted.
“Me too,” her mother admitted back. India had had so many people to think about—including the baby—she had forgotten to think about her mother and all the people she had to think about too. Including the baby. It made sense she would also feel a lot of things. But all she added—could add, maybe—was “Give it time. It’ll pass.”
“How do you feel?” her mother asked a week later when she got home from work to find India in her room surrounded by every piece of clothing she owned in a giant pile on the floor.
“Fat,” said India.
“Fat is not a feeling,” said her mother.
“Nothing I own fits anymore.”
“Give it time. It’ll pass.”
“That’s what you said last week.”
“And do you feel better than you did last week?”
“That’s not the point,” India insisted.
“What’s the point?”
“The point is I can’t pack if none of my clothes fit.”
Her mother shrugged. “So we’ll go shopping.”
“I need a whole separate suitcase for index cards.”
“They sell index cards in New York.”
“I need a wide variety.”
A pie place opened near Robbie’s house, and every day he brought over a new flavor. They ate it sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, holding feet even though India’s fingers weren’t swollen anymore.
“I can’t wait till we have roommates besides my mother,” she said.
“I like your mother.”
“Me too, but think how much more freedom we’ll have when I’m living in a dorm and you have a cool apartment in the city.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be cool.”
“You’re going to get an uncool apartment?”
“I think cool apartments are expensive in New York. I’m going to have to live in someone’s closet in someone’s bedroom in someone’s crappy house in New Jersey. Except I won’t be able to afford it so I’ll have to get a roommate.”
“Edgy,” said India. “Artistic.”
“I’m not going to have time to be edgy or artistic,” Robbie warned. “I’m going to have to work like a thousand hours a week so I can afford half the rent for my New Jersey closet.”
“Maybe you can get a job on campus and we can line up our breaks. And when you have late shifts or early shifts, you can just stay over with me in my dorm.”
“I think campus jobs are probably for students.”
“Maybe you could wait tables at a fancy New York restaurant and bring back gourmet leftovers.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to be washing dishes. In New Jersey.”
“At a fancy restaurant?”
“Fingers crossed.”
“I can study on the train,” she said.
“What train?”
“The train to New Jersey. When I come to stay for the weekend and lotion your chapped hands and help you fill out applications for colleges in the city and eat gourmet leftovers.”
“Speaking of gourmet leftovers, we’re practically adults, right? We can have seconds on pie?”
India went to the kitchen to fetch it. “You know what might save a lot of money?”
“What?”
“If you worked at a pie shop in New York.”
And then suddenly it was time. It was good she was going into college and not fourth grade, India thought, because her “What I Did on My Summer Vacation” essay would have been seriously traumatizing for a bunch of nine-year-olds. Three days before they were scheduled to leave, Robbie came empty-handed. The pie place had closed just as abruptly as it opened. Had it failed so quickly? Had Robbie been the only one who ever went there? Did this mean India’s plan for him to work at a pie shop in New York was misguided? These were questions without answers.
They quickly became the least important ones.
“Listen,” Robbie said.
“Always,” said India.
Then he didn’t say anything. He looked at her and looked away, closed his eyes and kept them closed when he said to her, “I can’t come to New York.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t come to New York.”
“Of course you can. Anyone can go to New York.”
“Not me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“My dad got a job in Arizona.”
“It’s like the pie,” said India.
He looked at her to see what she was talking about, but not like he was thinking of changing his mind.
“We’re adults now,” she explained, “so you don’t have to go where your dad goes.”
“No, I know, but I’m not staying here. There’s nothing for me here once you’re gone.”
“Right! That’s why you’re coming with me.”
“I love you, India,” he said gently, so gently, “but I’m not coming with you.”
“Why?” She flung her arms wide, felt desperation spread through her body like some kind of fast-acting drug. Or fast-acting poison.
“Look at you.” He gestured not at her but all around her room. “You’re packed. You’re ready. You’re starting a new life. Classes, a dorm, new friends, a whole new city to explore.”
“Yes, with you. A whole new city to explore with you. New friends to make with you.”
“Yeah, but I won’t be in your classes. I won’t be in your dorm.”
“That doesn’t matter. You’ll be nearby and—”
“And that’s not all.” He didn’t let her finish. “There will be plays. Finally. Auditions to go to, directors who will actually cast you, late-night rehearsals, tech weeks with eighteen-hour days.”
“So I’ll see you the week after.”
“Standing ovations to receive.”
“I want you there. Standing in the audience.”
“I know you do,” said Robbie, “but I don’t want to be there.”
She crumpled then, folded right to the floor. “Why?”
“India, I would love to see you star in a play. I would love to be there when everyone in the entire theater leaps to their feet because they can’t stay seated anymore because of how great you are. You think I don’t want to see that? I want to see that more than anything.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Because what about me? I’m just going to wash dishes all day while you think about philosophy and modern art? I’m going to hang out at home with my closet-mate while you learn and grow and star in stuff and meet people and make friends and all your dreams come true? New York is great for you. I’m thrilled for you. But it’s not great for me. You’re not thrilled for me.”
“I am.” She grasped his hands. “I am because it’s the best city in the country. It’s the best city in the world. You’re my friend. And when I make new friends, they’ll be your friends. And over dinner we’ll talk about what I’m learning in philosophy and the dorm and what you’re learning in your closet and the real world, and it’ll be amazing.”
“No.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
And he said, very softly, “Because I don’t want to.”
“You used to.”
“I didn’t.”
“You said you did. You were lying?”
“Not lying. But wrong, maybe.”
“Don’t do this, Robbie,” she begged.
“It’s better this way. It is. You won’t have to miss out on hanging out with the girls on your floor so you can come over to my closet. You won’t have to miss out on talking about all the stuff you’re learning to all the people you’re learning it with so you can talk to me about what it’s like to wash dishes.”
“But I’d love to talk about washing dishes with you. I love to talk about everything with you.” She could hear that her crying was starting to sound more resigned than desperate and she didn’t want this, tried to change the tone of her weeping. “But you’ll take classes too. But we’ll talk about washing dishes. But you won’t wash dishes forever. Just for a little while. That was three buts!”
He reached down and pulled his shirt up over his head, stood before her naked from the waist up. “Come here.” He opened his arms to her.
“I’m not a newborn.”
“I know,” he said. “Come here.”
And she came into his arms, and he held her there, and he was warm, and he was all around her, and the baby books were right. It was comforting. But it did not make her stop crying. It made her cry more.
“We can make this choice, and it will be okay.”
“It won’t,” she said, her ear against his heart, knowing it.
“There’s nothing tying us together anymore. That was the whole point of doing what we did.”
“No.” She did not want to pull her face from his chest, but she did it anyway so she could look at him. “No! That was not the whole point. That wasn’t any of the point. Just because we didn’t want to get married right now doesn’t mean we don’t want to be together. Just because we didn’t want to get married right now doesn’t mean we might not want to get married someday. Just because we thought the—Rebecca—would have a better life with Camille than with us doesn’t mean we have to break up.”
“I think it does mean that.” Robbie wrinkled his nose. “I think that is exactly what it means.”
“Please,” she whispered finally, desperately, “please. For me.”
“That’s it exactly,” Robbie said. He was crying too, but he would not change his mind. “For you.”
He left and India could not stop crying. He left and India could not stop wondering whether she was an idiot for not marrying him and having his babies when she had the chance. She could not stop thinking of those stupid cards and how maybe she had picked the wrong one. She was sure she had chosen right for Camille. She was sure she had chosen right for Rebecca. But maybe she had chosen wrong for her and Robbie.
She didn’t know if she would ever stop crying. She didn’t think it was going to be great when she showed up at college with bloodshot eyes and snot waterfalling out of her nose and her face puffed like a blowfish. She refused to get out of bed for two days.
Her mother came and stood in her doorway, arms crossed, lawyerly.
“How do you feel?”
“Terrible,” India said. “Like I want to die. Like I don’t want to die but that’s too bad because I’m going to anyway.”
Her mother kicked off her heels and climbed into bed with her, unlawyerly. “Give it time.” She pulled her daughter into her arms. “It will pass.”