After school I’m eager to go home and see the puppy, but I’ve got a reading session with Caleb, so I head off to the library instead. Yesterday his foster mom emailed to tell me they’d finished Charlotte’s Web, which means it’s time to pick out a new book. This is always my favorite part: wandering the stacks, pulling out books by their spines, watching as Caleb examines the covers and weighs his options.
Today, he lingers on The BFG, which I already know will be a hit. As we walk back to our seats, he’s so busy flipping through the pages that I have to steer him through the shelves. When we turn the corner of the mystery section, I see that our usual table has been taken. And not just by anyone.
It’s been taken by Teddy.
Caleb continues to walk over, still lost in the illustrations, but I remain standing there, unable to do anything but stare. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Teddy in a library before—not even our school library—and it’s a strange and unexpected sight.
When he looks up, he seems less surprised to see me.
“Hi,” he says, leaning back in the too-small chair as we walk over. His backpack is propped beside his foot and it’s half-unzipped, revealing several books and binders. On the table there’s a notepad and a pencil, as if he’s just settled in to do some work.
“Um, hi,” I say, frowning at him.
Caleb slips into the other chair, setting his book on the table and gazing admiringly at the cartoon giant on the cover. Teddy leans forward to examine it.
“That’s a good one,” he says. “Who’s your favorite character?”
“Wilbur,” Caleb says automatically.
“Is that the giant?”
He looks at Teddy as if he might be slow. “No, he’s a pig.”
“The giant is a pig?”
“Wilbur is a pig.”
“Oh,” Teddy says with a knowing nod. “So the pig is a giant?”
Caleb giggles at this. “No, the pig is a pig and the giant is a giant.”
Teddy grins at him. “Then who’s Wilbur?”
Because this could easily go on forever, I clear my throat, and they both look up at me. “Can I borrow you for a minute?” I ask Teddy, who grabs his backpack, then holds out a fist for Caleb to tap his knuckles against.
“See you later, man.”
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Caleb as I half-drag Teddy out into the hallway, where he leans against a poster of Harriet the Spy, his hands in the pockets of his fleece vest. “What are you doing here?”
“Working,” he says with a shrug.
“In the children’s section?”
“I like the ambience.”
I frown at him. “I assume you’re not doing something for school.”
“That’s true.”
“So?”
“So…what?”
“Stop being such a weirdo,” I say, punching him in the chest. “You can’t fall off the face of the earth, then act like it’s nothing. What’s going on with you? Where have you been? And why are you hanging out at the library?”
Teddy rubs at the spot where I hit him, attempting a wounded look, but his eyes give him away: they’re sparkling with laughter.
“I told you,” he says. “I’ve been working.”
“On what?”
“Just some stuff,” he says, then does a quick sidestep before I can swipe at him again. “I can’t tell you yet, but soon, okay? I promise.”
I fold my arms. “Fine,” I say. “But…”
“Yeah?”
“Are we okay?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“I just mean…well, ever since we got back from the trip, you’ve sort of disappeared.”
“I know,” he says, and then does something he’s never done before. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, sending a shiver through me. “But we’re okay. I promise.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“A little bird told me you picked Northwestern,” he says with a smile. “That’s big news. I didn’t even know you were really considering it. Especially after our trip.”
“I know,” I say a little sheepishly. “It was kind of unexpected, but I ended up changing my mind.”
He nods with approval. “You’re allowed,” he says, then clears his throat. “As you know, I’m not much of a fan of college myself—”
“Which we’re not finished discussing.”
“—but I’m a very big fan of the location.” He looks like he’s about to say more, then stops himself. “So congrats.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “I’m really happy about it.”
“Well, I’m happy you’re happy,” he says. “And guess what? My last offer in the building was just accepted. Which means I now own the whole thing.”
“Wow,” I say, widening my eyes. “Does your mom know yet?”
He shakes his head. “I just found out. I’m gonna tell her when I get home.”
“I still can’t believe you bought a whole building. I mean, I can…obviously. But a few months ago, this would’ve been…”
“Impossible,” he says with a smile.
“So when do you get to move in?”
“Next month. There’ll still be a bunch of construction going on, but the contractor promised at least one of the floors would be livable by then. I guess there’s not really a rush, but I’m just excited. It feels like it’s time for a fresh start.”
I get the uneasy feeling he’s talking about more than just the apartment. I think about his recent distance, wondering what it means and whether he’s finally drifting away from me. The thought makes me want to grab his hand and refuse to let go.
He rocks back on his heels. “Anyway, I’ve got to run. But congrats again on Northwestern.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Congrats on the new place.”
He gives me a wave, but as he starts to walk away something occurs to me. “Hey, Teddy?” I call out, and he spins around again. “This might sound weird, but…did you send Leo a puppy?”
His face splits into one of his trademark grins. “Maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he says, as if the answer should be obvious, “it’s what he said he wanted.”
“Yeah, when he was twelve.”
Teddy’s smile widens. “Exactly.”
I shake my head, amused.
“See you later, Al E. Gator,” he says, waving over his shoulder.
It’s been years, but even so, my response comes automatically: “I’ll be there, Ted E. Bear.”
When he’s gone I head back in to Caleb, who is huddled over the book, his finger moving haltingly across the page. “Good so far?” I ask, and he points to the word dormitory. I say it out loud for him, but he still looks confused.
“What’s a dorm-i-tory?” he asks, testing the sound of it.
“Well, it’s a place where a lot of people sleep.”
“But why does Sophie have to sleep there?” he asks, his eyes still on the page. “Where are her parents?”
“I think,” I say cautiously, “that this dormitory is an orphanage.”
“For orphans?” he asks in a small voice.
I nod.
“Like me.”
“And me,” I say. Caleb looks over sharply, his face screwed up like he isn’t sure whether to believe me, like he’s trying to figure out whether I belong in the category of adults who pander to him or the category who tell the truth.
“You?” he asks, and I nod again.
“Yes.”
“You’re an orphan?”
The word still has a sting to it, even after all this time. But I try not to let it show, because Caleb doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t need to see that it still takes so much work to seem like a normal person, to maintain a hard enough shell around all that’s gone soft inside you.
“Yes,” I say, looking him square in the eye. “I am.”
“Your mom died?”
I nod.
“And your dad?”
I nod again, and he considers me a moment.
“Mine too,” he says, suddenly matter-of-fact. “It sucks.”
I can’t help laughing. “I totally agree.”
For a few seconds we just look at each other. Then he turns back to the book, moving his finger to the next word on the page, then the one after that, murmuring them aloud in his slow and deliberate way. But I can’t seem to focus on the story. I glance over at the far wall, where rows of posters hang above a low bookshelf. Some of them are just puppies and kittens sitting beside stacks of books, but others are more motivational. They’re mostly clichés: FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS! and DON’T BE AFRAID TO COLOR OUTSIDE THE LINES! and YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE IN YOURSELF TO SUCCEED!
One of them has a black background, and each word is written across it in various bright colors. It says: IT’S OKAY NOT TO KNOW. IT’S NOT OKAY NOT TO CARE.
I stare at that one for a long time.
“Have you ever read Harry Potter?” I ask Caleb, interrupting him as he stumbles through a line about the witching hour. He glances up at me, confused.
“No, but I’ve seen some of the movies.”
“So you know that Harry’s an orphan too,” I say, and he nods warily. “But when you think of him, what’s the first word that comes to mind?”
“Wizard?” he asks, sounding just like Leo once did.
“Right. What else?”
“Quidditch player?” He pauses for a second to think. “Gryffindor?”
“Exactly. Harry was an orphan, but he was those other things too. Just like you’re a lot of other things.”
Caleb doesn’t seem quite convinced. “Like what?”
“Well,” I say, tapping my fingers against the cover of the book, “you’re a reader.” Then I point at his blue T-shirt. “And a Cubs fan.”
He gives me a shy smile. “Yeah.”
“What else do you want be?”
“A fireman,” he says without hesitating. “Or a pig owner.”
I laugh. “Both very good things.”
“What about you?”
“Well, I’m a niece,” I tell him. “And a cousin. And a best friend.”
And a daughter, I think, and for once the word doesn’t make me wonder whether that’s actually true, whether you can still be a daughter without having parents. Instead it makes me think about what Aunt Sofia said that morning at Northwestern.
Instead it makes my heart feel very full.
“A tutor,” I add with a smile, cuffing Caleb lightly on the arm; then I point to the open book. “And a reader.”
He nods. “What else?”
I hesitate, because I’m already out of words and the list seems alarmingly short. I realize I don’t know the answer to this question any better now than I did when I was nine, and there’s something a little disappointing about that.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I’m still working on it.”