IT’S FRIDAY AFTERNOON, AND I’M SITTING IN MY parked car outside Karalis Custom Jewelry, trying to work up the nerve to go inside and face Alyssa. Out of everyone, it’s her forgiveness I crave the most, and not just because I miss her. She’s my best friend, and she deserves the same honesty that she’s always given me.
I glance at the store’s sign, simple and familiar, and breathe in deep through my nose. I can do this.
My fingers find the door handle, and just as I’m about to pull, a face appears in the half-open window and scares the hell out of me.
“Morgan?” Alyssa’s brows shoot up as she looks in at me, sitting there with my hand pressed over my heart. “What are you doing?”
I press the button to lower the window, then realize the car isn’t running. I open the door and step out onto the sidewalk instead, stopping in front of Alyssa. Her dark hair is smoothed back from her face in a ponytail, and she’s carrying three white paper bags.
“Um,” I say, my bravado fading now that I’m face-to-face with her. She’s not smiling, and she’s got this wary look in her eyes, like she’s waiting for me to spring another shocking revelation on her. “I came to talk to you. What—what are you doing?”
She holds up the bags, which give off a subtle spicy scent. “I was getting lunch. Why are you here? I mean, why come talk to me while I’m working instead of, I don’t know, some other time?”
I look past her to the store. “Because you’re always here, Lyss.”
She watches me for a moment, quiet and serious. I don’t look away. Finally, her expression softens a bit and she sighs. “Fine. Since you’re here, you may as well come in.”
Her tone isn’t exactly welcoming, but I gratefully follow her into the store. Nothing has changed since I was last in here. The cluttered display cases still gleam with gold and silver and gemstones. The oil paintings of Greek landscapes and architecture still hang on the walls. Mrs. Karalis still stands behind the counter, a pen tucked behind her ear. She smiles when she sees me.
“Morgan,” she says, and I know just by the way she says my name that Alyssa hasn’t told her about me. “Long time no see.”
Alyssa hands her one of the white bags and brings the other one back to Louis, the guy who does the custom work and engraving. Mr. Karalis’s job until he died.
Being in here makes me think of him. Alyssa and I used to spend quite a bit of time here when we were younger, and Mr. Karalis would put us to work dusting or wiping fingerprint smudges off the glass cases. Sometimes he let us make displays. We’d carefully arrange rings or watches or necklaces, maybe trying a piece on when no one was looking.
“I’ll be right back, Ma.” Alyssa puts her own bag of lunch on the counter and heads for the door, gesturing for me to follow. We step out onto the hot sidewalk, then wordlessly decide to turn left, away from the loud construction at the other end the street.
We’re both quiet for a couple of blocks. I came here to talk, but everything I think of to say sounds inadequate in my head. Finally, I just start at the beginning. “A few days after my mother moved out, I stole a lip gloss from Walmart. That was the first time. I was so angry, but I wanted to keep it together for my dad, so I tried to hold a lot of it in. But I had to find a release somehow, and I just thought . . . God, I don’t even know how to explain it. I’d been so good all my life. Quiet, well behaved, straight As . . . I thought doing something bad would make me feel like I was getting back at her somehow, even if she never found out. It made me feel better, like I had control over myself again. I know it was stupid, and selfish, but shoplifting was the only thing that kept me from sinking.” I shake my head. “I know it probably doesn’t make any sense to you.”
We reach the edge of the street and stop, waiting for the walk signal. “No, it does,” she says. “Surprisingly.”
I glance at her. Sunglasses cover her eyes, but the frown she’s had since I first showed up here is starting to fade. “Really?”
“Really.” The walk light blinks on, and we cross the narrow street. “I just wish you would’ve told me, Morgan. Friends aren’t supposed to keep huge secrets from each other. It really hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me what you were going through. If you’d been honest from the start, I wouldn’t have gotten so mad. None of us would have. We would’ve stood by you and helped you through it.”
I nod. “Sophie said the same thing. I guess I should’ve given you guys more credit. It’s just you’re all so . . . I don’t know. Decent. And I didn’t feel like I measured up. I thought you guys would look at me differently if you knew.”
“Well, we do,” she says in her usual blunt way. “But that doesn’t mean we’ve given up on you. I know I haven’t. Even after all this, you’re still the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Tears spring to my eyes and I squint, pretending to be bothered by the sun. But Alyssa notices and reaches for my hand, squeezing for a second before letting go. My eyes well up even more. I had no idea how much I needed to hear what she just said.
“I’ve been reading a bit about shoplifting,” she says, leading us around a corner to a shady section of sidewalk. “It’s like an addiction. You know when alcoholics are in recovery and they have a sponsor to help keep them on track? Well, maybe I could be that for you.”
I slow my pace and raise my eyebrows at her. “You want to be my shoplifting sponsor?”
She shrugs. “Sure.”
“So if I’m in a store and I get the urge, I’ll call you instead?” The idea seems so bizarre that it makes me laugh. “I think that’s the nicest—and strangest—offer I’ve ever received.”
“What are friends for?”
We smile at each other, and all the anxiety and dread I felt on the drive here melts away. “I really am sorry, Lyss.”
“I know.” We turn another corner and start heading back to her mom’s store. “Just do me a favor and don’t ever lie to me or keep things from me again, okay?”
“Deal.”
She nods and lets out a relieved breath, like she’s accomplished something difficult and can finally move on. “We’re all meeting at the diner on Sunday so we can mourn the end of summer, if you wanted to come. Six o’clock.”
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more. “I’ll be there.”
On the short walk back, Alyssa updates me on everything I missed since we stopped speaking, including another fraught social media tutorial with her mother and her tentative reconnection with Dawson, who she’s been texting again. He hasn’t mentioned it to me, and I’m glad to hear it. Maybe senior year won’t be so awkward after all.
When she’s done filling me in, it’s my turn. I spill everything—the visit with Mom, the confrontation with Eli, the therapy I’m due to start in two weeks. With each chunk of truth, I feel myself getting lighter. And sadder too, when I think about how much time I spent shouldering the weight of secrets when I could have shared the burden all along, if only I’d been brave enough.
By the time we’ve finished talking, we’re back at the jewelry store. Just as Alyssa pushes open the door, I glance down the street and notice a woman standing by my car. Her back is to us, and at first I think she’s trying to break into it. I start walking toward her, my brain scrambling for the correct way to confront a car thief in action and wondering if this is some sort of karma. Then, just as I close in on her, the woman turns her head and I catch a glimpse of her profile.
“Mom?”
She spins around, her expression lightening with relief when she sees me. “Oh, there you are.”
I stare at her. My mind can’t accept the sight of her here, on this street, standing between me and my car. “What are you doing here? And how did you know where I’d be?”
Alyssa approaches before she can answer. She stops beside me and touches my arm. “You okay?” she mumbles. When I nod, she turns to my mother and says, “Hi, Mrs. Kemper.” Then she winces, remembering she’s no longer a Mrs. And once the divorce is final and she marries Gary, she’ll no longer be a Kemper either.
“Hello, Alyssa,” Mom says, ignoring the slip. “How are you? And how’s your mother?”
“We’re both fine, thanks.” She catches my eye and starts backing away. “Well, I should probably go eat my sandwich while it’s still fresh. Talk to you later, Morgan.” She gives my mother a stilted wave and disappears into the store.
“I won’t keep you long,” Mom says when I turn back to her.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask again. Does she have a spy? A tracking device in my phone?
“I didn’t.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I went by your apartment building first and no one answered. Rachel told me a while ago that you worked at Royal Smoothie, so I was heading there when I turned onto this street and spotted my car.”
My car, I think, but I don’t correct her.
“Anyway,” she goes on. “I thought I’d wait here until you got back.”
A woman passing by accidentally bumps me with her purse. Realizing I’m blocking foot traffic, I move closer to my mother. She looks better than she did the last time I saw her. Well rested and somehow stronger, like she’s better equipped to face me this time. I realize with a shock that I am too. The last time we spoke, I started off nervous and then progressed into enormously pissed. Now I’m just confused and vaguely numb.
“Why are you here?” I ask her.
“I wanted to talk to you, and you wouldn’t answer my calls or texts. So here I am.” She fans her face with her hand. “Do you think we could find a place with air-conditioning? It’s hot as Hades out here.”
I don’t want to have this discussion—whatever it’s about—in a public place, so I motion toward my car. We get in, and I immediately start the engine, trying to ignore the fresh waft of vanilla filling the air and mixing with the faded scent from before.
“Car still runs well?” she asks over the noise of the vents, which are working overtime to crank out cool air.
“You didn’t drive an hour and a half to ask me about the car.”
She looks at me for a moment, then drops her gaze to her lap. “You’re right. I didn’t. I came here to say some things, and I need you to let me say them without interruption. Okay?”
I lift my hand in a go ahead motion. She can talk all she wants; it doesn’t mean I have to listen.
She takes a deep breath and nervously adjusts her vent, pointing it toward her face. “I meant it when I said I was done giving you space. That was my first mistake, I think. No, my first mistake was cheating on your father, obviously, but I shouldn’t have let you avoid me for so long. I should’ve made more of an effort to reach you. I shouldn’t have given up when you kept shutting me down. I handled things poorly, and I apologize for that. I apologize for everything. There’s no excuse.”
Her words seep in despite my resolve to let them skim over me. She’s never said these things to me before. Never expressed regret over the affair and our fractured relationship. I’m not sure how to feel.
“The shoplifting thing threw me for a loop,” she goes on. “It seemed so unlike you. I knew my actions affected you, but I’ll admit I didn’t realize how much. To think your anger at me drove you to be the kind of person who would—” She clamps her lips shut, probably realizing she has no room to judge. “Anyway. I’m sure I threw you and Rachel for a loop too. I was selfish, Morgan. I—”
Her voice breaks and she presses a hand to her mouth, like I’ve seen her do so many times when she was trying not to cry in front of us. Something in me unravels, just a tiny bit. It always hurt me to see her cry, and I’m not immune to it now. Still, I’m not ready to touch her or give her words of comfort. Or maybe I’ve just forgotten how. Either way, I keep silent and wait for her to collect herself.
“I know I’m not the person you thought I was,” she pushes on, her voice thick with tears. “I hurt you and disappointed you, and you have every right to be upset with me. But you’re my daughter, Morgan, and we’ve already wasted so much time. I want to watch you graduate from high school and go to college and grow into an amazing woman. You said I’m not the same mother who raised you, and I can accept that. Maybe I’m different now, but I’m still your mother. I still love you more than anything in the world.”
A tear rolls down my cheek and I quickly swipe it away. I want all those things too. I want a mother who’s there for milestones and occasions and for no special reason at all. I want to see her in the audience, her face lit up with pride. More than anything, though, I want the mother I thought she was before all this.
“I’m asking for a chance,” she says, resting her fingers on my forearm. Somehow I don’t flinch away. “We can start slow, if you want. A phone call once in a while. Even texts, if that’s easier for you. I know it’ll take time. But we just have to start, okay? Baby steps.”
A bus passes by, shaking the car. I think about Alyssa, accepting my apology when she realized I was ready to change, to be better. I think about Rachel, and how easy it seemed for her to forgive. But it probably wasn’t easy at all. It takes courage, opening your heart to someone who hurt you once and might do it again. The kind of courage I’m still not sure exists in me. But I can’t expect people to forgive my mistakes if I’m not open to forgiving others for theirs.
“Okay,” I say softly.
“What?”
I clear my throat and speak louder. “Okay. Baby steps.”
She smiles, her eyes still glassy with tears. Then, without another word, she lets go of my arm and leaves the car.