Chapter 28

IN A MOVE EVERYONE SAW COMING, I was grounded. And to fill the emptiness on my résumé where Mock Trial should have gone, my grandparents decided I’d start helping out at my grandpa’s firm two afternoons a week.

It sounded awful, but I knew I was in no position to protest. Especially after the fight we’d had. I hated that they were upset with me. That I had let them down. But then, I’d been doing that a lot lately.

Sasha Bloom: Most Likely to Disappoint.

And the disappointments kept on coming. Mr. Saldana reminded us all in Studio Art that we had two weeks before our submissions were due for the gallery show.

“Remember, if you’re more comfortable in a medium we’re not exploring this semester, you’re welcome to hand in outside work,” he said in class on Monday, his gaze resting on mine for just a moment. “Just so long as it fits through the door and doesn’t require food, water, or sunlight.”

I sank down in my seat. I knew he was expecting me to turn in photographs, but I didn’t have any new ones. And he’d already seen all of my old work.

“While you’re not receiving a grade for the work you submit,” Mr. Saldana went on, “you’ll be required to attend and write up half a page about one piece that spoke to you. Your grade will come from that.”

A couple of students groaned.

“The grammar of criticism.” He beamed. “I did warn you. If you wanted that easy A, you should have taken ceramics.”

And then he passed out flyers for us to give to our friends and families, inviting them. I took one because it was the thing to do, not because I was planning on inviting my grandparents. Especially the way things were between us right now.

I spent that week adrift in a sea of high school students. The days felt sour, like expired milk. I wanted to pour them down the drain. I ate lunch alone in the library. I didn’t go to Art Club. I walked to and from school, and then went to my room and did my homework and hugged the dog and checked my phone for a response from Lily that was never coming.

Dinner every night was tense and awful. My grandparents acted like I was a search engine, asking me question after question about school in a monotone, which I answered as blandly as possible. None of us knew how to fix what had broken between us. And so we tiptoed through the wreckage, pretending it wasn’t there.

There were no overtures of apology, just awkward, stilted moments when everyone was chewing, and I wished desperately I were anywhere else. Pearl cried and sobbed, throwing a fit while we ate, until my grandfather pushed back his chair with alarming force and shouted at her, and my grandmother shouted at him for yelling at the dog, and I raced to put my half-finished plate into the dishwasher so I could go upstairs.

Except my hands were shaking, and somehow I missed the counter. I watched in horror as the plate smashed onto the floor.

“Shit,” I swore, staring down at the fractured pieces.

“Sasha!” my grandfather boomed. “You need to be careful!”

“I know!” I said, feeling awful. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, be better,” my grandmother scolded.

“I will,” I said, bending down to pick up the pieces.

My grandfather scooped up Pearl before she could get into the mix of pesto and smashed porcelain. I couldn’t believe I’d dropped the plate. It was so stupid of me.

Everything I touched, I ruined.

“Sasha, move,” my grandmother said, coming up behind me with a Swiffer.

I backed away, letting her take care of it.

Thanksgiving was on Thursday. The school week ended early, and somehow, in all the chaos of essays and midterms, I didn’t see it coming until it blindsided me:

My first Thanksgiving without my mom.

Everything about it felt wrong. Instead of driving down to Bayport, I was already here. But there was nowhere else to go. We certainly weren’t flying to Quebec to see my great-aunt Gail and her third husband, Ronny. Now, Thanksgiving was just a fancy meal in the house where we all lived. It made the whole thing feel like there wasn’t much of a point.

Especially since everything was still so tense and awful.

My grandfather barricaded himself in his office, watching football with the volume turned up all the way. And I could hear my grandmother banging around in the kitchen. There was a loud clang, of something dropping, and then a curse.

I waited for my grandfather to shout and see if everything was okay, but he didn’t. My grandmother cursed again, and then I heard the sink turn on and stay on.

My curiosity got the better of me. I felt ridiculous hiding upstairs, listening. So I wandered down to the kitchen to make sure everything was okay.

I stopped in the doorway. There was an enormous raw turkey in the sink, and my grandmother stood over it, crying. She was still in her pajamas. Her shoulders trembled, and her hand was over her mouth, and she didn’t look even the tiniest bit okay.

“Grandma?” I asked.

“Oh, Sasha.” She straightened up, wiping her eyes.

“Do you need any help?” I asked.

My mom and I had never helped in the kitchen. Eleanor had insisted on doing it all, deputizing us to bring ourselves, and maybe a dessert, and then telling us that she’d have a backup in case ours wasn’t good. It made my mother furious.

“Oh no, no, sweetheart. I’m fine,” my grandmother said.

She turned off the sink and gave me a thin smile.

“I can help,” I insisted. “I want to.”

I picked up a package of cranberries and tore it open.

My grandmother didn’t protest. She just watched as I gathered a saucepan and a measuring cup, and then took out my phone, googling a recipe.

I stirred the berries. and it was oddly cathartic, watching as they started out separate but came together. My grandmother got to work on the turkey, and after a while, I felt her over my shoulder, checking on me.

“What are those seeds?” she asked, frowning.

“I found a recipe that said to use orange zest and whole grain mustard.”

“Mustard?” Her frown deepened. “I’ve never heard of that in my life.”

She took the spoon and lifted it to her lips as though expecting the worst. And then her expression brightened.

“You know,” she said. “That’s delicious.”

She rested a hand on my shoulder, very softly, for the briefest moment, before pulling away and reaching for a dishcloth.

“We still have to make mashed potatoes, and rolls, and dessert,” she said.

And then she got out the family recipe card and put me to work making rolls. As I mixed the dough, I noticed my grandfather hovering in the doorway, holding the dog.

“Didn’t realize it was so crowded in here,” he said. Something passed between the two of them that I didn’t quite understand, but I pretended not to notice.

After my grandfather left, I kneaded the sticky, stretchy dough. I was glad I’d come down and offered to help. It was too much for my grandmother to do on her own, and somehow, my being in the kitchen made everything feel new, instead of highlighting how my mom was missing.

Suddenly I was blinking back tears.

“Sasha,” my grandmother said, surprised. “Sweetheart, are you crying?”

“No,” I croaked, swiping my nose with the back of my arm.

“I miss her too,” my grandmother said. “But it’s nice to have help in the kitchen again. Alice used to make those rolls.”

“She did?” I asked, and then I felt foolish, because of course she had.

Here I was again, stuck in a skipped-forward repeat of my mother’s childhood.

“Until she almost burned the house down,” Eleanor said with a sigh. “The phone rang, and she completely forgot they were in the oven.”

That sounded like my mom.

“I told her she was permanently off kitchen duty after that,” my grandmother said, and I could hear the regret in her voice, the yearning for all of those lost holidays, all of those long hours she’d spent alone in the kitchen because she didn’t know how to admit she’d been wrong about not wanting help.

We both stared at the skillet. And I thought, it’s like she was just here. “She’s supposed to be here.”

I didn’t realize I’d spoken that last part aloud until my grandmother said, “I know, honey. I know she is.”

And somehow that made me feel better, remembering I wasn’t the only one who’d lost her. I felt a tear roll down my cheek, and I realized my grandmother was sniffling too.

“Come here,” she said, opening her arms.

It was an awkward hug. Her skin was cold, and she smelled of expensive creams and coffee, and she seemed as light and hollow as a bird. But I closed my eyes and held on anyway, because it was the first time I’d ever felt close to her.

Later that evening, my grandfather gave a toast about how thankful he was for his family, and everyone agreed that cranberry sauce tasted better with mustard seeds. And somehow, the frost between us seemed to thaw.

I still hadn’t heard from Lily by Saturday, even though I’d texted her more times than I probably should have. I pictured her up in Fairfield with her family, staring down at her phone and seeing it was me, and deciding to ignore it. Again and again and again.

Each time I picked up my phone, hoping for a missed text and finding none, it was like a small piece of my soul withered. Did she really hate me this much? Would she ever forgive me? Or even just talk to me again?

Of course, my grandparents were under the impression things had gone south between me and Cole. And while I felt extraordinarily guilty for letting them believe that, I also went along with it. It was easier than explaining the truth about my moping, or the fight my grandmother had half overheard, or the mysterious cake that I’d insisted she throw away.

It had barely been a week since we’d broken up, since the morning Lily had decorated her car for me. And I missed her so much.

I missed her in this desperate, aching way because she wasn’t gone the way my mother was. She was just angry.

And I couldn’t tell if her anger was permanent or temporary. If I would go on missing her forever, because she was lost to me, or if this was only a blip of misery in the middle of something bigger.

I was out walking Pearl on Saturday when I saw them come home. Lily and their parents were unloading suitcases, and Adam was running around the driveway with Gracie while she shrieked and giggled.

“Hi!” Gracie said, spotting me. “Oh! It’s the dog! Can I pet her?”

“Um, sure,” I said.

My eyes searched for Lily’s. They met for the briefest moment, and then Lily marched inside and didn’t come out again. Gracie patted and cooed over Pearl, who was a perfectly behaved marshmallow, although her expression seemed to say, I better be getting a treat, stat.

“If you keep petting her like that, she’ll go bald,” Adam said, coming over.

“You’re lying,” Gracie said.

“What do you think happened to Dad’s hair?” Adam shot back, and Gracie’s jaw dropped. “Go ask him if you don’t believe me.”

Gracie shot off into the house, screaming for their dad, and I tried not to laugh.

“He’ll corroborate anything,” Adam said, shrugging. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

“My grandpa got a new iPhone,” I said, making a face. I’d had to spend forever setting it up for him.

“That’s like a six-word horror story.” Adam shuddered.

“How was yours?”

“My dad and I hid out and watched Star Trek in the guest room,” Adam said. “Also, Lily’s cousins gave me shit for liking cranberry sauce.”

“It’s the most Thanksgiving part of Thanksgiving,” I said.

“Exactly,” Adam said. And then he shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly serious. “So, um, question. What did you do to make Lil so mad?”

I shook my head, sighing.

“’Cause I’m assuming the worst,” he told me. “Murder. Grand theft arson.”

“It’s grand theft auto,” I told him. “You can’t steal fire.”

“You can totally steal fire,” he said. “Like, the Olympic Torch? What do you think you’d get charged for if you ran off with that?” He raised an eyebrow. “Grand theft arson.”

I couldn’t help it, I snorted.

“Whatever you did,” he went on, “can’t be as bad as that.”

“Worse,” I said. “And now things are . . . over.”

“It’s not like you two were dating,” Adam scoffed.

I stiffened. And then I could sense the gears turning in that freakishly smart brain of his.

“Noooo,” he said. “How did I miss it? You were totally dating!”

“We were not,” I protested. But I could tell he didn’t believe me.

Screw it, I thought. What did it matter if Adam knew?

“Okay, yes, we were dating,” I admitted. “And then I messed up.”

“Shit,” Adam said seriously. “Am I going to have to beat you up for hurting my sister?”

“Or you could help us get back together?”

Adam grinned.

“I like that so much better.”

Now that Adam was willing to help, all I had to do was come up with a plan. Everything seemed either too grand or not enough. I wasn’t looking for a huge romantic gesture, but I was hoping for a meaningful one.

And then I remembered the conversation we’d had about Kintsugi. About reconstructing broken pottery with gold, and how the scars from being repaired were the most beautiful part.

Lily had said it reminded her of me, and when I’d pointed out how the objects were only beautiful after they were put back together, she’d promised to hold on to me until I was whole again.

It was the best thing anyone had ever said to me, because it was about brokenness, but it was also about hope.

I went down to the garage and dug through the trash until I found the pieces of the plate I’d shattered. They looked so small and jagged. Like they weren’t anything anymore. Like no matter what you did, you’d never be able to reassemble them in any meaningful way.

“Breakage is just part of the history,” I reminded myself.

I washed them off and mixed together a concoction of glue and gold nail polish. And then I sat there, holding the plate until I could feel the glue drying, until there was nothing left to do but let go and hope.

And so I did. Miraculously, it held. Before, the plate had been plain. Now, with the gold cracks running through it, it was worth noticing. It was special.

I cut out a little square of paper and wrote: PORTKEY. Leads to lifeguard stand on chopped chiles beach at 7 p.m. If Portkey doesn’t work, come anyway.

And then I texted Adam.

“Hey,” he said, meeting me outside. “So what’s the plan?”

“I need you to deliver this to Lily,” I told him, handing over the plate.

“A broken plate?” Adam said skeptically, staring down at it.

“It’s Kintsugi,” I told him. “And it’s not broken.”

“It’s weird,” he said.

“Your face is weird,” I told him.

“Acceptable,” he pronounced, and then he nodded slowly. “Okay, fine, I’ll give her this exceptionally ugly ashtray, but only because riding to school in her cloud of gloom is seriously harshing my vibe.”

“Trust me,” I told him. “You don’t have a vibe.”

I changed my outfit and redid my hair about a million times that night before heading down to the beach. I didn’t know what to wear that simultaneously screamed, I’m sorry, take me back, and look how cute I am, but in the end, I was pretty sure it wasn’t a striped sweater, my army jacket, and skinny jeans, which is what I went with.

“Sasha?” my grandfather asked, poking his head out of the den. He was playing a game on his new phone with the volume all the way up. “Going somewhere?”

“Just walking down to the water,” I said, “if that’s okay?”

I didn’t quite know the boundaries of what it meant to be grounded here.

“Don’t forget your jacket. Or your phone,” my grandfather said, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Got both,” I told him.

“Damn!” He grimaced at his phone. “Missed again. I’ve been trying to get that gold coin for half an hour.”

“Um, if you’re really stuck, maybe google it?” I suggested.

He stared at me in surprise.

“That’s so smart,” he said.

“Well, see you later,” I said, and then I slipped out the front door.

I didn’t know what I was going to say to Lily. Just that it had to be good. And honest.

The sun was fading fast as I walked toward the white Cape Cod–style house. Whoever lived there was home, and the whole house was lit up like a beacon, or a lighthouse.

I doubted it would help me find my way.

Lily was waiting for me at the top of the lifeguard stand. I’d pictured it differently, imagining how I would get there first, and how I’d see her small figure coming toward me, across the beach. How her hair would whip in the wind, and how she’d wave.

Except I was the one doing that.

Lily didn’t wave back.

“Hi,” she said when I got there.

“Hi,” I said, out of breath.

I climbed up and sat next to her, and we were both silent for a moment as we stared out at the dark churn of the ocean. This was it. The end of everything. Or the beginning of everything, depending on your perspective. The total and complete edge of Bayport, of California, of the continental United States, and hopefully, hopefully, not of us.

“I’m glad you came,” I said, smiling.

“I felt like I tortured you enough,” Lily said. “You’re right, we do need to talk about what happened.”

“Okay, good,” I said.

“But I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say,” Lily said.

“Before you do, can I please say something?” I asked.

“Sure. It was your Portkey,” Lily said, shrugging.

I took a deep breath. My heart was pounding, and I felt so nervous that I could barely sit still.

“I’ve known for a while I was attracted to girls,” I said. “But it scared me, so I set it aside. And then I met you and I didn’t want to ignore it anymore. I literally couldn’t. You’re amazing, and I screwed up. I lied because it was easy, and because I didn’t think I’d get caught. But I did, and I made a mess. I’ve been trying to fix it. I want to fix it. Just—tell me how I can fix it.”

Lily gave me a sad smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I don’t want to sneak around with you again. I’m not ashamed of myself, and I’m not going to hide who I am, or who I’m dating.”

She stared down at her lap for a moment, and just when I thought she wasn’t going to say anything else, she said, in a rush, “You need to accept yourself, Sasha. You need to live your truth, whatever that means for you. But what that means for me is that I can’t be with someone who’s willing to live a fake life.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling awful.

I’d thought—I don’t know what I’d thought. That Lily would take me back, that an apology would be enough if it came with a handmade gift and a little bit of fanfare.

“I deserve better than this,” she went on. “I know you didn’t mean to treat me badly, but you did. I understand why, and I get that you’re sorry, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

It hadn’t worked. My medium romantic gesture hadn’t been enough.

I stared out at the ocean, blinking back tears. I didn’t know what else to do.

“Okay,” I said, my voice thin and nothing, barely even a whisper. “Sorry.”

“Me too,” Lily said.

I glanced over at her, the stubborn set of her jaw, the defeated cast of her shoulders, the way the ocean breeze was rippling through her hair. And I thought, I want to kiss you here, on this lifeguard stand that feels like ours. I want to press my lips against yours and pretend the force of it is what controls the tides, the ocean, everything. Except I couldn’t. Lily was right there, by my side, but that was only because she was willing to hear my apology, not because she’d forgiven me. She’d made that clear. And as much as I wished I’d been able to fix everything, I also knew that she was right.

I didn’t deserve to get her back. Not like this, in secret, with the fresh-churned wake of my lies still trailing behind us.

If I gathered up every decent part of myself, Lily still deserved more. I wanted to give her the universe and then all the parallel universes alongside it. Except I was too late: It was the game we’d played the night of our first kiss, where we watched the last airplanes land.

Here we were, and it was 10:01 and now I had to keep going, even though I didn’t want to. Even though I was so close that I could see the lights twinkling from the runway. There wasn’t going to be an exception for me. At least, not tonight.

Lily wanted to keep the distance between us. She wanted me to know that it wasn’t her job to lead me out of the closet, or to fix my brokenness. That those things were up to me. She was right. Of course she was. Just like she was right about deserving better.

So I said goodbye, and that I was sorry, and I left her there, atop the lifeguard stand in the fading twilight.