Chapter 25
Graham
As soon as I read the first article I knew I was in trouble. Lior was a gifted writer. Insightful. Witty. And kind. Her words mesmerized, and I felt like I was falling down a rabbit hole I’d never find my way out of if I didn’t leave now. Or at least soon… after I read one more of the articles she’d compiled in the binder now sitting in my lap.
When I finally looked up again, Lior was curled up on the sofa, absentmindedly petting Brontë who was lying on the floor in front of her.
“Lior,” I said, sitting up, my eyes still on the last article I’d read. “These are good. Really good. Why aren’t you using your name on them?”
She looked up from the book she was reading and then down at the binder.
“I have to keep them separate.”
“Why?”
She gave B a last pet, set down the book, and sat up.
“Years ago, Addie and I came home from a high school party feeling sad and discouraged. The boy Addie liked had been chasing another girl all night, and I was on the back end of a major growth spurt and hadn’t yet found clothes to fit my new gangly body. My jeans were too baggy and too short, my shirt hugged nothing of note, and I’d had an unfortunate run-in with my curling iron that evening that left a one-inch singe mark on my forehead. I’d been teased by Katee, one of the more popular girls, and we’d left early to drown our sorrows in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Each.
When we got back to my house, my mother took one look at us and sat us down. Now, normally she’d have only commented on our ice cream consumption and let my stepdad Cal deal with our sad-sack selves, but for whatever reason, on this night, she imparted some wisdom, raising her hand to head height and circling it.”
She demonstrated.
“I’d rolled my eyes, of course, and shoved a huge bite of Coffee Toffee Bar Crunch in my mouth. But she was adamant. She told us to exist up here.” Lior kept circling her hand. “To rise above the bullshit. To never, never give anyone else the power to bring us down. We. Exist. Up. Here. We live up here. We don’t lower ourselves to their level. We don’t let them pull us down. We keep ourselves separate and never let them in where they can hurt us. We are better than that. We are better than all of them.”
She dropped her hand and sighed.
“My mother, who I’d never understood and who kept me at arm’s length distance, perhaps wasn’t the empty shell of a person I’d always thought her to be. I’d realized in that moment that she’d become accustomed to hiding her feeling out of a need to survive in a world that was often cruel to women. She kept herself separate. She created walls. By existing up here.” Lior raised her hand again. “Even with me. Her own daughter. Which of course took away what could’ve been a loving and nurturing relationship between us, and instead turned it into one where I was nitpicked and criticized for nearly everything I did and said. But still, that moment had made me see something. It had allowed me to know something about her. And though our relationship didn’t change – and in fact became more strained as the years went on – having that tiny bit of knowledge made me tolerate her when I might not have otherwise. That knowledge also taught me to keep part of me separate too. From her initially. And then to anyone not Addie. Because one day I would become as famous, if not more so, than she had been. And keeping a part of me for me has been my saving grace.”
I nodded, but inside I ached for her. For what she’d lost by keeping parts of herself back. I understood it – having had to learn to keep some things private in this age of too much information, but the toll it had taken on her was obvious to me now. She was exhausted. She lived in a cage, albeit a beautiful one, but that didn’t change the fact that it was indeed a cage.
“I get it,” I said. “But it’s a crime people don’t know it’s you.”
“They might,” she said, pulling at a thread on the armchair. “One day.”
“Oh?” I set the binder on the coffee table and leaned forward.
She shrugged, not meeting my eyes, her wall trying to erect itself back into place.
“Your secret’s safe with me, Lior.”
She chewed her lip, a nervous habit I was endeared to now, and then shrugged. Almost to herself, as if she’d been having a conversation inside her head.
“I have a friend in Seattle that works for a major newspaper there,” she said. “She’s been trying to get me to come on board as a regular columnist for the past couple of years and I’m finally considering it. But it would mean changing my life somewhat. I’ve been thinking for a while now that maybe it’s time to scale back modeling… but the thought of that is also hard. It’s scary to think about giving up what I’ve built here.”
“That’s understandable,” I said. “Big life changes are terrifying. But they can also be amazing. New chapter and all that. Would you move to Seattle?”
“That’s part of what I’m considering. And what I was going to be researching today. Houses… neighborhoods…”
“Marley would freak out if you moved to Seattle. Maybe don’t tell her. She’ll never stop asking you to go shopping with her.”
“I mean… that seems like something to go in the pro column.” She grinned.
I hesitated telling her I’d been thinking of moving myself. To Seattle, no less. Partially because of Marley, but also because New York had lost a bit of its shine for me in the past couple of years. I yearned for new scenery, roads I’d never traveled before, a different muse to play with. And after my trip to see where Marley would be attending college, I’d found myself a bit smitten with Seattle. The views were incredible and I ached to see those mountains up close. Plus, Lior had told us it was only a couple of hours to the coast as well. Maybe I’d become a whole new me. Buy a little trailer and take road trips around the state. Learn to snowboard. Get a kayak and go looking for orcas…
“What’s that look on your face?” Lior asked.
“Nothing.”
