When I drove away from Haven’s house earlier this morning, I thought foolishly that that would be it. I’d closed the book, and I would be able to go on and mind my own business and live my own life. But the moment I walk back inside my parents’ house, I see Mom and Dad sitting at the dining table eating. They’re deep in conversation about something, but then they hear my footsteps, and abruptly, they stop talking. They turn to face me, and what strikes me is the complete lack of affection in their faces. Their coldness and sterility are made even more apparent now, after I’ve experienced Mrs. Lee’s kindness a mere half hour ago.
“Fern,” Mom says, “would you like some lunch?” Her voice is so even, like she’s a waiter asking me what I’d like to order.
I open my mouth to say yes, I’m starving actually, but the thought of having to spend any time at the table with them and listen to the sounds of our mouths chewing in the tense silence is too much. “No.” I turn around and go back outside. I feel strange, like everything around me has become fuzzy, almost unreal. Aliyah once observed that I havea habit of slipping through the cracks in reality and falling into a world of my own. She taught me to do grounding exercises to keep me firmly tethered in the present. I try to do them now, but still I feel my grasp on reality swimming away.
The next few moments are blips with time skips. Blip. I’m in my car. Blip. I’m driving. Blip. Haven’s street comes into view. Blip. I’ve parked across the street, a few houses down, and I’m just gazing out of the window.
I give myself a small shake to bring me back to the present. What are you doing? I ask myself. Stop this.
Stop what? I’m not doing anything. I’m just sitting here. And it’s different from the other night. I’m not upset at all. I’m not here to rip out her cables again, that’s for sure. In fact, I’m the opposite of upset. I’m Zen. I’m a river of calm, floating peacefully by. I just wanted to come back and sit here and savor the aura of Haven’s family, that’s all. I’m not even going to come out of my car, I promise myself.
Having won the argument against myself, I take out my phone and open up Slack. Haven has posted in the #celebrations channel.
Haven:Oh my gosh you folks are the best!!!!!!I can’t believe you did this!!! I do not deserve you!!!
Underneath that is a photo of Haven and her parents posing with the giant card, the espresso machine, and the baked goods. People have already started replying.
Felicity:Haven!! Don’t be silly, of course you deserve this and more!! We wanted to cheer you guys up after the nightmare you’ve had to endure!
Lisa:Yes, we’re so glad you’re all home and safe!!
Jenna:So glad you received it! Just FYI, Fern was the one who came up with the idea and put everything together. She even bought the espresso machine and baked everything. The rest of us just sent her the Post-It notes, lol!
Oh, Jenna. She can’t help, even now, but to be on my side. She is a true friend, someone who goes out of her way to make me look good. Smiling, I chime in.
Fern:Felicity was the one who came up with the idea of getting you an espresso machine, so I can’t take credit for it!
Felicity:Oh I only suggested it, Fern was the one who actually went and bought one. With her own money too. Fern you are so wonderful. I love this so much, women supporting other women!!
Haven:Oh wow, you really shouldn’t have, Fern. Thank you so much! This is truly too wonderful for words. And all of the breads you baked smell sooo delicious. I’m actually toasting up a few slices right now to share with my mom and dad! They’re so grateful too.Thank You Again Everyone
Pleasure courses through me like golden sunlight washing over me, warming me up from the core to the surface. It’s so true what they say, that giving meaningful gifts to others is so much more rewarding than spending money on yourself. Look at me, I think. I wanted to be a good person, and so I became one. I feel so utterly at peace right now. With a happy sigh, I put my hand on the steering wheel and am about to start up the car when Haven’s side door opens. I freeze, not wanting tomake any movement that might attract attention. I’m parked far away enough that I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t notice me, but I’m not taking any chances right now. I’m staying put until she’s gone back inside.
Haven comes out with her arms full. I squint, craning my neck toward the window, and when I see what she’s carrying, I actually go, “Huh?” out loud. Because she’s carrying a bunch of familiar-looking cardboard boxes. Boxes that I ordered online and folded into shape with my own two hands. Boxes that are filled with my breads. As I watch, she opens up her trash and recycling bins, then empties the boxes one by one into the trash. When she’s done, she stomps on the boxes, flattening them, and shoves them into the recycling. Then she wipes her hands on her pants and walks back into the house, closing the door tight behind her.
My hands strangle the steering wheel. Did I just imagine it? I must have, because what I have just seen makes no sense whatsoever. Why would Haven do this? She thanked me so warmly in person and so profusely online only to turn around and throw all my hard work in the literal trash can? No. It must be a mistake. The boxes I bought were plain brown boxes, so I could’ve easily mixed them up with some other nondescript brown boxes. Maybe she ordered stuff online, and it arrived spoiled or something. I sit there for a long while, tapping my fingernails against the steering wheel in a rapid staccato. I have to check. I have to know.
I get out of the car, and, after one quick look around me, I stride toward Haven’s house. If she were to come out right now and see me, I’ll just say that I came back because I’d mistakenly given her a box of bagels I’d baked for a different friend of mine. But no one comes out of the house. In fact, I notice that the front curtains are down, so I have no idea what’s going on inside. I jog the rest of the way to the bins and lift the lid off the trash can. And sure enough, inside it, sitting atop plastic bags of trash, is a pile of freshly baked bread.
Even though I’d known that what Haven was throwing away had to have been my breads, seeing them now, sitting in a sad pile like this,is still a gut punch. Or a chest punch, maybe, because I feel winded. It takes a surprising amount of effort for me to draw breath. The bagels are there, and the sourdough loaf and the cinnamon rolls, which didn’t survive their tumble and have fallen apart. For a moment, I have an out-of-body experience. I watch over my shoulder as I take out my phone and open the camera app. I take several photos of the breads, then I stalk off back to my car. I watch myself drive home at a sensible speed, my face betraying no emotion. I go up to my room after saying a cursory greeting to my parents, then I lie down on my bed and stare up at the popcorn ceiling again.
That’s when I slam back into my body. I gasp out loud as the emotions come crashing over me. What a painfully familiar feeling this is. I was here before, years ago, as a kid, helpless as Haven wrenched the tray of cinnamon rolls I’d baked for the school’s bake sale out of my hands and tipped the whole thing onto the floor. I simply stood there, frozen, not doing anything. She stomped one foot on a bun, then again and again, until no roll survived. Nothing but a mess of trampled maple frosting and crumbs. And she’d hissed, “No one wants to eat your food, you freak.” Before shoving me with such vehemence that I fell on my ass. Then she whirled around and sauntered away, as though she couldn’t even be bothered to make a quick getaway, as though it didn’t matter to her whether she got caught or not, because even back then, Haven knew she was untouchable.
But this is different. That was for a bake sale. This was for Haven. An olive branch, just for her. Why would she throw it away? How is it possible for one person to hold on to all this hate toward me? Tears spring into my eyes, and I curl up into a fetal position, hiding my face from the light. I weep into my bed, muffling the sobs with my pillow. I sob for myself, for all those hours I just spent in the kitchen, baking for Haven. I sob for my past self, that harmless little kid who for whatever reason found herself within Haven’s crosshairs.
When I’m done crying, I feel spent, like my insides have all been wrung out and there’s nothing left. I take a long, hot shower, standingunder the scalding spray and imagining the water washing all my troubles away. I feel slightly better afterward, but as I towel myself dry, I catch sight of my reflection, and I stop. I look closer, studying my features. I’ve never been accused of being beautiful. Not like Haven, that’s for sure. At best, I can be described as nondescript. I wouldn’t call myself ugly, but neither do I have any distinct features that would make me memorable. I should’ve been a spy. I would’ve made a great one. Nobody would even remember my presence. The thought is so ridiculous it makes me laugh, a strange, warped sound. I stop laughing abruptly and glare once more at my reflection. Stupid bitch, I think. Stupid cowardly bitch. Why did you have to roll over and expose your soft, vulnerable belly? Especially after all the shit she’s done to you. Do you have so little regard for yourself? Have some fucking self-respect. Are you going to just sit there and let Haven trample over you like you did back in school? Did you forget how it ended? How Dani lost her life because of it?
“No,” I whisper.
Good, my reflection says. Then you know what you need to do.
“Yes.” I straighten up, pulling my shoulders back. My naked body is small but wiry. I was never built to be a fighter, but what I’ve just realized is I was built to be a skirmisher. Pop up quick, do some damage, and run away to live and fight another day. I’m no warrior, and that’s okay. I finish drying myself off, wrap the towel around myself, and walk back into my bedroom. I lock the door and let the towel fall onto the floor. I stand in front of my mirror, naked, and stretch my lips into a smile. I may not be a looker, but I have a nice smile. Sincere and shy, it makes me look innocent.
I hold it there while I reach for my phone and open Slack. I go onto the channel that I’d created when I thought of doing something nice for Haven, the one that has everybody except for Haven in it. I scroll up for a while, skimming through our past messages. Now that the gift is done, the channel is pretty much dead. But maybe it’s time to revive it.No. It’s too forward if it comes from me. Instead, I switch over to the private chat I have with Lisa and Jenna.
Fern:Hey guys? Can I just vent here for a second?
Lisa:Umm,Always! You don’t have to ask!
