Date: October 4, 1998
Hey Shane,
I know it’s been like forever since we’ve talked and if you still don’t want to talk to me that’s ok.
I just wanted to tell you that I found that pic of you and Ethan in my stuff. I completely forgot about it honestly. I stuck it in a box somewhere and didn’t think about it anymore. Itjust reminded me of all the shit that went down at graduation, and I just wanted you to know that I’m not like pissed about it anymore. It’s obvious you had a thing for Ethan, and he had a thing for you. It was a huge dick move for me to act the way that I did, and I’m really sorry about it now.
I also did something else really shitty, and I know you’re going to hate me more than you already do. I don’t want to put it in an email, though. I’d rather talk to you about it, face-to-face. I heard you were with Gina and have a kid now, so I’m not sure of your number anymore, but my cell is 315-555-4789 and my pager is 315-555-2369. I’d like to talk to you.
Please give me a call soon. I miss you.
Ev
20
Epilogue
Shane
March 1999
There’s no such thing as black roses.
Like, they’re not something that just grows in nature.
It’s kind of embarrassing that I only figure that out after calling the floral department at Wade’s in Lowville and the one at Price Chopper in Boonville. But the guy who answers the phone at Price Chopper gives me the name and address of a craft store in Watertown.
After getting out the phone book again to make another phone call, I decide I’ll just have to make the trek up to Watertown and browse through the fake flowers at a craft store before Ethan gets to Port Leyden for his Spring Break.
I wish we could have gone somewhere warmer, but in his last email to me, Ethan said he was cool just spending his break here. I feel kind of bad about it. This town is lame compared to NYC. So, I wanted to do something romantic for him. Rose petals arealways romantic, but I wanted to go the extra mile and have black rose petals for Ethan.
The only person I’ve told about us so far is Gina. Ethan hasn’t said if he’s told his parents. I’ve worn his lock-necklace every day under my coat at the work site. No one’s seen it, so no one has to ask. I don’t know what I’ll say yet, if and when they do.
Before I get ready to drive up to Watertown, I have to make another phone call. I’m going to make a stop first before the craft store. Gina helps me get Mikayla all bundled up in her purple unicorn coat and green unicorn earmuffs. Mikayla picks out yellow mittens and black boots to go with her mismatched outfit. I comb Mikayla’s wavy hair into a princess hair clip that I know won’t look as neat as it does now once we get to Watertown.
I haven’t been up this way in a while, so there are some new things that I note while Mikayla chatters my ear off and sings along to the kids' CD I bought for her. There’s been some construction where they’ve widened the road. And there used to be an old shack off the side of the road that’s gone now. I’m surprised I remember it. I think it’s been years.
When I was a minor, I wasn’t allowed to see my mother without an adult with me. It was the rule. And since my grandparents didn’t travel well, going to see my mother went from rare to not at all. I hate to say that I forgot about her, because that’s not really true. I can’t justforgetmy mother. I guess I just assume she doesn’t want to see me.
Or that she’s forgotten about me.
It’s possible. The last time I saw her, she hardly acknowledged me at all. But maybe this time will be different. I’m not counting on it, but it’s about time I made this trip as an adult.
When we get to the home, I carry Mikayla inside to the front desk. I have to sign in and show my ID, then the desk clerk points to the left and says my mom’s room number, but I forget it when one of Mikayla’s boots come off, so we have to stopand fix it. I walk down a couple of hallways searching for my mother’s name—Nicole Carraway—until I see it.
The door is ajar, and I peek inside. I see a woman with graying brown hair, pulled back in a French braid, wearing a maroon sweater, sitting on the side of the bed, her back facing me.
I knock lightly on the door. “Mom?”
She turns around, and I see her cheeks are more hollow than I remember, making her eyes look wider as she watches me step into her room.
“Hi,” I say to her.
“Hi,” Mikayla repeats.
My mom’s mouth spreads out into a grin. “David! You came back!”
I pull over a chair from a desk to sit in front of her. I set Mikayla on my lap. “It’s me, Mom. I’m your son. Shane.”
