FORTY-FIVE
After parking our car underground, where all the maintenance and catering vans park and where our belongings will be safe from the elements, we take the service elevator to the fourth floor, where we’ve been given a room with two queen beds.
The entire hotel is lush in black-and-white textured wallpaper with splashes of red orchids in extravagant vases, and if I were here under any other circumstances, I might take the time to appreciate it all. But instead I kick off my shoes as my dad pulls the blackout curtains tight against the rising sun, and we both pass out in the clothes we are wearing.
As I drift off to sleep, I wonder what it must be like for my dad to finally spend the night in the beautiful hotel he’s spent all these years cooking in and maintaining.
I wake a few hours later to find my dad snoring lightly. My entire body screams like I’ve been in a car crash as I push the blankets back and walk to the window. Bracing myselffor the harsh sunlight, I open the curtains a sliver.
Once my eyes adjust, I’m greeted by a wet world, with branches and debris strewn everywhere, with lawn chairs and umbrellas littering the pool. There’s not much real damage here, but there are a few ancient trees that have been turned into nothing more than snapped twigs by the previous night’s storm.
If this had been a hurricane, she’d have a name, but instead we’ll just call her the storm. Or maybe she’ll be known as the Eulogy Prom Night Tornado, like some kind of horror movie. Last night will be remembered as many things for all of us, but for me, the first thing it will always be is the night I became an aunt.
In the bathroom, I find the box of toiletries I gathered from our trailer. It’s full of random things I’d never use on a daily basis.
I sit down at the vanity to sort through it and hopefully find some deodorant and a toothbrush when I come across the scissors Hattie always used to trim my hair. Heavy and sharp with an orange handle, they were technically kitchen scissors meant to be used to trim the fat and gristle off meat, but we’d found a better use for them.
My long dark-blond roots melt into a grayish blue. I reach for my brush to comb through a few knots that sit like speed bumps in my otherwise limp hair. But then I put it down and reach for the scissors. It’s been a while since Hattie’s colored my hair, and I can almost imagine myself without the blue hair. I can almost see what I must have looked like before.
I do it without thinking at first. And then once I’ve snipped one piece, I can’t stop. I don’t want to.
I try not to cut recklessly and instead concentrate on cutting the blue out of my hair as I snip close to the scalp. My roots have grown out by an inch and a half or two, so I keep cutting until all the blue is on the floor and free from my head.
Every time I hear the sharp sound of scissors snipping, I’m reminded of the thousands of hours Hattie and I spent maintaining my hair and keeping it that perfect shade of blue. I remember the night I broke things off with Freddie and I came home with my hair in tangles, and the only person who could loosen each knot was my sister.
I love Hattie. I will love her forever. But with every snip, I need her a little less, and somehow that allows me to love her a little more. Last night, when she chose Tyler to join her in the operating room, I felt betrayed and lost.
I don’t know if Tyler will be there for her when she and Sara need him most. I don’t know if he will provide for them or if he’s even emotionally capable of being the father that Sara deserves. I don’t know if Hattie’s making a mistake or not, but whatever it is, it’s a decision that Hattie must make on her own.
I’m her sister. I will always be here to pick up the pieces, but it’s time I make some mistakes of my own.
MAY
FORTY-SIX
We stayed in the hotel for a few nights before my dad struck a deal with one of the local extended-stay hotels. I kicked in some of my money for the first two weeks until he got his paycheck, but he refused any other help, so I pitch in with things like groceries and other stuff he doesn’t so easily notice.
Hattie, Sara, and Tyler moved in with his mom. Tyler’s mom didn’t let him off the hook, though. She made him promise to ask for more hours at work and pitch in for utilities and groceries. At first Dad was hesitant for Hattie to move out, but Mrs. Porter showed up to the hospital the morning after the storm in a lavender T-shirt that saidI’m the Grandma in Charge Here, allaying any of our doubts.
Once things have settled a little, I walk to Hall of Fame, the sporting-goods store downtown, one day after school.
Inside, I peruse the rack of women’s swimsuits. Coach Pru says that swimsuits made for actual swimmers are cut longer and that I should pick up one or two. I take a blackone, a red one, and a blue one to try on.
After the clerk lets me into the fitting room stall, I slip on the blue one and am shocked to find that it fits. Now, if I were even half an inch taller, I might be in trouble, but it actually fits.
I step closer to the mirror and study the subtle pattern. The suit almost glistens, and the diamond design looks like the sun reflecting off the water, and I sort of like the idea of how this suit could be my own personal camouflage.
I check the tag and groan loudly.
“You okay in there?” the clerk asks over the sports radio broadcast.
“Fine,” I answer.
What Coach Pru failed to mention was that a suit like this is... an investment. I sit down on the bench.
I remember finding my chocolate box intact and what a relief that was. But what if it had been gone? What if my life savings had been torn to pieces and strewn across the entire trailer park? What good would it do me then?
I stand with my hands on my hips, examining myself in the dusty mirror. Aside from my dingy white socks, I look like a fierce competitor. Maybe this is more money than Ramona from last month would have ever spent on a swimsuit, but it is an investment. In myself.
