“No one knew,” I choke out. I’m beginning to think that’s the problem, the way I can only exist in extremes. I’m sober or blacked out. I say everything or nothing at all. Maybe I should have told someone about Dad’s health instead of gritting my teeth and carrying it alone, but it was so much, and I didn’t think anyone gave a shit. After the way I’d been, I didn’t see why anyone would.
“You can talk to me about anything, you know,” Gin says. “Anything, anytime.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her eyes slit, two slivers of mossy tree bark. “I feel like everyone’s been keeping secrets from me this summer.”
“You literally just revealed that you bought a house without telling anyone,” I point out, and Gin’s mouth twists to the side.
“Okay, valid. But still. The memorial concert, Renee’s job…I mean, Kurt and your mom? Why didn’t you tell me about that?”
I swallow a few too-honest versions of the truth before landing on “You’ve been pretty wrapped up in the wedding.”
“Fair.” Gin blows a sigh up into her bangs. “But you’re allowed to make me listen, you know. You’re allowed to tell me you need me. How else am I supposed to know? This is all so…big.”
Bigger than she knows. I need time to sort through the story well enough to tell it—how I tried to surprise Mom and Kurt surprised me instead, how I wound up outside Tweedy’s, where Renee saved me from myself.
“It is big,” I agree. “And…complicated. And with the wedding and everything, I just kind of…I don’t know, set it on the back burner. Like I could ignore it for a while and work through it on my own time without having to talk about it.”
“Has anyone ever worked through something without talking about it?” Gin challenges.
I bite my cheek. She has a point. “Maybe I could’ve been the first?”
“I’m serious, Alice. You can talk about something without having it all figured out. That’s thepointof talking it through.”
“I just never want to say too much,” I admit. “Or the wrong thing.”
“But what if there is no wrong thing?” Gin presses. “There’s never an exact right thing to say or the perfect time to say it. Anddon’t get me wrong. It’s impressive, the way you’ve slowed down and…I don’t know, installed a filter between your brain and your mouth? But you don’t have to filtereverythingout. It’s not all or nothing. You can just be honest and hope for the best.”
Something like a tectonic plate shifts inside me. Maybe I’m reading too much into the glint in Gin’s eyes, but I’m not so sure we’re talking about Mom and Kurt anymore.
“I don’t know. I’m just…bad at this kind of stuff.” I look down at my feet, and Gin nudges my leg.
“You’re not as bad at it as you think you are,” she says. “Give yourself a little grace.”
“I’ve already gotten more grace than I deserve.”
“It wouldn’t be grace if you deserved it. It’s not something you earn. You just give it out to the people you love and hope you get a little bit back.” Gin clears her throat, eyes bouncing away into the dark. “Like…when your in-laws’ backyard floods and your bridesmaids have to rescue your entire wedding in a week?”
A laugh fires out of me like a shot from a cannon. It is a little ludicrous—not just the mayhem of this past week but all the wild left turns along the way. The stain on the engagement-party dress. The smell of Gin’s hair as it went up in flames. The slithery wet snake pit of rain-soaked feather boas. What a gift, to have topped off all our old memories with some fresh new ones—some good, some bad, most a swirling blend of both.Tomorrow, I think,will be the worst and best of all. But that’s tomorrow. Tonight, it’s just Gin and me, together on the same porch swing like so many times before. Chrissy’s not around to capture the moment, so I squeeze my eyes shut, snapping a mental picture I’m sure to revisit again and again, year after year. No matter where we live or how things change.
Only after the Bhats have gone to bed do we remember that the bedroom situation remains unresolved. There are five of them, and we have four couples, plus me, and of course—
“Renee and Alice, would you mind sharing a room?”
I don’t know who asks, but before I can even catch my breath—
“I’ll take the couch,” Renee says.
Dad,
’Twas the night before Gone Day, and all through the Outpost, not a creature was awake enough to finish this joke.
I’m not going to make it to midnight tonight. I’m fading just writing this while brushing my teeth, but I don’t think I need to stay up. I don’t need to prove to myself that I can face a hard day. I’ve done 364 hard days, and this is just one more.
Anyway. I’m going to bed. I just wanted to drop you a quick note to say I love you, Dad.
Love,
