We Are Okay(42)

“I know,” Mabel says. “I understand.”

“Thank you for coming,” I say.

The hours stretch on, and I fall in and out of sleep, and at some point she slips out of bed and out of the room. She stays away for a long time, and I try to stay awake until she comes back, but I just wait and wait and wait.

When I wake up again at the first light of the morning, she’s back in Hannah’s bed, sleeping with her arm covering her eyes as if she could stave off the day.





chapter twenty-four



WHEN I OPEN MY EYES AGAIN, she isn’t here. I’m seized with panic that I’ve missed her altogether, that she’s already gone and I haven’t gotten to say good-bye.

But here is her duffel open in the middle of my floor.

The thought of her slinging it over her shoulder and walking out is enough to make me double over. I have to fill the minutes between now and then with as much as I can.

I climb out of bed and take out the gifts I bought. I wish I had wrapping paper or at least some ribbon, but the tissue paper will have to do. I put on a bra and change into jeans and a T-shirt. I brush my hair. For some reason I don’t want to be in my pajamas when I walk her down the stairs.

“Hey,” she says from the doorway.

“Good morning,” I say, trying not to cry. “I’ll be right back.”

I rush through peeing and brushing my teeth so that I can be back there, with her. I catch her before she zips up her suitcase.

“I was thinking we could wrap this in your clothes,” I say, and hand her the vase I bought for her parents. She takes it from me and nestles it into her things. She goes to reach for the zipper but I stop her.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” I say.

“Shouldn’t I wait?” she asks.

“Lots of people exchange gifts on Christmas Eve.”

“But the thing I got you is—”

“I know. It doesn’t matter. I want to see you open it.”

She nods.

“Close your eyes,” I say again.

She closes them. I look at her. I wish her everything good. A friendly cab driver and short lines through security. A flight with no turbulence and an empty seat next to her. A beautiful Christmas. I wish her more happiness than can fit in a person. I wish her the kind of happiness that spills over.

I place the bell into her open palms.

She opens her eyes and unwraps it.

“You noticed,” she says.

“Ring it.”

She does, and the tone lingers and we wait quietly until it’s over.

“Thank you,” she says. “It’s so pretty.”

She slings her bag over her shoulder, and it hurts just as much as I expected it to. I follow her into the elevator. When we get to the door, the cab is waiting in a sea of white.

“You’re sure, right?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

She looks out the window.

She bites a nail.

“You’re sure you’re sure?”

I nod.

She takes a deep breath, manages a smile.

“Okay. Well. I’ll see you soon.”

She steps toward me and hugs me tight. I close my eyes. There will come a time soon—any second—when she’ll pull away and this will be over. In my mind, we keep ending, ending. I try to stay here, now, for as long as we can.

I don’t care that her sweater is scratchy. I don’t care that the cab driver is waiting. I feel her rib cage expand and retract. We stay and stay.

Until she lets me go.

“See you soon,” I say, but the words come out thick with despair.

I’m making the wrong choice.

The glass door opens. Cold rushes in.

She steps outside and shuts the door behind her.



When I lived with Jones and Agnes, it was their daughter, Samantha, who made me breakfast. Wheat bread and applesauce, every morning. We ate matching meals, perched on the stools in their kitchen. She’d look over my homework if I had questions, but I remember not wanting to ask for much help. She’d always scrunch up her forehead and say how it had been a long time since she learned this stuff. She’d figure it out eventually and talk me through it, but it was more fun to ask about her magazines because she delighted in talking about them. I learned what DUIs were because Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie both got them. The news of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes’s wedding was everywhere. I learned what to wait for with each new issue’s release.

I rarely saw Jones and Agnes until after school, because they slept late and entrusted Samantha with my morning care. She was always nice to me after that. She always did my nails for free.

I don’t have her number anymore. It’s been a long time since she’s lived with her parents. I wish I had it now. I call the salon, just in case she’s there early doing work before it opens, but the phone rings and rings and then goes to voice mail. I listen to her voice slowly stating the hours and location.

I pace the room for a while, waiting for it to be ten in San Francisco. As soon as it’s one here, I press call.

“It’s you,” Jones says when I say hello.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s me.”

“Where are you?”

“School.”