Far from the Tree(79)
“No,” Maya said. “I just put it back. I used to take it out every now and then and look at it, but I just couldn’t do it. I guess,” she added after a pause, “maybe I was waiting for you two.”
Grace reached over and put her hand on Joaquin’s, stilling his movements. “Joaq,” she said, “do you want to do this?”
“Well, you—”
“No, not me. You. Do you want to do this? It’s okay if you don’t.”
“Totally, Joaquin,” Maya said. “You have . . . we know . . . fuck, I don’t know what to say.”
“No, I want to,” Joaquin said. “I want her to see me.” His voice reminded Grace of the ocean, of sand being sucked back into the sea. “It’s easier with you two.”
“Okay,” Grace said. “You’re sure?”
Joaquin nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Then I’m sure, too,” Maya said.
“I’ll drive,” Joaquin replied. “Next weekend?”
“Damn straight,” Maya said.
Grace had never thought that it could feel so good just to breathe again.
MAYA
Maya was really good at keeping secrets.
That’s probably because she had so much practice at it.
She never told anyone about the envelope in the safe, at least not until Joaquin and Grace, and she didn’t tell anyone that she was going to drive three hours to see if her biological mom was still at the address on the envelope. That secret was making her feel like something was pushing under her skin, desperate to get out.
And that made her think, of course, of Grace.
Even though she had already said sorry, she had texted Grace at least once a day since then, apologizing for stealing her phone.
Did I tell you how sorry I am? Because I am.
My, it’s fine.
I’ll buy you frozen yogurt next time.
I actually hate frozen yogurt.
Gah! I am so bad at apologizing!!!!!!
Maya still had questions, of course. She wanted to know when the baby (she couldn’t call her Peach no matter how hard she tried) had been born, if it had hurt as much as everyone says it does, if Grace had been scared before and after. She wondered if Grace would feel bad forever, if that look on her face when she had first told them about the baby would ever truly go away.
And at three a.m., when that same old insomnia crept back, Maya wondered if her mom, the one who was in rehab, missed her the same way that Grace missed her baby.
She had seen pictures of the rehab place online. It seemed nice, if a little sparse. It advertised sunshine and palm trees and recovery, but Maya thought that behind all the perks, it just looked lonely. She hated to think of her mom being lonely, or afraid, or sad, and at the same time, she was so mad at her. On the one hand, it was her mom’s own stupid fault for even being in rehab in the first place. If she really loved Maya and Lauren like she said she did, she would have stopped drinking a long time ago. She would have changed for them.
But on the other hand, Maya knew that the problem was bigger and more complicated than that, and it scared her that she didn’t know how to figure it out.
On Wednesday night at dinner (homemade meal again; her dad was really pulling it together), Maya’s dad cleared his throat and said, “So. Mom can have visitors this weekend.”
Maya’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, sauce dripping off the spaghetti and back into the bowl.
“It’s Family Weekend this Saturday at the center,” he said. He never said addiction recovery or rehab. It was always the center, like their mother had spent the two weeks at a YMCA doing water aerobics.
“I know she’d really like it if both of you were there,” Maya’s dad continued. “I’m going to go, and I’d like it if you came, too, but it’s your decision.”
“I’m totally going,” Lauren said. Maya wasn’t surprised. Lauren had always had a soft spot for their mom. The week before, Maya had spotted her standing in their parents’ closet, sniffing one of their mom’s blouses. Maya had snuck away before Lauren could see her, but it had made her feel funny and sad for the rest of the day.
She wished she had never seen her sister look so vulnerable. It made her want to zip Lauren into her hoodie and hide her away from the rest of the world.
“Maya?” her dad asked. “No pressure, of course.”
Maya raised an eyebrow. “Really? No pressure?”
Her dad just shrugged and stabbed (there really wasn’t a better word for it, Maya thought as she watched his fork) at his salad. “No pressure,” he repeated. “If you want to go, we’d love to have you. But if you still need more time, I understand. And Mom will understand, too.” His eyes were gentle as he looked over at Maya, then reached over and patted her hand. “I know it’s intense, sweetie.”
Maya just nodded. Dad, she thought to herself, you have no idea.
She had absolutely zero intentions of going out to her mom’s rehab center, not when she had possibly life-altering plans with Grace and Joaquin.
Maya also had zero intentions of telling her dad about said life-altering plans. She knew he would squash them immediately, or insist on going with her, or sending a letter first before going to the house, and Maya wasn’t interested in any of those options.