Lakewood(52)

Lena’s grandparents had divorced when she was young; her grandfather was still alive but had not come to Miss Toni’s funeral. What Lena knew of her father was his people were from the East. It was a phrase she loved. It made her sound as if she came from a long line of fairy-tale witches. Deziree’s people were mostly from Michigan. Although with her grandmother now gone, stories about them could only be found in these boxes.

Lena put the boxes down by her bed and tucked the story carefully back in. She slid between her covers, looking up at the ceiling. A dark spider was centimetering its way across the ceiling. Outside, the neighborhood was completely awake. Cars backing out of garages. Miss Claire and Miss Cassandra loudly talking and probably power walking up and down the street. Miss Claire in her old pink tracksuit, Miss Cassandra dressed as if heading to church, in a long, conservative floral skirt. They had been doing the same rotation for the last six years. Up and down Lena’s street for four blocks, one block up and over, then turn. Three blocks to the left and three blocks to the right, they knew, it was unsafe now for two older ladies on their own. In Lakewood, everyone bragged about how safe it was. People kept their doors and windows unlocked. There hadn’t been a murder in 30 years.

“Are you okay?” Deziree whispered. Lena opened her eyes, rubbed them. Her mom was wearing bright-red lipstick. Her skin looked dewy.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“All day.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You needed the rest.”

“You look great,” Lena said. She sat up. Her mother was wearing black jeans and a navy-and-white-striped T-shirt that was Lena’s. Her grandmother would’ve hated Deziree’s lipstick color.

“I want to wear heels, but I know if something happens, I’ll probably get hurt worse if I fall.”

“Does he know?”

“He knows about almost everything. He knows that sometimes I have to use a wheelchair. But there’s a difference between me saying the wrong word or having to ask him to repeat himself and, you know.”

Lena nodded.

“You should fix your hair,” her mother said. “Brush your teeth.”

Before Lena could say she didn’t think she was ready to meet Miguel, her mother had turned and headed back to her bedroom. Lena went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth. Tried to ignore the dark circles under her eyes.

In her dream, she had been on a playground. Kids had been throwing dodgeballs and plastic ponies at Lena. Every time one hit her, she died. Exploded. And then was re-formed slightly different. The kids laughed every time it happened. Didn’t care when she tried to talk about the excruciating pain or tried to get them to see her as a person.

Lena moisturized her face. Tricked her hair into getting into a low side bun.

Out in the living room, her mom was excited and buzzy. She must really like him, Lena thought, and told herself to be cool. What if he was gross? What if he was too hot—so attractive as to make her uncomfortable all the time? What if he was super-young or super-old?

There was a knock at the door. Deziree opened it, and in walked Tanya, Kelly, and Stacy. They were holding bags of Chinese food, bottles of wine. “Surprise,” Deziree said. All three of them were grinning.





21


It would have been easier if Lena’s friends held grudges. But every time Lena apologized for how distant she had been or asked a question to catch up on the missed time, they smiled. Tanya said stop apologizing. Kelly talked about how he sent money home to his family. Said things that should have been corny, like “Family takes care of each other,” that made Lena look at the ground and feel tears gathering. And Stacy was laughing and dishing out plates of food for everyone, pouring wine, telling a story about being at a recent drag show that made them all laugh and gasp. He was clearly exaggerating to make them all comfortable, but it worked.

And Lena was drinking wine, glass after glass. Tanya kept pouring. “You’re on vacation.”

Kelly told her, when they were alone, that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He leaned forward.

“Then why haven’t you said anything?” Lena asked, spilling drops of wine on the table as she gestured with her glass.

“I was being smooth.” Kelly pulled out his phone, took a picture of Lena and showed it to her. She was laughing and her eyes were half-closed. Lena’s impulse was to take his phone, delete it. The photo wasn’t unflattering; it was too intimate. It was a photo you took of your girlfriend, not the girl you sent pictures of sneakers or Chinatown or a sunrise.

“I look drunk,” Lena said.

And then she and Tanya were laughing and talking in the living room while the boys put the food away, wiped down the kitchen. Lena noticed she was occasionally saying the wrong words: camping instead of work, list instead of missed. Tanya didn’t comment on it. Lena hoped it was because of the wine, how exhausted she was. It was something that happened to people all the time.

“I might be in love.” Tanya sounded embarrassed. Her lips were wine-slapped.

“You should be happy,” Lena said, adding five extra A’s to the word.

“I’m twenty-one. It’s a year of my life and then we’ll have a fight, or we’ll get bored and one day it’ll be embarrassing that I ever loved him.”

“Do you really feel that way or do you want to feel that way?”