Honey Girl(74)

“You’re here right now,” she murmurs softly. “We’re both here, together, right now.”

“We are,” Mom whispers fiercely. She holds Grace as she shivers. “I am so goddamn proud of you, and I hope you believe that.”

Grace squeezes her eyes shut. “Can you say it again?”

Mom laughs quietly. “I’ll say it till I’m blue in the face. I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so good.”

After, Grace finds herself sitting on the edge of her bed with her phone in hand. It’s been turned off since August, gathering dust in her drawer. There’s a voice in her head that says she isn’t ready, that she has more work to do. But Grace will always have work to do. This—being kind to herself, not trying to be perfect, not hurting herself in her quest to find the best and be the best—will always be work. It will take all that’s within her to learn that she does not have to grind her bones to dust, that needing to stop, needing to breathe, needing other people, is not weak.

She is full to bursting with wanting to talk to her friends. Wanting to show them all what she has accomplished here, but even more, wanting to hear about them. Saying, I am getting stronger, strong enough that you can lean on me, too.

Plus, there’s no way she can officiate a wedding without having at least one of her friends in the crowd.

She turns on her phone. She ignores all the notifications that immediately come through, swiping away before she can read them. She opens a chat, the group chat with all her friends in Portland that have become family.

Grace
4:45 p.m.
i’m here now
are you there?
Her phone buzzes with incoming texts. None of them call, which is a relief. She needs a little more time before she can speak any words out loud. She needs time to hold them up to the light, and make sure these, at least, do not break down.

The messages come through, filled with comfort and outrage and love. Grace presses her phone to her chest and laughs.



Eighteen


She cries the first time she sees Ximena and Agnes on-screen after what feels like months and months and months.

She rushes home from the fresh market, catching the attention of Saffiya, who runs the vegetable stand on the alternating days with her father.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” she asks, eyes sly under her floral hijab. “You usually stick around and try to get free food.”

Grace frowns. “You’re exposing me so loud right now,” she says, and Saffiya laughs. “I just have an appointment, I guess? Let’s go with that.”

Raised eyebrows greet her. “A girl?”

“Yes, but not like that,” she says, and ignores the ache. “Some friends from back home.”

Saffiya waves her hand. “Far be it from me to keep you, Grace Porter,” she says. “But you know Old Maria likes you best. She always gives you the best papayas.”

“Maybe because I don’t call her Old Maria,” Grace points out, shoving her backpack on. “Try calling her by her name and see what happens!” she calls, racing for her bike.

“No fun!” Saffiya yells back, as Grace disappears into the autumn sun.

So, she cries when she gets home and boots up her laptop and sees Ximena and Agnes. She doesn’t just cry; she sobs, rib-cracking things that she tries to hide behind her hands.

“Porter,” Ximena says, a laugh in her voice. “Are you that happy to see us? It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

Grace nods, because it has been that long. It’s been that long since she’s had Ximena’s uva de playa jelly or laid in her lap or shared her bed, the two of them whispering under the sheets like girls at a sleepover. It’s been that long since she’s smelled her ridiculously expensive coconut oil and the little bit of calendula oil behind her ear. Grace nods, because it has been that long, and she cries enough to fill all the days that have passed.

Agnes leans in. Grace sees the dark circles under her eyes, the way she peers at Grace warily, like she isn’t sure what to expect.

“You think she’s a ghost?” Ximena asks her incredulously. “Why are you looking at her like that?”

Agnes blinks, aware that she’s been caught out. “I’m not looking at her like anything,” she says. She crosses her arms. “Hi, stranger.” And Grace hides a smile in the folds of her mouth.

She knew if any of them would be angry with her, it would be Agnes. She wishes she was there with them. Agnes could lash out and scratch and bite, and she could feel that Grace was real in a way that’s difficult through a computer screen.

“Hi,” she murmurs. “Missed you. You’ve been doing okay?”

Agnes scoffs, and Grace waits. Ximena sits quiet between them. She doesn’t get it, the way Grace and Agnes work. She doesn’t try to get in the way of it, either. “Aggie,” Grace says. “I’m sorry, I swear. I was just—I needed some time.”

“Don’t start crying about it again,” Agnes tells her. “I can only take so much.”

“Agnes,” Ximena hisses.

Grace sniffs dramatically. “No more crying,” she says. “It was gross anyway.”

Agnes humphs and slouches on the couch. Her near-white blond hair is hidden under a navy blue NASA beanie that Grace recognizes as her own. “Fine,” she says eventually. “I won’t hunt you down and gut you. But this is the last time you disappear off the face of the earth. Next time you take us with you.” She stares her right in the eyes. “Promise?”