Tell Me Three Things(17)

From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])


Subject: ???


OMG, did you just emoji me?





To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])


From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])


Subject: …two conversations at once.


technically it was an emoticon. and you countered with an “OMG,” so i’m pretty sure we’re even. not to get all early ’00s on you, but shall we IM? this refreshing my email every two seconds is annoying. though I will miss your subject lines…





Me: Done.

SN: ahh, this is so much better.

Me: Right? Right. Though not to get too crazy futuristic on you, but we could text. That’s how normal people communicate.

SN: and give up my anonymity? no thanks. so, Saturday night. or almost Sunday morning. whatever. at the party or no?

Me: No. You?

SN: I was. not anymore. now just sitting in my car thumb-talking with you. wait, did that sound dirty? not my intention. unless you liked it.

Me: I’m just going to ignore you.

SN: please do. this whole anonymous thing makes me a little silly.

Me: The anonymous thing IS silly.

SN: is it? i’m not so sure. irregardless, that’s how it goes.

Me: Irregardless is not a word.

SN: smarty-pants. I stand corrected. actually, I sit corrected.

Me: You are a dork, and I mean that in the best way possible.

SN: things any better on your end? you were all in the bell jar earlier in the week. I was worried.

Me: Definitely better. Thanks for checking. How ’bout you? Things good?

SN: yeah, fine, I guess. not having the best year.

Me: Know how that goes.

SN: do you? hope you really don’t, but suspect you do. you have sad eyes.

Me: I do? And when have you seen my eyes?

SN: I haven’t. not really. and I mean more your brow. you have a sad brow.

Me: I have no idea what to do with that information. Botox?

SN: and the Chicago girl goes LA. but nope.



I stop writing. Feel my brow with my hands. I do have a tendency to knit my eyebrows, have always done it. My mom used to warn me that I was going to get a permanent wrinkle if I kept it up, just like she had. But hers was an exclamation point right in the middle of her forehead. It exuded enthusiasm, maybe even joy. Not worry.

Do I look sad all the time? I hope not. I don’t want to be the sad girl. That’s not who I am. Actually, that’s not true. This is truer: that’s not how I want to be known.



SN: you still there? something I said? for the record, I like your brow just the way it is.

Me: Just thinking. Sorry.

SN: ahh, don’t do that. you might hurt yourself.

Me: So tell me about the party. #vicariouspartygoer

SN: meh. it was a typical high school party, except it had some famous dj I’ve never heard of and Heather’s dad has a cool house, and everyone was pretty wasted.

Me: You?

SN: nah, I’m driving. didn’t feel like Ubering it. anyhow, knew I didn’t want to stay too long.

Me: Just made your appearance.

SN: I don’t know. I just find it all so…stupid or boring or something.

Me: I know what you mean. In Chicago, it was the same thing, but you know, instead of a super-fancy house and famous DJ, it was the bowling alley. But yeah, still…

SN: stupid and boring. but that’s not it exactly. I mean small. it all feels small and unimportant.

Me: And yet vitally important to everyone else, and, dare I say it, maybe even a tiny bit important to you, which is even more embarrassing in its own way. Am I making sense?

SN: totally. fwiw, this feels important: talking to you.

Me: Yeah?

SN: yeah.





CHAPTER 9


Before my mom died, Scarlett and I used to talk about the concept of the perfect day. What would have to happen—from the moment we woke up to the moment we went to sleep—to make that day better than all the others before it. We didn’t dream big. At least, I didn’t. My focus was mostly on the absence of things. I wanted a day during which I didn’t stub my toe or spill on my shirt or feel shy or awkward or unattractive. I wouldn’t miss the bus or forget a change of clothes for gym. When I looked in the mirror after lunch, there wouldn’t be food in my teeth or something in my nose.

Sure, it wasn’t all omissions. I’d sprinkle in a first kiss, though I couldn’t have told you who—some nameless, faceless guy who in the fantasy made me feel comfortable and known and also pretty. Maybe I imagined eating my mom’s pancakes for breakfast before school, which always came in the form of my initials long after I was too old for that sort of thing because it turns out you are never too old for that sort of thing. And her veggie lasagna for dinner. I loved her veggie lasagna.

Nothing crazy.

Who knows? Maybe it would have been pizza day at school. Our school had surprisingly good pizza.

A perfect day didn’t have to include a fantasy trip to the Caribbean or skydiving or hugging someone’s leathered back on a motorcycle, though all of that and more was of course on Scarlett’s list.

But I’ve always liked simple things.

Now, on the other side of everything, I can’t wrap my head around a perfect day. Now, without my mother, what could that even look like?