Learning to Swim(46)

Keith glanced away before gazing sadly into my eyes. “Look, Stef. I would love it if you stayed. Just knowing that I could see you for what's left of the summer and when I came back for vacations and stuff, well, it would make things so much easier. And believe me, I can relate to what you're going through. I know what it's like to have problems with your mom and want to get away from her for a while. But I think you should know that as troubled as my mother was, I'd give anything to see her again.”

I shuddered once Keith was done talking. He was one hundred percent right. As much as I hated to admit it, I still loved my mother more than anything, and my place was with her, at least for now.

“I just don't want to say goodbye,” I said, curling up in his arms, almost like a child.

Then Keith kissed me, and for once, I didn't think about my mother or love lunacy or Alice or what I would be doing tomorrow or the day after that. All I thought about was Keith and how lucky I was to be with him.





18


When I got home, around three in the morning, my mom was sitting on the couch, waiting for me. In all our years together, I had never seen her in such a bad state. She looked like she had just stuck a wet finger in an electrical outlet. Her hair was frizzy, her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was red and puffy. The apartment was a wreck as well. It looked completely ransacked. Various drawers, opened and empty, were scattered among full Hefty bags.

Barbie flipped her phone shut as her eyes filled with tears. “I was worried about you,” she said. “I called everyone I could think of. I was just about to call the police.”

“I'm sorry,” I said sympathetically. “I went to see Keith.”

“I called him too, but he didn't pick up.”

“We didn't even hear the phone ring.”

She glanced away. “I guess I had that coming, huh?”

“I honestly didn't hear it ring.” I peered longingly at my bedroom door. I was exhausted. My day had been more frightening and thrilling than a marathon ride on Space Mountain.

“Why didn't you tell me about Alice?” she hiccupped.

I ran my fingers through my hair, which at that point had become a grease-fest from all the stress. “I didn't get a chance.”

She stood up and took a step toward me. “I'm so sorry, Steffie.”

I instinctively stepped backward. I wasn't in the mood for a makeup hug. “She's going to be okay.”

“I know,” she said. “I spoke to Thelma. I called over there, looking for you.”

“Do you know where my pajamas are?” I nodded toward the mound of garbage bags outside my room. Barbie peeked inside one bag and then another.

She pulled out my nightshirt and handed it to me. “Here you go,” she said cheerfully.

I took the nightshirt and headed to my room. Before I shut the door, I was overcome by an almost morbid sentimentality. I glanced back toward my mother and around the room where we had shared breakfasts and dinners and watched more hours of TV than I could count. “What time are we leaving tomorrow?” I asked quietly.

My mother's eyes grew wide as the meaning behind my question sank in: I would be moving to Ellicott City with her.

“I'd like to leave as soon as possible.” Her lower lip was quivering as she practically beamed motherly love. (In retrospect, it would've been a great time to ask her to buy me another pair of Michael Kors flip-flops.)

“Is it all right if we leave in the afternoon?” I asked. “I'd like to say a few goodbyes first.”

“Sure.” She choked back tears and smiled at me. “The afternoon would be fine.”

I went to the hospital the next day. When I arrived at Alice's room with a bouquet of lilies in hand, I saw that her bed was empty. I had one moment where my heart stopped and I thought, Oh-my-God-she-croaked, before Doris and Thelma showed up and informed me that Alice had gone down for some tests and would be back in another hour or so. I guess I could've waited, but the truth of the matter was, I really couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye to my best friend in all of North America. So I left Alice's notebook on top of her bed, along with a list I had made:

Reasons why you, Alice Anne Werner, will always be my best friend:

You know all the lyrics to “I Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher.



You once told me “mi casa es su casa.”



You can apply eyeliner, lipstick, and nail polish while driving eighty miles an hour down Route 50.



Every time you go grocery shopping, you always buy a half gallon of my favorite strawberry ice cream even though I know you can't stand it. (Because, as you've said numerous times, fruit has no business being in dessert.)



You're the only person who could make a job cleaning toilets fun.



When we went to Thelma's and she served pumpkin bread for dessert, you and I went back to your house and spent one hour analyzing why we've always hated pumpkin bread and another hour discussing who in their right mind would even consider pumpkin bread a dessert and another hour discussing whether a pumpkin is a fruit or vegetable.



You can make a list about anything.



You knew I would hate the movie Gone with the Wind before I even watched it. (And boy, were you right.)