The Sweetness of Salt(3)

chapter


2


Sitting in the back of Dad’s car the next morning, I took a slow, deep breath. My anxiety, which was already on a steady incline, shot up as I caught sight of my reflection in the rearview mirror. A gold graduation cap was set neatly on a head of straight brown hair, parted in the middle, and tied back in a ponytail. My white face, accentuated by a high forehead, half-circles under my eyes, and chipmunk cheeks, had a deer-in-the-headlights kind of look to it. Even my lips, which I had painted with a light pink gloss, had a sad, ridiculous sort of quality to them, like I was trying too hard.

God. How could I have ever thought that Milo would be attracted to me? I was the quintessential nerd, the exact opposite of his free-spirited, poetic whatever the heck he was. School was my thing. School and grades. To perfection. And I had done it. In less than an hour, Principal Bellas would introduce me as the valedictorian of my whole class. Out of three hundred and seventy-seven students, I had come out on top. First. The head cheese, as Dad liked to say. Numero uno. It was definitely something to be proud of. The first of many larger steps to come.

I closed my eyes, whispering the first line of my speech in my head. “Fellow graduates, Superintendent Ringold, Principal Bellas, Vice Principal Elias, family and friends, welcome.”

Mom and Dad came racing out of the house then, Mom in front, Dad turning to double check the door and straighten the welcome mat.

“Hurry, John!” Mom called, getting in the front seat. “She can’t be late!”

“Here I am,” Dad said, collapsing into his seat. “We’re all set.”

Mom had put on too much perfume. The cloying scent, combined with the mid-morning air, already thick with heat, was starting to make me nauseous. On the seat next to me was an enormous assortment of red and pink roses, which Mom had put together just this morning at the florist shop. I rolled down my window and closed my eyes. Underneath my gown my phone started buzzing.

“Where r u?” Zoe’s message read.

“Just left,” I texted back. “Be there in 10.”

“Dad,” I said, leaning over his shoulder. “Can you hurry? I was supposed to be there five minutes ago.”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” he said, stepping on the gas again. “I think the whole damn town is going to the same place. Hold on.”

Mom braced herself as Dad made a hard right on Walnut Street, and sighed deeply as he settled back into traffic. “It’s so nice that Sophie’s coming, isn’t it?” she asked.

Sophie was my older sister. She was eight years older than I, and had left Silver Springs when I was in fifth grade. She lived somewhere in Vermont now, working as an aide in an old persons’ home. Every so often she graced us with a sudden appearance, descending on Silver Springs amid a flurry of demands, cigarette smoke, and her perpetual negative attitude. Her departures were just as abrupt, leaving Mom and Dad (and me, back when I cared) in a state of complete disarray. I was not exactly looking forward to seeing her.

Mom turned to look apologetically at me. She had accidentally let Sophie’s secret out of the bag, letting it slip last night at dinner. “Please don’t let on that you know she’s coming, Julia. She really wanted to surprise you.”

“Mom.” I cocked my head, trying not to let my annoyance show. “You’ve told me that at least ten times already. Don’t worry. I won’t let on that I know.”

“All right.” Mom smoothed down the front of her dress. “Just making sure.”


I rolled my eyes. Mom always tiptoed around Sophie. She had forbidden all of us, for example, from referring to the “Milford years”—ever—in Sophie’s presence. Milford was the little town she and Dad and Sophie had lived in before I was born. Apparently, those seven years or so hadn’t been the happiest in our family history. Dad’s law firm hadn’t been doing well and he had been drinking too much, which led to a lot of arguments. Now, twenty years later, Sophie never let a visit slip by without some sort of reference to that time. She just couldn’t let it go—no matter how much Mom and Dad begged her to. It was this insistence of hers—this immaturity, really, to keep punishing Mom and Dad like she did—that made me so wary and resentful of her.

“Why isn’t Goober coming?” Dad asked suddenly.

“Sophie said it was Greg’s weekend, but that she was going to try to get him to switch,” Mom said.

Goober was Sophie’s four-year-old daughter. Her real name was Grace, but Sophie had started calling her Goober in the hospital, and the nickname had stuck.

“I hope she does,” I said. “Sophie always acts more human when Goober’s around.”

“Julia!” Mom turned around, looking disapprovingly at me.

“It’s true!” I said. “And you know it! When Goober’s here, she’s the baby. There’s no room for Sophie to throw one of her temper tantrums.”

Mom glanced over at Dad and then settled back in her seat. “No one will be throwing any temper tantrums,” she said quietly. “It’s going to be wonderful.”

I caught Dad’s eye in the rearview mirror. He winked at me.

“And even if the baby can’t come, it will be so nice just to have the four of us all together again,” Mom said. “I can’t even remember the last time we were under the same roof.”