The Sweetness of Salt(40)

“She is?” Sophie’s chopsticks paused by her lips. “Since when?”

I shrugged. “Since forever, I guess. I don’t know. We’ve never eaten Chinese at home.”

“Where do you eat it then?”

“Zoe and I get it a lot.”

Sophie sighed softly. “Thank God for Zoe.”

I stopped chewing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just glad you have a friend like that,” Sophie said.

“Like what?”

“Like…” I could tell Sophie was backtracking, choosing her words carefully. It made me even angrier.

“Like what?” I said again.

“Why are you getting all bent out of shape here?” Sophie put her chopsticks down. “What’d I say?”

“Nothing. But I can just tell you’re going to say some judgmental thing about how Zoe brings me out of my shell or how pitiful I would be without her.”

“Pitiful?” Sophie repeated. “Julia, the last word I would ever use with you is pitiful. Pitiful is some helpless little thing. An injured rabbit, maybe. Or a bird with a broken wing. Not you. Ever.”

I inhaled tightly through my nostrils. The spiciness of the shrimp had cleared them considerably. “Okay then, what were you going to say?”

“All I meant,” Sophie said, “is that I’m glad you have someone who exposes you to different things.” She leaned forward a little, put her hand on my knee. “I mean, you have to know by now that Mom and Dad have kind of raised you in a bubble all these years. They’ve protected you from a lot of different things.” She shrugged. “I’m just glad Zoe’s there to remind you that life isn’t a bubble. That’s all.”

I plopped the shrimp carton down. “Just because I didn’t know about Maggie doesn’t mean I was raised in a bubble, Sophie. I’ve had a totally normal childhood, just like every other kid out there.”


Sophie cocked her head. “I’m not saying your childhood wasn’t normal. I’m just saying it was the one Mom and Dad planned out for you.”

“Of course they planned it out for me! All parents plan their kids’ lives.” But even as I said it, I could feel something sinking inside.

“Up to a point,” Sophie finished. “You’re eighteen now, Julia. Or you will be, at the end of the summer. And you’re still going along, step by step, exactly by the rule book Mom and Dad made up for you the day you were born. The one that said we couldn’t talk about Maggie. The one that said I was too messed up to fix. The one that said you—under no uncertain terms—had to be perfect.”

I stared at her, realizing suddenly that I was crying, which made me more furious. I brushed my tears away impatiently. “They never said that. They never once used the word ‘perfect’ when it came to me, Sophie. Never.”

Sophie looked at me. Shadows from the candles flickered across her face, illuminating her right eye. It was a light green color, made even paler by the light. “Jules,” she said softly. “After everything that happened with Maggie, and then how screwed up I got…” She shook her head. “I’m not saying it was their fault. But you were all they had left. And they wanted to make damn sure that after the mess with the first two kids, their last kid came out great. Perfect, even.”

“Why do you keep talking about yourself like you’re some kind of freak?” I was pleading with her now, begging her to take it back. Didn’t she know what it did to me that she saw herself as just a screwup? We came from the same parents, had the same blood. If she was a screwup, then what did that make me? “You’re not screwed up. You’re not too messed up to fix.”

Sophie shrugged. “I know what I am,” she said. “And I’m working on it. You, though, you need to figure out who you are. For yourself.”

I shook my head to block out the sound of her voice. This was way too much for me. Figure out who I am? What did that even mean? Was that just some statement to make me feel better? To sidestep the real issues—whatever they were? I couldn’t be sure anymore. I wiped my hands on a napkin and stood up. “You know what? I can’t do this any more. I’m going to bed.”

Sophie stood up too. “Jules, come on. Don’t.”

“You need time for your stuff.” I gritted my teeth. “And I need time for mine. So back off, okay?”

She dropped her eyes.

I left her there, the candles still burning in the empty room, and went upstairs.

I lay in bed for a long time, listening to Sophie move around downstairs, trying not to revisit the things she had said to me. But they were there, rolling around inside my head, hitting and clicking off each other like so many marbles in a game. It was like I could actually feel my life, a large, perfectly stitched leather bag, splitting apart at the seams. Rip. Rip. Rip. Any minute now, everything inside was going to come spilling out until it all lay in a pile at my feet. Then what would I do?





chapter


28


Once, when I was ten, I’d come home from fifth grade with all A’s. The only blip on the screen was a B in gym, which I’d gotten because I couldn’t climb the long, dangling rope hanging from the ceiling. Mom’s face lit up when she saw my report card and then dimmed again as she spied the B. “What happened in gym?” she asked. I told her about the rope. Two days later, Dad installed a thick length of rope from the garage ceiling. Every night after dinner he took me out to the garage and helped me work on my climbing skills. He even started me on a push-up and pull-up routine to improve my upper-body strength.