Chapter 10. Juniper
Juniper
SONG OF THE DAY:
“Someday at Christmas” by Stevie Wonder
Hold …
And breathe out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 …
Wind chimes and a soft pan flute
slink through my headphones
as I sit on my bedroom floor
after school trying to center myself
through my daily guided meditation app.
Breathe in 1, 2, 3—
Who does Lyric think she is?
I didn’t ONCE judge her for her makeup obsession
or the overconsumption of products
that beauty influencers often engage in
but I mention living in my car for one summer and—
Breathe out 1, 2, 3—
—and I’m the one who’s “out of touch”
no better than a white girl in her bespoke school bus?
Now that your breath is even and deep
I want you to imagine you’re walking through a lush, cool forest.
Sunlight filters through the dense trees in patches
the air smells like moss and rainwater—
And what was all that business with Jamison?
She was a low-key dick to him at lunch.
He doesn’t seem that bad—
Now, in this forest, visualize a tall, wise tree
one that invites you to sit under its branches
back against its sturdy trunk—
Oh, fuck fuck shit!
I say, out loud this time
taking my EarPods out
and slumping onto my back in defeat.
I am not in a meditative mood.
I am high-key bothered—
playing the events of lunch
over and over in my head.
Why didn’t I just tell Lyric
our deal was off that I wasn’t
interested anymore.
She may be gorgeous, but I don’t know if she’s worth
all this—drama.
But then I think about
that brief moment at lunch
when I put my hand on Lyric’s knee
to steady her
and she didn’t pull away.
How for a few seconds
I lost all function
and words and
sense of reality.
How being close to her
feels like thousands of fireflies
glimmering in the dark caverns
of my chest.
And now here I am
the ball in her court
a pathetic mess—waiting
for her to text me.
I should just end this now.
I sit up
grab my phone
but before I can get a word typed out
I freeze
registering for the first time
that there is yelling
coming from the kitchen.
Are you fucking kidding me, Mara?
Mama Alice’s voice is
metal scraping metal in my ears.
Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your students
go all condescending and professor on me.
We discussed this.
I need to feel like we’re having a conversation
and not like you’re just talking down to me
explaining away shit like it’s fact.
I can’t win with you, Al!
Mom’s voice is low and tight.
I’m being honest, telling you
how I feel
and you’re acting like you don’t
want to hear it.
Well, I don’t want to hear it
especially if it’s about you-know-who.
Jesus, Mara. I thought we were past this—
a fresh start, remember?
What am I even doing here
if you’re not going to try with me?
I am trying!
You’re the one smothering me every day, Al
pretending like nothing has happened
that we haven’t changed or had this big rift between us.
A fresh start is not a blank slate! It’s just not.
… I love you, you know that, but—
I can’t listen anymore.
I connect to my Bluetooth speaker
and turn up a Stevie track full blast.
I hope that they can hear it.
They haven’t fought like this in months.
They can’t do this again
not at Christmas, not now.
Not when we’re just getting back
to the way it was.
I need to get out of here,
I say, my voice drowned out by Stevie crooning.
So, I do the thing I know
always helps me
get me out of my head.
I pull on some joggers, a fleece
my running shoes.
I grab my EarPods and then I bolt
down the hall and out the door
past Mom and Mama Alice
who are yelling so much
they don’t even see me.
Outside, it’s dusk
and a whopping 13 degrees
but when the cold air hits my lungs
I’m elated.
Every muscle and fiber of my body activates
as I jog toward downtown and the tree.
Christmas lights always cheer me up
reminding me of what’s possible.
This will blow over, I say in my head
as my legs pump forward.
This will pass.
They’ll find a way back to one another.
They always do.
I am nine. Mom and Mama Alice are getting married in a small ceremony off Lake Shore Drive by the water.
It’s June, and Mom is wearing a flowy white jumpsuit and a crown of lavender and eucalyptus around her long red-brown locs.
Mama Alice is in a white linen shirt and shorts set, with a sprig of lavender pinned to her front pocket, her curly blond hair pinned up in a messy crown of braids.
I am the flower girl and ring bearer extraordinaire.
I’m wearing linen lavender short-alls, carrying a basket full of flowers and herbs.
I’m beaming at my moms as they join hands surrounded by close friends and chosen family and vow to love one another forever.
Gay marriage is finally legal in Illinois.
They’ve been a family since way before I was born, but this is a special day because now it’s not just a commitment ceremony but a marriage on paper and written into law.
Nothing much will change except that our family will be even more connected, protected too.
When Mom and Mama Alice kiss, sealing their vows to one another, the whole circle cheers and Mom and Mama Alice wrap me in a big hug.
The rest of the wedding guests head to our favorite Mexican restaurant for a reception, but the three of us walk down the beach together holding hands, taking a moment for ourselves.
This is my whole world: the lake, my moms, the sun beating down on us with a warmth so thick it coats us in shimmer.
This is where I belong, this is my pack, and no one can tell me it will ever be any different.
“We love you so much, Junie,” Mama Alice says, squeezing my hand as we walk.
“You’re our moon and stars and everything in between,” Mom adds.
The house is silent
when I get back from my run.
I enter the empty kitchen
an abandoned cutting board on the counter
with a half-chopped bunch of carrots on it.
The oven is on
radiating simmering heat
that would be cozy if the air didn’t feel
so charged—like after lightning strikes
our whole house
smoking with electricity.
Hello? I say, taking off my shoes.
No answer.
I peel out of my sweaty fleece
head down the bedroom hallway
and knock softly
on the main bedroom door.
Just a minute,
Mama Alice’s hoarse voice
says through the closed door.
It’s me, Mama.
Did you know the oven’s on?
Hi, Junie. Yes, I’m, uh, making shepherd’s pie.
I just needed a second.
Where’s Mom?
I ask
already knowing the answer.
She had some event
on campus.
She’ll be back later.
OK, well, are you two …
The door opens
and Mama Alice greets me
with a small smile and red eyes.
Yes, I’m fine. We’re fine, Junie.
Your mom and I, we just got worked up.
I’m sorry you had to hear us.
I shrug. You haven’t fought like that in a minute.
It took me back to—well, never mind.
Did you figure it out?
Mama Alice nods.
We did. Eventually.
I sigh and let my shoulders relax.
Good. OK, well, I’m going to hit the shower.
Then I can help with dinner?
Sure, sure, Mama Alice says.
Sounds nice.
In the shower, I let all the grime
from the day wash away.
Then I join Mama Alice in the kitchen.
She gives me a pile of potatoes to peel.
We fall into a comfortable, cozy rhythm
and in no time at all, the shepherd’s pie
is sliding into the oven.
The whole house smells like garlic
and I inhale it like a drug.
Not wanting to ever forget
this simple but potent scent—of home
and forgiveness and
nourishment.
How was ice-skating with Lyric?
Mama Alice asks.
Did you have fun?
It’s nice you’re making new friends here.
I shrug. Not much to report.
I was just helping her out
with some content creation stuff.
It was quick.
I haven’t exactly told my moms
the full truth about the business arrangement
between me and Lyric
especially the part about me
earning money.
Because then I would have to tell them WHY
I need the extra money
and that would mean
breaking the news about my gap year.
I want to get through Christmas
before I tell them.
What kind of content does Lyric create?
Mama Alice continues.
I clear my throat.
Beauty content—she’s really into makeup.
Good at it too.
I noticed that, Mama Alice says, nodding,
when we met her at the tree briefly.
Her lashes were incredible.
But Junie—not that you can’t have a new interest
but I’ve never seen you wear more
than ChapStick.
How exactly are you helping with beauty content?
Please explain.
I take a breath—
Well—so, I guess after I helped with
her Christmas tree shoot
the people on this online platform called BeautyStarz
really liked our chemistry—I mean, you saw the photos?
I did indeed. Just as cute as a button
the two of you.
Well, I continue,
after Lyric posted those, she got
a bunch more followers
and she really wants to do this professionally
so, I’m, well—
we’re making it seem like we’re an item
BUT only for her online content, not in real life.
Mama Alice is looking at me
with slight amusement in her eyes.
So, you have a crush on her?
No! Oh my god, Mama. Stop,
I say, a little too quickly.
We’re just friends, and I’m having fun.
Trying new things and branching out.
Can you let me live?!
Fine, fine!
Mama Alice laughs.
You’re just friends.
There’s nothing wrong with that
or with you wanting to help a friend.
But, Junie?
Yeah?
I know you. Your heart is so big.
Be careful, OK?
Fake dating or not
sometimes these things can
make a mess.
I nod
feeling a knot
growing in my gut.
Just make sure
you’re not sacrificing your own needs
for someone else’s dreams, Junie,
Mama Alice continues
her voice softer and somehow
distant.
I get the feeling we’re not
talking about me anymore.
Can I ask you something?
I say after a beat.
Always.
When you and Mom
met
was it hard
to open up to her
at first?
After the way you grew up?
Hmmm, Mama Alice says
mulling over my question for a minute.
Mama Alice spent her teenage years with her aunt
her mother’s older sister.
Her mother and father kicked her out at age fourteen
for being queer.
She was even homeless for a little bit.
I forget sometimes
that Mama Alice didn’t come from
an accepting family like ours.
I guess I’m asking, I add,
because at ice-skating, I made some assumptions
about Lyric’s life and financial situation.
Turns out she lives with her grandma
and not her parents—
but I don’t know the reason for this.
I tried to correct myself when I saw her shut down
but I think I made things awkward.
And then today at lunch—she—uh
I think we’re very different.
Ah, I see. Mama Alice nods.
To answer your question, no
it wasn’t difficult to talk about my past.
By the time I met your mom
I had done a lot of self-work on
my patterns of isolation
and hyperindependence.
But I wasn’t always that way.
It was hard, for a long time
to accept help from others
or admit I had needs
and feelings.
Yeah, I say.
I get that.
Look, love,
Mama Alice continues.
It sounds like the topic of family is a sore spot for Lyric.
I know this is your favorite time of year
but the holiday season
can be hard for some folks—
especially those with complicated family dynamics.
I nod.
But, Mama Alice continues,
it’s never too late to try again.
Seems like maybe Lyric
needs to take her time
trusting and getting to know people.
If you think the friendship is worth it
don’t give up.
Just as Mama Alice says this
my phone dings.
It’s Lyric.
My face must be doing
something strange
because Mama Alice grins.
Is that her?
I nod. Call me when the food is done?
Sure, no problem.
Back in my room, I close the door
and then lean against it to read her text.
Lyric: I’m still in for our deal.
Can I get a redo?
Tomorrow—I can pick you up in the evening. I’ll drive.
A slow smile stretches
across my lips.
Before I think too hard, I text back:
I’m still in too.
After school tomorrow works.
What product are we selling this time?
Lyric: Let’s just hang out as friends
get to know one another like you said.
Do something fun.
We can snap a few pictures for my feed
if we’re into it.
Me: Sounds good.
Lyric: Great.
Hope you like sweets.
Me: I absolutely do.