Chapter Sixteen
Eliza’s ride back to the city went by in a blur. If asked, she wouldn’t have been able to describe how she ended up back in her apartment.
She’d never seriously considered keeping a diary when she was a teenager. She was given one as a gift once?—pale pink with the words MY DIARY embossed on the front in gold?—but never knew how to begin. The pages were so pristine with nothing written in them; it seemed like she should have something important, something remarkable, or at the very least something interesting to say before marring the creamy paper.
She tended to see her life as marked by a bright before-and-after line. Before Laura’s diagnosis. After her diagnosis. In the before times, life was just?—life. School. Convincing her mom to buy her Ugg boots. Going out for ice cream with friends. None of it seemed worth memorializing. In the after times, everything continued, but with a low-level, staticky buzz of fear and anxiety underlying everything. No matter how much Laura told her that she was going to be okay, Eliza never believed her. Even in the beginning, when Laura may well have believed it herself, Eliza was sure she was going to lose her. And that was definitely not something she wanted to write about. So the pages of that diary remained blank, and somewhere along the way, she added it to a pile of stuff for donation.
Now that she had Laura’s journal, it gave new weight to the whole “keeping a diary” question. On the one hand, maybe it would be nice to have those memories recorded. On the other?—would she want someone to read her most private thoughts after she was dead? As she tucked Laura’s diary into the drawer of her bedside table, next to a box of condoms and some hair ties, she tried to tell herself that a dead person couldn’t mind having someone read their secrets. After all, wasn’t their biggest problem being dead? In comparison to that, who cared if the world knew who you had a crush on or if you cheated on a math test? But at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to look inside. At least not yet.
After firmly closing the drawer, she went to find her laptop. She’d been delinquent lately on social media. She just didn’t have the stomach for everyone’s carefully curated happiness. Even her own post about Jack’s death?—including a photo of him holding her as a baby, along with a photo from Scott’s wedding of Jack, Scott, Maren, and Eliza?—felt so disingenuous. As if they were this happy, uncomplicated family, dealing with purely uncomplicated grief.
Opening the laptop, she checked her personal email and then scrolled through Facebook and Instagram. She typed “Ross Sawyer” into the Facebook search bar again, but, unsurprisingly, her Ross Sawyer still didn’t have a profile. Then she went to Google and searched “Ross Sawyer NYU,” not sure what she was looking for. Both literally and figuratively.
The more she thought about her dinner conversation with Mo, the more annoyed she had become?—even though she’d tried to talk herself out of what felt like unreasonable anger. She loved her friend’s sense of humor?—and counted on her ability to pull her out of dark places. But this was uncharted territory, and it didn’t seem like Mo got what she was feeling. How unmoored she was?—in a way she had never been before. The idea that she should sneak into her biological dad’s classroom was appalling. And terrifying. How could Mo not see that?
She mindlessly scrolled the search results on the screen, barely seeing them. And then something caught her eye. Glenside School Speaker Series: An Evening with Dr. Ross Sawyer. She clicked. “Social and Emotional Learning: A New Approach to the Achievement Gap.” But what popped out at her, as if it were written in bold letters, was “Open to the public.” She looked back up at the top to see the date. It was just over a week away. Monday evening.
Tucking this piece of information away in her brain, she had just closed her laptop when a text came in on her phone. She picked it up, expecting it to be the daily check-in from Mo. They hadn’t talked since their dinner. Mo was busy at work and had seen Nik a few more times. And Eliza wasn’t sure what to say to her, anyway. Ross and Jack were always at the forefront of her mind, and for the first time in their long friendship, she was dealing with something she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about.
But the text was, surprisingly, from Maren.
Hey, Eliza. Wanted to check in on you. Can we get together? Just the two of us?
Huh. That was unusual. Actually, unprecedented, discounting their bridesmaid-dress shopping, but even then it wasn’t just the two of them?—Maren’s mom and a couple of her friends were there, too.
Eliza texted back.
Is everything ok?
As she watched the three dots appear and reappear, she felt the familiar knot in her belly. Was Maren wanting to meet up alone with her because Scott didn’t want anything to do with her? Was there (more) bad news? Finally words appeared.
Yes. I just think it would be a good idea.
Eliza sat in a small booth sipping an autumn-themed cocktail. She couldn’t remember what was in it but was loving the cinnamon sugar crusted on the rim of the glass. She was a little early for her “date” with Maren and scrolled through her phone while she was waiting.
The bar was in midtown, and most of the other patrons were in groups of two or three, grabbing an after-work drink, or so it seemed. Their voices melded into a low hum that intermingled with the music coming from the speakers in the ceiling. Gradually the strains of a melody disentangled themselves, and she recognized the Nickelback song. It had been a while since she’d heard it, but in another phase of her life, it was one of her favorites.
It was eleven years earlier that she’d been sitting on a bench adjacent to the high school turf, listening to that song on her iPod when Josh pulled one of her earbuds out of her ear.
“Whatcha listening to?” he’d asked, plopping down beside her on the bench.
She had been lost in thought, and it took her a minute to replay his question in her head before she could figure out the answer. “Nickelback.”
He’d stuck the earbud in his own ear. “Cool. I have this album.” They listened as “How You Remind Me” wound down, and Eliza clicked the stop button. “You waiting for someone?” Josh had asked.
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Then what? It’s not a bus stop.”
Why was she sitting here? Because she wasn’t quite ready to go home, but how could she explain that? It was fall of her sophomore year, and after having had a reasonably good summer, Laura’s numbers weren’t where her doctors wanted them to be, and she’d started a new treatment that was exhausting her. Or maybe it was the cancer that was exhausting her. It was hard to tell.
All Eliza knew was that, as much as she wanted to spend every minute with her mom, sometimes she just couldn’t bear to go home. Sometimes she needed to take some time to brace herself first. She glanced at her watch. School had let out a half hour before, and she hadn’t made it any farther than this bench.
“Just hanging out,” she replied, finally.
“Well, it’s a nice day for it.” Josh gestured at the clear blue sky and the autumn-hued trees. A light breeze swirled the falling leaves as they dropped toward the ground. On the turf, the football players were jogging out for practice, suited up in their gear. “Or was that the view you were waiting for?” Josh asked, cocking his head toward the team.
“Hardly.” Football players were definitely not on her radar.
Josh slid back to make himself more comfortable. Apparently he was staying for a while. Strange. He spent a lot of time at the Levinger house, but they’d never exchanged more than a sentence or two. “Have you heard the new Nickelback album?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“It’s pretty good. They’re saying ‘Far Away’ is going to be the breakout single, but I like ‘Photograph.’ I can lend it to you if you want.”
“You still buy the old-school CDs?”
“Yeah. I load them into my iPod”?—he pointed at hers for reference?—“but I like to have the discs. Who else do you listen to?”
“Oh?—I don’t know. Lots of stuff: 3 Doors Down. Coldplay. Green Day.” She spun the dial on her iPod, looking at the list of songs. Until recently, her playlists had been mostly pop and electronic dance music?—but it turned out that, even with the volume turned up, they didn’t protect her from the sounds of Laura being sick from chemo. Cranking up “Yellow,” “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” and similar songs did.
Josh peered over her shoulder at the crawl of song titles. “Do you know Jason Mraz?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll lend you his new album, too. Came out this summer.”
Somehow, they had whiled away an hour sitting on that bench, talking mostly about music. Josh never asked how things were going with her mom. He probably knew from Scott where things stood. Or he didn’t. Eliza had just appreciated being able to sit on a bench with a boy and pretend that life was normal again. Even if just for an hour.
Now, in a darkened bar in New York City, the Nickelback song gave way to something more modern, and Maren walked up to the table, unwrapping her scarf from her neck.
“So sorry! Were you waiting long?”
Eliza looked at her drink, which was still two-thirds full. “Not long at all. Don’t worry about it.”
Maren placed her structured leather bag on the seat opposite Eliza. “I’m just going to get a drink. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m good.”
Her sister-in-law returned a few minutes later with something tall and icy, and slid into the booth. “So how was your day?”
There was some meaningless chitchat as Eliza wondered when Maren would get to the point.
“You’re probably wondering why I wanted to meet,” she finally said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “The thing is, I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. I know it’s got to be really hard. I mean, not just Jack’s death, but then to get this other news.” She paused and sighed before continuing. “But, well, Scott’s having a hard time, too.”
Eliza nodded.
“I know you know that. But I don’t think you know how hard it is for him. He’s been the one everybody has leaned on. And I know he wants to be there for everyone. But he can’t be. Not always.”
Eliza had a feeling that “everybody” equaled “Eliza,” and she felt a mixture of guilt and anger. Shouldn’t Scott be the one to tell her this? But before she could say as much, Maren continued.
“He wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but we’ve been trying to get pregnant. Not for long?—but losing Jack now, and knowing he’ll never get to meet his grandchildren... it’s just a lot. I don’t think he has it in him to referee between you and Carol.”
Eliza had worn her hair in a braid over one shoulder, and she twisted the end of it. “Did he say that?”
Maren shook her head. “He wouldn’t. But I’m worried about him.”
The end of Eliza’s braid was cutting off the circulation in the finger it was wrapped around. She knew it wasn’t fair for Scott to always have to be the sane one. The peacemaker, as Aunt Claude had called him. The inside of her mouth felt dry. “Did he ask you to talk to me?”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t know I’m here. He wouldn’t want me to be.”
Eliza struggled to understand what her sister-in-law was telling her. Hadn’t Maren sounded like she was on her side just a few days before? “So are you saying I shouldn’t fight Carol? That I should just do what Scott suggested?”
“That has to be your choice.” Maren scrunched up her mouth. “And I totally understand why you’d want to fight her. You were Jack’s daughter, in every way that mattered. Carol can’t take that away from you. I just... I’m just worried about Scott taking on too much. He’s already stretched so thin, you know, emotionally.”
Eliza’s stomach clenched. Her relationship with Scott had been lopsided for a long time. He was the strong one. She was the mess. It was an integral part of the family story. And she knew that he was suffering loss, too. He had been closer to Jack, after all. But what about her loss? Not to mention her loss of identity. She didn’t want to need support?—she wanted to stand on her own two feet but truly didn’t know if she could.
She let go of her braid and swung it behind her. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to do. Or not do.”
“I guess I’m asking you to leave Scott out of it.”
Eliza tried to tamp down the anger?—and hurt?—she felt rising inside her. “Don’t you think he’d want to know? I mean, I am his sister. And Carol is his stepmom.”
Maren pressed her lips together, and Eliza watched the color leach out of them. “I know that. Obviously. But somebody has to look out for Scott.”
Did Maren think that Scott needed protection from his own sister? But she had a feeling that this was an argument she wouldn’t win?—and wasn’t sure she even had the energy to try?—so she gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
Maren continued. “Look. I’m not saying we’re not there for you. We are. But I just...” She blinked rapidly, and Eliza recognized it well as a strategy to hold back tears. “I mean...”
Eliza felt her anger begin to deflate. She wasn’t the only one in pain here. She reached across to touch Maren’s hand, splayed on the table, her diamond solitaire and matching wedding band winking even in the dim light. “I got it. I hear you.”
Maren gave her a watery smile. “Thanks, Eliza. I knew I could count on you.”
Biting the inside of her lip, Eliza wondered what exactly she’d agreed to?—and whether it was all going to backfire spectacularly.