Page 37 of We Are Okay

And here are things I’d forgotten, resurfacing. Text messages she sent.

Did you meet someone?

You can tell me if you did.

I just need to know.

There were others, too, but I can’t remember them. In the beginning her texts were knives, slicing holes in the cocoon of motel must and diner coffee and the view of the street out my window. But after school started, after Hannah, I was a stranger with a secondhand phone and someone named Mabel had the wrong number.

That girl she was trying to reach—she must have been running from something. She must have been someone special, for her friend to keep trying so hard. Too bad she was gone now.

We never talked about what would happen to us.

That was another one.

The way we used to kiss. How I would catch her looking at me from across the room. Her grin, my blush. Her thigh, soft, against my cheek. I had to deny all of it, because it was part of a life that was over.

All I can hear is the crackle of the fire. She may not have really been crying—I may have imagined it—but I can feel it now, the way I hurt her. Maybe it’s all of this remembering or talking about books and paintings again or being with Mabel, but I can feel the ghost of me creeping back.Remember me?she’s asking.

I think I do.

And that girl would have comforted Mabel. She would have touched her as though a touch were something simple.So I lift my hand, search for a safe place on Mabel’s body. Her shoulder. I touch her there, and before I have time to wonder if it’s unwanted, Mabel’s hand covers mine, holding it in place.

chapter twelve

JUNE

LATER THAT DAY,after Gramps had caught us with the whiskey and Mabel and I had spent the school hours blushing every time we saw each other, after Gramps had made a casserole for dinner and there had been more quiet between us than usual, he asked me to sit down on the love seat.

I nodded.

“Sure,” I said, but my chest filled with ice.

I didn’t know how I’d answer the questions he was about to ask me. Everything was too new. I followed him into the living room and took my seat. He stood in front of me, towering, not even a hint of a smile, only worry and sadness and something verging on panic.

“Listen,” he said. “I want to tell you about different kinds of love.”

I braced myself for his disapproval. I had rarely felt it before, and never for anything substantial. And I braced myself, too, for my anger. Because as unexpected as Mabel’s kiss had been, and as nervous and unsettled as I’d felt ever since, I knew that what we did wasn’t wrong.

“You may have gotten the wrong impression,” he continued. “About Birdie and me. It isn’t like that between us.”

I felt a laugh escape me. It was out of relief, but he didn’t take it that way.

“It may be difficult to believe,” he said. “I know it may have come across as...romantic, because of how I act when I get her letters. Because of that dress she sent me. But sometimes two people have a deep connection. It makes romance seem trivial. It isn’t about anything carnal. It’s about souls. About the deepest part of who you are as a person.”

He seemed so worried, so nervous. All of my relief slipped away, and concern replaced it.

“Okay, Gramps,” I said. “Whatever it is, I’m glad that you have her.”

He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and carefully unfolded it. He patted his forehead, his upper lip. I had never seen him so worked up about anything.

“Really,” I said. “Don’t worry about what I think. I just want you to be happy.”

“Sailor,” he said. “If I didn’t have her, I would be lost.”

I wasn’t enough of a companion. I wasn’t any kind ofanchor. I felt the blow of it but I swallowed the hurt and said, “I’m sure she feels the same for you.”

He studied my face. It felt like he was looking through me to something else. He nodded, slowly.