Read Love and Leftovers Online
Authors: Sarah Tregay
Love and Leftovers (19 page)
(IF WE WERE TALKING)
| We’re best friends. | Right. |
| You tell me everything. | Right. |
| | |
| I’d do anything for you. | |
| I’d walk on coals for you. | |
| I’d lie to your mom for you. | |
| | |
| You’d skip study hall | Right. |
| to buy me Midol. | Right. |
| | |
| I’d hold your hand. | |
| I’d take a stand. | |
| I’d walk with you to Neverland. | |
| | |
| You’d wipe my tears. | Right. |
| We’ll be friends for years. | Right? |
When I was little
and I got home from school
before my mom got home from work,
I’d throw myself on the sofa,
| kick scream wail | “I want my mommy!” |
until she came home.
Somehow,
it worked every time.
But today when I called her,
hoping for an ear that would listen
to my never-ending list of problems,
she didn’t pick up.
I wanted to
| shout cry sob | “I miss my mommy!” |
but I left her a message
instead.
No One Can Hurt My Heart
Inside My Little Ball
I curl up into a ball
to protect my breaking heart.
My ball isn’t small enough.
I curl up into a little ball.
All alone
fat ugly unloved little ball.
All alone
stupid careless selfish little ball.
All alone
crying confused hopeless little bawl.
I was the one
who felt all alone.
The one who would do anything
to make the emptiness go away.
I was the one
who stumbled into J.D.’s arms.
The one who kissed and touched
just to get a fix.
I was the one
who broke Linus’s heart
by reaching out
to save my own from shriveling up.
I was the one
who didn’t email, IM, or telephone.
The one who told the truth
too late.
I was the one
who put Katie in the middle.
The one who tried to
make her choose.
I won’t say I’m the one who broke up the Leftovers—
even though it feels like I did.
Because Leftovers, of all people,
need to listen to each other,
care about one another,
and understand.
Even if it’s difficult.
Because I Want My Best Friend Back
I plunk my butt next to Katie’s on the bus.
“I get that you’re mad at me,” I say.
“But I don’t know why.”
“Duh.”
“I broke up with Linus, not you.”
“And he blames me,” she says.
“Why?”
“Because I told you that falling in love
feels like that jolt right before you fall asleep.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“But Linus says it’s like springtime on the moon.
All sunshine and cherry blossoms but no gravity.”
“What’s he smoking?” I ask.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s what I said,” Katie goes on.
“But Linus says if I had explained
what falling in love
really
felt like,
you would have known that you loved him,
not the Prince of New Hampshire.”
“I didn’t fall in love with either of them.”
“When you do fall in love?” she asks.
“Will you tell me?”
“Yeah.” I bump her shoulder with mine.
“What are best friends for?”
Linus hands out invitations to the Leftovers.
They are decorated with fire engines and Dalmatians.
Who: Emily’s Baby Boy
What: First Birthday
When: Saturday, February 3, 1:00 p.m.
Where: Katie’s House
Your presence is our present!
On Saturday, I walk to Katie’s
in time to see Linus pull in the drive.
(I didn’t know he got his license.)
He gets out and steps around.
In her car seat, his niece cries raindrops.
“Shush, Bug. Really now,”
he says as he unbuckles her.
“Aunt Marcie’s here,
don’t you want to wave hi-hi?”
She giggles.
And so do I,
because Linus just implied
that we were married.
“Bug is the substitute for Emily’s baby,”
Linus explains, handing me her diaper bag.
We play games meant for kids
younger than us by years—
duck-duck-goose,
Chutes and Ladders,
Candy Land,
and Twister.
Bug crawls around, wide-eyed.
Wondering, probably, why all the laughter?
She isn’t sure what to think
of the Mylar balloons,
the crepe paper streamers,
of her uncle and the Leftovers.
She decides that the party,
most certainly, is for her
because she doesn’t
see any other baby,
just her friend Emily,
sitting out.
“Em?” I ask, pulling my chair close to hers.
“Is all of this really okay with you?”
(I think it’s really weird
to celebrate an adopted baby’s birthday,
when he isn’t here.)
Em looks at me.
Tears have tracked shiny lines down her pretty face.
(I’m ready to call the whole thing off,
whisk her away, feed her orange juice,
chicken soup, and One A Day vitamins.)
“Yeah.” She nods.
“I’m saying good-bye to my baby.”
“You sure?” I ask again.
“Uh-huh, it’s part of my grieving process.
Sharon, my therapist,
says it’s okay to feel emotions.”
“Like all of them? All at once?” I ask.
(Olive, Ian, Carolina, and Katie collapse
into a giddy giggling mess on the Twister mat.)
“Happy and sad.”
Emily nods, then smiles.
“All mixed up,” I say,
and wrap her in a hug.
Katie’s mom dims the lights,
brings in a cupcake and candle.
In the flickering candlelight,
we sing “Happy Birthday” to Emily’s baby.
Sitting on Linus’s lap, Bug spies the flame
and bursts into tears because the food is on fire.
“It’s okay, my little friend,”
Katie’s mom explains.
Emily blows out the candle
and says, “One year down.”
Emily’s giggles turn to tears
as Bug’s tears turn to giggles.
To Love, To Family, To Friends
Katie’s mom makes a toast,
to family and to friends.
“I want to thank Emily,
on behalf of adoptee families everywhere,
for her selfless gift.
The gift of life
that makes families like ours complete.
We love our daughter, Katie,
like the parents of Em’s baby love him.
So much—so much I can’t explain.”
“I love Katie, too,”
Angelo announces,
wrapping his arms around her.
I look at Linus holding Bug—
both sticky with frosting.
And think he’s the one.
Not just for silly parties,
Candy Land and Twister,
but for all the times in between.
There, watching Linus
feed Bug bits of cupcake,
I decide
to patch up my mistakes, his heart.
To make mortar out of tears.
I’ve Changed My Mind,
All I Want Is Everything
| I want respect. | I will respect. |
| I want love. | I will love |
| I want passion. | with passion. |
When I tell Mom that
my friend Emily
has a therapist named Sharon,
she says, “That’s good.”
“Maybe what is good for Emily
would be good for you, too,” I suggest.
“Yes, I should talk to a counselor.
But I have to take my meds, too.”
“Meds?”
“I suffer from depression, Marcie.”
“I know, I mean, I noticed.”
“So I need to take antidepressants.”
“Are you?”
“I’ve started again.” She sighs.
“But you weren’t?”
“No. Not after your dad . . .
um, made his announcement.
I just took the Ambien. Not the others.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wanted to feel something—
my husband left me for a
twenty-seven-year-old man
and all I felt was numb.”
“Huh?”
“My meds build this barrier
between me and my emotions—
leaving me without a backstage pass.”
“You wanted to feel bad?”
“I was depressed.
I couldn’t see straight, think straight.”
“You could have told me.
I could have called the doctor.
I could have helped—”
She says, “I’m sorry, Marcie,”
her voice all shaky.
“I didn’t know how to ask for help.
I didn’t realize that you’d understand.”
She sniffles.
My lower lip starts to tremble
and I grip the receiver,
as if it were her hand.
“Don’t cry, Mommy,” I say,
because hearing her sob is breaking my heart.
“I wasn’t a good mom, was I?”
“Everybody makes mistakes.”
“But I’m the parent.”
“Not even parents are perfect.”
“Ethan is. I hated that,
always trying to be his storybook bride.
