The Art of Holding On and Letting Go (14 page)

“Uh-huh. This is the guy who passed out in biology when the teacher pricked his finger. We were supposed to be studying our blood under the microscopes, and there's Nick, slumped on the floor.”

“Come on, the guy practically shoved the needle straight through my finger.”

Kaitlyn rolled her eyes. “So you'd think he'd know better, right? But no, he decides to do his own piercing. He never even got past his ear. He numbed it with ice and before the needle even touched his delicate earlobe, he was passed out cold.”

Nick slumped back on the couch, closed his eyes, and groaned. “You're killing me.”

“So I guess you don't have any tattoos, huh?” I asked.

Kaitlyn laughed. “Oh, wait till you hear that story—”

Nick popped up from the couch. “Okay, I'm outta here. I'd stick around for more fun and games, but I've got places to be.”

He made a grab for the last slice of pizza, but Kaitlyn slapped his hand. “Don't you dare.”

“All right already. Geez. You two are quite the welcoming crew.”

“Who invited you?”

Nick thumped his chest with his fist and let out a huge burp.

“Sicko.” Kaitlyn shoved him out the door.

“He totally likes you,” I said after she shut the door,

“Come on. He's Nick.”

“Yeah, and he's got it bad for you.”

“No way. We're just friends. Sometimes I even wonder if he's gay.”

“Really? Why?”

“Just look at him. I thought for sure he was going to pierce his right ear, but he started with the left.”

“Does he wear eyeliner?”

“See! He does sometimes.”

“But that doesn't mean he's gay.”

“Well he's never had a girlfriend. He never even talks about liking any girls.”

“Duh, because he has the hots for you. Don't you see how he looks at you?”

“Please.” Kaitlyn held up her deformed hand. “No one wants a girlfriend with this.”

Kaitlyn half-laughed, but our joking mood came to an abrupt halt. I fumbled with my words, wanting to say the right thing. “Kaitlyn, that doesn't matter.”

“It's okay.” She busied herself carrying our dirty dishes to the kitchen.

I followed, still struggling with what to say.
It's what's on the inside that counts.
People had probably been spewing phrases like that her whole life. But it was true.

She opened the refrigerator and took out a jug of milk. “You ever have hot chocolate with Baileys?”

“What's Baileys?”

She held up a squat black bottle. “You know, Irish cream. Alcohol. Liqueur. My parents put it in their coffee all the time. You'll love it.”

“I don't know …”

I'd tried beer once during a camping trip and hated the bitter taste. I took a tentative sip of the mug Kaitlyn handed me.

“There's alcohol in here?”

She nodded. “Told you.”

Before I knew it, I had gulped down two mugs of the spiked hot chocolate, and Kaitlyn poured us thirds. The lights clicked off, startling me, as we returned to the living room couches. I sloshed the drink onto my hand.

Kaitlyn laughed. “Midnight. They're on timers.”

The streetlights lit the edges of the windows, and soft yellow light drifted in from the kitchen. She didn't switch the lamps back on, and I sunk into the comfy couch cushions, licking the sticky drink off my fingers.

“What one thing would you take with you if you were stranded on a deserted island?” she asked.

“I would have advance warning that I was going to be stranded?”

“Just answer the question, smarty-pants.”

“Okay, so I could bring matches to light a fire and signal for help, or maybe I'd
want
to stay stranded there on a beautiful island, so then I'd probably take a book.”

“Which one?”

“Hmm, could I take two?”

“Nope, just one.”

“You're harsh.” My trusty Thoreau or my new friend Agatha Christie? Thoreau's words would probably make sense again on a deserted island.

“Something by Thoreau. Probably
Walden
.”

“Thoreau? Who reads Thoreau!”

“ ‘Not till we are lost, in other words, not till we have lost the world, do we begin to find ourselves, and realize where we are and the infinite extent of our relations.' ”

Kaitlyn chucked a pillow at me. I dodged it, laughing.

“Next question—”

“Hey, you didn't answer the deserted island question,” I said.

“Too tired.” Kaitlyn yawned and curled deeper into the corner of the couch. “I'd take a blanket. Next question: What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Her yawn was contagious. My eyes watered, and I took another sip of my spiked hot chocolate. “I don't know, I just always assumed I'd be a climber.”

“You can't just climb. I mean, you can be really great at it, but what else do you dream about? I want to be a CIA spy.”

I giggled and choked on my drink, sputtering.

“No one would suspect me. I'd play up the whole poor-girl-with-a-deformed-hand thing.” She waved her hand in the air. “You would not believe how many people think you're a simpleton because of this. As if my hand directly affects my brain.”

“People are idiots.”

“Come on, I know what kind of an imagination you have,” Kaitlyn said. “I see you daydreaming all the time. Fess up. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I smiled. “Okay, but promise you won't laugh.”

“You just laughed at me!”

“Sorry. Okay, I kind of imagine myself as a female Indiana Jones– like person.”

Kaitlyn tried to keep a straight face for about two seconds, then burst out laughing. “I would pay to see that movie!”

“Seriously. I probably wouldn't be an archaeologist, but maybe a botanist, because I like plants and trees and stuff. And I'm pretty adventurous; my climbing would come in handy. I could discover medicinal herbs in the rain forest and uncharted mountaintops. You know.”

“You are too funny, Cara.”

After draining my third mug, I could hardly keep my eyes open. Maybe that hadn't been such a good idea. Kaitlyn had said it was alcohol, even if it didn't taste like it. The beige carpeting swirled like a sandstorm as I shuffled back to her room.

I had brought only a long T-shirt to sleep in, and Kaitlyn's house was freezing. I was used to my grandparents' house, with the heat cranked up to a balmy eighty degrees.

“Sorry, my parents have the heat set to go down at midnight too. You want to borrow a sweatshirt?”

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my arms.

She tossed me a green Michigan State sweatshirt. “My brother, Josh, goes to State.”

“What year is he?”

“He's a junior. Here he is.” She showed me a picture on her phone of the two of them standing next to each other wearing matching sweatshirts like the one I had on now. Kaitlyn's hair was a deep, glossy red in the photo.

“I used to want to go to State, too, but not anymore.”

“How come?”

“Long story.” Kaitlyn shrugged. “U of M's a better school anyway. You have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope, I'm the one and only. My parents didn't even want me; I was an accident. One kid was hard enough to fit into their plans.”

“My parents are like that now. When Josh left for school, I think they were ready to be empty nesters. But I'm still here. They moved us into this smaller house, and I had to switch school districts. They didn't even think about what a big deal that was. Mostly they're too busy with their life to notice me.” She sank down on her bed and closed her eyes. “Which is fine by me.” She opened her eyes. “I don't think I can sleep up here. It feels like I'm on a Tilt-A-Whirl.”

We spread blankets on the floor and turned out the light. Kaitlyn pulled the soft purple afghan off the bed and draped it over both of us.

“It's spinning down here too,” I whispered.

“Yeah, but at least we can't fall off.” She giggled.

“Do you miss your brother?”

“Yeah, kind of, I guess. I mean, I'm used to it now, he's been away almost three years. And he comes home a couple times a year, it's not like he's gone for good …”

She stopped talking for a second, then started again, stumbling over her words. “I didn't mean … I just meant that …”

I changed the subject. “How come you dyed your hair black?”

“Well, it's not like I turned goth overnight or anything. I just started wearing black clothes, it sort of fit my mood. It was hard starting over at a new school. I was the new girl freak with the weird hand, and then last year it got even worse.”

“What happened?”

Kaitlyn went on talking about goths in a faraway voice. “I met Nick at work over the summer. We started hanging out, and I could totally relate to his friends.” She half-laughed and her voice grew softer, sleepier. “I dyed my hair just for kicks, and then added the dark makeup.”

“Did your parents freak?” I asked.

“They thought I was into drugs or something. Came right out and asked me. But I get good grades and stuff. I stay home most of the time. Nick and I go to concerts sometimes, down at the Majestic or the Shelter, but it's not like I'm a groupie following bands every weekend. My parents pretty much dropped it.”

Kaitlyn yawned and rolled over, facing away from me. I thought she was going to sleep, but she continued.

“No one understands.”

I could barely hear her voice.

“I know,” I whispered.

Silence. Steady breathing. Kaitlyn was asleep. The lava lamp oozed and swam in the purple light.

No one understood. I knew my parents would be back; I just didn't know when, and I didn't like the not knowing. I didn't know what our life would look like when they got back. If we'd be moving again, if I'd be going to school somewhere else. What it would be like without Uncle Max, who had lived with us more often than not ever since I was a baby.

It was something that was hard to explain to others. Why he lived with us. I just accepted it; it was the way it had always been. It was like I had two dads.

Mom and Dad and Max had all worked at the same summer camp all those years ago. Mom had even dated Max before my dad. She said that relationships were complicated, and it was hard to be gay in our straight world. Confusing. It had taken Max years to accept that he was gay. I knew it was selfish, but I used to be kind of happy in a way when Max's relationships ended. I'd feel bad that he was sad, but it meant he'd spend more time with me again. I knew he'd be a great dad, but I didn't like to think about him getting married and adopting kids of his own. Now, I'd be his only daughter.

My mind spun with all the unknowns while the room tilted. I wanted to feel the weight of the smooth stone from Chimborazo in my hand, rub my fingers around the curves to calm my mind, but my body was too heavy to get up and find my jacket.

Kaitlyn whimpered and thrashed under the blanket. I peered into the purple murkiness of the room. A sob. I patted her shoulder and whispered, “It's okay. Shh, it's okay.”

Kaitlyn sucked in another sob and curled up on her side, returning to quiet, rhythmic sleep. She hadn't answered my question about what had happened last year to make her already tough experience even worse. I pulled the soft afghan up around her shoulders and inched closer, snuggling in beside her. The room was no longer spinning. It was dark and still.

In the morning, I wondered if Kaitlyn remembered her middle-ofthe night sobbing. She acted like nothing had happened. My eyes looked redder than hers. My head throbbed. Kaitlyn had scrubbed off her makeup, revealing strawberry-blond eyelashes and faint freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks. Her red hair just barely peeked out from her side part. I wondered how often she had to touch it up. She looked so fresh faced. She looked like a Katie, not a Kaitlyn. For the first time I had a hint of why she wore her dark layer of protection.

“Here,” she said, handing me a big glass of water. “One of Josh's tricks. Alcohol dehydrates you.”

“Thanks. Do you have any tea?” I asked.

“Like hot tea? Probably. Let's go look.”

Despite their late night, Kaitlyn's parents were up and dressed in matching dark blue velour sweat suits. Neither had red hair, although her mother had so many freckles she looked tan, and she had the same strawberry-blond eyelashes as Kaitlyn. Her dad pulled two tennis rackets out of the coat closet; they even had matching bags.

“Sure you girls don't want to join us?” her father asked. “We could play doubles.”

“Or we could have breakfast,” offered her mother.

My stomach lurched at the thought of food; it was all I could do to sip my cup of tea. I sneaked a sideways look at Kaitlyn. She met my eyes and shook her head. “No thanks.”

“Well, at least let me make you some breakfast here.”

“It's okay, Mom, we're not hungry yet. We'll get something later.” The irritation in Kaitlyn's voice was clear.

“Well, if you're sure …” Her mother's voice trailed off.

I stood in the middle of their silence, dunking the tea bag in my mug. Kaitlyn wanted her parents to leave; my parents were gone, but I wanted them to come home.

As they gathered their things, Kaitlyn's mom said, “Say, Cara, do you have a dog?”

Totally random. I glanced at Kaitlyn again.

Kaitlyn exchanged a look with her dad and rolled her eyes.

“She's on a dog mission,” Kaitlyn's dad explained.

“I still can't believe you're serious about this,” Kaitlyn said. “I asked for a dog,
begged
, for like ten years, but no …”

“That's because you wanted a chocolate Lab.” Kaitlyn's mom turned to me. “Can you imagine a chocolate Lab in this house?”