Autumn's Wish (19 page)

My heart lands in my stomach because I suddenly know what she's going to say.

“Mom…really?” I ask with dread.

“Really what?” Erick asks. “What's up?”

She looks at him, because I guess that's easier than dealing with me. She takes a deep breath. “Erick, Autumn…there's no easy way to say this, but—”

“She has a boyfriend,” I say sharply, cutting to the chase. “Glen, right?”

Mom works hard to keep smiling. “Yes. Glen. He's a very nice man. And I'm not saying anything dramatic is happening between us, but we've been seeing each other for a while now, and I just think it's time he met the two most important people in my life. And please don't think for a minute that I'm trying to replace your father in any way. I—”

“Mom,” Erick interrupts her, “it's okay. I'm happy for you.”

“You are?”

Mom and I ask it at the same time, only she's delighted while I feel like I've been stabbed in the back.

“Sure,” Erick says. “Dad would want you to be happy. Ooh, garlic knots.”

Erick tucks into the big basket the waitress drops at our table, and I'm stunned while I watch him eat. How can he be okay with this? I finally decide it's only because Erick hasn't
seen
Glen. Once he looks at the guy and sees his helium-head, pipe-cleaner-limbed ridiculousness, he'll change his mind.

“Gwen?”

We all turn to see the man himself. Glen. He wears a gray suit with an unpleasant yellow shirt. His head and face are devoid of the blond hair I'd seen before. It's a slightly better look—maybe Mom got him to shave—but his chin is weak without any facial hair. The top of his head dances with beads of sweat. It looks disgustingly similar to the beads of butter on the garlic knots. I'm nauseous.

“Glen!” Mom lights up at the sight of this guy. She stands and leans close like she's about to hug or kiss him, then looks at me and changes her mind. She squeezes into her side of the booth so Glen can slide in next to her. His eyes widen a little when he looks at me. We
have
met before, kinda, outside Catches Falls. But he lets it go.

“Autumn, Erick, it's a true joy to meet you,” he says. “I've heard so much about you both.”

He hands presents to each of us. Erick tears his open. It's a guide to training for
American Ninja Warrior.
Erick pumps his fist in the air. “Yes! It's like my dream to be on that show!”

“That's what a little birdie told me,” Glen says with a smile to Mom.

Vomit.

“It's a great gift,” I snark. “We totally want his life goal to be a gym rat meathead.”

Glen pales. Mom blushes. Points to me.

“Autumn, why don't you open your present?” she asks.

I do. It's a book called
Make Freshman Year Rule,
and the picture on the front is two young smiling girls, a blonde and a redhead.

“The girls on the cover wrote the book during their own freshman year,” Glen says. “They said it's all the things they wish they knew when they first got to school.”

“They kind of look like you and Jenna, don't they?” Mom asks. “I thought that was so cute.”

“Very cute,” I say, then stare daggers at Glen. “And I'm sure trying to read it won't frustrate me and make me miserable at all.”

Glen takes a deep breath, then turns to Mom. “Maybe this was too soon,” he says. “This is a family celebration. I should go and—”

“No,” Mom insists. “Stay.”

He does, which is fine because I'm energized now. I finally know what I need to do to continue my mission. I'll use this dinner and make sure it drives Glen so far away from my mom he won't dream of coming back.

Glen does what I'd expect. He acts very nice, asks all kinds of questions, and doesn't try to touch my mom in front of us. In return, I start every sentence with the words “My dad,” I glare, and I slice down every single thing he says and does. I feel like we're verbally arm wrestling, and I'm totally winning. I know this because Mom drags me to the bathroom before dessert.

“Autumn, I know this is hard for you, but—”

“
Hard?!
Mom, this guy is awful!”

“You're not being fair, Autumn. He's very nice.”

“Yes, he is. He's nice. And
boring.
Dad was romantic. He was fun. He was goofy. He was strong. He swept you away every single day of your life!”

Mom's eyes are full of tears, and that's good. I
want
her to remember what she's throwing away. She wipes her eyes and sniffs. When she speaks, her voice is small. “Your father isn't here,” she says.

Automatically, I reach for the spot under my shirt where the locket rests. “Isn't he? Isn't he always with us?”

Mom sniffs harder. I put my hand on her arm. “Mom, I'm not saying you can never be with anyone else. But this guy? Dad gave you this magical, exciting life full of love and happiness. He gave that to all of us. Glen can't do that. He's nice, but he's a washcloth. You deserve more than a washcloth.”

Mom purses her lips, then laughs out loud. “Remember the meteor shower? When he woke us all up in the middle of the night to drag us onto the deck?”

I nod. “And you said no, because it was too cold, but then we went out and saw he dragged every blanket and pillow from the house outside to make a giant nest.”

“And he had hot chocolate,” Mom adds. “And we sat out there, all bundled up and warm, and watched the whole sky streak by.”

“And he sang, remember?” I ask.

Mom laughs. “Any song he could think of that had the word ‘star' in it. And remember his shooting star dance?”

We both imitate Dad's bad disco move, swiveling our hips and pointing our fingers across the ceiling like we're tracing the path of a shooting star. We both laugh.

“I love you, Autumn,” she says. “Thank you.”

We hug, then go back to the table. Even though we tried to clean up, it must be pretty obvious we'd been crying because Glen leaps out of his seat, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He looks earnestly at my mom, so clearly worried for her. It's pretty obvious he cares about her—maybe he even loves her—but he's no Reinaldo Falls.

I see the way Mom looks at him, studying him, and I know she sees it too. “You were right, Glen,” she says. “This is a family celebration night. I think it's best if you go.”

Glen blinks, confused; then he seems to understand what she means. “Oh,” he says, flustered. “Well, um…” He reaches for his wallet but Mom shakes her head.

“It's on me,” she says. “Thank you.”

She keeps her gaze on him, and I know Glen's waiting to hear the same thing I am. Some kind of “I'll call you,” or “We'll be in touch,” or something to indicate they're still together and going strong. Instead she says nothing. Glen seems to get it. He swallows hard, and his Adam's apple—which looks like a mini version of his bald sweaty head—bobs up and down.

“Okay,” he says. “Good night.”

Despite Mom's wishes, he puts enough money down on the table to pay for everyone's dinner. Then he leans toward Mom as if to give her a kiss good night, but she leans away. Not much, but enough. Glen purses his lips but manages a last smile to all of us and then leaves.

“So,” Mom says when she settles herself back in the booth, “anyone hungry for dessert?”

“Starving for it,” I say.

Why wouldn't I be? The whole world seems lighter and happier. Yes, Mom looks like she's holding back tears, but of course she is—we just talked about Dad, who's the best guy in the universe. Remembering him is always great and hard at the same time. And, yes, Erick is glaring at me, but he just liked that Glen gave him a workout meathead present. He'll get over it.

Dessert is spectacular. Tiramisu with a candle to celebrate my SAT accomplishment. I blow out the candle, but I do it in honor of more than just a score. After weeks of feeling lost, I finally took a huge step to complete my mission from Dad. I told Jenna I'd know when it was time to jump ahead and check on the future, and I absolutely do. The minute we're back home, I shut myself in my room and set the locket for today's date, three years from now. The year that used to mark my mom's wedding. I clutch the locket in my hand, close my eyes…

I expect to end up at my own house around Thanksgiving, but instead I'm in a small room. There's a large window with soothing drapes, though I can see the outline of bars on the window. There's a beige carpet, but it looks old and matted down. I see a single twin bed, made up with an old, vaguely pleasant floral bedspread. Reenzie and Taylor sit together on the bed. Reenzie wears a white bathrobe. She has no makeup on, her hair is unwashed, and her face looks drawn and tired. Taylor wears all black, which I hope is a fashion statement and not a bad omen about Drew. Amalita and I sit in matching chairs across from the bed. We're dressed casually, which for me means jeans and a T-shirt and for Amalita means a bright red tube dress, but with only a few pieces of jewelry.

Is this Reenzie's dorm room? Is that why she's the only one undressed?

Taylor looks searchingly into Reenzie's eyes. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“You tell me,” Reenzie says. She lifts her hands and her bathrobe sleeves drop down her arms…to reveal both her wrists, heavily bandaged.

I run to her side and kneel down “Reenzie? What did you do?”

“It was just so hard, you know?” Reenzie tells Taylor, her eyes filling with tears. “Stanford was all I wanted, but then I got there and it got so hard.”

“But you were doing great,” Future Me says. “You told us you were on honor roll all freshman and sophomore year.”

Reenzie nods. “I was. Straight As. That was my goal—straight As, summa cum laude, top of the class, just like my parents always told me they expected. They kept sending me all these emails about how hard it is to get into the best law schools and how I basically had to be the best or I'd never do it, and I'd never score a top political internship, and I'd never be the next female president.”

“No pressure or anything,” Future Me snorts.

“They were right!” Reenzie insists. “And I was on track! But this semester…nothing worked. Everything I wrote was wrong. And my Political History of the Middle East…impossible. Bs and Cs, best I could pull.”

“But Bs and Cs aren't bad,” Future Me tells her. “
I
get mostly Bs and Cs. Junior year is hard. And it's early in the year. There's time to get better.”

“For you, maybe,” Reenzie says. “It didn't work that way for me. I had already lost top of the class, but I could still save summa cum laude if I moved quickly.”

“So you cheated,” Ames says in a matter-of-fact way that sounds pretty harsh to me.

The Reenzie I know wouldn't let anyone talk to her in that tone of voice. This Reenzie just lowers her head sadly. “I bought some essays online. One for the Middle East class and one on the significance of the first African American president on race relations in the United States. Both really good. Guaranteed As. But I got caught. First-time offense is a suspension, community service, and an F, but each essay was a separate offense. They expelled me.” She looks down at her wrists. “I wanted to be gone before my parents found out.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “I still wish I were.”

“No!” I say it at the same time as Future Me, who moves from her chair to sit next to Reenzie and put an arm around her.

Taylor's eyes are full of tears. “I wish you'd told me how bad it was,” she says. “I wish I could have helped.”

Reenzie half laughs, half sobs. “Like you needed my problems. Your boyfriend was dying of cancer.”

“Cancer?!”
I blurt. “Now I'm supposed to fix cancer?!” I turn to Tee and throw my arms in the air. “How can I possibly make everyone's future better when you fell in love with the most fragile boy in the universe?!”

“I know,” Taylor answers Reenzie, not me, “but I still would have been there for you.”

I plop on the floor and rest my head in my hands. Unbelievable. I'd jumped to see how I'd made things better with my family, but clearly my friends still need a lot more.

I feel totally helpless, and I can tell from listening that Reenzie, Taylor, and Future Me do too.

Then Ames pipes up.

“Enough,” she says. “No more moaning. I'm sick of it.”

“Amalita…,” Taylor warns, but Ames ignores her.

“No, it's stupid! You did this to yourself, Reenzie. You cheated. You got caught. That's on you. So, what, you're gonna end it all because you feel sorry for yourself?”

Reenzie, her face twisted in fury, holds up her bandaged wrists. “That was the plan, yes.”

“And it failed,” Ames says. “So you're here. Now what?”

“Ames, what is wrong with you?” Future Me snaps. “You're not helping.”

“Yeah, I am,” she says. Then she kneels down in front of Reenzie. “Remember senior year, when I got drunk and sent that picture to Zander? The one that ended up all over? If you think I didn't want to end it all then, you're crazy.”

“You did?” Reenzie asks.

“Yeah, I did,” Ames replies. “That whole time I stayed away from school, I thought about it every day. I thought it would be easier than facing what everybody thought of me. But you know what? That was dumb.”

“Okay, Ames,” Future Me interjects, “I only took Psych 101, but I know it's a bad idea to call a depressed person dumb.”

“I'm not just saying, Reenzie,” Ames goes on, “I made my mess, just like you. And I was the one who had to make it better, just like you.”

“It's different,” Reenzie says. “You were embarrassed. I ruined my life. I'll have to transfer to some community college if I want my degree. And when I apply to law school, the first thing they'll see is I got kicked out of Stanford.”

“Uh-huh,” Ames says. “And guess what everybody sees—still!—when they Google my name. That stupid-ass picture. I went into my college dorm and my roommate had it up on her computer screen. When I got out for summer jobs, they've seen it and they ask me about it. And you know what I do? Same thing you'll do when people ask you about all this. I own the mistake and I deal with it.”

Ames moves closer to Reenzie now. She kneels down in front of her and takes her hands. “I messed up big-time, and I was ready to throw it all away 'cause I thought it would never get better. But it did. I'm in school. I make and sell my own jewelry. And I have kick-ass friends who are even stronger than me and won't let their own
pendejo
mistakes get in their way. You got it?”

Reenzie doesn't answer right away, but she smiles. “Your jewelry,” she finally says. “I'm gonna have some pretty ugly scars for a while. Got any bracelets that can cover them up?”