be staring up at the trees, which bent forward over the road like they were showing off their last bling of the season before going bare for the winter.
The memories hit me hard, squeezing my chest, every time I stepped outside and felt that snap in the air, the fall food smells drifting through our neighborhood. My dad and Toby and I raking the lawn, then jumping into the leaves. Mom and I shopping for sweaters and corduroys at the outlet mall. All four of us driving up north to go apple picking early on a Saturday morning. I’d always loved October because it moved things along, it kicked our butts into shifting gear. But now that things were moving along without them, it just made me cry a lot.
“Birthdays and holidays are very difficult when you’re grieving, especially the first year,” said Suzie during our latest session. “It’s going to be a tough few months that way.”
“I know,” was all I said, playing with a loose button on my sweater.
“How’s your college application coming along?” she asked. “You only have a couple weeks left to submit to Yale, right?”
“I’m almost done,” I replied, glad to change the subject. I thought my application was pretty good. Or at least, good enough for my dad. I even had photos of my best set paintings over the years. They were photos Mom had taken, which at the time had seemed too embarrassing for words. Now the fact that she had taken them made the photos precious, and I had copies of them in a frame on my bedroom wall.
“Teachers are practically lining up to write my recommendation letters. That’s pretty weird.”
Suzie smiled. “Weird, maybe, but I’m sure not undeserved.”
“I’m still stuck on what to write for the big essay.” In other words, do I write about my family or not tell them anything about what happened? I was totally stumped and just kept putting it off.
“You’ll think of the right topic, I’m sure.”
I nodded. This was what everyone else had told me, including Nana and Meg. We were silent for too long, I guess, because Suzie jumped in with a new item. “And your birthday’s coming up. Are you feeling like you want a big party, or just a small celebration?”
I just shrugged. Every time I thought about it, I got too sad.
“Because I think you need to empower yourself on this. You’re old enough. If people do things for you and it’s not what you want, it will really make you feel worse. What did you do in the past?”
“Usually Meg and I would go out to a movie and then have a sleepover.”
“Is that what you want to do this time?” asked Suzie, making a note on her pad. Sometimes I imagined Suzie drawing squiggles and hearts all this time she was pretending to take notes.
I tried to picture Andie Stokes and Hannah Lindstrom in sleeping bags on the floor of the den. Like that was going to happen.
“No,” I said. “I think it’s time for a change. Maybe dinner at some cool restaurant.”
Suzie nodded. “That sounds lovely.”
Then I pictured Meg and Nana and Eve and me and maybe Meg’s parents, eating at a corner table at the Magic Wok. It did sound lovely.
“What about Halloween?” asked Suzie, bringing me back to reality. “There’s a school dance, right?”
Man, she was in the loop.
“Yes,” I said. “There’s a dance and yes, I’m going. Andie and Hannah and a couple of their friends, and Meg and I, are going dressed as sushi. I think they said I’m yellowtail.”
“Now that I would like to see,” said Suzie, making another note (or another doodle). She looked at her notes again and, as if deciding I hadn’t given her enough to write about, asked, “Anything else you want to talk about today?”
I had a new postcard from David tucked into the last pages of my history textbook. He was in Mexico. Just for the weekend, he’d written. Just to see what it’s like to have authentic tequila.
I still hadn’t told Suzie about anything that had happened with David; I wasn’t about to start now. But I felt like I owed her some kind of new personal nugget.
“Joe Lasky wants us to do an art project together,” I said, thinking of his open smile that day by my locker.
She smiled, way too pleased, but I was glad for it. Maybe she could get excited for me, since I wasn’t allowing myself to.
“Tell me about that,” said