pink box of money.
Me, on Max’s bike, his thumb moving in small delirious circles.
“Max asked me to prom,” I blurt, pushing the bathing suit aside and waiting for some sort of reaction. Mom stays bent over the sink like she’s going to puke. Nana says, “Well, isn’t that lovely?”
“It’s next Thursday.”
“Wonderful!”
Wonderful? That’s it?
All that worry for nothing. Do they even realize what this means? That I’m barely sixteen, and dating a boy who is about to graduate? A boy who plans to have sex with me in a hotel room halfway between here and California?
“Do you like it?” Nana asks, nodding down at the bikini.
“Yes. Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
“Go on, open the other one.” She hands me the Trinkets bag. “This is where the blingy part comes in.” She giggles a little. Mom pulls a wineglass down, retrieves a bottle from the fridge, and heads off toward her bedroom.
Nana’s eyes follow her, and she turns back to me with a tight smile. “Well, go on,” she says, pushing the bag toward me.
“Nana, should she be drinking? With all that medication?”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Nana says.
“But…”
“No worries, my pet. Open your gift. I know your mother. Everything will settle when your father gets home.” I take a deep breath in, and pull out a pale pink folded square. “It’s a T-shirt!” she says, stating the obvious. I shake it out in front of me.
A bird in flight, outlined in rhinestones, graces the front.
And on the back, the words Thursday’s child has far to go.
“It’s from the nursery rhyme, about the days we are born? You’ve heard it, yes? ‘Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace. Wednesday’s child is full of woe, and Thursday’s child has far to go.’ And so on. And you, my child, were born on a Thursday.” She strokes my hair. “So true, isn’t it? You have your whole life in front of you, and far to go.”
My mind races, wanting to take it as a sign.
“You don’t like it?” Nana asks. “It’s too blingy, isn’t it? I thought—”
“No! No, Nana.” I try to think of the right words to say. “It’s just what I needed. It’s perfect.”
“Well, we can always return it if you don’t like it. It was in the window and I thought it was calling your name. How I remember that night, so long ago, waiting for you to arrive. And your mother—she was in such a state, worried about everything, as if she was the first woman in the world ever to give birth. Poor thing was exhausted, had gone into labor the evening before. I had to leave our weekly bridge game to meet your parents at the hospital. More than thirteen hours later, four o’clock Thursday morning, you finally decided to arrive! How you kept us all waiting in anticipation!”
I lay the shirt on the table and trace the rhinestoned bird with my finger, then flip it over to read the words again:
Thursday’s child has far to go.
I am going, aren’t I?
Maybe I should give Nana a chance, first. Tell her everything. Let her see that something has to be done about Mom. Something more than she’s doing already. Tell her about the talking to no one, calling Max “Jackie”—about the letters. How can she not be seeing these things?
But how can she help if the doctors aren’t helping?
“I love it,” I say, instead. “Thank you.”
Her face brightens. “Well, that’s wonderful, isn’t it? I’m two for two! And here I am going on and on when I’m sure you have studying to do. So, as long as everything is under control here…”—she looks around at our neat house and makes whatever assumptions she needs to—“I’d best get home.”
* * *
I shut my door and open the habitat so the few remaining butterflies can come out if they want. I shove the new bikini in my drawer, and pull on the T-shirt and stare at myself in the mirror.
Goodbye, butterflies. Hello, sparkly bird.
Nana is right. Thursday’s child has somewhere far, far away to go.
Part IV
Several types of butterflies have false eyes to scare off predators.
Humans are not so lucky.
MID-JUNE
TENTH GRADE
I come home from school the next day to a black garment bag on my bed, a folded note on top written on Mom’s stationery, in her fancy script:
My darling JL,
I know I’ve not been much use lately, but a girl going to prom needs a dress.
Will this work?
I love you,
Mom
P.S. Please invite Max over for