he called you?” I ask.
“He said you were drunk and got in a fight and wouldn’t leave. He said your mom said if anyone could talk sense into you, it would be me. I don’t know why she thought that; she doesn’t even know me.”
“She was right though,” Alan says. “He’s already acting more normal.”
I sigh. “Joni, this is Alan. And that’s Aimee.”
“We met,” Joni says.
“Right.”
There are a few moments of silence.
I wish I could stand up, take Joni’s hand, and transport her far away from here without saying a word. But there are three pairs of eyes on me, and they want answers. Joni wants to know what’s going on, and Alan surely wants to know who the hell Joni is and why my mom thought she would be the answer to all my problems. I don’t know what Aimee wants. Probably to go home.
Okay, easy part first.
“Joni and I work together at Whole Foods. She goes to Clinton Central. We’re…uh…friends.”
Joni’s eyes are flat. “Friends. Sure. We’ll go with that.”
“You know what I mean,” I say to her, trying to lower my voice but knowing Alan and Aimee can hear every word. I lace my fingers through hers. “We never talked about…”
“You guys are going out?” Alan asks. He doesn’t sound amused. “Isn’t that, you know, kind of soon?”
I close my eyes. Guess we’ve come to the hard part already. “Alan, please, shut up.”
“Soon?” Joni asks. “Soon after what?”
I open my eyes to find Alan staring at me like I’ve got salamanders crawling out of my ears. “She doesn’t know?”
“Ohh, is he talking about your ex?” Joni asks, trying to catch up. “I guess I knew about that. How long ago did you guys break up, anyway?”
“Jesus, Ryden,” Alan says. “Does she even know about Hope?”
“Who’s Hope?” Joni looks back and forth between us. “Is that your ex?”
Alan groans and looks to the sky in exasperation. “I can’t believe this. No,” he says. “Meg is his ex. And she’s not his ex, she’s dead. Hope is their daughter. Come on, Aimee, we’ve wasted enough time here. Let’s go.” He drops my phone at my feet.
The whole time Alan is giving his rather succinct little speech, I watch Joni. Her eyes don’t leave mine, so I have a perfect view of the betrayal taking hold with each revelation.
I squeeze her hand and beg her, silently, to stay, to please just hear me out.
But then Alan backtracks to us. “Oh, also, I’m not going to pick up Hope from day care or watch her after school anymore. I know you’ve been taking advantage of me wanting to know Hope, and for a while, I didn’t care because it made me feel close to Meg, but I’m not putting up with it anymore. I’m joining yearbook, and from now on, I’m going to live my own life.”
“Go ahead,” I mutter. “I’m done with soccer anyway.”
Alan stares at me, openmouthed. “You’re unbelievable.”
Then he and Aimee leave—for good this time—and Joni yanks her hand from mine and scoots back so no parts of our bodies are touching. But she stays.
It’s just me and Joni, sitting on the grass on Shoshanna’s front lawn.
“Start at the beginning,” she says levelly. “And don’t leave anything out.”
I nod.
I know under more normal circumstances, I’d be feeling all kinds of stuff. But we passed normal a long time ago, and now I’m numb. (Emotionally numb, anyway. Physically—my face is killing me.) I’ve got nothing left, which is probably why I’m able to tell her the story in such detail. It’s a book report, not an analysis—only facts, no feelings. It’s amazingly simple.
I tell Joni about Meg and the cancer and the pregnancy and how she died and how I thought it was my fault and how I have a baby whom I don’t quite know what to do with. I tell her about Mabel and Meg’s parents and the journals and what I found out today. I tell her about the game and UCLA. I tell her what happened with Shoshanna and how Dave beat the crap out of me and how I know I deserved so much worse.
When I’m done, I wait. Joni’s face is blank, like her brain is overloaded with data and has been forced into shutdown mode.
I wish she would put her hand on my face again.
People start to leave the party. It must be late. I wonder how long I slept.
Eventually Joni stands. She doesn’t reach down to help me up, but she waits