Hah. Where it will surely occur because I just chose not to tell her. God, this is getting so confusing.
“Khannan has always been kind and polite with me,” I say, “but I think we’d both feel awkward being alone with each other.”
Mom slumps.
I need to cheer her up. “Hey, how about this? If Dad won’t take me, I could stay with you at Fermilab. We’d have fun.” I flash a big smile.
“What about school?”
“For as much as you pay in tuition to that place, the teachers should be able to give me assignments in advance. I could do a special presentation on Fermilab when I get back. They’d love it.”
“I’m not sure you need more exposure to multiverses and quantum theory. Think I’ve done enough damage.”
“No damage, Mom.” I hug her. In her own way, she’s always supported me. I don’t want her to blame herself. After what I’ve felt the past three years, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “I think I need to talk to Dad.”
“OK. I’ll leave now so you can call him. Let me know how it goes.”
I hug her again, my chin resting on the top of her head, smelling the oatmeal and honey shampoo she uses.
She squeezes me again then holds me back. “When did you get so tall? And your figure!” She looks at my breasts. “You surely didn’t get those from me.”
“I’ll be sure to thank Dad for the boobs.” And we both laugh. Something we haven’t done in a long time, not since Dad lived here.
She holds my hands and lifts my arms. “You’re a beautiful girl, Delaney.”
Instinctively, I pull my arms together. “My arms are too long.” I never lift my arms in public.
“No, they’re not,” she tries to reassure me.
“Let your arm hang by your side and look where your fingertips reach on your leg.” Mom does as I ask. “Now look where mine reach.” I swear my tips almost touch my knee.
“You should try fencing or basketball. Those arms would work to your advantage.”
“Then everyone would notice how long they are.”
She shakes her head and purses her lips. “We live in a very sexist world. Long arms are prized by boys. Why shouldn’t they be by girls? You are very pretty, arms included.”
I smile. She squeezes my hand and leaves.
I face the mirror and hold my arms out to my sides. My wingspan is 75 inches while my height is 70. Mom’s wingspan has to be shorter than her height because her hands are so small. The only similarity between Mom and me is our eyes—big. Dad’s are kind of beady. Otherwise, I’m a more feminine version of him.
I find the paper with his phone number. Maybe I should write down what I want to say? I smile and think of another Laney hunched over her keyboard, typing not only her words but what Dad says back. Then starting over with another version. And another. I let that universe fly away and punch his number into my phone.
Which rings. Several times. Then I hear his voice.
“Can’t talk right now. You know what to do.” Click, then a mellow woman’s voice says, “Leave your message now.”
I can hear myself breathe into the phone. I swallow. “Hello, Dad? This is Laney. Your daughter. Look, I really need to talk to you. I know our separation is all my fault, and I’m sorry. Really sorry. I need my dad. I need to talk to you and . . . come see you, if you’ll let me. And I know when you wanted to see me, I screamed at you and drove you away, so you have every right to do the same to me. But . . . I’m desperate.” Tears flood my eyes. My throat aches so much I can barely speak. “My mind’s not in a good place right now. Please call me back . . . any time. Doesn’t matter how late. I probably won’t sleep tonight anyway until I hear your voice. And . . . I know you won’t believe me, and you have every reason not to, but . . . I love you. And I hope you can still love me.”
I punch the end call button and fall onto my bed, burying my face into my sheets, and cry myself to sleep.
* * *
I have bad dreams, though I can’t remember them entirely. Just flashes of emotion and light. Sounds emerging from darkness. Is someone gagged? I have trouble breathing.
Marissa and Kaitlyn blow smoke into a sploofy, giggling, as we walk barefoot in the grass. I see the blue light of a swimming pool as I swing around tree trunks. They hold the joint out for me to take. Marissa’s shirt is open. I take the J and somehow I’m walking down a driveway alone, stoned, barefoot. I find a gate and see cars racing down the road. I run back and hide behind the trees.
My sheets are sticky wet. I have a headache, and my neck is stiff. I push myself up and try to stand. I have to pee.
The kitchen is empty and the lights are off. I run to the bathroom, but it’s locked. Why? This is supposed to be for me only. I knock.
“Just a minute,” Eddie says.
What the hell is he doing in my bathroom? I bang on the door. “Eddie, get out of there! Please!” I bang on the door again. I’m about to explode.
He opens the door, wearing a towel, his hair wet and mussed. I notice a purple birthmark above his belly button and the bulge below his waist. I push my way past him, yanking down my pants, barely moving my butt over the toilet before I erupt. My head flops back, and all my muscles relax, the pee whooshing into the bowl.
“Feels good when you can finally let it go,” says Eddie. “I know the feeling.”
I hear the door click closed and Eddie laughing outside.
* * *
My phone vibrates. I open my eyes and reach into my back pocket. I’m in my bed. I sit up and see a message from Garrett. Are we on for 2?
My head sways above my shoulders as I stand and stretch. Crazy-ass dreams! It’s dark outside and I check the time—11:30. I’m starving, so I go to the kitchen and open the refrigerator. I find a wrapped plate with a note: We didn’t want to wake you. Enjoy, Khannan.
I shove the plate in the microwave and answer Garrett. Sure! I fell asleep hours ago and just woke up. Can’t wait to see the meteor shower.
He responds. Cool. I’ll be in my truck outside your house at 2.
I’ll be there. I send him the entry code.
The food is scrumptious. Khannan made my favorite—chicken marsala with mushrooms over polenta with asparagus. Maybe he was feeling guilty and wanted to apologize. He makes this meal about once a month. I shove bites into my mouth, barely chewing before gulping them into my stomach.
“Does it still taste OK?”
I nearly jump out of my seat.
Khannan comes into the kitchen dressed in pajamas and a robe. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I can’t sleep, so I came to get a glass of wine. Is the food good?”
“Very. Thanks. Wish I could’ve eaten it fresh, but it’s still yummy.”
He pours a glass of wine. “Would you like a little?”
Mom permits me to drink some wine during dinner, depending on the meal. “Yes, please.” Did he just happen to wander in here, or was he waiting for me to fetch my plate?
He gives me the glass and sits at the other end of the table.
“Thanks.” I take a few sips.
“I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable this afternoon. That was a surprising situation, and I wasn’t prepared for it.”