I felt a flash of something like satisfaction at her obvious disappointment, even if I’d shared that disappointment only hours before.
Liva shook her head. “I like things to be pretty. I want us to look pretty. It’s the last time we’ll be together like this.”
The few words fell heavy between us and remained there. She sat at the kitchen table and took out her sewing kit, every movement measured and careful, like mine once were. “You used to understand how much this means to me.”
The words were soft enough that I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear them. Her shoulders dropped, and she kept her eyes on her designs, while my cat leaped on the table and curled up on one of the pieces of fabric.
It was true. Once upon a time, I would’ve consulted Liva before making any changes to my appearance. After all, Liva practically pops up when you do a Google search for the societal standard of “beauty” as I’d always been taught: long, wavy blond hair, pale blue eyes, translucent white skin, cheekbones sharp enough to cut. Liva won WyvernCon’s costume contest three years in a row. She was born to be a famous costume designer or a set designer. And she shines when she’s creating. Once upon a time, I would’ve gone to her first because I loved looking beautiful too.
But that was Maddy-before-the-accident.
Maddy-after-the-accident was about to mess up her fourth batch of cookies.
I kept trying. Less chocolate, more nutmeg, more cinnamon, octagonal-shaped, like a twenty-sided die. But none of the cookies darkened to a crisp gold. The kitchen started to smell more and more acrid, leaving me increasingly out of sorts. I had only ever been able to approximate Nan’s recipe, but whatever secret ingredient she used eluded me. It’s patience, my lamb, she’d tell me. Or trust. Or love. Or something else both intangible and immeasurable that left me feeling antsy and on edge.
I reached my arms behind my head and popped my elbows, and tendrils of pain tickled down my arms. Not bad enough to hurt, just there enough to remind me of my body, my here.
Right after the accident, the physical pain was the worst. My knee felt like it was four times the normal size, and my leg could barely bear weight. But it didn’t stop there. It gnawed at me from the inside out, as if my knee had melted to the bone in the fire and continued to burn, even when there was no fire in sight. With every passing day, it left me more ragged and uncertain, until I didn’t just struggle to understand the world around me—I struggled to understand myself.
“An opera cape,” Liva said after a long silence. “I’ll change your cloak into an opera cape. You know, with one of those high collars? It’s far better than a hood. It’ll bring out your eyes and your pixie cut.” She’d already laid out the design of my cloak across the countertop, a pencil at the ready. “I may have to change the shoulders a bit so you won’t look like a 1950s Dracula, but you don’t mind that, do you? I’ll keep the length because I know you like it.”
I turned away from her and tried to rescue the cookies that had managed to blacken despite my careful watch. “Sure, do what you think is best.”
“What is best?” The kitchen door slammed against the wall and a five-foot-ten-inch perfect storm blustered into the kitchen. Sav. All smiles and muscles and long black hair. She had a ball clamped under one arm and was furiously texting a friend with her free hand. As of next season, she’d be the new defender of Stardust High School’s lacrosse team. After I tore my ligaments, she took over my place in the team and in my other friend group—and kept it.
“Still training?” The words bit more than I’d intended.
She collected food from various cabinets. “Just finished up. I need to prepare for camp next weekend. Lacrosse season doesn’t end because school’s out. You remember, don’t you? I only have a few weeks left to get in perfect shape to impress the girls from out of state.”
Those words bit more than she probably intended too. Sav worried about my injury. She was with me every day when I was in hospital. And she couldn’t help it that she had a neurotypical flair that I never possessed. But every jab felt like pain, regardless. Lacrosse was what had given me meaning, what had made every day a little bit brighter, and now it was gone.
“You’re going to do your role-play thing again this weekend, right?” Before she slipped out again, cheese and vegetables and a container of hummus balanced on a plate, Sav glanced at Liva’s work. “Cool. I can’t wait to hear the stories. I hope it’ll be great. Also, Mad, if you try another batch of those cookies, save me some?” With a teasing grin in my direction, Sav pulled the door shut behind her, and her voice echoed in the hallway. “They smell delicious!”
Before the accident—BTA—I didn’t know anger and pain could feel the same. I didn’t think physical pain and emotional pain could simply be extensions of each other. Now, I could hardly separate the two. And I wanted to crash my fist into a kitchen cabinet or my knee into a chair. Find a more harmful way to stim. Either make the pain worse or make it go away.
Instead, I swayed back and forth and started batch of cookies number five, only to find the dough confused and the cookies burned again before I realized what had happened. I couldn’t even remember putting them in the oven.
“Maddy?” Behind me, Liva was packing up her design. Smile tight. A frown across her brow. “I need to stop by Ever’s, so I’ll finish the cape at home.”
“Maddy?”
I thought I’d answered her.
“Maddy?”
Ever’s voice draws me back to the present. I blink and see them stare at me, shoulders hunched inward, head to the side.
I blink again and clear my voice. “Sorry, zoned out, I guess.”
One of the reasons why I actually hate the haircut is because I can’t hide behind my bangs anymore, so I can’t glance at Ever and the rest of them to orient myself. I can only stare around me in wonder. We’re nearing the grove where the cabin is. I feel like I missed the entire second half of the walk up. My knee screams at me, but even that didn’t draw me from my haze.
My hands curl into fists inside my pockets, my fingers grazing what’s inside.
I need to be careful of these moments. They’re happening too often, and I feel like I’m losing myself.
Ever reaches out a hand to me, but right before touching my arm, they hesitate and keep a careful distance between us. “You know you can talk to us if you need to, right? You can talk to me.”
What would I say? I lost the place where I didn’t have to think about who I need to be, a place where rules were clear and I excelled at them. I lost nearly everything I care about by simply trying to stay afloat, and this weekend, I’ll lose the rest. “Thanks.”
“I’m just saying…when the others go off to college, we’ll still be here. We won’t have the game anymore, but we don’t have to lose each other. You can talk to me. You can trust me.” They stare away from me, toward the grove and the cabin, which is still nothing more than a large shadow amidst the trees.