What You Left Behind Read online

  Because now it’s not about me being curious. It’s about me being deficient. A clueless, shitty excuse for a father with a baby who won’t stop crying.

  I really need to talk to Mom.

  The computer monitor flashes the time: 12:14 p.m.

  I could go knock on her office door, but I don’t want to drop the Michael bomb in the middle of her workday. I’ll talk to her tonight.

  I look at the clock again, and it hits me. There’s somewhere else I could be right now.

  Before I can really think about what I’m doing, I run around the house collecting things to pack in Hope’s diaper bag—diapers, wipes, baby sunscreen, ointment, bottles, burp cloths, a change of clothes (please, God, no explosive diarrhea today), three pacifiers and five teething rings (enough to replace the ones she’ll inevitably throw on the ground), her baby sun hat, and the freakish green monster—and throw on my bathing suit and a T-shirt.

  Hope whines as I transfer her from her swing to her car seat, but the motion has calmed her some and she’s not all out crying, so hey, win. With her in one hand, her diaper bag in the other, and a beach towel tossed over my shoulder, I peek my head into Mom’s office.

  “We’re going out!” I shout over the P!nk song Mom’s singing along to. “Be back by five.”

  She looks surprised. “Okay, well, have—” But before she can finish, I’ve pulled the door closed and am on my way.

  I drive toward the lake.

  Press down on gas.

  Check mirror.

  Flip blinker.

  Merge.

  Press gas harder.

  Just keep moving forward, Ryden.

  Before too long, I’m pulling my beat-up 2002 Mercury Sable into the makeshift parking lot at the southeastern side of the lake and lugging Hope (who drifted off to sleep during the drive—double win) and all her crap down to the beach. It’s not until I crest the hill that I stop. There’s a ton of people here. Probably the entire entering senior class plus their friends/girlfriends/boyfriends from other years. Oh yeah. This is what summer is like.

  There’s a beach volleyball game going, the girls are lounging in bikinis on their towels, and there’s a keg set up right in the middle of it all. Almost everyone has a red Solo cup in their hands. There’s no one here over the age of twenty, and no one under fifteen or so. Except Hope.

  The exhaustion haze clears, and I come back to myself. What the hell am I doing? We can’t be here. I may not be the world’s most qualified parent, but even I know you probably shouldn’t bring a baby to a keg party.

  I take one last look at the scene below, then turn to go back to the car. Instead I collide with Shoshanna and Dave. Perfect.

  No one says anything for a long second. Shoshanna looks from me to Hope and back to me, clearly trying to find something to say, and Dave just unabashedly stares, literally openmouthed, at the baby.

  I sigh. “Yeah, so, this is Hope.” I lift her car seat to give them a better view, as Hope brushes her little clenched fists against her face in her sleep.

  They still don’t say anything. It’s like they’ve never seen a baby before.

  “Anyway, we’re gonna go.”

  I move to duck around the statues that used to be Shoshanna and Dave, but suddenly Shoshanna animates. “Oh. My. God. Ryden. She. Is. Adorable!” “Adorable” comes out in a high-pitched squeal, and my poor, battered eardrums cringe.

  “Um. Thanks.” It feels weird taking credit for something like that. All I did was have sex with Meg. Genetics did the rest.

  “Look at her, sleeping there like a little angel!” Shoshanna says. “Look at those tiny fingernails! And those chubby cheeks! Come on. We have to introduce her to everyone.” She pulls me by the wrist, and before I know it, we’re skidding down the hill to the beach. My flip-flops sink into the soft, hot sand, and I have the sudden urge to roll around in it and cover my entire body in its warmth.

  “Hey, everybody!” Shoshanna yells, waving her hands to get people’s attention. “Ryden Brooks is here!”

  And then I’m being swarmed by people I used to know—the soccer guys, the varsity cheerleaders, the student government officers—and it takes everything I have to smile and act like everything’s great, and yes, I’m so glad to see them too, and yes, this is my kid, and please don’t wake her up.

  Matt Boyd, the new captain of the varsity soccer team (that should have been me, but the vote was held at soccer camp this summer, and you can’t win a contest when you’re not there), tries to give me a fist bump, but it doesn’t really work so well since my hands are kinda full. “Training starts Monday, Brooks,” he says. His nose is covered in not-blended-in sunscreen, and he’s wearing a puka shell necklace. Douche. “You ready?”

  As if I didn’t know that training starts Monday. As if I haven’t been trying to figure out how to make the schedule work all damn summer. Our soccer team is one of the top-ranked teams in the country, so practices are pretty intense. I may have gotten a pass on camp this year—for obvious reasons—but there’s no way in hell Coach O’Toole is going to give me any leeway on the regular practice schedule. Practices are from nine to four, five days a week for the two weeks before school starts, and then from two fifteen to four thirty after school every day. Those are Mom’s work hours. How’s she supposed to keep a steady hand for her calligraphy with a baby in her arms?

  “Yeah, man,” I tell Matt. “I’m ready.”

  And then they’re dispersing again, going back to their beer and their games, laughing and making out and grilling hamburgers. They’re doing fine without me. A few groups of people whisper to each other as they glance my way. I’m nothing more than a novelty.

  I don’t know what I was thinking coming here. I guess I thought I could, for a moment, go back to being “Ryden Brooks,” instead of “Hope’s dad.” But that’s who I’ll be for the rest of my life. Even if I don’t have the first clue how to do it.

  Shoshanna runs off, strips down to her bikini, and jumps in the water. Dave claps me on the back and says, “You want some food?”

  I shake my head. “Nah, man. I think I’m just gonna go.”

  Dave nods. “Cool. See ya, Ryden.”

  I’m working my way back up the hill, my feet sliding around in my sand-covered flip-flops, the back of my neck sweating from the sun and all the heavy stuff I’m carrying, when footsteps close in behind me and the diaper bag is suddenly snatched out of my hand.

  “Hey, what the—” I stop short. “Alan.”

  Alan Kang. Meg’s best friend.

  Shit.

  • • •

  I met Alan the day after I met Meg. Or re-met her, I guess. That part’s in the journal too.

  May 21.

  Today was one of the most embarrassing days of my life. And you know I’ve had a lot of those. I started feeling sick in English (the one class I have with Ryden, of course) and had to run out before the bell. I refused to give myself permission to throw up until after I got to the bathroom, and luckily I made it to a toilet just in time… But what had Ryden thought about me running away with my hand over my mouth like that? I was mortified. And I really, really didn’t want to have to explain about the chemo.

  So then, ten minutes later, I left the bathroom…and Ryden was waiting for me! I think I may have actually gasped when I saw him there. So embarrassing, on every level.

  That part’s sorta funny to me, because what did she have to be embarrassed about? She threw up. It happens. I was the one feeling like a total tool, standing outside the bathroom, listening to the muffled sounds of her puking, clueless about what to do. I didn’t know if I should go in or not. I mean, it was only a bathroom, right? Nothing I’d never seen before. But what if they were doing, like, girl stuff in there? Passing around tampons and stuff.

  A few minutes went by, and the crowd in the hall started to thin out. I felt so
useless. What if she needed someone to call the nurse? There had to have been other girls in there, but I wasn’t sure if Meg would ask them for help or not. She kinda kept to herself.

  The door swung open. It was Meg. And yup, she gasped. It made me smile.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She nodded. I noticed she was chewing a piece of gum. “Were you waiting for me?”

  “Yeah.” I held up her backpack. “What happened? Do you have the flu or something?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Do you want to go to the nurse?”

  “No!” she said, a little panicked. “It passed. Seriously, I’m fine. You should go to lunch. Thanks for your help.” She held out her hand for her bag.

  A few minutes ago, she was spewing her guts, and I should’ve been grossed out, but she was still really pretty, with that crazy hair and soft-looking mouth.

  “Can I walk you to lunch?” I asked.

  She hesitated and narrowed her eyes. “Did you really friend Alan Kang on Facebook?”

  “What?” How was that a response to my question?

  She spoke slower. “Did…you…friend…Alan…on…Facebook?”

  I held her gaze. “Yes.”

  “Why?” It was like she was accusing me of something, like friending Alan Kang on Facebook was all part of some master scheme to take over the world.

  “Because you’re not on Facebook. I checked. And I saw you sitting at lunch with him yesterday and figured one degree of separation was better than nothing.”

  Her eyes widened.

  My Alan Kang Facebook recon mission had been surprisingly useful—his relationship status was “single.” Which meant Meg wasn’t his girlfriend.

  “So,” I repeated, “can I walk you to lunch?”

  “One more question,” she said.

  I waited.

  “What about Shoshanna?”

  Huh? “What about her?”

  “Shouldn’t you be walking her to lunch instead?”

  “Um, why?”

  Meg’s face got all flushed, and she looked down at her shoes. “Aren’t you two…?”

  I shook my head. “We broke up a couple of months ago.”

  If I hadn’t been looking so hard, I would’ve probably missed it. But there it was. Meg’s features relaxed with the smallest hint of relief.

  “So?” I asked. “Lunch?”

  She met my gaze. “I have to go to my locker first.”

  We started to walk. “Why?”

  “Alan will be waiting for me there. And I need to get my lunch.”

  “You bring your lunch?” I asked. Yeah, it was small talk, and yeah, it was awkward, but it was better than saying nothing.

  “I don’t really like the cafeteria food.”

  “Why not?” Cafeteria food was awesome. Nachos and burgers and fries and pretzels and those deep-fried pizza roll things.

  She shrugged. “I try to eat healthy.”

  I nodded, as if I understood. “So you bring a sandwich or something?”

  She full on smiled at that. “No. Steamed veggies and tofu, kale chips, organic fruit, stuff like that.”

  “Right. Cool.” What the hell is a kale chip?

  We got to her locker, and sure enough, there was Alan. He blinked at the sight of the two of us together.

  “Hey,” Meg said, giving him a look that I probably wasn’t supposed to notice but that obviously meant, Stay cool.

  “Hey,” he said. “Hey, Ryden Brooks.”

  “Hey.”

  More uncomfortable silence. “Hey” couldn’t be the only thing we had to say to each other, could it?

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said.

  “No problemo.”

  Meg fumbled with her lock as I racked my brain, trying to come up with something to talk about. What had I seen on Alan’s Facebook page again? Hip-hop and Korean movies. I guessed I could bring up one of those topics. But which one? I knew nothing about hip-hop, and I didn’t want to sound dumb. I could ask him about the movies, but would it sound like I was only asking him about Korean stuff because he was Korean? Coming off as an insensitive racist was the last thing I needed.

  God, why was I so nervous?

  Come on, Meg. Get the damn locker open already.

  “So, Alan,” I said, hating the desperation that came through in my voice. “On Facebook I saw that you like Korean cinema.” I’m such a loser.

  Alan’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! Have you ever seen Shiri?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Oh, man, it’s so badass. What about Joint Security Area?”

  I shook my head.

  “Dude, you gotta Netflix it. It’s about these two soldiers who are killed in the DMZ. It’s really good.”

  I glanced at Meg as she clicked her lock open. About time. Her wild hair was blocking most of her face, but I could just make out a smile through the tangled web. She was happy. Whether it was because she finally showed that lock who was boss or because of something I’d said, I had no idea. But I wasn’t about to stop.

  “What’s the DMZ?” I asked Alan.

  “The demilitarized zone between North Korea and South Korea. Dude, don’t you watch the news?”

  I shrugged. “Not really.” Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? They’re going to think I’m a moron.

  Meg turned to us and held up an insulated lunch bag. I hadn’t had one of those since second grade. “Got it,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  “Do you like Korean movies too?” I asked her, trying to keep this train wreck going for some reason.

  “I’ve seen a lot of them. But I’m not really into them like Alan is. I don’t understand how he can watch the same ones over and over.” She rolled her eyes.

  “You’re know you’re just jealous of my mad cultural pride,” Alan said.

  She patted him patronizingly on the back. “That must be it.”

  “Hey, you liked Il Mare!”

  “Yeah,” she conceded. “That one was actually pretty good.”

  “Il mare?” I asked, my ears perking up at the familiar words. “Like, the sea?”

  Alan and Meg stared at me.

  “What? I take Italian. I’m not a complete idiot, you know.” Shut up. You’re making it worse.

  Meg smiled. “I know. You’re in Honors English.”

  “Yeah, my guidance counselor has been trying to get me into honors classes for a while. I finally agreed this semester because I figure it’ll help seal the deal on my scholarship with UCLA.”

  Meg was quiet for a moment, then said, “UCLA, huh?”

  “Yeah. My mom and I went on a road trip to see a bunch of soccer schools over Christmas break. As soon as I got to the UCLA campus, I knew that’s where I wanted to go. They have a kickass team, and the weather’s nice, like, all the time. Plus, it’s California, so the people are generally cool. I talked to the coaches and did the whole unofficial visit thing, and they’re really interested in me.”

  Meg nodded and got this far-off, dreamy look in her eyes.

  Alan saw it too and obviously understood it better than I did, because he immediately changed the subject. “Anyway, the Korean title of Il Mare is Siworae. It’s about these two people who are in love but living two years apart. The only way for them to communicate is through this magic mailbox.”

  “There was an American remake with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves,” Meg said, clearly trying to get her mind off whatever it was that had upset her.

  “The Lake House,” I said.

  Again, Meg and Alan stared at me.

  I shrugged. “My mom loves that movie.”

  We arrived at the cafeteria and went our separate ways. But it was clear that things had changed. I was one step closer to being a part of Meg’s world.

  •
• •

  “You looked like you could use some help,” Alan says, dragging me back to the here and now. Of course he’d be at a party meant for the whole incoming senior class. Of course I’d run into him here.

  The look in his eyes is pretty damn close to the one in my mom’s—M, E, and G bobbing up and down in a pool of sadness—but there’s a difference. Alan isn’t sad for me. He’s just plain old sad. Because he lost Meg too.

  Something starts to bubble up inside me, but I shove it down before it can show itself.

  “Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “Thanks.” I sit down, right there, halfway up the hill, with Hope’s car seat. She’s kind of on an incline, but it’s sturdy enough. And hey, when she wakes up, she’ll have a great view of the lake.

  Alan sits too. He rests his forearms on his knees. He’s got his red WWSOD bracelet on. What would Sandra Oh do? The corner of my mouth turns up in a pathetic attempt at a smile. The guy is freaking obsessed with famous Koreans.

  “I called you,” he says.

  “Yeah.”

  “A lot.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I came by your house too, but your mom said you weren’t up for having visitors.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that. I…uh…” I try to come up with a reasonable excuse for not returning his calls or wanting to see him, but I’ve got nothing. The truth is, I couldn’t face him, knowing he was thinking what Meg’s parents and everyone who was ever close to her were thinking—that she’s dead because of me.

  Eventually I give up trying to come up with a response. Alan doesn’t seem to be expecting a real answer anyway.

  We’re quiet for a long time. I stare out at Lake Winnipesaukee. You can see across to the other side easily, but its size is deceiving because it’s not round. It’s all warped, with hidden bends and nooks. You could spend your whole life out here and it would keep surprising you.

  I haven’t been here in a long time.

  After a while, Alan says, “She looks like her.”

  I blink out of my daze. “What?”

  “The baby. She looks like Meg.”

  The name hits me hard, right in the gut. Even though it’s always with me, I haven’t heard it spoken aloud in months. I dig my heels into the grass and run soccer drills in my head. When all the bad feelings are safely restrained, I turn to Alan and find him staring at Hope. I look back at the lake. “You think?” I ask. My voice is flat.