What You Left Behind Page 4

  I already know she looks like Meg. It’s all I see whenever I look at her. Shoshanna was right—Hope is cute. Beautiful even. Like her mother. Especially lately, now that she’s growing out of that smooshed-face, all-newborns-look-alike thing. Other than her eyes, which are a dark blueish (though my mom says that will probably change), everything else about Hope is pure Meg, right down to her fair skin, the shape of her lips, and her jet-black hair, which sticks out in every direction and is growing fuller every day. And she’s only half a year old—as she grows up and becomes more of a person, it’s gonna get worse. Her eyes are going to turn dark brown, almost black. I know it.

  “It’s uncanny.” Alan’s voice is full of awe. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use the word “uncanny” in actual conversation before. “What’s her name?” he asks after another minute.

  I startle. “You don’t know her name?”

  “How would I? You won’t talk to me, Meg’s parents won’t talk about the baby, and no one else I’ve asked has known any more than I do.”

  Well, shit. Now I feel even worse.

  “Her name is Hope,” I say.

  “Hope?”

  “Hope.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “That’s ironic.”

  This time, both corners of my mouth pull up. “Tell me about it.”

  A few people pass us on their way down to the picnic, but they don’t stop. They just wave and hurry down the hill.

  “So,” I say after a few minutes. “I’ll see ya.”

  I stand and start to gather Hope and all her crap.

  “Wait, Ryden.” Alan stands and brushes the grass off his butt. He nods toward Hope. “It’s like…at least Meg didn’t die for nothing, you know?”

  He’s totally serious, waiting for me to say, “Yup, I understand completely. Right-o.” But that’s not going to happen. Because if I could go back in time and do it all differently, I would.

  It’s not that I blame Hope or want her to go away or anything like that.

  I just wish I’d realized that Meg’s birth control pills weren’t going to work because of all the chemo. I wish I’d used a condom. I wish Meg had listened to me and gotten the abortion—I wish I’d fought even harder for that. Because if any of those things had happened, Meg might still be here.

  But Hope is here now, and Meg’s not. That’s the way it is, and I’m trying to do my best with it.

  I don’t respond to Alan’s question. Instead, I sling the diaper bag over my shoulder and say, “Later, man.”

  Then I walk to the parking lot and don’t look back.

  Chapter 4

  That afternoon at work, Joni comes up to me as I’m squeegeeing the refrigerator doors. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater that looks like it was made in a beginners’ knitting class. The holes between the stitches are really big.

  “Aren’t you cold?” she asks, nodding at my bare arms.

  “Nope.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Where’s your name tag?” I ask.

  Joni reaches under her loose collar and pulls out the top of the tank she’s wearing underneath. The name tag is pinned to the thin white cotton.

  “You know you’re supposed to wear it where people can actually see it, right?”

  She shrugs. “All they said was that we had to wear it. They didn’t say where.”

  “Have you always had such a problem with authority?”

  She sticks her tongue out at me. It’s tinted blue.

  “What the hell have you been eating?” I shift my squeegee and bucket down to the next frost- and fingerprint-covered door.

  She holds up her left hand. There’s a blue Ring Pop on her middle finger.

  I put on an appalled face and point a finger accusingly. “How dare you taint this hallowed ground with corn syrup and artificial dyes! Sacrilege!”

  She laughs. “What can I say, I’m a rebel. You wanna take a break?”

  I laugh too, a little. “I only get a fifteen, and I haven’t even been here an hour yet. I try to go as long as possible before going on break, ’cause then the second part of my shift goes by quicker.”

  “Crafty.”

  I tap my temple. “Yep.”

  “Well, I get a fifteen and a forty-five, so come find me when you want to go on break.”

  “Um. Okay.”

  “Um. Okay,” she mimics and skips off down the aisle with all the random stuff that doesn’t have a logical home—the paper plates, the dog food, the colanders.

  I straighten a few bags of frozen veggies before moving on to the next door. I probably should have said no. I don’t know why I didn’t. My break at work is the one tiny sliver of my day where I don’t have to do anything.

  But Joni’s cool. She’s easy to talk to. I get the sense that she’s not into guys, so there’s no chance of being anything more than friends.

  And the best part is, she doesn’t know anything about me.

  • • •

  A couple of hours later, I go in search of Joni and find her working register fourteen. I wave from my safe space, off to the side, away from the never-ending checkout line, and she turns off her light.

  “Follow me,” she says as she makes her way over to me.

  I trail her through the store. When we get to the deli, she punches a code into a door I’ve never been through before and holds it open. I walk through to find that we’re in the employees-only section behind the deli counter. There’s a little corridor with a few turnoffs—the one closest to the door is where the deli guys stand to talk to the customers over the counter.

  “Hey, Julio,” Joni says to the guy at the meat slicer. “¿Cómo estás?”

  “Hola, Joni.” He says her name like ho-ni. “My daughter drew you a picture. I left it in the back for you.”

  “Awesome! ¡Gracias!”

  We keep walking down the hall, past doors marked “Refrigeration. Keep closed at all times,” and wind up in a little break room. It’s empty and spotless. The main break room on the other side of the store is rarely empty, and it’s never this clean. There are about a million employees at this place, and I’ve never seen anyone wipe down the tables or clean out the microwave. There’s a child’s drawing on the table: a beige piece of construction paper with what I’m pretty sure are fish swimming around under the ocean. To Joney, it reads in wobbly black crayon. From Annalisa.

  Joni picks it up and smiles. “Aww. Sweet kid.” She gestures to the empty chairs. “Have a seat.” She pulls two long, oval-shaped things wrapped in white paper out of the fridge and tosses me one.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s a sandwich, dummy.”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “The deli. Those guys love me.”

  Okay, I’m really confused. “Haven’t you only been working here for a few days?”

  “You can make friends in way less than a few days, Mr. Ryden Whatever-Your-Name-Is.”

  Joni bites into her hero. A glob of mustard squirts out onto her chin. Rather than using a napkin to wipe it away, she tries to lick it off. I laugh as she squints and strains her tongue to try to reach the spot. It doesn’t work, obviously, so eventually she uses her sandwich to wipe it off and then licks the glob off the bread.

  “That is disgusting,” I say.

  She just grins and takes another bite.

  I dig into my sandwich too. It’s Swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, pickles, and olives. Not what I would have chosen, but I only have a few minutes left of my break and I’m suddenly starving.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” Joni says.

  I swallow the bite of hero in an attempt to force down the lump that’s risen in my throat. “What do you want to know?”

  She shrugs. “I dunno, basic stuff.”

  Basic stuff I can do. “A
ll right, shoot.”

  “How did you get this?” She points to the thin scar that cuts through my left eyebrow.

  My stomach twists, and I shake my head. I’ve never told anyone that story—not even Meg. At the time, it was her scars that were more important. In particular the one on the back of her thigh, where they extracted a big chunk of skin and tissue around her cancerous mole. “More basic.”

  “More basic than that?”

  “Yup.”

  She sighs. “Okay. What’s your last name?”

  “Brooks. What’s yours?”

  “Ríos. How old are you?”

  “Seventeen. You?”

  “Seventeen.”

  That surprises me. I thought she was older for some reason. “When’s your birthday?” I ask.

  “March 6. You?”

  “March 6!”

  Joni’s eyes get huge and she sits up straighter in her seat. “Are you serious?!”

  I burst out laughing. “No. It’s actually January 13. That would have been crazy though, right?”

  She throws a tomato from her sandwich at me. “You jerk.”

  I peel the tomato off my shoulder and eat it. It feels good to joke around like this. “Moving on. Where do you go to school?”

  “Clinton Central.” That explains why I’ve never seen her before—Clinton’s a few towns away from Whole Foods in the opposite direction of Downey. “And you go to…let me guess…Haverford Prep.”

  I almost choke on my last bite of sandwich. “Why the hell would you think that?”

  She studies me. “You strike me as one of those angsty, life-is-so-hard, privileged types whose daddy is making him work a part-time job to learn the value of a dollar. Why else would you be so miserable all the time?”

  My good mood burns a fiery death. “You really don’t know what you’re talking about.” I push back my chair and toss the hero wrapper in the garbage. “My break’s over. Thanks for the sandwich, but please just leave me alone from now on, okay?”

  I don’t know what I was thinking when I thought I could be friends with this girl. I’d wanted it to be different, to have someone fun to talk to and hang out with who wouldn’t look at me with pity. But she’s just as judgmental as everyone else.

  Finding someone you can really connect with is like winning the fucking lottery—it happens basically never, but if it does, you really shouldn’t blow it.

  • • •

  May 23.

  “How are you feeling?” Ryden asked me the moment I hopped off the school bus this morning.

  The first thought I had was that he’d found out about the cancer. Panic. “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean, what do I mean? You were out sick yesterday, right? And there was that whole running-out-of-English incident the day before?”

  Relief. “I’m better now. Thanks.”

  “Good.”

  I know I’m not supposed to think about him. No more crush. Focus on school. That’s what’s important.

  I started to walk again, but he caught my arm. “Meg.”

  I know this would probably sound crazy if I ever said it out loud to anyone, except maybe Mabel, but I think that was the best moment of my life so far. Because I’ve never felt anything as good as when our skin first touched. It was like time stopped. Heat passed between us like fire when his hand clasped my wrist. Okay, maybe not fire, but something really, really hot.

  “Go to the dance with me tomorrow?”

  Every possible answer went through my mind: Yes. No. I can’t.

  I broke eye contact and looked down at my feet. Someone’s old Math II quiz was being pushed along the ground by a mild gust of wind. It was crinkly, like it had been wet and then dried in the sun. There were footprints all over it. It had been through so much, but it was still here.

  “Ryden…”

  “Don’t say no. Just come with me tomorrow, and if you don’t have fun, I promise I’ll never bother you again.”

  There was a little tremor in his voice when he said the word “bother.” I really wanted to say yes.

  The wind picked up, and the math quiz was carried away.

  The parking lot was emptying out—first period was going to start soon. But I knew I had to give him an answer.

  Finally, I said, “Dances aren’t really my thing.” Obviously it was the truth, since I’m not supposed to do anything overly physical lately, but it sounded stupid even to me.

  He let go of my arm, looking incredibly dejected. But here’s what I still don’t get: why? He can have anyone he wants. Why me?

  “That’s cool, I get it. See you later, Meg.”

  “Wait!” I called out as he walked away.

  He turned back.

  “Do you want to do something else tomorrow night? Something more…low key?”

  A huge, gorgeous grin crept over his face. “Yeah, absolutely. School dances are lame anyway. What did you have in mind?”

  Honestly, we could sit on the side of the road counting cars for all I care. I just can’t wait to be alone with him. But I do have an idea: the secret beach. “You’ll see,” I said, and I still can’t believe how cool I was able to play it.

  Holy crap. I’m going on a date with Ryden Brooks. Mabel’s going to flip. :-)

  Chapter 5

  “There’s Daddy!” my mom says to Hope as I slam the front door. She holds the baby out to me as I pass by the living room on my way to my room. “How was work?”

  “It sucked.” I keep walking.

  Mom follows me. “Aren’t you going to say hi to Hope?”

  I stop at the door to my room and slump against the doorjamb. My fingers grip Meg’s journal. Hope’s happy and babbling in my mom’s arms, trying to grab her necklace.

  “Can’t you keep her in your room tonight? I’ve had a really shitty day. I need sleep.”

  “No, Ryden. I can’t.”

  “But look at her—she obviously likes you better than me.”

  Mom sighs. “No, she doesn’t. You’re her father. She loves you. I just have more experience handling babies—that’s what she’s responding to. You’ll get it. You just need to keep practicing.”

  “I don’t want to.” The words are out before I can stop them. I don’t even think I really mean them. Or maybe I do. I don’t know.

  I did everything wrong with Meg, and I really don’t want to do everything wrong with Hope too. But there’s a part of me that thinks I might as well stop busting my ass trying. Stop trying to get her to respond to me the way she does with my mom, stop trying to get her to stop screaming and crying and fussing whenever she’s alone with me, stop trying to get her to sleep through the whole night one fucking time.

  Until I find that missing piece of me, it’s hopeless.

  Mom frowns. A lot of women her age haven’t even had kids yet, and here she is, a single, working grandmother. I know none of this has been easy on her either, but she’s so much better at managing it all than I am.

  Mom passes me and walks into my room. She puts Hope down in her crib, turns on her mobile with the different colored dragonflies, and then sits on my unmade bed, patting the spot beside her. “Come here.”

  I drag my feet across the floor and collapse face-first onto the bed. The mobile serenades us with a tinny, four-note tune.

  “Ryden,” Mom says. Her voice has that serious tone that I heard for the first time about a year ago. “We need to talk.”

  “Can we talk tomorrow?” I ask into the sheets.

  “No. Now.”

  The lake, Alan, Joni…and now this, whatever this is. It is so not my day. I sit up and lean my head back against the wall. “What?”

  “We need to figure out what we’re going to do when school starts up again in September. You’re not dropping out,” she says firmly.

 
“What? Why the hell would you think I want to drop out?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. Do you know how incredibly common it is for teen parents to drop out of high school? It’s a hard balance, being there for your child, going to school, keeping up with your homework, and providing financially for your family.”

  “Mom, it was my idea to go back to school this fall, remember?”

  She continues as if I hadn’t said anything. “So, you’re not dropping out, and you’re going to have to keep your job. But we need my job too, which means I won’t be able to watch Hope while you’re at school and while you’re at work.”

  Don’t forget about soccer practice.

  “So we need to work something out.”

  “What about day care?” I ask.

  Mom raises an eyebrow. “Day care is expensive.”

  As if I don’t know that. We looked into a few places in our neighborhood back when Hope was first born before we decided I’d do homeschooling for a while. The cheapest one we could find was $425 a week.

  “Maybe Grandma and Grandpa could help.”

  “You can’t drive back and forth to Vermont every day, Ryden. Besides, they’re too old to take care of a baby.”

  “No, I mean I could ask them for some money. To pay for day care.” After all these weeks of trying to figure out what to do with the baby when soccer starts up again, that’s the best option I’ve managed to come up with.

  Mom’s expression doesn’t change. “You really think that will work.”

  I shrug. “It’s worth a shot.”

  Mom holds up her hands. “Well then, by all means, don’t let me stand in your way. Can’t wait for the checks to start rolling in.”

  I may not know my dad, but there’s no question of who I got my sarcastic gene from.

  I ignore her. “I’ll call them tomorrow.”

  Mom gets up. “Great. Then tomorrow night, we’ll talk about plan B.” She’s about to leave, but Hope starts doing her baby talk thing again, and it sounds a lot like, “Da-da-da-da-da.”