Forever, or a Long, Long Time Read online

  “What kind of classes?” Julian asks. “What did they teach you?”

  “They’re supposed to teach you how to be a good mom or dad. They taught some good stuff—science-y stuff. Like psychology, which is the study of human minds. And neurology, which is the study of—”

  “The human brain!” I shout.

  “Good job, Flora!” Person says, squeezing me tighter. I never get in trouble for calling out when I’m at home. “And human development, which is the study of . . .” Person pauses for me on purpose.

  “The way we grow,” I say.

  “That’s right!” she says. She’s proud. I’m glowing.

  “What else did you have to do?” Julian asks.

  “I had to turn in all sorts of papers. I had to use my birth certificate to prove that I’m a US citizen. I had to use my mortgage papers to prove that I owned this apartment. I had to get fingerprinted at the city office to prove that I’m not a criminal.”

  We always chuckle at that. How could Person be a criminal? It’s ridiculous.

  “And then they said, ‘OK, Ms. Baker, you’re all set. We’ll let you know when we have a match for you.’

  “And then I waited. And waited.”

  “How long did you wait?” Julian asks.

  “Almost another year! Can you believe it? I waited and waited and waited. You guys were out there and—”

  “We were waiting too,” I say.

  I’ve never said that before. It’s a new thread in the T-shirt. Person freezes. She turns and looks at me and her eyes get so dark I’m sure she’s going to cry again, but her arm stays heavy and solid on my shoulders and she stares and stares and stares.

  “You were. You were waiting,” she says. “You were at Gloria’s, and you were at the other house before that while I was doing all of this preparation. And you were waiting.”

  Something big is happening. It’s so huge I’m going to drown in it. Something big and huge is suffocating us.

  Julian rescues me like always. “Then what?” he asks.

  I breathe deeply. I need her to get to the end of the story. I need to hear the magic word.

  “And then,” she says, “one day they finally called and said ‘We have a little boy and a little girl, brother and sister. They love each other a lot. We want someone to adopt them together.’ And it was like fireworks exploded in my heart. It was like a key turned in a lock. It was . . . ,” Person says. “It just was. Finally, after all that waiting, it was.”

  I’m almost crying now. Because for Person the waiting was over in that minute. But Julian and I were still waiting when we got here. Waiting to have to go away again. Waiting to not be here anymore. Waiting for something bad. And just when we thought we weren’t waiting anymore, now we are again.

  Waiting for a baby, a new person. Another change.

  “So I ran around like crazy,” Person is saying. “I wanted to get you everything in the store. I had to set up your rooms so that you would love them. It was October so I wanted to be sure we had Halloween costumes ready to go! It was going to be Flora’s birthday the next month so I wanted to get started planning a party. I wanted to be sure I had good food in the fridge!”—Julian and Person laugh, I focus on not crying—“I asked all sorts of questions about your favorite colors and your favorite toys and your favorite foods and I called everyone I knew and said ‘Guess what, I’m going to have two kids!’ and made them all help me so you’d love everything about it when you finally got here. I still had to wait weeks and weeks to meet you even though I was your mom already.” Person stops. She looks at me again. “The waiting was so hard.”

  That’s another new part of the story.

  “And you were waiting too. We were all waiting. I wish we could have those days of waiting back, Flora. I wish you never had to wait for me.”

  Person ignores that there are a few tears leaking now. I’m avoiding her eyes. She knows I don’t want to talk about the tears.

  Person says, “And then I met you!” She’s smiling so big at this part. “The social worker finally brought you here. And you guys came stumbling in my apartment with nothing but the clothes on your back and a garbage bag full of clothes and toys in your hands. You didn’t look at me or smile. You were so scared! And so was I. I saw your little faces and I just thought, I love them already.” She takes a deep breath. “Then I thought, you better be good at this, Emily.”

  She squeezes us close. I’m almost done crying. The part I love is coming. The part is almost here.

  “The first thing we did was sit at the table and eat some pizza. I asked about your favorite foods and colors and toys in case the social workers had gotten anything wrong—and I learned a lot of new stuff. Julian, you answered all the questions. Even the ones about Flora. Flora, you wouldn’t even look at me. You kept your eyes on your shoes the whole time. Julian, you kept asking for more and more pizza!”

  He laughs.

  “But then?” I say.

  Here it comes. The best part.

  “Well, Flora, you remember that first pizza dinner, right?”

  But I shake my head. I don’t remember any of this.

  Person looks alarmed. “You don’t?”

  I shake my head again. “I remember the story,” I say. “The way you tell it.”

  But I don’t remember being there. I was probably terrified. I had probably floated away to the ceiling.

  “But you don’t—” Person shakes her head like she’s clearing it and I’m relieved. I want her to get back to the real story. I don’t want all these new parts. I need to hear the last word.

  “Well, anyway, you didn’t talk to me for days, Flora. Weeks, really. You didn’t look right at me again after this for a long time. But that night, about halfway through your first slice, Flora, you finally took your eyes off your shoes. You looked at Julian, and then you looked at me.”

  It’s almost here.

  “All of our eyes connected for the first time and I thought—”

  This is it.

  “I thought, yup, I’m a mom now.”

  I wait. I look at Julian. He looks at me.

  Person squeezes us close again. She plants a kiss on each of our foreheads one more time.

  Then she whispers that final magical word.

  “Forever.”

  I turn those words over in my brain. I wait for them to have the calming effect they usually do, like rubbing a smooth stone in your hand with the back of your thumb.

  I’m a mom now. Forever.

  I’m a mom now. Forever.

  After another big squeeze, Person stands and says, “It’s almost seven. Who wants ice cream?”

  We both sort of nod, dazed.

  Person sits on the edge of my bed. I’m in my pink pajamas with the cupcakes printed on them. They’re soft against the skin on my legs and stomach and arms. I’m settled into the nest of my bed. Person is stroking my hair.

  “You seem to be feeling better,” Person says.

  I nod against the pillow.

  “I’m so glad,” Person says. “I always want my kiddos to feel good all the time, even if that’s not possible.”

  The rhythm of her hand on my head is putting me to sleep. She starts at the part, then her fingers trace my hair down to my ear and then to the back of my neck. Then she starts over again. Part-ear-neck. Part-ear-neck, I think, getting sleepy.

  “You know you’re going to have to apologize to Elena though, right?”

  Boom. I’m awake. My eyes go wide. She’s still stroking but it feels like she’s scratching me now.

  I shake my head.

  “You do. You two are sisters. Sometimes sisters fight but we need to try to work it out.”

  “No,” I say, sitting up.

  “No?” Person says. “No, you will not apologize?”

  I meant No, we aren’t sisters. But I nod.

  “Why?” Person asks.

  “I punched her,” I say.

  “I know,” Person says. “That’s w
hy you need to apologize.”

  I shake my head.

  Person sighs. She looks tired now. I bother her all the time. I can’t be the perfect apologizing sister. I can’t be the great fourth grader who will definitely pass and go into fifth grade. No wonder she needs another kid.

  “Baby,” Person says heavily. I love when she calls me that. It’s almost like I got to be her baby. But now I know I wasn’t a good enough baby because I was already big and now she doesn’t want me like that anymore and now the word is half like, half hate and it’s like ants are crawling between my bones and muscles. “Do you know that punching is wrong?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Do you know why?”

  “Hurts,” I say.

  “Yup, exactly. You hurt Elena. Do you know that?”

  I think about the blood. It was her tooth on my knuckle. I’m the one who was bleeding. I think about her tooth jammed into that laugh and about her laugh stabbing Julian and how we had stolen all of Julian’s food.

  Did I hurt Elena when I punched her? Do I care if I did?

  “I needed to,” I say.

  “You needed to punch her?” Person asks. “Why?”

  I don’t say anything for a second and her eyes turn from tired to wanting.

  “Tell me why, baby. I know it might not be in words right now, in your head, but put it in words. I want to understand.”

  What happened when there was no Person who wanted to understand?

  “Why did you need to punch her?” Person says again.

  Because the skin on my knuckle needed to breathe. Because I was so guilty for hurting Julian. Because she says I’m lucky to have you which sounds to me like I don’t deserve you.

  Because sometimes I believe that.

  I say, “She was laughing at Julian.”

  Person raises her eyebrows. Her eyes are calm now. “Oh,” she says.

  She puts her arms around me. It’s like the filters that I don’t have fly open. I can’t stop the words from coming.

  “For the food,” I say. “She was laughing at him for the food and . . . and gross. She . . . gross. She called him gross. And laughed. It was like . . . she said laugh. She says . . . gross. Mean. Too mean. I . . . I was the worst. But the laughing. It was like Julian was . . . food . . . broken. She doesn’t . . . she can’t . . . she’s not . . .”

  Person’s arms are tight around me and she’s rock-rock-rocking me back and forth on the bed. “Shh, shh,” she says. “OK, now? Shh.”

  “She’s not . . . us,” I finish.

  Person pulls back to look at me. “Well, she is, Flora. She’s your dad’s daughter. She is us.”

  But my dad is my dad because he adopted Julian and me when he married Person. My dad is Elena’s dad and the new baby’s dad for some other reason.

  “Listen, Flora. We’ve all got a long way to go. Elena included. You’re right. She shouldn’t laugh at Julian. But . . . look. You are the one in trouble now. She did something wrong, and you are in trouble. Do you know why?”

  “Because I punched her?” I ask.

  Person nods. “We’ve got to get you to express yourself, OK? With words. You can’t go around punching because your words aren’t coming. Forget about Elena. That’s going to hurt you.”

  With my thumb, I rub the spot on my knuckle where a scab is forming. Sometimes I want it to hurt me.

  “No more punching, OK? Promise me.”

  I nod.

  I lie back down.

  “Will you stroke my head again?” I ask.

  Person almost looks like she’ll cry. “Of course, baby,” she says.

  I think about what she said. About expressing myself as her hand goes part-ear-neck, part-ear-neck, part-ear-neck.

  I have to do whatever I can to make Person happy. I have to tell her.

  “Mom,” I say. “Sometimes I’m not excited about the new baby.”

  “Oh?” she says.

  Her hand stutters on my head though. She’s mad at me. She loves the new baby and she maybe loves it more than she loves me. Probably.

  Words rush out quickly. “I mean, not like Julian and the goldfish. I—I’ll be careful anyway.”

  Person whispers in my ear, the most comfortably tickle-y words. “Flora, my Flora, you are not going to hurt the baby. Don’t worry about that.”

  “I know,” I say.

  Person sighs. Her hand keeps going. I’m almost asleep by the time she talks again. “It’s OK if you’re scared about how this will be. After now. It’s OK if that scares you. But you don’t need to figure out how it’s going to be, OK? You don’t need to work it out. You don’t need to take care of anything or anyone. You leave that to the grown-ups, your dad and me.”

  Don’t worry about anything? But if I didn’t worry constantly about being good enough for Person, there’s no way I’d ever be good enough for her.

  “I just . . . ,” I say. “I sometimes wish . . .”

  Person doesn’t urge me on so I know I should stop the words from coming out but I can’t because I’m missing the lung gates.

  “I sometimes wish the baby would stay inside you,” I say. “Forever.”

  THEORY #31

  We come from the chaos, my brother and me.

  We were born out of the screams of other kids. We’re made of their tears. We grew from their temper tantrums.

  We will never escape the chaos because it’s what brought us to life in the first place.

  Fourteen

  FAMILIES HAVE MEETINGS

  DAD PICKS US UP FROM SCHOOL the next Friday and then there’s only one week left of fourth grade and Ms. K. Maybe. If I do good.

  When we get home Person is on the phone in the kitchen so I guess she and Dad both don’t have to work today. She doesn’t hear us come in because she’s being very loud.

  “I’m not making excuses for her, Meredith. What she did was inexcusable, but she’s my kid and this is how I’m dealing with it.”

  She’s talking to Elena’s mom.

  “They are both his daughters,” Person is saying.

  Dad puts his hands on our backs trying to rush us through to the other room but we dig our heels into the wooden floor and lean against his hands so he can’t push us anywhere too quickly.

  “Oh, don’t try to out-mom me. We have different kids, different girls. What my kids have been through . . . Those extra eight years give you no authority over my kids and my parenting . . . You have a voice. Believe me you do. We hear your voice loud and clear around here . . .”

  Person looks up and sees us staring at her, leaning almost perpendicular into Dad’s hands as he pushes us.

  She waves her hand in front of her face almost like she’s asking him to get us out of the room.

  Dad ushers us into the hallway toward Julian’s room. The last thing we hear Person say is, “Look, she has to come tomorrow. Co-parenting is court ordered. Why don’t you both come over tonight and we can try to make everyone more comfortable?”

  We go into Julian’s room and Dad rushes back toward the kitchen.

  Julian says, “Yes!” as soon as the door closes behind us. He does a little move with his hand in a fist and his elbow going down while his knee goes up like he’s a regular happy boy from our school.

  “Huh?” I say.

  I watch Julian go to his closet. He starts tapping on his full pockets and surveying the hiding spaces as he talks and talks over his shoulders.

  “Did you hear her? Did you hear her, Florey? What she was saying?”

  I’m still all huh? staring at the back of his head as he darts all over his closet pulling food out of his pockets and talking-talking-talking to me.

  “She was saying stuff like my kids and don’t try to out-mom me and how you’re just as much Dad’s daughter as Elena is and how she’s a mom she’s totally a mom and you know what she needs to be a mom?”

  He turns and looks at me. He’s rushing toward me, doing a little jig on the carpet.

  “You know
what she needs to be a mom, Florey?”

  I shake my head. Not because I don’t know the answer. Because he’s wrong.

  “You know what she needs to be a mom? She needs us! Us.”

  I shake my head again. “Not anymore,” I say. “She’s having a baby.”

  His face falls so fast.

  The door opens.

  “Elena is coming over,” Person calls in.

  Julian and I stare at each other, confused.

  “Friday,” I say.

  “I know it’s different,” Person says. “Meredith is coming too. We need to have a family meeting. If you want to change out of your uniforms do it now. And, I don’t know, maybe . . . think . . . or get . . . or be . . .”

  Person interrupts herself, shaking her head.

  “Never mind. Just be you. Just be my beautiful babies.”

  Julian and I sit on the couch with Person between us. Elena and Meredith sit in chairs next to the couch. Dad paces. He props himself on another chair, then gets back up. He sits on the arm of the couch, then gets back up. He walks over to behind Elena, then to the other side of the couch so he’s facing her.

  It feels like the quiet goes on too long. The quiet and Dad moving. Like the grown-ups don’t know what to do.

  Person says don’t worry, be a kid. It’s impossible.

  “Well, let’s get to the bottom of this,” Person says.

  “There’s nothing to get to the bottom of,” Meredith says back. She always speaks too quickly. It’s like her words are all connected by a hard metal wire, the kind that could cut your skin. She has always made me want to hide. But I’ve never had to be in a room with her for this long before. “Your kid punched my kid in the mouth.”

  “Flora?” Person says.

  I nod. It’s true. I did that.

  “Well, that was easy,” Meredith says. “Your kid punched my kid. We all know it. That’s it. I told Jon this situation gets only one strike. I don’t want them together anymore. You guys have to find Elena another place to sleep when she comes over here. I want them separated. I never liked the idea of them spending so much time together to begin with but I let it slide because, Emily, you said all of those things about family and I, well, I couldn’t speak up without sounding like an awful person, huh? But now here we are. I was right from the beginning.” She turns to face Dad where he’s now standing behind their chairs again. “Jon, what are you going to do?”