The Mothers (9 page)

Some evenings, she stayed after work to help Aubrey volunteer. They packed food baskets for the homeless and cleaned Sister Willis's classroom, scrubbing the chalkboards and scraping Play-Doh off the tables. On Friday nights, they hosted senior bingo, dragging in stacks of metal chairs, setting up snacks, and calling out numbers the seniors asked them to repeat at least three times. Other nights, the girls sipped smoothies along the harbor and peered into shop windows at trinkets. In the coming darkness, the boats bobbed and swayed, and later, when she crawled into Aubrey's bed, Nadia felt like one of those boats, bobbing in place. She was leaving for college in two weeks. She was drifting between two lives, and as excited as she felt, she wasn't quite ready to lose the life she'd found this summer.

Sometimes Kasey grilled and they all ate dinner in the backyard, then walked down the street for Hawaiian shaved ice. Monique told them stories about work, about a hallucinating man who'd gouged his own eye out, a woman who'd fallen asleep at the wheel and crashed into a fence, nearly impaling herself on the post. One evening, she told them about a girl who had taken illegal abortion pills from Mexico and couldn't bring herself to admit it until she almost bled out on the E.R. floor.

“What happened to that girl?” Nadia asked later, while they all washed the dishes.

“What girl?” Monique handed her a wet plate.

“That girl. The one who took those pills from Mexico.”

She still couldn't bring herself to say the word
abortion.
Maybe it would sound different falling out of her mouth.

“Horrible infection. But she pulled through. These girls are so afraid to tell someone they're pregnant, they get these pills cheap online and no one knows what's in them. She would've died if she hadn't had enough sense to get help.” Monique handed Aubrey a plate. “Don't you girls ever do something like that. You call me, okay? Or Kasey. We'll take you to a doctor. Don't ever try to do something like that on your own.”

Nadia had read online about abortion pills, forty dollars and delivered to your door in a plain brown box. She would've ordered them herself if Luke hadn't found her the money for the surgery. You didn't know how desperate you could be until you were.

“Do you think it's bad?” she asked Aubrey later. “What that girl did?”

“Of course. Mo said she almost died.”

“No, not like that. I mean, do you think it's wrong?”

“Oh.” Aubrey flipped off the lights and the other half of the bed lowered beneath her weight. “Why?”

“I don't know. Just asking.”

In the darkness of the room, she could barely make out Aubrey's outline, let alone her face. In the darkness, talking felt safe. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Sometimes I wonder—” She paused. “If my mom had gotten rid of me, would she still be alive? Maybe she would've been happier. She could've had a life.”

Any of her other friends would have gasped, turning to her with wide eyes. “Why would you even think that?” they would say, chiding her for entertaining such darkness. But Aubrey just squeezed her hand because she too understood loss, how it drove you to imagine every possible scenario that might have prevented it. Nadia had invented versions of her mother's life that did not end with a bullet shattering her brain. Her mother, no longer cradling a tiny, wrinkled body in a hospital bed, an exhausted smile on her face, but seventeen and scared, sitting inside an abortion clinic, waiting for her name to be called. Her mother, no longer her mother, graduating from high school, from college, from graduate school even. Her mother listening to lectures or delivering her own, stationed behind a podium, running a toe up the back of her calf. Her mother traveling the world, posing on the cliffs of Santorini, her arms bent toward the blue sky. Always her mother, although in this version of reality, Nadia did not exist. Where her life ended, her mother's life began.

—

T
HAT SUMMER
, the girls drove to Los Angeles to explore different beaches. Somehow, sun and sand and salt water seemed better, more
glamorous even, in the shadows of Hollywood. They wandered down Venice Beach, past weight-lifting jocks and weed dispensaries, T-shirt shops and churro stands and bucket drummers. They swam at Santa Monica Beach and drove through the winding cliffs to Malibu. Other places they went: downtown San Diego, where they rode trolleys across the city, window-shopping at Horton Plaza and walking around Seaport Village and sneaking into nightclubs in the Gaslamp district. Nadia sweet-talked a bouncer who let them into an underground club where shot glasses glowed red over the bar, industrial fans spun lazily overhead, and she had to scream into Aubrey's ear to talk. They met boys. Boys tossing footballs on the beach, boys hanging out of car windows, boys smoking cigarettes in front of water fountains, boys, barely still boys, offering to buy them drinks in clubs. Boys bunched around them at the bar, and while Nadia flirted, Aubrey seemed to shrink within herself, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She'd never had a boyfriend before but how did she expect to ever find one if she never loosened up? So on one of her last nights in Oceanside, Nadia knew exactly where she wanted to take Aubrey: Cody Richardson's house. Aubrey had never been, and in her waning days at home, Nadia felt nostalgic enough to return. Besides, if she was honest with herself, she also hoped she might see Luke. She'd imagined their good-bye—not dramatic, they weren't dramatic people, but some final conversation where she would see, in his eyes, the realization that he'd hurt her. She wanted to feel his regret, for leaving her, for not loving her like he was supposed to. For once in her life, she wanted an ended thing to end cleanly.

The night of the party, she sat on the edge of Aubrey's bed, helping her friend with her makeup. She tilted Aubrey's face toward her, gently sweeping gold eye shadow across her lids.

“You have to wear the dress,” she said.

“I told you, it's too short.”

“Trust me,” she said. “Every guy's gonna want to hook up with you tonight.”

Aubrey scoffed. “So? That doesn't mean I want to hook up with them.”

“Don't you at least want to know what it's like?”

“What?”

“Sex.” She giggled. “Just don't expect it to be all beautiful and romantic. It's gonna be awkward as hell.”

“Why does it have to be awkward?”

“Because—look, has any guy ever seen you naked?”

Now Aubrey opened her eyes. “What?” she said.

“I mean, what's the furthest you've ever gone?”

“I don't know. Kissing, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ. You've never even let a guy feel you up?”

Aubrey shut her eyes again. “Please,” she said. “Can we talk about something else?”

Nadia laughed. “You're so cute,” she said. “I was never like you. I lost my virginity and . . .” She shrugged. “I don't even talk to him anymore.”

She'd never told Aubrey about Luke. She didn't know how to explain their time together and she'd feel embarrassed trying to, because everything that had happened between them could be traced back to one of her own stupid choices. She was the one who'd gone to Fat Charlie's day after day to see Luke. She had fallen in love with a boy who didn't want anyone to know he was dating her. She'd started sleeping with him months before she was leaving for college and she hadn't even insisted he wear a condom every time. She had
been the type of foolish woman her mother had cautioned her never to be and she hated the idea of Aubrey knowing this about her.

Aubrey opened her eyes again. They were watering, and Nadia dabbed a tissue, careful not to smear her eyeliner.

“I wish I could be more like you,” Aubrey said.

“Trust me,” Nadia said. “You don't want to be like me.”

That night, the beach was empty aside from the flicker of a bonfire past the lifeguard tower. Almost deserted, like their own private island. She reached for Aubrey's hand, Aubrey lagging behind her, tugging at the black minidress.

“Don't let me drink too much,” she said.

“That's the point—we're gonna loosen you up.”

“Nadia, seriously. I'm such a lightweight.”

“Oh, you can't be that bad.”

“That's what you think.”

Cody Richardson's kitchen was more crowded than usual. Tall skaters in ripped skinny jeans howled over beer pong while beside them, three fat blondes counted out loud before downing tequila shots. On the floor, a pale, freckled girl passed a joint to two skinny boys who were too busy making out to notice. Nadia mixed Aubrey a drink, but she shook her head.

“That's too much,” she said, pushing the cup back.

“It's only two shots!”

“You didn't even measure it.”

“I poured for two seconds. Same thing.”

After her first cup, Aubrey started to relax. After her second, she was smiling, no longer caring that her dress almost showed her ass. After her third, she was dancing with a boy who certainly cared that
her dress almost showed her ass, so Nadia pulled her away before he got too handsy. Aubrey was an adorable drunk. She clung to Nadia, throwing her arms around her, toying with her hair. She plopped into her lap, an arm around her shoulder. She told Nadia she loved her, twice. Both times, Nadia laughed it off.

“No,” Aubrey said, “I really do love you.”

When was the last time anyone had told her that? She felt embarrassed that she couldn't remember, so she pretended not to hear. She twisted open a bottle of water and handed it to Aubrey.

“Have some,” she said, “before you puke.”

Partying at Cody's sober was a strange experience. She felt like she was in a museum, sneaking under the guardrails for a closer look at the exhibits. She noticed the details, the sadness behind smiles, the tired faces, strained with pretend happiness. She was comforted, in a way, to know that she wasn't the only one who sometimes faked it. She finished her beer, barely buzzed, while Aubrey tried to goad her into drinking more.

“I can't,” Nadia said. “I'm driving.”

“But you're not even having fun!”

“I am . . .”

Aubrey pouted. “No, you're not.”

“Yes, I am, and you're having fun. That's the point.”

“But you're just sitting there.”

“I'm having fun through you,” she said.

And she was, oddly enough, even though she was sober, even though she was disappointed that she hadn't seen Luke. She felt grateful, almost, watching Aubrey party with the giddiness of someone who had just wrenched herself free of her body.

—

“J
ESUS
, A
UBREY
.” Nadia hooked an arm around her waist as she helped her up Monique and Kasey's driveway. “You are a lightweight.”

“I'm not
that
drunk.”

“Oh yes you are—”

“No . . .”

“Yes, you fucking are.” She fumbled through Aubrey's purse for the gold house key. “Now, shut up, okay? Everyone's probably sleeping.”

She clamped a hand over Aubrey's mouth as she shuttled her inside the dark house. Floorboards creaked underneath them and she stepped lightly, ushering Aubrey down the hall, her hand moist from her breathing. Inside her bedroom, Aubrey flopped onto the bed, stretching out like a starfish. Nadia wiggled out of her dress. She glanced into the mirror. Behind her, Aubrey propped herself up on her elbows, watching her undress.

“You're so pretty,” she said.

Nadia laughed, rummaging through the drawer for a T-shirt to sleep in. She felt uncomfortable, knowing that Aubrey was looking. She'd never liked anyone watching her undress, not even Luke. She pulled on a faded Chargers T-shirt, piling her hair into a sloppy bun.

“You are,” Aubrey said. “You are so pretty, it's not even fair.”

“Come on. Let's go to bed.”

“But I'm not tired.”

“Want to change into shorts? You're not sleeping in that, are you?”

“We'll talk, right?” Aubrey said. “When you're in college.”

Nadia's throat tightened, but she didn't say anything, shielded by
the dark and the quiet. “Of course,” she finally said, unsure if she was trying to comfort Aubrey or herself.

Down the hall, the air conditioner hummed loudly, but her mind refused to settle, not even after Aubrey grew quiet and still beside her. She slept on her stomach, like a baby, and in the darkness, Nadia rested a hand on her back, feeling it rise and fall.

“Remember the trampoline?” Aubrey said. “That I told you about? The one in my neighbor's yard?”

“What about it?”

Aubrey clenched her eyes shut, her voice dropping to a whisper. “That was the first secret I ever kept.”

—

I
N THE MORNING
, Luke's bum leg burned. An unusual type of pain. He knew other types well, a side effect from a reckless youth. A broken arm after accepting a dare to swing across the monkey bars blindfolded, sprained ankles and jammed fingers from pickup basketball games taken too seriously, cracked ribs from drunk fights with friends. In college, he learned pain intimately, the tautness of sore muscles, the feverous push beyond all points of reason, the weight of a hundred pounds on your back, digging into your shoulders, cutting off your breath. The pain of too-tired, can't-get-up, no-thinking, just-surviving. After football, he didn't think he could ever unlearn pain. He felt violence still in his body, echoing against his bones.

The leg hurt differently, not the sting or swell he knew, just a dull, seasoned pain that felt hot when he stepped, especially in the morning after hours of not moving it. So when his mother banged
on his door early one Sunday morning, he took a minute to untangle himself from his covers and shuffle barefoot across the room. Golden shards of light slanted through the slats of the blinds and across his carpet. He eased toward the door, gingerly opening it and poking his head out. In the hallway, his mother stood in a peach skirt suit, her purse clutched under her arm. He squinted into the sunlight, clearing his throat.