When she said it like that, everything seemed different. She was the way she was not just because she believed in God and sin and all of that, but because she wanted to protect me, and suddenly, I felt thankful that she cared that much. “That’s really nice, Aunt Amy, but don’t you think everyone has to go through stuff?”
She paused a moment, and then she said, “I can’t stop you from growing up. But Laurel, you have to be careful … Of course I would recommend against a sexual relationship, certainly at your age, as would Our Lord, but I want you to know that if you do get into a situation where you—”
Oh no. A sex talk with Aunt Amy. I cut her off. “Right, well, we’re not. Having sex. I haven’t. We’re not even together anymore.” I ate a French fry and offered her the bag.
“What happened?” she asked. “Why did you break up?”
“It’s sort of a long story. Basically, I wasn’t really ready to be with him. There was a lot of stuff I still couldn’t say. And then I found out that he used to like May, which was awful, of course.”
Aunt Amy’s face melted with sympathy. “Yes,” she said, “I imagine that was really difficult.”
“Yeah. But on the other hand, he’s been a great friend, and I think I still like him, and I think he might like me again, too. And he asked me to come over tonight so that we could talk. So, do you think I could go?”
She looked torn. “Will a parent be home?”
“Yes,” I said. “His mom. She’s always there. And I promise not to be out late.”
Finally Aunt Amy said, “Okay.” Then she said, “I’m glad that you felt like you could talk to me.”
I saw that it really had made her happy. “Me too.” I smiled.
So later that evening Aunt Amy drove me to Sky’s. When she let me off, I kissed her cheek and thanked her for letting me go, and then I walked up to his door. The bulbs we’d planted in the fall were blooming now—tulips craning their necks all in the same direction, toward where the sun comes up.
I ignored my pounding heart and knocked.
Sky answered. “Hi,” he said. His body in the doorway was like a wall, protecting the house. We stood there in silence for a moment, and I wondered if maybe he’d changed his mind about asking me over.
“So, can I come in?”
Over his shoulder, I could see the shadow of his mother, peering toward the open door. “Skylar, who’s there?”
Finally I just ducked under his arm and stepped inside. The television was on, talking about someone’s dream house. Sky’s mom walked over. She had on her same bathrobe, and her hair was in the same frayed bun. She pointed to the cut tulips from the yard that stood proudly in a vase amid the clutter.
“Did you know if you put a penny in the water it keeps them straight?” she asked.
“Oh,” I said, “no, what a good trick. They’re really pretty.”
She smiled the kind of smile that made it seem as if it had honestly occurred to her to be happy in that moment. But then she just kept looking at me, like she was trying to figure out who I was.
“Mom, it’s Laurel,” Sky said. “You met her before. Outside, when we were planting the flowers.”
“Oh,” she said, “silly me.” But her eyes didn’t flash with recognition. “Can I get you a cup of tea?” she asked, a bit bewildered.
I followed her to the kitchen while she made it. Sky tried to help, but she swatted him away. She performed the ritual with careful, measured steps, as if she had memorized the motions as handles to hold on to, to keep her upright.
When I took the cup and smelled the peppermint steam, she said, “Skylar, I’m going to lie down. I’ll leave you two alone.”
I followed Sky across the squeaky floors to his bedroom. Unlike in the rest of the house, everything in his room had a place. The furniture and posters lined up in straight lines, like they were working hard to form a kind of sense. He had one of your posters, the one from In Utero, and one of the Rolling Stones.
Sky propped a pillow against the bedpost and gestured for me to sit down. I arranged myself on the edge of his bed.
“So…” I said.
“So,” he answered.
“So I never really thanked you for the night at the party. And the night at the bridge. And all of that. Thank you. For being there.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad that you let me.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Do you see her when you look at me? I mean May?”
“No. I see Laurel.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you even love me? I mean, why did you?”
“Because—because you remind me of my first concert. The one I told you about on New Year’s. You remind me of the feeling of wanting to make something.”
My heart twirled around in my chest when he said that, and it wanted to leap into his arms.
“Listen,” he went on, “I’m sorry that I took so long to tell you all of that stuff about May. And I’m sorry that I said it the way I did. But I don’t want you to think … I mean, the way I felt about you, I’ve never felt that way about a girl before. Not your sister or anyone.”
“You know how you said May didn’t have an easy time in high school or whatever? I just always thought that it was different from that. Why didn’t she ever tell me?”
“You were her little sister. She probably wanted to protect you from all of that stuff. She probably wanted you to look up to her.”
Maybe he was right. I thought about the lengths that she went to to make me believe she had wings when we were kids. Maybe May had needed me as much as I needed her. She needed the way I saw her, the way I loved her. “Do you think that I didn’t know her?” I asked. “What if I didn’t really know her?”
“Of course you knew her. You knew her for your whole life. Nothing changes who she was to you. Maybe it’s just when you get older, you understand things that you couldn’t before.”
“I think that after my parents split up, she must have been really angry at them. I mean, my mom spent May’s whole life telling her how she brought our family together. So she must have felt betrayed. Even though of course it wasn’t her fault, maybe she felt like it was. So maybe she was angry at herself, too.”