Tilt

  “Careful? I will, Mom. I remember

  everything you’ve told me about sex

  and why I should wait. I don’t plan

  to have sex with Lucas. I’m too young,

  and anyway, he and I just met. You

  have to fall in love to have sex, right?”

  Actually, you don’t. A lot of people

  who aren’t in love have sex. But I

  promise it’s a lot better with someone

  you love. I’m glad you understand that.

  I haven’t even considered sex.

  Kissing is as far as I’ve fantasized

  about going. Now I’ve done that,

  though. When will I want to do more?

  “More”

  Is pretty much everywhere

  as Mom and I walk around

  the cook-off, checking out

  craft booths, listening to music

  and, of course, munching ribs.

  It’s like I never really noticed

  how guys slip their arms around

  their girls’ shoulders, then let

  their hands wander, or how some

  girls even encourage that.

  It’s like I totally missed how

  some girls walk their fingers

  up their boyfriends’ thighs,

  all the way to where they must

  be touching very personal body

  parts, or how that makes those

  guys kiss them—not romantically,

  but more kind of crazy. It’s hot!

  And I’m glad Mom doesn’t notice

  me noticing, or thinking it’s hot.

  Mom Isn’t Noticing Much

  She’s here, but not.

  Talk about distracted!

  Finally, I have to ask, “Hey,

  Mom. Are you okay?”

  She looks at me with dopey

  eyes. Sorry. Lots on my mind

  right now, I guess. Is it okay

  if we go soon? I should get

  back to Aunt Missy’s. She thinks

  a minute, then says, Maybe

  I could drop you off at your

  dad’s? Something strange

  is going on. But, like, what?

  “Dad and Cassie aren’t home.

  They’re shopping for rings

  and stuff. What’s up, anyway?”

  Shelby’s gotten very sick, so Mom

  and I have been trying to help

  Missy take care of her. She thinks

  for a minute, then makes a call.

  Jace? It’s Andrea. Can I drop

  Harley off? I want to get back

  to Marissa’s. Three beats. Really?

  That would be great. Twenty minutes?

  “Let me guess. I’m going back

  to Bri’s for the night?” Hey,

  wonder if we can figure out

  a way to see Lucas and Kurt.

  And maybe tomorrow, too,

  depending on how things

  go. She collects her purse.

  You don’t mind, do you?

  “Nope. It’s okay.” On the short

  walk to the car, the wheels in

  my brain are turning. I don’t

  want to call Lucas. Too forward.

  I bet I can find him on Facebook.

  I can’t use my account. Mom

  checks up on me there. But Mrs.

  Carlisle never snoops. We’ll use Bri’s.

  Bri’s Dad Agreed

  To meet us halfway so Mom doesn’t

  have to drive all the way to Washoe

  Valley. By the time we reach South

  Meadows, they’re already there.

  Mr. Carlisle gets out of his car, comes

  over to ours. The look on his face

  is a mixture of concern and—what?

  Compassion, maybe. As I open

  the car door, he gives Mom a gentle

  smile. You okay? He waits for her

  small shrug. Let me know if you need

  anything. I’m just a phone call away.

  What the heck is going on? I join

  Bri in the cushy leather backseat

  of her dad’s awesome Audi. Before

  I seal myself in, I catch the end

  of something Mom is saying.

  . . . help with the arrangements.

  Wonder What They’re Arranging

  Guess I’ll find out sooner or later.

  Meanwhile, I’ve got my own

  arrangements to worry about.

  When we get to Bri’s, we go straight

  to her room, turn on her computer

  and bring up Facebook. It doesn’t take

  long to find Lucas’s page. I message

  him: “Last night was fun. Hope you

  had fun, too. Looks like I’m spending

  the weekend with Brianna. If you can

  come out to Washoe Valley, it would

  be great to see you. Kurt, too.” I think

  that’s good enough. Oh, except I give

  him my cell number again. “Call any time.”

  Now, I guess, it’s a waiting game. Patience

  isn’t my best thing. Hope it doesn’t take long.

  Lucas

  The Waiting Game

  Must be played correctly

  to get the desired results.

  Call too quickly, the

  anxious

  state you’re hoping for

  won’t have time to build.

  But wait too long, most

  girls

  will get annoyed,

  give up on you. Of course,

  the younger ones

  are

  usually more patient,

  and the longer you extend

  the play, the

  easier

  it is to win the game.

  I think it’s time to put

  round two in motion.

  Mikayla

  Two Small Carry-Ons

  That’s all Mom and I are taking

  to Vegas. It’s just an overnight

  trip—nineteen hours start to finish.

  Dad drops us at the Southwest

  check-in. Take care of your mom,

  he tells me. Like anyone could.

  Then he says to her, Keep your

  head, and don’t expect too much.

  Lecture, lecture, lecture. God!

  But she takes it well. No worries.

  I’ve got things pretty much in

  perspective. She must. She doesn’t

  seem nervous or worried at all.

  I’m a wreck. If this goes wrong,

  I’d have to say it’s totally my fault.

  Okay. That airport cop is giving

  me the evil eye, says Dad. Better

  go. Love you. Mom says she loves

  him too, and gives him a kiss.

  She must be mad about him

  lecturing her. Despite the mutual

  declaration, there didn’t seem

  to be a whole lot of love in that

  kiss. Which makes me wonder

  if I’ll ever kiss Dylan and not be

  overwhelmed with love. I trail

  Mom through security. Notice how

  the cute TSA guy totally checks

  her out. Bet he’d like to give her

  a pat-down. And why does he ignore

  me completely? Am I giving off

  pregnant vibes? Why do I care?

  Safely beyond the metal detector,

  Mom says, We’ve got an hour

  before our flight. Want some

  lunch? Lunch? Is she cracked?

  I Decline

  But she’s determined to leave

  me sitting here alone by the gate.

  Back in a few. If you change

  your mind, I’ll be at the bar.

  I get it now. She’s not hungry.

  She’s “thirsty.” “Think that’s a good

  idea? You don?
??t want to be drunk

  when you meet her, do you?”

  I seriously think she’s an alcoholic.

  She must be reading my mind,

  because she half shouts, First of all . . .

  Heads turn our direction. She lowers

  her voice. I don’t plan to get drunk.

  And I don’t think you have the right

  to tell me how to live my life, or how

  to meet my mother. I’m a grown-up, Mikayla.

  Act like it, then. “Maybe you are.

  But sometimes lately, I wonder.”

  I Expect an Angry Retort

  Instead, she smiles. Sometimes

  I wonder too. Anyway, being

  a grown-up isn’t all that much

  fun. You might consider that

  before you decide to become one

  at seventeen. And off she goes.

  I want to javelin insults at her.

  She and Dad don’t seem to think

  we hear them when they fight.

  But no door in the world is thick

  enough to insulate their vicious talk.

  The other night I heard Dad scream

  at Mom about fucking off on him.

  He never uses that word, or at least

  he never had before. I don’t know

  if Mom is messing around, but I do

  know she’s different. And I’m scared

  that might mean they’ll get divorced.

  Are All Relationships Cursed?

  Must they all sputter to a bad end,

  dismal failures? I’ve read that it’s

  not human nature to stay faithful.

  That people are little more than

  animals with libidos incapable

  of single-mate satisfaction. But

  that can’t be right. I don’t need

  anyone but Dylan. And I’m sure

  he feels the same way about me.

  Or at least, he did. He’s been

  cool lately. But that’s because of

  the baby, not because he’s seeing

  someone else. Right? Suddenly,

  inside my head, I hear Kristy’s

  plugged-nose voice asking Dylan

  if he was going to the lake today.

  He promised he wouldn’t. Vowed

  he wouldn’t. What good are vows if

  the vowers don’t take them seriously?

  God, Dylan, please don’t go.

  Mom Gets Back

  Just as they call our flight. We line

  up like kids going to recess. Mom

  stands behind me, leaking warm breath

  tinted with tomato juice and vodka.

  Bloody Marys for lunch is my guess.

  And now, for no reason I can fathom,

  she says, Anytime you want to talk,

  I’m here for you, okay? We shuffle

  down the Jetway, onto the plane. Talk?

  About what? Relationships? Infidelity?

  Stinking Tahoe barbecues? I’m actually

  relieved when, ten minutes past takeoff,

  Mom slips into uneasy sleep. Her head

  tips to one side. A small moan escapes,

  and her arms and legs twitch slightly.

  Dreaming. I hate to think about what.

  Las Vegas Is Insane

  The taxi drives slowly along

  the strip. The driver couldn’t

  hurry if he wanted to. Saturday

  traffic is ridiculous, and so are

  the crowds cruising sidewalks,

  casino to casino. “God, Mom.

  Disgusting.” Billboards and

  signboards and giant outside

  televisions advertise bodies.

  Come view them. Come screw

  them. Flesh, everywhere you

  look. Boobs. Butts. Girls. Guys.

  We pull into the Venetian, where

  Mom has booked our room. It’s

  fabulous. Beautiful. Fake Italy.

  Marble. Pillars. Crystal. Chandeliers.

  Our room is a suite. “God, Mom . . .

  A sunken living room, and did

  you see the bathroom? Can we

  stay an extra day?” Our house

  is nice and all, but this is amazing.

  Mom goes to call Sarah Hill, and

  it hits me why we’re here. I tuck

  all the craziness inside. I’ll save

  it for another day. A different day.

  As We Wait

  For them to get here, Mom finally

  looks nervous. It doesn’t take long,

  thank goodness, or she’d be a wreck.

  When they knock, she jumps a little.

  Oh my God. There’s no doubt that

  Sarah is Mom’s mother. The resemblance

  is crazy, right down to her shaking

  hands, one of which lights gently

  on Mom’s cheek. I was afraid

  this day might never come. I’m happy

  we can know each other. She and Mom

  stand there, searching for something

  in each other’s eyes. Tia—Aunt Tia—

  comes straight into the living room

  without a word. She glances at me

  and I see that she’s afraid. Of what,

  I’m not sure. But I try to break the ice.

  “Hi. I’m Mikayla. Awesome to meet you.”

  It’s an Awkward Few Seconds

  Of silence. But then Mom breaks

  the inertia. Come on, she tells Sarah.

  Your granddaughter can’t wait to meet

  you. And we have some catching up to do.

  And now there’s a wave of motion.

  Hugs and greetings and sitting

  and smiling, all of us doing our best

  to relax in a very uncomfortable

  situation. I bet Mom wants a Bloody

  Mary. I bet Tia wants one, too. She’s got

  an edge. Looking at her really closely,

  she’s not a whole lot older than I am.

  Midtwenties, maybe. And pretty. Not

  as pretty as Mom, but almost. Even

  though they don’t look that much alike,

  they both look like Sarah. Especially

  their eyes, which are almost turquoise.

  Weird, what genetics can accomplish.

  Now the Catching Up Begins

  What they learn about us:

  Dad is a high-powered lawyer

  who keeps us well in a house

  on a hill in northern Nevada.

  Mom’s a loser. Okay, housewife

  with three kids, workout queen

  and wannabe romance writer.

  I am a high school senior.

  Dating an amazing guy.

  (We omit the pregnant part.)

  What we learn about them:

  Sarah’s a preschool teacher,

  twice divorced and dating

  a “hot electrician.” Turns

  out she fancies herself a poet.

  Tia’s a social worker, married

  to a prison guard. She’s a good

  Christian who loves sports.

  And (yikes!) is writing a novel.

  Overdosing on Small Talk

  I kind of space out—fall

  asleep with my eyes open.

  They’re talking about writing.

  Poetry. Short stories. E-book

  versus print publishing.

  Blah, blah, blah. What I really

  want to know right now is,

  “Wasn’t it hard to give a baby

  up for adoption?” How can

  you give a piece of you away?

  Sarah doesn’t blink. Not at

  first. No one encouraged me

  to keep her, and I just couldn’t

  see doing it on my own.

  Okay, I get that she didn’t

  have a support system. Still,

  “You said not at first. What


  about later?” Did you miss her?

  Later I regretted my decision.

  She turns toward Mom. I’m sorry

  I wasn’t stronger. The whole truth.

  Tia

  The Whole Truth

  Is like a big old spoonful

  of cough syrup. Hard to

  gag down, but necessary.

  I had absolutely

  no

  clue that I had a sister

  somewhere. You’d think

  Mom would want me

  to have that kind of

  information,

  if only to avoid a surprise

  of this magnitude. I came

  here, convinced it was

  a scam, and it still

  might be,

  but what’s become crystal

  clear is that she and I

  are related. What I don’t

  know is if that’s good or

  a really bad thing.

  Shane

  Bad Things

  Happen to good people.

  Isn’t that what they say?

  What I’m confused about

  is why. Hey, all-powerful Dude

  in the sky! Why? I asked

  Mom why God let Shelby live

  at all, if this was the most

  He was going to allow her.

  I can’t speak for God, she said.

  But I have thought long and hard

  about this. Shelby has given us

  a glimpse of human perfection,

  because inside that flawed

  body is a spirit untouched

  by greed or artifice or hatred.

  Shelby is the essence of love.

  And so maybe the reason for

  her short time here is to show

  us how we might love better.

  My first thought was “sermon.”

  But later I noticed Dad join

  Mom on the deck, watching

  the city light up against

  a falling curtain of night.

  He put his arm around her

  shoulder. Said something

  I couldn’t hear. And then

  they kissed. Gently at first,

  then with passion, something

  I thought was long dead to them.

  So maybe Mom was right.

  Maybe Shelby’s mission

  was to teach us to love better.

  It Is Early Morning

  The light through the glass

  is pallid. Weak, and yet enough