Helena Mary Cole

When I get to Aunt Ruby’s, I take a shower. I spend some time relaxing on my bed. Later on, I say good night to Aunt Ruby, who goes to bed at 8:34pm. I pace around my room a little bit and quietly hum to myself a little bit. I think about the journal in the nightstand for a few minutes but decide it’s useless to try writing. So, I go downstairs and squish myself into Aunt Ruby’s little phone alcove, with my back pressed against one side and my knees against the other while sitting on the swiveling stool, like I always do when I’m going to talk on the phone here.

            We have got to get a phone alcove at our house. I want one.

            I call Gaby.

            Mostly, I’m calling to vent my feelings on being called ‘milk carton girl.’ She is very sympathetic. But I’m also staring at the Save-the-date card Alex gave me earlier today. I have placed it carefully on the floor beside me. It is a very pretty piece of stationery, much prettier than my cousin Ramona’s Save-the-date (the only other one I’ve seen), which was an explosion of hearts and curlicues. Much like Sandy herself, this one is elegant and understated, with a simple, flowing font and a drawing of a lily. I wonder if Alex drew it. When I first opened the card, I was reminded that Sandy’s name is short from Aleksandra, but somehow, seeing her name together with Alex’s has really highlighted their nearly-identical-ness. It’s like they’re already one person. But I’m not paying much attention to the card while I rant. I am just now repeating the comment I made earlier where I wondered how far I had to go to find a place where everybody doesn’t know I’m a weird girl with a lot of problems.

            Gaby laughs. “I don’t think you’re weird, Jordan. But if all this means you’re starting to come to terms with your diagnosis, I’m all for it.”

            I sigh. “Yeah. Um.” I bang the back of my head against the wall behind me a couple of times. “I told Alex.”

            “You told Alex about your diagnosis?”

            I nod and then remember that she can’t see me and say, “Yeah.”

            “Have you been talking to him about Liv?”

            “Well, no. Not yet.”

            “Oh.” There’s a pause. “How’s the painting coming along?”

            “I don’t know,” I say, “To tell the truth, I’m not even sure he’s started yet. Did he talk to you about getting an extension on it?”

            “I haven’t talked to him in a while,” she says, “He didn’t want to promise me any sooner than the end of the summer, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t have a particular deadline in mind, so it’s all good.”

            I pick up the Save-the-date with one hand and start fingering the corner. “Um. He wants to invite you to his wedding.”

            “Really?” she sounds pleased, “Okay, I’m flattered.”

            “Sandy asked for your mailing address. You’re getting a Save-the-date and I also think you’re allowed to bring someone.”

            She sighs. “We’ll see about that. But I am slowly on getting the impression this wedding is going to be a big event.”

            “I’m invited, too.”

            “That’s wonderful.”

            I twist up my face and say, “I don’t want to go. How do I get out of it?”

            There’s an even longer silence on her end and I’m wondering if what I’ve said that’s weird. In my mind, not wanting to go to the wedding is perfectly normal somehow. At last, Gaby says, “Why don’t you want to go to the wedding?”

            “I don’t know.” I’m thinking about being all dressed up in stifling hot weather, about being surrounded by a faceless crowd of strangers, about sitting at a noisy reception, trying to make small talk with people I don’t know and having a painful time of it. But when I get to the image of Sandy in a magazine-perfect wedding gown, walking up the aisle, standing beside Alex, getting married to Alex… “It just doesn’t sound like it’s going to be a good time, that’s all.”

            “What if I made plans not to bring a date?” Gaby says, “You and I could be each other’s plus one. If you want, I could be the one to explain to Sandy that it would help if you had a quiet place you could go to…”

            “No,” I insist, “No, I think I’d just rather not go.” My vehemence surprises me. A lump comes up my throat and a couple of tears squeeze out of my eyes.

            “Okay,” Gaby says quickly. “Jordan, you know that just because you’re invited doesn’t mean you have to say yes. You can always turn an invitation down. That is a legitimate possibility.”

            “But I think Alex wants me to come,” I say, now sniffling a little bit.

            “Well, yes, he wouldn’t invite you if he didn’t want you to come.” Her voice trails off and we reach another pause in the conversation while I wipe my eyes and get rid of the last remnants of the lump in my throat. Then she says, “You can deny it all you want, but I think you and Alex really are good friends already, aren’t you?”

            “Um.”

            “He invited you to his wedding and you told him about your diagnosis.”

            “Well… He was talking to me about how he got paralysed…”

            “I see.”

            I let another little silence pass before muttering, “But I’ll bet he talks to everyone about that.”

            “Jordan,” Gaby says now, “Is there something you want to tell me?”

            “No,” I say, confused. But I’m trembling a bit and the Save-the-date card is very dog-eared now. I put it down and bang my head against the wall a few times again, but I stop, not wanting to wake up Aunt Ruby. What’s wrong with me?

            “How’s Jay doing?” she asks suddenly.

            I don’t know where this sudden change in subject came from but I answer the question anyway, “Fine.”

            “I have to tell you, when I met him that morning, I was a little worried about you. I wanted to tell you not to fall too hard for that one. He has the look of a young man who has too many options when it comes to girls.”

            “Yeah,” I agree, “I think that’s pretty much the case.” I leave it at that. I’m remembering the conversation Sandy had with me on this subject and thinking how much better I understand that bit where she said things with Jay are ‘complicated.’ “But you don’t have to worry about me, Gaby.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            I pass over this response because suddenly, I’ve thought of something I really want to ask her. “Gaby, what would you do if you found something out about someone…” As I start, I begin to realize this is going to be hard to explain. I stutter to a stop.

            “If I found something out about someone?” she echoes when I let too much time pass.

            “I’m trying to figure out how to say it.” I sigh, “Well, let’s say there’s someone you know… and let’s say you… accidentally found out a secret… A secret that would hurt the person pretty bad if they knew… But you don’t know how to tell them without sounding like a dirty rotten snitch.” I trail off as I try to remember if I asked a question in there somewhere. But knowing I’m talking to Gaby, I wonder if I should just trust her to understand me.

            After a minute, Gaby says, “Are you asking me if it’s okay to tell the secret?”

            “Yes,” I say in some relief.

            “Well, let me ask you something first: the secret that would hurt the person… Does that have anything to do with you?”

            “No, it has nothing to do with me at all.”

            “Then I’d say there’s nothing you can do.”

            I sigh. I guess she’s right.

            It is not my secret to tell.