When she died, we moved. Not just because my dad found it too painful to see echoes of her everywhere, but also because an electrician’s salary wasn’t enough to afford a four-bed, three-bath in Scottsdale. And a smaller apartment meant less space, and less space meant less stuff. And less stuff? That meant that every day I came home from school, there was less of my mom scattered across our universe.
Gone were the birdcage lamp and the enormous pothos. Then the bookcase I used to climb and the leather-bound novels nestled inside it. The patio swing we curled up on during mild winter evenings. Her clothes. Her smell. The clutter.
It got to the point where I didn’t want to leave the house. Even falling asleep scared me. When I was awake, I’d beg my dadnot to get rid of anything else. When I was asleep, I’d beg my mom not to go. And neither of them cared. They did it anyway. The whole world was falling out from beneath my feet, and I was trying to chain myself to a flagpole. When the ground below me crumbled, I just slid right off every time.
Poor little Noelle. Looking back, I just want to squish her real tight. Nothing could’ve changed the way she felt, and nothing I could say would make it easier, but still.
To be fair to him, my dad wasn’t some monster who did all of that purging without telling me. He let me choose lots of things to keep. What he could give away to our family or Mom’s friends, he did. He agonized over every single item—and there were hundreds. Abba’sVoulez-Vousvinyl album spent months on our kitchen table. I ate breakfast next to that blue cover so often that I could probably still draw it from memory.
“Was it her favorite?” I’d asked him as I shoveled eggs into my mouth.
My dad shook his head, pursing his lips. “I don’t…I don’t even know why she had it. She never once mentioned Abba, and she didn’t like the way vinyls sounded.” His fork clanged too loudly against his plate. “I’m not even sure it was hers.”
I don’t know why that, of all things, hurt so much to hear. Maybe because my dad was supposed to know everything about her. Later, I overheard him on the phone with my uncle when I was supposed to be asleep. I can picture the way he would’ve been hunched over the kitchen table, his cell phone tucked into the crook of his neck.It’s too much stuff, Stu. Why did she have so muchstuff? I’m not leaving Noelle with a mess like this to clean up when I kick the bucket. Don’t give me any more stuff.
No more stuff. No more agonizing over Abba. No souvenirs, no mementos, no mess to leave behind when I’m gone one day. A place for everything and everything in its place.
I shake my head to clear it before bracing myself in the bedroom’s narrow entryway, a habit that hasn’t left me despite my limbs no longer fitting comfortably within doorframes. My socked right foot slides into a familiar divot in the yellow linoleum as I ask, “Did you eat already?”
“No, I—” Dad cuts himself off, frowning. “Are you not going out? You don’t have a graduation party or anything?”
Taylor Norrisisthrowing a graduation party later. I wasn’t planning on going, but there’s nothing sadder than a parent feeling bad over your lack of a social life. I give the most redirectional answer I can think of. “Dad. It’s noon. I know they hadn’t invented clocks yet when you were in high school, but nobody throws a party at noon.”
He half-heartedly chucks an empty tissue box in my direction. It lands at my feet, and I pick it up, starting through the living room and toward the kitchen. As I pass, I bonk him lightly on the head with the long flat side.
“Oh, big talk from someone who’ll come crawling back to this dinosaur when she needs help filing her taxes,” he mocks.
I place the cardboard in our blue recycling bin and spin. Then my eyes catch on a piece of paper that shouldn’t be there, just sitting out on the sink counter.
“You’re just so much better at taxes than I am,” I say as I approach the letter. Its creases are crisp, keeping it from lying flat. Quietly, I smooth it out beneath my hand and scan past the long list of hospital billing codes, straight to the bottom of the page.
YOU PAY: $43,461.40
I wish I were still surprised by these numbers—amounts that no regular person could possibly afford—but I’m not. I exhale, my shoulders rising and falling in time with my breath.
“They call that ‘weaponized incompetence,’ sweetie,” my dad jokes from the living room.
Reaching up, I slam a cupboard open with my left hand as I simultaneously use my right hand to slide one of the junk drawers open. It used to be empty, but now it holds more medical bills than anyone should ever receive. My dad doesn’t think I know about it, and I want to keep it that way.
“Wow, you’resosmart, Dad,” I call, gingerly folding the drawer’s newest addition and slipping it into place along the others.
“I’m out of things to throw at you,” he grumps.
“Do you want me to get you the tissue box again?” I ask saccharinely, silently shutting the drawer and gliding back into the living room, a parody of a perfect daughter.
A place for everything.
Everything in its place.
Chapter 5
Three Things
I don’t mean to lookat the email. Okay, I do mean tolook, but I don’t mean tocare. In my defense, my dad was asleep when I finished my shower and I was left alone with my thoughts. Over the past hour, I’ve reread the message so many times that I could recite it from memory.
Adventureverse Casting—URGENT
Dear Noelle Breland and Yumi Panganiban,
