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Marah smiles for the first time all day. “No. Just too cool. ”
“You wish, goth girl. If you had seen us in our parachute pants and shoulder pads, you’d be screamin’ jealous. ”
Even Johnny laughs at that.
We haul Marah’s luggage into the elevator and ride up to her floor, where we enter a dank, dingy hallway that is crammed with kids and parents and suitcases.
Marah’s “suite” is one of a collection of prison-cell-sized rooms fanned out around a small bathroom. In her bedroom, two twin beds take up most of the space; there are also two wooden desks.
“Well,” I say, “this is homey. ” Not.
Marah sits down on the mattress nearest her. She looks so young and scared it breaks my heart.
Johnny sits down beside her. They look so much alike. He says, “We are proud of you. ”
“I wish I knew what she’d say to me now,” Marah says.
I hear the way her voice breaks, and I sit down on her other side. “She would say that life is full of unexpected joy and to throw yourself into your college years. ”
The door behind us opens. We all turn, expecting to see one of Marah’s new roommates.
Paxton stands there, dressed in black, holding a bouquet of dark purple roses. The streaks in his hair are scarlet now, and he is wearing enough chains to contain Houdini. He sees Johnny and stops.
“Who the hell are you?” Johnny says, getting to his feet.
“He’s my friend,” Marah says.
I see it all in a kind of slow motion. Johnny’s anger—a thin layer over concern—and Marah’s desperation and Paxton’s not-so-subtle arrogance and disdain. Marah throws herself at her dad, clinging to his arm, trying to slow him down.
I step between Johnny and Paxton.
“Johnny,” I say sternly. “This is Marah’s day. She will remember it forever. ”
He pauses, frowns. I can see him working to reel in his anger. It takes longer than I would have expected. Slowly, he turns his back on Paxton. It is a comment, to be sure, one Paxton appreciates but Marah does not. I can see how much it costs Johnny to pretend that he doesn’t mind Paxton being here.
Marah goes to stand by Paxton. Next to him, she looks even more dark-side, goth. They are both so tall and thin, like a pair of onyx candlesticks.
“Well,” I say brightly to diffuse the tension in the room, “let’s go out for lunch. You, too, Pax. I want to take Marah down memory lane. I’ll show her where her mom and I used to study in Suzzallo Library, and our favorite place in the Quad, and the Department of Communication—”
“No,” Marah says.
I frown. “No, what?”
“I don’t want to go on your Firefly Lane memory tour. ”
This is a defiance I never saw coming. “I … I don’t understand. We talked about this all summer. ”
Marah looks at Paxton, who nods encouragingly, and I feel my stomach tighten. This is his opinion. “My mom’s dead,” Marah says, and the flatness in her voice is devastating. “It doesn’t help to keep talking about her all the time. ”
I am dumbstruck.
Johnny moves toward her. “Marah—”
“I appreciate you guys bringing me here, but I’m stressed out enough. Can we just call it a day?”
I wonder if this hurts Johnny as much as it does me. Or maybe parenthood builds calluses on your heart and I am simply unprepared for it.
“Sure,” Johnny says gruffly. He ignores Paxton completely and muscles his way to his daughter, taking her in his arms. Paxton has no choice but to step back. Anger flares in his bourbon-colored eyes, but he banks it quickly. I’m pretty sure he knows I’m watching him.
