Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
That year, she and Adelaide had started a window decal war by sneaking out of their room late at night and collecting the decals from the whole house to plaster their bedroom windows. It had escalated when they woke two mornings later to find that all their light bulbs and mirrors had been removed—a power move when you were fourteen and had unpredictable hair.
It was only when Greta let herself inside and heard singing that she realized Chanukah had begun.
She walked into the dining room and gave an awkward wave. “Uh, hey.”
Her mother jumped up. “You came home! Oh, honey, I knew you wouldn’t miss Chanukah. Didn’t I tell you?” she said over her shoulder to the table. Greta’s shoulders tightened. “Oh, we’ve missed you so much.” She hugged Greta and brushed her hair back. “You’re tan!”
“Yeah, it’s summer in New Orleans. Well, I mean, it’s still winter, but their winter is warm like our summer. So it’s sunny. You know.”
“Oh my gosh, really? Turns out we’ve actually heard of seasons, even here in provincial Maine,” Sadie simpered. Tillie shot Sadie a quelling look.
Greta began to explain that she’d misspoken and tried to correct herself, and why did Sadie always have to be such a rude asshole about everything? Then she paused. That was what the old Greta would have done.
The new Greta didn’t need to explain because she hadn’t done anything wrong. Sadie had interpreted her ungenerously, and that wasn’t her problem.
So she moved on.
“Hey, I’m really happy to see you all. Sorry to show up in the middle of Chanukah without calling. But I needed to talk to you.” She looked at Sadie. “And I’d really appreciate if you’d let me say what I need to say before you respond.”
The flames from the menorah flickered. The third night. Greta had never spent Chanukah away from her family before. She waited for the sadness to come, but it didn’t.
They all stared at her. Her dad had paused halfway through rising—presumably to come hug her—and sat back down half off his chair. Sadie was glaring expectantly. Tillie waited patiently. Maggie was leaning back, sitting cross-legged on her chair, smiling faintly like she couldn’t wait to see what was about to happen. Adelaide watched with her head cocked as she always did when she was confused. Greta wanted to grab one of her braids and tug her head straight, only Adelaide hadn’t worn her hair in two braids since they were eleven.
Although she’d spent the entire flight planning what she was going to say on cocktail napkins and the notes app in her phone, Greta’s mind had become the blank blue sky above the bay on a summer afternoon. She searched for a beginning and found only edgelessness. The urge to squeeze her eyes shut or turn her back on her family so they couldn’t see her was strong. There had been a time when anytime she needed to say anything important, she’d closed her eyes.
But now, instead, she summoned the person who had told Guy’s husband the truth in his own doorway, the person who had told Carys she was coming back to her. The person who had gone someplace new and scary and fallen head over heels in love with it. She summoned the most powerful feeling she could conjure and opened her mouth.
“I’m in love with Carys” was what came out. Her eyes widened.
Sadie snorted.
Greta shook her head to clear it. “That’s not what I meant to say.”
But it’s true, isn’t it?
It was true. Greta put it in her pocket to take out and savor later.
“What I meant to say is that I love New Orleans. I’ve made new friends. I’ve met wonderful people. And yeah, one of them is someone I’m dating. And it’s made me realize that…I’ve always felt so damn guilty when my desires didn’t line up with what you all wanted for me. Like, I’ve tried to play along, but…it’s okay if I want my own things that are different from what you want. Look, I love you all so much, but I hate it here. I don’t want to live here. I don’t want to work at Russakoff’s. And I know that’s what you guys want and I’m sorry, but…I’m gonna go back to New Orleans, and I’m…I’m gonna stay.”
Greta felt like she was suspended between two weather fronts, held safe in limbo for the moment before she was sucked into the one looming on the horizon.
She expected—what? Tears, perhaps? Mostly from her mother, and maybe from Adelaide.
What broke the silence was a single laugh, like a cannonball.
Sadie’s face was venomous, and when she spoke, her tone matched. “You’re so selfish, Greta. Sorry Owl Island doesn’t have enough drag bars for you or whatever. Just your family.”
“Damn, Sadie, it’s not about that! PS,” Greta added, voice sharp, “your stereotypes could really use some work.”