Whole, p.7
Whole, page 7
Her phone rings several times with no answer, and I’m about to hang up, when her raspy voice, normally sweet and motherly, suddenly comes through, loud and angry.
“So, you’re ignoring me now?” she says, accusatory.
“No, mom, I’m not ignoring you,” I lie. “I’ve just been...really busy.”
“Really busy getting drunk at the clubs, I hear.”
Ellie. She tells our mother everything. “It does take up a lot of time,” I say, teasing.
“Well I hope you can find a break in your clubbing schedule to have dinner with your mother,” she says.
“Of course, mom,” I start to say, before quickly backtracking. “Will Ellie be there too?” If I’m to spend an entire dinner with my mother without telling her my father is still alive, I’m going to need a buffer.
“She’s next on my list,” says mom. “Six p.m. Thursday. I’ll even blast some techno music if it will sway your decision.”
“Very funny,” I say, unamused. “I’ll be there.”
The next three days pass uneventfully. The three wedding cakes I’ve been working on need to be delivered this weekend, so I’m basically living at the bakery anyways. I spend my days delicately crafting intricate sugar flowers, rolling out the sugar paste until it is as thin as an actual petal before shaping it into a rose. When they’re done, they have to dry for a full day before I can paint them with a palette of food coloring - pinks and reds and creams, all muted to match the bride’s rustic color scheme. The work is very involved, but I’m happy to be doing it instead of sitting in a cubicle. Working with my hands, like a sculptor of edible medium. I can’t help but think about how none of this would have been possible without Kaitlin’s help. Her investment and her belief in me. She may have an odd way of showing it, but I know her intentions are in the right place. She really is one of my oldest and best friends, regardless of how Ellie feels about her.
Before I know it, Thursday night has rolled around and I borrow Jake's van to pick up Ellie and make the short trek up to Lakeside, passing through Kaitlin’s neighborhood with its mansions and boat houses, and over the railroad tracks into ours. The mansions are replaced by tiny cottages, just barely large enough for a family of four, and there are no boat houses, but there are a few boarded up liquor stores to keep things lively. When we arrive, my mom throws open the front door, arms open for a wide embrace, yelling, “My babies!”
My mom is a young mom, by general society standards. She and my dad got pregnant with me before they were married, and she was just thirty years old when he died, alone with two little girls to raise. There are pictures of me in their wedding at six months old, my fluffy tulle dress threatening to swallow me whole. My mom looks more like a teenager playing dress-up than a bride. I try to imagine what that would have been like, the same age as I am now with a toddler and a newborn, and I can’t even fathom it. How could I spend every waking hour at the bakery with two kids to take care of? I couldn’t.
When we were little, we used to tell my mom that she needed a hobby. All she did was work, cook, clean, and take care of us. “That’s all I want to do,” my mom would say. “This is my life.” I realize now that it probably wasn’t all she wanted to do, it’s just all she had time for. My mother was already my hero, the strongest most independent person I knew, my best friend—next to Ellie—but I have even more respect for her now that I’m an adult myself. Seeing her causes a knot to form in the pit of my stomach, and I immediately feel guilty for avoiding her.
“Hi mom,” I say, falling into her big hug.
“Peggy!” says Ellie. She’s always called our mother by her first name. “What’s for dinner?”
We head into the house and are greeted by the scent of chicken baking in the oven, the smell of my childhood. Sweet potatoes, green beans, and dinner rolls round out the meal. I drop my bag by the door and head to the kitchen to help set the table—one of my roles in the household since I was ten years old. I pull a stack of plates out of the cupboard and hand them over to Ellie while I move to counting out the silverware.
“Peg,” Ellie says from the dining room. “You don’t have to keep these chipped plates. I can buy you some new ones, you know.”
“Your father gave me those plates, I’m not throwing them out,” says mom. “Save your money. And don’t call me Peg,” she added.
“I’ll stop when you get rid of those plates,” Ellie teases, but she knows to drop it after that.
“Speaking of dad,” I say, seeing an in to potentially settle some of my confused feelings on the subject. “How was he with us when we were little? Me and Ellie? I mean, did he, you know, love us?”
“What?” says my mother, turning to look at me. Ellie comes into the kitchen to hear what she has to say. “Of course he loved you. Why are you asking?”
“I’ve just been thinking about him lately,” I say, telling the truth. “We were so little when he died, I’m not sure I even really knew him, not really, you know. I just wonder sometimes how he would feel about us now that we’re adults.”
“Look, Mara, your father was a complicated person,” she says, matter-of-factly. “We were so young when we had you, he wasn’t really ready for children. Neither of us were. I think he resented it a little, that it prevented him from really developing a career, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love you. He did. He was a very passionate guy. And he’d be so proud if he could see you now, both of you.”
“Ok,” I say, not wanting to push it any further.
We sit down to eat, and Ellie starts filling our mother in on her internship as a production assistant. She loves talking about her job. The production company she works for occasionally scores big movie deals, and she sometimes gets to meet the celebrities on set. It gives her a thrill, seeing “how the other half lives,” as she says, and relaying stories of actors’ real personalities back to us. She also likes to hang around with the costume designers and swap style tips. In her ideal world, Ellie would have been one of those costume designers, but she thought production assistant was the safer career choice. “There’s too much competition in costume design,” she would say, “and not enough money to be made.” I’d remind her that as an assistant producer she was barely making minimum wage when you considered the long hours she was expected to be on set, and she’d say she was just paying her dues, working her way up to executive producer, where the real money was. Ellie was always concerned with making money, just like our mother, a consequence of our meager childhood perhaps. I didn’t want to be poor, of course, but I was way more concerned with being happy.
In the middle of Ellie’s story, the doorbell rings and I offer to answer it since I’ve heard this story a hundred times already. I like listening to Ellie talk, but with everything going on in my head, I don’t mind the break. I take my time making my way to the front door, lost in my own thoughts. When I pull it open, there, on my mother’s front porch, stands Jonah. My mouth drops open, and I quickly step outside, shutting the door quietly behind me.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper-yell at him. “My mom could have answered the door!”
“Calm down,” says Jonah. “I had a plan. I was going to tell her I was selling girl scout cookies.”
“You’re not even a girl,” I say, shaking my head.
“Details, my dear,” he replies. “Anyway, I needed to give you a message and it would seem there’s something wrong with the messaging tech in your cellerach ring.”
“How did you know where I was?” I ask, not really wanting to know the answer.
“Not only can the commanders track designate energy on Pearth, there’s also a tracking device in every ring so they can follow us on Earth,” he says. “They do like to keep tabs on us.”
This is new information. I wonder when I’ll be able to meet these “commanders.” I’m not sure I like the sound of them so far.
“So,” I say, wanting to get this over with quickly before someone sees us. “What’s the message then?”
“Strategy meeting tomorrow at noon,” he responds while tapping on the stone of his ring. “Don’t be late.”
And with that he turns and jogs down the steps, disappearing down the street.
Chapter 10
That night, after I confirm Jake is asleep based on the sound of his gentle snoring, I sneak out of bed and creep down the stairs, stepping over Rufio as I go. I haven’t used my cellerach ring since Jonah gave it to me last week—I kept it hidden away in the bottom of my purse, somewhere Jake was unlikely to look—and now I’m kicking myself for waiting this long to practice. Jonah had said when it’s your own ring it will just “click,” but he gave me no other instructions, and he doesn’t know how uncoordinated I am. I will definitely need to practice.
I take the ring out of my purse and sit on the couch, then stop and reconsider. I’ve seen portals open before, and I know they don’t make much noise, but I remember the flash of light emitted from Jonah’s ring when he was trying to get my attention, and I can’t risk accidentally setting that off inside the house. I slip on my Converse and pad down the street in my pajamas to the alley a block away. That should be far enough that it won’t wake up Jake, even if I do manage to screw it up. A rat scurries out from behind a dumpster and sits there, watching me, and I remember what Jonah said about being a bully. I know he was just joking, but I can foresee more back-alley adventures in my future, and it wouldn’t hurt to make friends with the locals. Plus, I’m supposed to be working on not being afraid. May as well start now.
“Hey buddy,” I say, trying to appear respectful while keeping a distance. “Want to have your mind blown?”
I slip the ring onto my finger and close my eyes, waiting for a hole to open. After about five minutes of nothing happening, I open my eyes and look at the rat. He cocks his head to the side, expectantly.
“Well, that didn’t work,” I say out loud.
I look down at the ring and study the sparkling blue stone. A golden circle surrounds the outside edge of the stone, like a royal crown. It’s a very pretty ring. Much nicer than any jewelry I already own, which to be fair, is hardly any. I give the circle a few turns and still, nothing happens.
“What do I do now?” I ask the rat. He raises up onto two legs but says nothing. “Some help you are,” I say, shaking my head.
I try spinning the circle again, my mind wandering to the living room of my house on Pearth, trying to remember what Jonah did when he used his ring to take me home. I can’t remember seeing him do anything to the ring, and my thoughts start to flit around, not really landing on any one thing in particular. Suddenly my ring begins to vibrate dully, like the ringer on a cell phone, and I know at once that a portal is about to open. I don’t know how I know, but I’m sure I’m right. I can feel it in my bones.
Sure enough, seconds later a large hole opens up right in between me and the rat. He gives a little squeak and runs off behind the dumpster while I stand there staring at the hole, grinning from ear to ear.
I head home and sneak back in the front door, slipping my shoes off on the mat, then I go slowly up the stairs, careful not to step on Rufio who’s still curled up right where I left him. I take the ring out of my pocket and hide it in my drawer before sliding back into bed and pulling the covers up to my head. Jake stirs next to me, and I hold my breath as he rolls over, but he just drapes his arm across me and hugs me tight, still snoring. I let myself relax into him as I close my eyes and drift to sleep.
The next morning I’m anxious and wake early to get ready for work, tucking the ring into the front pocket of my jeans while Jake is still asleep. He rouses just as I’m about to leave and gives me a kiss on the forehead before I head out the door. I feel bad sneaking around, not telling him what I’m doing, but I don’t see another choice. When I get to the bakery, I spend the morning halfheartedly working, putting the finishing touches on a wedding cake and washing the cake pans I’d let pile up in the sink. Hard as I try to distract myself, I can’t get my mind off my imminent portal trip. I’ve never done this by myself before, and my nerves are at an all-time high. I’ve been tucking my hair behind my ear all day, over and over, a fidgety mess.
The day drags by, and I must have checked my watch a thousand times already. I doubt there will be punishment for tardiness, but I’d rather not find out as I don’t do well with authority. I’ve never been the type to break the rules, something Jake teases me for all the time. He’s the type of person who considers the law more of a suggestion and sees a Do Not Enter sign as an invitation to come in.
Finally, my watch shows quarter to twelve, and I wash my hands, remove my apron and bandana, and hang them up on their little hook near the walk-in refrigerator. I pull out the ring, slipping it onto my finger as I go, then I step to the middle of the kitchen where there’s a large open space. I conclude it’s best to stay far enough away from any of my baking supplies since I don’t know what would happen if a portal were to open up on top of them, and I certainly can’t afford to replace them. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and start gently twisting the golden circle on the top of the ring. Nothing is happening, and I’m getting nervous and starting to feel a little high strung, so I take a few more deep breaths to clear my mind. I try not to think about my potential failure to arrive on time by concentrating instead on seeing Jonah and my dad again. As I keep twisting the ring, I can feel a connection to the portal and its imminent arrival. I open my eyes to see a large hole, floating in the air just a few feet in front of me.
“It worked,” I say to myself, feeling proud. “Now you just need to jump inside...this hole...in the air.” I haven’t managed to entirely convince myself this is a sane idea, but now would be a good time to work on being brave. I push my hair behind my ear one last time, close my eyes, and jump.
A second later I feel my feet back on the ground, open my eyes and release my hands, which I realize have been clenched shut like a vice. I’m standing in my living room, the one on Pearth that is, but Jonah and my father aren’t there with me this time. I check the kitchen and dining room as well, but there’s no one here. I wasn’t expecting this. All this time worrying I’d be late, and I never thought about asking Jonah what to do once I got here. I stand stupidly in the center of the room, not sure what to do next. Jonah had said that the messaging tech in my cellerach ring was broken, so I have no way of contacting anyone, not that I would know how to use it anyway if it wasn’t. Maybe I should go outside and check in the backyard?
“They’re at the PGM headquarters in New York,” a voice says from behind me. I whip around to see Jake standing on the stairs, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He’s not in his military gear anymore and instead is dressed in a flannel button down shirt and brown corduroy pants, not unlike what my Jake would wear.
“Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you there.”
He steps in but stays on the opposite side of the room from me, keeping his distance. He fiddles with his cellerach ring for barely a second before a portal opens up in front of us.
“Wow,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Impressive. It practically took me all day to get mine to work.”
He looks over at me, unamused. “Let’s go,” he says as he jumps into the hole. My Jake would have at least given me a pity laugh, I think, shaking my head as I cross the room and follow him into the portal before it disappears.
When I open my eyes, I find that we’re standing on the sidewalk of a busy street, a huge glass building that spans the length of a city block looming ominously in front of us. It must be thirty stories tall. Streams of people push past us on the sidewalk, oblivious to the fact that we just appeared out of nowhere. Jake grabs my arm and pulls me out of the way just as a six-foot-tall shirtless man comes barreling down the street, waving his arms and screaming about the end of the world.
“You have to watch out,” Jake scolds, letting go of my arm. “There are a lot of crazy people in New York.”
“The end of the world doesn’t sound too crazy to me,” I say, sardonically. The tiniest hint of a smile flashes across Jake’s face before he seems to catch himself and it drops away.
“Come on,” he says. “We need to get through security.”
As we approach the building, I see that the front doors are flanked by two soldiers in military uniforms. They’re both holding some sort of weapon—a type of gun it appears, but they look different than the guns I’ve seen in movies, more futuristic.
“Electrolasers,” Jake says, seeing me eyeing the guards. “People here call them trolas. They can both stun and maim.”
“Lovely,” I say, sarcastically. I’m not a huge fan of guns, and I doubt I’ll be a trola fan either.
We walk up to the guards, and Jake flashes them his cellerach ring, so I follow suit. They nod in our direction, silent, and let us pass. Once inside there’s a series of metal detectors that we must go through. Jake sets his backpack on the conveyor and removes his belt and shoes, then motions to me to do the same. I kick off my Converse and place them on the conveyor before walking under the metal detectors, one by one.
“Why so many?” I ask him.
“They’re checking for different things,” he says. “Metal, electric current, gas.”
Seems like there’s more dangers to be worried about on Pearth than there are on Earth. Once we’re cleared, I follow Jake over to a bank of elevators, and one opens as we approach, as if it were waiting for us all along. We step inside and it starts moving upward almost immediately.
“How does it know where we’re going?” I ask. “There are no buttons.”
