I pull open the top drawer of her dresser. It's mostly empty, but some stray things remain. I sort through it, finding a Polaroid picture, and pick it up. It's old and faded, a much younger version of my mother that looks startlingly like the woman I see when I look in a mirror.
It's strange, seeing her look this way, so used to the stressed woman who raised me, age showing on her face, hair prematurely gray. I clearly got my looks from her, though. She's with another woman in the picture, a stunning brunette with olive skin. The words 'best friends forever' are scribbled on the bottom in a foreign handwriting.
I don't know the woman, never saw her picture before. It surprises me, seeing my mother so normal. She had a best friend.
"Did you find something?"
Naz is back in the doorway, startling me when he speaks. I shake my head, tossing the Polaroid down on the dresser. "Just an old picture."
I plop down on her cold unmade bed. I wonder how long it has been since it was slept in. Days? Weeks? Since the last time I was here?
Naz strolls over, pausing in front of the dresser, as he looks down at the picture. He gazes at it for a minute in silence.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly.
He doesn't turn around, his shoulders tensing at my apology. "For what?"
"For wasting your time," I say. "For having you drive the whole way up here for nothing."
"It wasn't for nothing," he says, turning around. "At least we know now."
I leave Naz in there to go to my room, scrounging up some of my belongings. I don't know when, or if, my mother will ever come back here, and I don't want to just abandon everything. Naz surfaces, loading my things into the car. I give one last look around the house, locking the door as I leave, feeling bad for leaving so much behind but I can't take it all with me.
Naz is quiet on the drive home. It feels so much longer than the drive there. He said at least we know now, but he's wrong. I feel like I understand less than I did hours ago.
"She'll come for you."
My brow furrows as I glance at Naz, barely making out his face in the darkness. We're nearing Brooklyn again. Neither of us has said a word in hours. "What?"
"Your mother," he says. "She'll come for you."
"How do you know?"
"Because I told you—only a coward leaves their family."
The cafe is quiet with school out, the students that frequent the area day after day all gone for the summer. I sit in the usual seat I planted myself in weekly for studying, sipping my warm chocolate mint tea. It tastes like a liquid peppermint patty, rich and creamy, something that always made Melody cringe.
At the thought of my friend, I glance at the nearby clock and sigh. She's late, unsurprisingly. I'm not even sure if she's still coming. I haven't heard from her all day. Naz is working, so I came into the city on my own, making plans to spend some time with my friend. He left me some cash, a whole lot of cash, and my own house keys so I can come and go.
I guess that officially makes it my place now, too. Weird.
I take another drink, savoring it, when I hear Melody's voice behind me. "Well, I guess some things never change."
I turn around, eyes widening as I look at her. Her usual blonde hair is now bright platinum, stark red and black streaks running through it.
"Do you like?" she asks, fluffing up her hair. "Switching up on you ordinary bitches."
I laugh, shaking my head. "It's very you."
"Right? I thought so, too." She orders a coffee and plops down across from me, sipping on it before she launches into her usual rambling, going on and on about what she's done already this summer (way too much) and how things with Paul are (better than she hoped but man, he needs to get a job), before she flips the script right back to me. "So how's engaged life?"
"Fine," I say, shrugging.
"Fine," she echoes. "That's it? Fine?"
I shrug. "Yeah, fine."
She rolls her eyes at my response, launching into a dozen questions: When's the wedding? Where? Do you have a dress? Who's all invited? Can I see the ring again? I humor her, although I haven't given much of it any thought.
"So what are you going to do next year?" she asks. "You know, since your GPA wasn't high enough to keep your scholarship."
I think I preferred wedding talk to this. I let out a sigh, shrugging. I've tried not to think about it, but it's been lingering there, in the back of my mind. I've got a tuition bill coming that I could never pay. I know Naz says what's his is mine, but how can I ask for thousands to pay for my classes? "I'll figure it out."
"You better," she says. "We totally need to take this class together—Ethics & Society."
"Hell no," I say. "Fuck no. Shit no. No more philosophy classes."
She laughs. "Come on, it'll be easy."
I ball up a napkin and throw it at her. "Negative."
She shrugs, finishing off her coffee. "Your loss."
She can't stay long, having to meet her parents for lunch across town. I bid her goodbye, making plans to meet here again next week, and she starts to walk away but pauses after a few steps. "Oh, I almost forgot! This came for you the other day… it was sent to the dorm room."
She tosses an envelope down on the table. I glance at it, seeing no return address, but the handwriting strikes me as familiar… my mother's.
I finish off my drink and throw it away before heading for the door. I tear open the envelope, yanking out the single sheet of notebook paper, and unfold it. It was scribbled hastily, no sweet greeting or small talk, straight to the point.
Sorry if I've worried you. I can be reached at the number below. Call me as soon as you can. I love you.
I stare at the number, the area code 201 striking me.
She's in New Jersey?
I reread the words a few times, going over the numbers in my mind. I push my confusion aside, grateful to have something. I don't have any answers, but at least she's okay. She's out there, and I have a way to reach her.
I fold the letter up and stick it back in the envelope, shoving it in my pocket. I make the trip back to Brooklyn and am approaching the front door of the house when someone speaks. "Karissa Reed?"
I stall and turn around, eyes widening at the sound of my name on this stranger's lips. He's nobody I've ever seen before, an older man with graying hair, wearing an ill-fitting blue suit. Another younger man lingers on the sidewalk, trying to act casual, his hands on his hips, pushing his coat out of the way and exposing a shiny gold badge clipped to his belt.