“Yes, well, I told her about Haylee, and I think it’s all finally sinking in. In fact, she seems a lot better, too. Mrs. Granford said she is doing a lot more for herself. Maybe she’ll call you soon. Things could get back to being . . . normal, whatever that means for your mother.”
“Oh, I want that to happen, Daddy.”
“It will, I’m sure. You enjoy yourself, understand? Dana and I are talking about driving over one weekend to take you to lunch, okay?”
“Yes, I’d like that.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Have a good night.”
“I will. Thank you, Daddy.”
I stood there in the growing darkness for a while, thinking, remembering. You can be angry, you can hate, but you can’t stop recalling better times. On nights like this, when Haylee and I were alone and Mother and my father were downstairs watching television or out to dinner during those happier years that my father vaguely referred to as “normal,” the two of us would cuddle, either in her bed or mine, and talk about dreams and wishes. Back then, we wanted to please each other. Love wasn’t only natural; it was the glue that held us together and made us special. We enjoyed being special then. We pranced about in our new shoes and dresses, knowing we were the center of attention, two sisters who mirrored each other so perfectly that we brought amazement to faces that hadn’t been excited by much in their lives for years. Smiles and laughter rained down on us. We were Mother’s perfect little girls. Surely only good things would come our way.
When we were little, we wanted so much to be older. Why was I thinking more often and more fondly now about my little-girl days, longing for them? In so many ways, I wished I was a little girl again. Other girls my age would surely think I was crazy, especially now, when you could do so much more on your own—drive, stay out later, and generally be responsible for yourself. Yes, I wanted to go back in time.
And yet, deep in my heart, I knew Haylee and I could never be those perfect twins again, certainly not the way Mother had envisioned us. Now it was difficult even to think of us as merely sisters.
“You didn’t come out to smoke, did you?” I heard.
At first, I didn’t see him standing there in the shadows, but he stepped out, and I recognized Troy Matzner. He was in a dark green pullover sweater and jeans tonight.
“What are you doing hovering in the shadows here?” I demanded. I felt spied upon.
“Not hovering in the shadows. I’m just taking a walk,” he said, coming closer and into more of the light spilling from the building and the outside fixtures. “I wasn’t hanging in the shadows listening to your conversation,” he added without smiling. “If that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid of it.”
“Old boyfriend left back home?” he asked, nodding at the smartphone in my hand.
“My father, if you must know.”
He nodded and looked away, his arms folded. “You enjoying it here?” he asked, without turning back to me.
“So far,” I said. “How long have you been here?”
“Three years.”
I knew he was a senior. I didn’t cross-examine the other girls to find out about him or ask Marcy anymore, but whenever anyone made a reference to him, my ears perked up . . . whether I wanted them to or not.
“So if you’re not spying, what are you doing at Cook Hall?”
He turned back to me. “I’m getting some fresh air,” he responded sharply. “Actually,” he added, softening his tone, “I’m taking a much-needed break from my inane roommate.”
“Inane?”
“I’d say he’s about ten years behind on his emotional development. If I hear one more fart joke, I’ll be on trial for murder,” he said. I noticed that when he spoke firmly, he began looking at me but almost immediately looked to the side or down to finish.
Now that he was more in the light and closer to me than he had been, I could appreciate how handsome he was. His dark brown hair was layered softly with strands just over his forehead. It looked like it had been styled by someone who worked in Hollywood, sculpted and trimmed and yet very natural-looking. When I had glimpses of him passing in the hallways, I thought his eyes were unique, but now that I could see them clearly and closely, that impression was verified. They were hazel with a slight tint of green, perhaps brought out more by the lighting. He had full, sensuous lips and prominent high cheekbones complementing his male-model perfect nose. His good looks and the way he held his firm shoulders back, the way he held his head and just slightly tucked in the right side of his mouth, did give him an aristocratic arrogance that I was confident turned off most of the boys here and intimidated most of the girls.
“I did hear that you’ve had a new roommate every year and one year had none for most of the time.”
“Maybe I snore.”
“Somehow I doubt that was it,” I said.
He turned, and I thought he was just going to walk away, deciding he had given me enough of his royal time or something, but then he turned back.
“So were you complaining to your father? Is that why you came out to have the conversation? You were afraid someone might report you to the Iron Lady? She has her little informers, ass kissers, you know.”