Far from the Tree: List 3: Joaquin (3) – Grace (5)

The only color in the room had been a purple orchid (in a white pot, of course) on his therapist’s, Ana’s, desk, and all that glaring white had reminded Joaquin too much of thin white sheets on a bare cot, of restraints and chafing on his wrists, of that drugged-up sleepiness that had made him feel like he wasn’t really sleeping at all.

The only color in the room had been a purple orchid (in a white pot, of course) on his therapist’s, Ana’s, desk, and all that glaring white had reminded Joaquin too much of thin white sheets on a bare cot, of restraints and chafing on his wrists, of that drugged-up sleepiness that had made him feel like he wasn’t really sleeping at all.

“It’s just—” he started to say, then reached for his Coke.
Ana raised an eyebrow. “It’s just...?” she prodded.

Joaquin ran his thumb down the glass, leaving a dry stripe down the center of condensation.

Grace held up the egg. “I can’t tell if these are terrible or amazing.”
“They’re an insomnia purchase,” her mom said.

Grace put on sunglasses as she skulked across the parking lot, then took the back way to the store rather than go past all the pretty fountains with the splash pads for the little kids.

It was almost like it made her head feel heavy, like she had to look down or away in order to keep her equilibrium.

“I’m really enjoying this game of charades, by the way. First word, sounds like?”

“Well, chivalry is officially dead. Who wants a guy who can buy you frozen yogurt but not take care of a baby?”

“I’ll take a rain check on that experience,” Grace replied.

It was personalized, Milly Johnson scrawled in a trendy pink-colored font at the top, and it took Grace a beat before realizing who Milly Johnson even was.

Within that love, however, is an immense gratitude for the love that you have also bestowed upon Milly, and for the sacrifice you made for our family.

She wondered when the novelty of having new siblings would wear off.

Maya thought that, objectively, her half brother was a pretty handsome guy, but his eyes watched everything in the room, constantly flitting from person to place to thing.

Maya thought that, objectively, her half brother was a pretty handsome guy, but his eyes watched everything in the room, constantly flitting from person to place to thing.

“Wow, really?” Grace said, and okay, she looked pretty taken aback.

She shrugged, then reached for a piece of the cookie that they were ostensibly supposed to share, but Maya had eaten most of it already.

“I just meant—” Grace was wide-eyed with guilt, not innocence. “Like, that doesn’t invalidate it, right? Your parents can get divorced and it doesn’t mean anything in the long run.”

Now, though, he was methodically shredding his napkin into evenly square pieces.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said to her, and in her defense, she really did look contrite.

She had the urge to wrap a blanket around Joaquin for some reason. He always looked cold, hunched in on himself.

“Seventeen years is a long time to wait for a family,” Maya said, trying to sound encouraging, the way Claire always did when Maya felt down or ragged, and Joaquin’s mouth curled up into a smile that didn’t make him look either happy or sad.

She wondered if this was what it would have been like to grow up with him, a big brother protecting her, teaching her how to protect herself, someone else to carry the burden, unearth the empty wine bottles from under the bed and inside the refrigerator.

“They’re fine,” Joaquin said, then added, “Maya’s parents are getting a divorce,” because he knew that fine wasn’t going to suffice, not with Mark and Linda.

At first, Joaquin had worried about the potential ramifications of having a fighter in the family, but the dad had been really nice.

He still remembered one foster mother, an older woman who had smelled like cloyingly sweet powder, like someone had pulverized rose petals and sprinkled them on her clothes.

He still remembered one foster mother, an older woman who had smelled like cloyingly sweet powder, like someone had pulverized rose petals and sprinkled them on her clothes.

Otherwise, she just muddled up his thoughts until he wasn’t sure how he felt anymore.

She felt on edge, sleep deprived, and overcaffeinated.

One of the reasons Grace had given up Peach was because she hadn’t wanted her life to stop (“You’re so young,” her parents had implored over and over again), but nobody had told Grace that her life might stop anyway, that she’d be trapped in the amber of her pregnancy, of Peach, while the rest of the world continued to change around her.

Nobody needed to know that she hadn’t talked to Janie since that ill-fated day back at school, that Janie hadn’t so much as texted her since Grace had punched Max’s friend in the face.

She’d never be able to eat Doritos again, not after what she’d read about preservatives and food dyes when she was pregnant with Peach.

“I don’t want your Doritos,” she said. “Keep that fake cheese to yourself.”
“It’s not really cheese until it’s spelled with a z,” Rafe told her. “But I digress.”

Grace threw a piece of lettuce at him, which he caught before it hit the table. “Masterful reflexes,” he said. “Just FYI.”

“Yes, ma’am. Split up when I was five. I’m pretty sure the world is only turning because they got divorced. Otherwise their fights would have probably made the planet implode.”

Carry on with your tale of woe.” Grace rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”

“That’s why you’re asking all these questions. You’re not worried about Maya, you’re worried about the baby. God, I’m so going to get a five on this AP test. I’m going to clobber it.”

Rafe seemed dubious, but he let it go and just handed her a fresh napkin instead.

“Platonic texting?” she said. “That’s all?”
Rafe held up one hand. “Scout’s honor,” he said.

“At ease, soldier,” Grace said, and Rafe ruffled her hair before sliding back into his own side of the booth.