Page 78 of The Way I Am Now
And he sounds like someone else as he says, “Hey, Gen, Mandy, Mrs. A.” But as Amanda and her mom nod and smile politely back at Caelin, I realize it’s that he actually sounds like himself—his old self, the one I haven’t seen in months. It’s strange to see him here, not just my brother but someone who issomethingto all these people too.
The three of us—me, Amanda, and Gen—exchange our awkward hellos and look at one another like maybe we’re looking into some kind of distorted fun house mirror at ourselves. We take turns smiling at each other, then frowning and looking away.
“So,” DA Silverman says, her voice cutting through all this emotion taking up all the air. “We just want to walk everyone through what’s going to happen this week, just to make sure we’re all on the same page, and if anyone has any questions, then we can address them now. We all know testimonies start tomorrow. And as you know, we all must remain separate. We have a private room down the hall where we’ll have you wait until it’s your turn.”
Gennifer’s father, whose name I already forgot, says, “So, there’s no jury at this point, correct?”
“That’s right,” Lane responds, her voice way too chipper. “A hearing is really not all that different from a trial. Think of this as a pre-trial, without a jury. That part comes later.”
“But he’ll be here, in the courtroom, while the girls are on the stand?” he asks.
I see Mrs. Armstrong’s jaw clench. I wonder if Gennifer’s dad realizes that she’s Kevin’s mom too. I wonder what she thinks now, every time she hears her son’s name. It can’t be good.
“Yes,” DA Silverman says, and leads us up to the witness box, tells us to look out. “So, Kevin will be sitting there with his attorney.” She points at one of the tables in front of us. “I’ll be over here on this side.”
“And I’ll be sitting out here,” Lane says, pointing to an area of seating. “On your side, with the detectives who worked your cases and whoever else you’ll have here for you. So, if you need somewhere to look at any time, just look at me.”
I can’t stop staring at the table where Kevin will be sitting.
“You all right?” my mom says quietly.
“That’s really close” is all I say. What happened to all those big fancy sprawling TV courtrooms? This is tiny. Claustrofucking-phobic. Stuck in the 1980s. I want to raise my hand. I have a question:Why is that table so fucking close to the witness stand?I want to scream.Who fucking designed this place?
“So, we’ll start the process tomorrow,” DA Silverman says with a self-assured nod. “Just remember to remain calm and be honest. If you don’t know something you’re asked, it’s okay to say you don’t know. Keep your phones close. If there are any changes to the schedule or order, I’ll let you know via text.”
Mom takes me and Caelin for breakfast at IHOP afterward, the same one, off the highway, where Josh brought me that day last December, when he came for me. This was where I told him about Kevin, about me, about all of it.
We pick at our food in mostly silence.
I’m distracted by the fall decorations everywhere—pumpkins and ghosts and cornucopias—thinking about the way time passes. It felt like it took so long to get to this point, but now it’s here and I barely feel ready at all. Wasn’t it just summer? Just spring? Just winter before that, when I was here last, in that booth right over there by the window, trusting Josh with my heart, soul, mind, everything.
In the car, Mom looks at both of us and says, “You know that your father has never been good at talking about his feelings, but he doesn’t blame any of what’s happening on either of you. You need to know that, both of you. He’s just so angry still,” she tries to explain.
“Yeah, atwho?” Caelin asks. “That’s the real question.”
“Not you,” Mom says. And then she twists around to look at me in the back seat. “And not you, either.”
I nod, sort of understanding—that kind of anger, that kind of silence—too well.
I call Mara once we get back home. I was planning on joking with her about business casual.Like, what even is that?I could hear myself saying. Asking her if she has a blazer I could borrow, but when I hear her voice on the line, something changes.
“Hey,” I say. “You busy in a few hours?”
Instead, I ask her to meet me at our playground. The one where we used to play when we were kids and then where we used to hang out drinking and smoking and getting high with randos, all post-Josh and pre-Cameron.
Our giant wooden castle—our private magical realm—still standing after all this time.
When I pull into the parking lot, she’s there waiting for me, sitting on a tire swing that’s shaped like a horse, swaying back and forth, sidesaddle. My headlights shine a spotlight on her. When I get out of the car, she runs and slams into me, full-body hug.
“Oh my God, I’ve missed you,” she whines. “I’m so happy to see you, Edy.”
“I missed you too,” I tell her, and I mean it, but things feel different somehow. It’s only been a month since I’ve seen her, but so much has changed for me.
We climb up to the highest tower and sit down, crossed-legged, opposite each other. She keeps making this awkward nervous half laugh I don’t know what to make of. “So, Josh being good to you?” she asks. “Treating you like a queen, I hope.”
“He’s being very good to me,” I tell her, but I can’t seem to force a smile right now the way she is. “He really wanted to come with me. Be here for the hearing. But I said no.”
She finally nods, straight faced, and says, “Why not?”
