The People We Choose Katelyn Detweiler (graded readers TXT) 📖

“Will she hang out with us for your birthday? I can’t wait to meet her,” I say. My voice sounds strained and strangely pitched. Not genuine. I want to take it back. Try again.

Ginger hears it, too. That goofy grin slips and falls. “I’m sorry. I knew it wasn’t a good time. It feels like I’m rubbing it in your face, and I’m not, I swear. I shouldn’t have said anything. Not now.”

“Stop. No. I’m glad you told me. And I really am excited for you. Just because I happen to despise romantic love at the moment doesn’t mean you should, too. You deserve this. Plus, you were so patient and good to me all summer.”

She reaches across the table, her thick row of beaded and charmed bangles knocking against the wood as she finds my hand and squeezes. “Thanks, Calliope.”

The front door opens. A slow creak of the screen door, then a bang as it swings shut.

I turn in my chair toward the hall, dropping Ginger’s hand. Mama and Mimmy are at the studio. My chest tightens. Max would knock, wouldn’t he?

But it’s not Max who steps into the kitchen. It’s Noah. We haven’t talked since his last visit, before I told Max. I wasn’t sure where to go from there. Wasn’t sure whether he’d only come out of pity, for a one-off conversation because of the dire circumstances, or for a first step back to some kind of normalcy.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s a casual thing, his being here. Like it used to be. But his smile is too big, more nervous than happy. He sits in the chair next to Ginger. Picks up an extra spoon, taps it against the table like a drumstick. Neither of them can meet my eyes.

I cross my arms and stare them down. “What is this, a changing of the guards? Ginger said I shouldn’t be alone?”

“Eh.” Ginger twirls her spoon in circles around her yogurt bowl. “No. Maybe. Yes.”

“I’m an adult. I can handle myself.”

“We’re just worried about you, that’s all,” Ginger says. “I’ve never seen you so sad.”

“Sad,” I screech, and Noah and Ginger wince. “Well, yeah, I guess I never fell for my biological half brother before now. Or had my heart broken, period. I couldn’t even start out with a normal heartbreak, could I? Skipped right past those training wheels. So yes. I am sad. But you don’t have to babysit me. I’m not going to do anything drastic. Maybe cry some more. Binge-eat Mimmy’s cookie dough out of the freezer.”

“So, should I leave?” Noah is already halfway out of his seat.

“Do what you want. I just don’t want anyone here out of obligation.”

“You are never an obligation.” His face is oddly somber as he says it. He sits back down.

Ginger stands then, clearing away her empty bowl and mug, dropping them in the sink. “Just let us love you, Calliope. It’s what best friends are for. It’s what we’ve all been doing since the womb.” She hugs me from behind, plants a juicy kiss on the top of my head. “I’ll call you after my shift. Not to check in. But to ask what plans you’ve come up with for next week.”

The door slaps shut behind her. We hear her wooden platforms clunking on the porch, down the stone path to her car. Noah’s playing with a lock of hair, curling it around his finger over and over again. I listen to the hum of the fan. Take a sip of warm water from my glass.

“Are you hungry still?” Noah finally asks. “Looks like you barely touched that yogurt. And from what my informant told me, you haven’t eaten much these past two days.”

I look at the yogurt. The granola is probably liquefied inside it. The sour smell hits my nose and I push it away.

Noah laughs, and it’s such a familiar, joyful sound—I realize how much I’ve missed it. Missed him.

“I am pretty hungry. Though your informant made me take a few bites of her pizza last night. That was about it.”

“Okay then,” he says, standing up. His chest seems to swell with purpose. “Let’s see what you have in the fridge.”

I feel hungry for the first time in so long. Ravenous, really.

We assume our old positions. Me perched on the counter. Noah chopping and sautéing, refusing all offers of help. I watch the way he moves gracefully between cupboards and drawers as he cooks. It’s like this is his home.

And it is.

Or it was. Maybe it will be again.

We eat. We fill up the pool with cold water and go in wearing our clothes. We climb the hill for sunset. We don’t talk much. But we’re together. It’s something at least.

For a few minutes, as I watch the sun slip away, I can almost pretend life is the same as it was before this summer.

Almost.

Chapter Sixteen

MY plan for Ginger’s birthday isn’t necessarily extravagant, but it’s the best I can do. And it feels nice to have a distraction, just like Ginger said. Something and someone else to think about.

The morning before her birthday, Noah and I pack up his car with our duffel bags and food supplies—Mimmy made not one but three different baked goods for the occasion—and drive into town to pick up Ginger. She’s waiting for us on the porch, Vivi already there with her. A spontaneous invite. Ginger was shocked when she actually said yes. Still just friends, Ginger reminded us no less than fifty times, so you better not make things awkward. Sophie waves at us from the kitchen window.

It’s just two nights at a motel in Wildwood, New Jersey—the only one not completely booked for the week by the time I started searching. But based on the website pictures of fake palm trees and flamingos by the ancient outdoor pool, it has a level of Ginger-approved kitsch that felt suitable for her one and only eighteenth. She’ll be completely delighted