When We Collided
By Emery Lord
4/5
()
About this ebook
We have messy, throbbing hearts, and we are stronger than anyone could ever know . . .
Jonah never thought a girl like Vivi would come along.
Vivi didn't know Jonah would light up her world.
Neither of them expected a summer like this . . . a summer that would rewrite their futures.
In an unflinching story about new love, old wounds, and forces beyond our control, two teens find that when you collide with the right person at just the right time, it will change you forever.
“When We Collided is a book I wish could have written, but am so much better for having read." --Julie Murphy, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Dumplin'
Emery Lord
Emery Lord is the author of Open Road Summer, The Start of Me and You, and When We Collided. She lives in a pink row house in Cincinnati, with a husband, two rescue dogs, and a closet full of impractical shoes. www.emerylord.com Twitter: @emerylord
Read more from Emery Lord
The Start of Me and You Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Names They Gave Us Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Open Road Summer Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
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Reviews for When We Collided
132 ratings18 reviews
What our readers think
Readers find this title beautifully written with vivid characters and a captivating story. It delivers an important message about mental health and is enjoyed by readers of all ages.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5So I came into this book biased, because I almost never enjoy books with more than one narrator. I usually find myself really enjoying one point of view and not really caring for the other. Which is what happened here, where I wanted to stay with Jonah and his family, not bounce back to Vivi.
One of my favorite parts of Lord's writing - and I love her first two books - is the sense of community. The close and fierce friendships and family bonds are missing in this one, as Jonah becomes wrapped up in Vivi. The other characters fall to the wayside and aren't developed at all.
It's still a quick and engaging read, with the lovely writing I've come to expect from Lord, but it wasn't my favorite. - Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5What a terrific read! Telling a compelling story from dual points of view is difficult - often it only works well for one character and not the other. Not so with this book. I found myself drawn into the story and the perspectives of both main characters. A sweet love story that also gives a very accurate depiction of mental illness, all wrapped up with a satisfying and realistic ending. Can't wait to read more from Emery Lord.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I wanted to read When We Collided because I really like the sound of the two main characters. Plus, I really have thoroughly enjoyed her other two books, and hoped for more of the same. Vivi sounded like a girl with a lot of energy and someone so bubbly and such a charismatic personality Jonah is kind of the opposite he is very responsible taking care of his younger siblings along with his two older because his dad died and his mom has been pretty depressed. She stays in bed and Jonah describes her as breakable and he imagines that she has to remind herself to breathe after their loss. I like the sound of the small town they live in and it sounds so idealistic and homie and a place that I would love to visit and also love to live in. The theme of family and friendship both played pretty heavily into this one, all themes that I appreciate and like to read about. I am endeared to Jonah with how much responsibility he takes in and the extreme love he has for his family. I can also tell the stress it puts on him because caring for kids on the level he does just isn't supposed to be on his shoulders. It is told in dual perspective and that really add something to it because we get to see Vivi and Jonah's reactions to things and what they think about the other. we get two contrasting personalities and opinions about things and we get to see their romance building and also as we read the character development and everything from their past that eventually catches up to both of them. Not that far in the you begin to realize that Vivi has some issues of her owN. she described it as she got really low and then she got really high as far as her moods go awhile back. Then she had a conversation with her mom about the fact that she had lost some weight and that made her mom suspicious that she wasn't taking her medicine like she needs to be, since side effects for psych meds can cause weight gain. Mental illness is an issue that is very important to me because I deal with bipolar with hypomania and anxiety and I've been on all kinds of medication for it and I was able to relate with her on all new levels. I began to a suspect that's what she struggled with. she was bubbly and friendly and anything because she was experiencing her high/manic part of the disease she's very talkative and friendly and all those things could have just been her personalities but we also see her throwing out her medication and the synopsis also talks about her descent into risky behavior and that sounds like the beginnings of the swings from manic to depressive. I love the scenes where Jonah and Vivi were getting to know each other it's so sweet. Vivi brings a intensity to everything, for example of she believes in reincarnation and she told things about her past life and how it relates to who she is today. The things she said about Jonah totally makes sense to his personality she said that he was a tree in a previous life and that is why he's so steady and how he wants to shelter the little ones. The scenes with Jonah's sibling are so well written. It is so realistic how they still bicker and give each other a hard time but at the end of the day they're really there for each other. I love that he treats his younger siblings with respect and he plays with them and sacrifices things to help them with their homework and take care of them. They all look up to him and love him for it. I love seeing vivi with the youngest Leah, she was able to bring out this younger part of herself to really understand and she really give her time to her, she listens to her and really enjoys playing with her. this brought out a good side of Leah because she had been pretty withdrawn and not talking much and Jonah and the rest of the siblings love to see her just kind of blossom under the attention of Vivi. Leah began to talk and light up again. Even though with a synopsis and knowing her history with mental illness when Vivi started going downhill it was hard To read. I have grown to care about her a lot and seeing so much of myself and some of her manic behavior was difficult. Its been a battle for me to stay on my meds and I knew that she wasn't staying on her on her mood stabilizers so I knew it was going to go downhill. and even though I have hypo-mania which means that my highs aren't quite as high and my impulsiveness and rashness and talk a mile a minute isn't as bad as someone with full out bipolar disorder like Vivi, it was an emotional train wreck I couldn't stop watching. Even knowing how much it upset Jonah because he had no clue about the manic depression. He must have had a clue with the way she acted around Jonahs mom and the understanding of how she might be feeling that she's dealt with mental illness but Jonah didn't know about her other side. She was danger seeking, in full out creative mode.and it hurt Jonah's feelings when he tried to talk to her about what he was going through and she couldn't focus on him or what he was saying. I could tell as the book was coming to a close that the ending was going to be hard but I really respected it. I don't want to give any spoilers but I love that VIVI made decisions for herself and for her mental health and based on what she really needed even though it was a very hard choice to make. she knew that she was giving up a lot but looking forward to gaining a lot. I like the way that it shows that mental illness doesn't have to have some huge tragic and that there are good days and there are bad days there are good decisions and then there's a very bad decisions and sometimes you get hurt sometimes the people around you get hurt. I like seeing slow and gradual change and jones mom and her eventual of decisions. I like with Vivi how she had to come to accept what was going on with her and that she eventually decided that other people can come to her that they could see that she's dealing with a mental illness but still love her and still see the good parts in her and forgive her for when things go wrong. One of the messages that I took away from this book is that mental illness needs to be talked about more. That those who are suffering should look around them and see who is holding out of hand or who has offered to help and accept that help. for those who are suffering to also give that whenever they aren't the ones having a hard time that they can look for someone else who is struggling because they've been there they know the signs. and for those who are not struggling with the mental illness to realize that it is a disease that there's going to be relapses that there's going to be hard days but the treasure of the good days and to be there for other people.Source: Bloomsbury via NetgalleyDisclaimer: I received this book as an ARC (advanced review copy). I am not paid for this review, and my opinions in this review are mine, and are not effected by the book being free.Bottom Line: Beautiful characters with big problems. This is the YA contemporary that stands out and that the other kids are trying to be like.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5beautifully written so vivid the characters are well developed and beautiful!
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Beautiful prose, captivating characters, and an important message about mental health. I'll be sharing this book with my teenaged children.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Really enjoyed this book. Read it so quickly and want it to last longer.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5What a beautiful depiction of coping with grief and mental illness by two high school kids who fall in love during the summer. They support each other even though they don't understand everything that is happening. I loved this book, it made me cry at the end, bittersweet tears. Perfect ending though. Once again, Emery Lord reeled me into a fascinating world.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5brilliantly crafted, heartbreaking beautiful, I have never read something that took on the details of grief, love and mental illness with so much thoughtfulness, understanding and hope. Simply stunning.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Jonah Daniels is a seventeen-year-old who has a passion for cooking and is following in his father's footsteps. But with his father's sudden death six months ago, he has more on his plate than just black cherry cobbler. His mother has withdrawn from her family. She spends all her time in her bedroom while Jonah and his two older siblings look after their three younger siblings.
Vivi Alexander and her mother are staying in Verona Cove for the summer. Vivi is a vivacious sixteen-year-old who loves art and fashion. And Jonah Daniels. But her world is not all twinkle lights and glitter. She's been keeping something from Jonah and it takes something extreme for him to find out what it is.
The cover is lovely. The title is great. All the characters in this book were phenomenal, but I fell in love with Vivi. I loved her personality and her story. I don't have a word for the author's writing, it was soooo good! It was an honest and realistic portrayal of someone living with mental illness first-hand as well as someone living with a loved one who is suffering. You can't help but root for these two to find happiness. I loved everything about this book!1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This book is perfect for high school students trying to understand mental illness better. Vivi has bipolar disorder and Jonah is mourning the loss of his father. Although very different problems, this book shows the struggles that come along with issues such as these. It's fast paced and a bit of a mystery. One I'll be recommending to high school students.
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5This is not your normal YA romance. Vivi lives with bipolar disorder and Jonah is struggling with the sudden death of his father. Despite everything, these two young people fall in love in the midst of chaos and help each other grow stronger. "When We Collided" is told from alternating perspectives. I loved Jonah and his rambunctious family. They all had strong personalities and their interactions are delightful. Jonah's grief is heart-breaking as he battles to take care of his younger siblings and keep the family business running. Vivi, on the other hand is a bit too full-on for most of the book. She is spontaneous, selfish, flawed and irresponsible. I know her manic behaviour is a part of her illness but, like Jonah, there were times she swept me away with her exuberance leaving me gasping and confused. Although, I found Vivi and Jonah's insta-romance unbelievable, this was a touching, refreshing read, bringing to light an important mental health issue.
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Usually I don't like books that switch between two or more characters in first person, but this one was very good. The change in perspectives really highlighted the difference between Vivi and Jonah.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5When Vivi comes to Verona Cove, a very small town on the Northern California coast for the summer, she’s already had a bipolar episode. Jonah has always lived in Verona Cove, but he’s dealing with his father’s death, his mother’s grief and taking care of his younger brothers and sisters. Vivi and Jonah fall in love, but they don’t tell each other what’s going on with them. That’s realistic; I get why they fall for each other so quickly. It’s a novel that many will see themselves and their loved ones in. I received this from Goodreads and the publisher Bloomsbury on 5.2.16.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5When We Collided by Emery Lord begins with Vivi throwing her pill over the cliff into the ocean and carving “Vivi Was Here” in an old tree trunk. From this beginning we, the readers, are waiting for the inevitable crash in Vivi’s life because we can make an educated guess as to what that pill was supposed to do.Vivi should stand for vivacious (which according to the Merriam Webster dictionary derives from the Latin verb vivere or ‘to live’). She is the embodiment of it: sparkling, effervescent and spontaneous. And exactly the opposite of Jonah who, eight months after his father’s unexpected death, is trying with his two older siblings to keep the family of seven together. His mother stays in bed mostly. The ‘littles’ need to be dressed, fed, taken to school. Yet somehow this unlikely couple seems to work, partly because Vivi has seen some dark days.Vivi is new to Verona Cove, having come from Seattle to spend the summer, and she loves it. It is a quaint little town; one you can really feel at home in, and Vivi wastes no time making her “Vivi Was Here” mark on the town. She inserts herself into the breakfast routine of loner police officer Hayashi while deciding to try the coffee shop breakfast menu in alphabetical order. She gets a job at the local potter’s shop. She envelopes Jonah’s family, having a profound impact on little Leah. Yet we know, the edge of the cliff is approaching.Narrated in alternating first person chapters by Vivi and Jonah, When We Collided is the story of a remarkable girl and her impact on those around her. While having a major romantic element as do all of Emery Lord’s books, it also has a serious side to it as well, and in her Author’s Note at the end of When We Collided, Lord talks about mental illness, personalizes it, and provides relevant resources.Emery Lord is part of my triumvirate of teen romance novelists, in the partnership of Sarah Dessen and Morgan Matson. So I would heartily suggest you read Open Road Summer and The Start of Me and You. And in her author bio at the end of the book, she says she lives with a blind beagle and a spaniel, so she obviously loves dogs. My kind of person.On a side note, Matson has a new book out entitled The Unexpected Everything. So there you have it. Your summer reading list has a great beginning.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This is a compelling story about two teens that meet, fall in love but have too many complications to make it work at the time. Jonah, along with his two older siblings, is trying to do well in school while also trying to work and care for his three younger siblings after his father died unexpectedly and his mother has shut herself in her bedroom, suffering from too much grief and depression to cope with the real world. By chance Jonah meets Vivi who brings a lot of light and energy into his life and his family’s life. What Jonah does not know is that Vivi is bi-polar and has not been taking her meds as prescribed. This leads to a painful event that shows the two that sometimes we have to deal with our own issues before we can help others. This book is a realistic look at mental illness in our society.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This book was perfect in how so not perfect it was.
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Vivian (Vivi) and Jonah meet in a summer resort community. A typical summer romance is given new life when the two principles are less-than-whole themselves. Jonah is one of 6 children; his father is dead and his mother paralyzed with depression. He works two jobs and minds the "littles" (his 3 youngest sibs) all the while protecting his mother. Vivi is bipolar; she throws away her lithium, and is ignoring (outrunning) her past. (In a manic high she sleeps with her best friend's boyfriend and acts out a party). At first J is drawn to V's energy and spontaneity but as her mania escalates he is bewildered and helpless. After a life-changing incident, she finally confesses her mood disorder and begins to face her problems. Realistic -- at times, chilling -- portrayal of mania, Vivi is deftly drawn. Jonah. for this reader, was less believable: a bit too good to be true. Nonetheless, like bees to honey, teens -- especially girls -- will be drawn to this romance/drama.
1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A love story to be sure, but not only a love story about two people, but a story about loving yourself.
2 people found this helpful
Book preview
When We Collided - Emery Lord
Lord
CHAPTER ONE
Vivi
I knew I was in love with Verona Cove on the first day, but I waited until the seventh day to commit. After one week here, I’m carving my name into a tree in the center of town. It’s way harder than you might think, digging a pocketknife into ancient bark. Eleven letters have taken me hours, or it felt like that, anyway. Fortunately, before the sun rises, no one polices Irving Park—or anywhere, really. I’m pretty sure the worst crime Verona Cove has ever seen is someone dropping a napkin. The napkin dropper tried to chase it, I bet, but the wind swept it up, and eventually, somewhere, the napkin became litter.
And besides, I’d actually enjoy getting caught—clearly, since I implicated myself in jagged lines forever etched into a tree older than any of the 3,051 people in this town: Vivi was here.
When I’m done, I pat my handiwork because—okay, yes, I’m a nature vandalizer, but this is a crime of passion. I know the park doesn’t mind because I love it here, and I think even the neatly trimmed grass and placarded benches can sense my affection.
I take the footpath out of the park, only now realizing how much later I am than usual. The morning sun has edged past the horizon line, casting shadows of the leaves like lace on the sidewalk. Flowers burst throughout every inch of the town—fuchsia roses crawling over trellises, forsythia blazing like yellow fireworks. As I walk down the sidewalk, the trees undress above me, dropping pale pink petals like a slow burlesque.
This is why I want to stay forever, not just for the summer. So far, my argument to my mom has been that Verona Cove makes Hawaii look like a floating garbage heap. I mean, I’ve never been to Hawaii, technically speaking, but I’ve seen pictures. Verona Cove is a tiny coastal town you might expect to find on the shore of Massachusetts or North Carolina, but instead it’s tucked into a tiny notch on California’s curved back. I’ve lived in a few towns, so believe me when I say that Verona Cove isn’t one. It’s Mayberry meets the rain forest meets Shangri-La. Each detail is so perfect that it feels like a film set, and I want to run my hands across the painted lattices, the retro mailboxes, the street lamps that glow like rows of white moons. Everything is clean but not totally pristine, like every inch of town is lived in and loved.
The shopping district is a three-by-three grid, and Main Street creates the center line. Every morning, I pass a handsome brick restaurant, a locally owned hardware store, and the bookstore. The storefront I’m aiming for is marked by a sandwich board with Betty’s Diner
in beautiful, chalk script at the top. Below, it reads in pink block letters: Voted Best Breakfast by the Daily Gazette, followed by the breakfast and lunch specials. Cove Coffee displays a similar certificate in its window: Voted Best Coffee by Daily Gazette. There’s only one of everything in this town—a drugstore, a grocery, an art store—so each is the best by default, but I love that the town takes the time to honor each contribution.
Bells jingle on my way into the diner, and I’m hit with the smell of maple syrup and coffee and spicy sausage. I’ve come here all seven mornings, since there’s nowhere else to go at this hour, and the excitement of a new town has been waking me up early.
Because I’m later than usual, Betty’s is full up with octogenarians—white puffs of hair hovering like clouds over the backs of the aqua vinyl booths.
Betty herself is behind the register, punching at buttons. Oh, hey, honey bun. One sec.
I think Betty keeps words like sugar, darlin’, and honey etched on a pair of dice in her mind. With each customer interaction, she shakes one or both dice to land on a single word or a combo: honey pie, sugar darlin’, doll baby. I like to hear who I am each day. The term of endearment is like a fortune cookie at my favorite Chinese restaurant; it’s not why I go there, but it makes the experience a touch sweeter.
She comes out from behind the counter, surveying the packed diner. Might be a quick minute before a table frees up.
But I’ve already spotted my in: an older man wearing a thin sweater. That’s okay. I’ll sit with Officer Hayashi.
She looks at me as though I have just said, I will tame a tiger now, and he will feed me pancakes with his paws. Uh, sweetie, he’s a little particular about his alone time in the morning. And always.
I’m not worried.
I flash her a smile because I know something she doesn’t: Officer Hayashi is no curmudgeon.
My third morning here, I was on my way into Betty’s when I spotted a German shepherd—all sharp angles, nose, and ears—sitting in the back of a cop car.
What are they bringing ya in for, cutie?
I asked through the cracked window. The dog stared back, proud and attempting the stoicism required for his job. Not assault or battery, no way, you’re too gentle for that—I can tell. Trafficking? Nah, not the type. Aha! Theft, I bet. What was it? A whole pizza off the table? A birthday cake right out from under a little kid? You look like the sweet-tooth type.
His long tail smacked against the back of the seat.
Boneless wings with jerk sauce,
a low voice behind me said. That’s her weakness.
A girl dog. I felt silly for assuming otherwise. And, of course, she was wagging her tail at the sight of her partner—a man with white hair and a navy-blue police uniform. When he got close enough, I read the name on his silver badge: Hayashi.
But she’s not under arrest. Yet, anyway.
He took a sip of his to-go coffee from Betty’s.
Oh, I know she’s on duty,
I said. I was just teasing her. Couldn’t resist—I’m crazy about dogs, and she’s a real gem. I can tell these things.
Yeah, she’s a good girl, aren’t ya, Babs?
Babs?
I asked, bristling. What a name for a police dog! Honestly, all the male German shepherds get to be Rex and Maverick and Ace.
Kubaba, actually.
Even more ridiculous, though I tried not to react.
Well, nice to meet you, Kubaba,
I told the dog, and, turning back to her partner, I held out my hand. I’m Vivi, by the way.
He shook my hand. You a law-abiding citizen?
I’ve never been under arrest.
I smiled, coy about quoting him. Yet, anyway.
But see, here’s the thing: after that, I went home and searched the name Kubaba. And now I understand Officer Hayashi well enough to know he’ll be kind to me.
Hi!
I say, approaching his table. He’s staring down at the crossword, printing neatly with blue ink. Vivi. From earlier this week? I accused your K-9 unit of being under arrest.
He looks up, studying me as if I’m trying to trick him somehow. I recall.
Kubaba,
I say, was the only queen of Sumer in her own right. The only woman on the Sumerian King List.
A smile creeps onto his face. You looked her up, eh?
A world of male shepherds trained to rip out a criminal’s throat, and he named his regal girl for what she is: their equal.
Can I sit with you?
He glances around, clearly trying to find another open seat he can dispatch me to. I just smile pleasantly, waiting for him to give in. Everyone does, eventually. His gaze shifts back to me. "Of course you can."
Hmph. Old-timer snark, after which I am supposed to correctly ask, May I sit with you? But instead I settle into the booth across from him, thumping my bag down beside me.
And the good officer does not know what to do with me.
You sure you never been arrested?
he asks. You seem like the type. Disregarding social rules.
I splay a hand on my chest, all drama. "Why, I would never."
My lips press together, trying not to smile. See, even if I did get caught marking up the tree, I know Hayashi is an old softie underneath. When he returns to his crossword, I open my sketchbook to the page I was working on last night. My inspiration word is scrawled at the top and taunting me. To represent wabi-sabi, I meant to draw a simple pink gown, raw silk with a sort of ripped texture at the bottom. But I got caught up, and now it’s a girl wearing branches of cherry blossoms, pink petals fanning out as if she’s spinning.
I start over on the opposite page, occasionally stealing glances at my tablemate. When Hayashi doesn’t know an answer, he chews on the tip of his pen and scowls at the newspaper, as if the page will be intimidated into giving up the correct word.
Hey, doll baby,
Betty says to me, pouring coffee into my mug. I drink coffee for the taste, of course, since caffeine is the last thing I need. Most of the things I do in life are for flavor, not necessity. On to the waffles?
My first morning here, I ordered the first item on the menu—the Classic Omelet—so I just decided I’d try everything, in order. I’ve worked through all the omelets already. Yes, please! Sounds positively divine.
Here you are, Pete.
She sets a plate in front of him. Sunny-side-up eggs and crispy bacon on warm biscuits. Mmmm. I haven’t gotten to that column yet.
So.
He picks up his fork. What’s with the Marilyn Monroe thing?
I touch the ends of my curls. "It’s not a Marilyn thing. It’s a me thing."
He’s digging into his food, not even paying attention. Okay.
Oh, honestly, can’t a gal do something for the hell of it? I’ve gained some weight in the past few months, and the curves are new to me. So I thought, You know, what better time to dye my hair platinum blond and cut it to a length between my earlobes and shoulder tops? I spun big sections of blond into foam curlers and drenched the whole mess in home-perm chemicals. I don’t even really know anything about Marilyn Monroe. But girlfriend was on to something with her short, curly hair. Bouncing on top of my head, it feels fun and light and like I’d be ready to roll if the forest pixies ever ask me to go dancing with them. And as long as my hair is going to be all Marilyn-y, I figured I’d try out some red lips and nails.
I’ve read that animal coloration can be for mimicry or protection or for signaling to a predator or a potential sexual mate. Ha! Perhaps my platinum dye and red lips and pink cheeks are all of the above. Or perhaps I just like plumage.
When the waffles arrive, I push my sketchbook aside to make room, and I dig in and oomph! Carb heaven, golden and buttery and dusted with powdered sugar.
Officer Hayashi is staring down at my sketchbook page. He uses a chunk of biscuit to mop up the last of his runny egg yolk. "Wabi-sabi. You know what that is?"
As I understand it,
I say, trying to sound academic, "it’s an untranslatable word. Wabi can mean rustic or stark or transient. Sabi is like . . . faded. Or fading. Old. Together, I guess it’s like seeing beauty in simplicity and nature. In fleeting moments and even in decay."
He tips his coffee back, emptying it. Where’d you learn about that?
From my friend.
Can I still call Ruby my friend? Her image invades my brain, her hot-pink lipstick and fringed black hair, and I’m sickened with missing her, with missing her whole family. Last spring, her mom did this huge mixed-media show juxtaposing the Japanese aesthetics she grew up with and the Western aesthetics she studied in college.
Before he can add anything, I sigh, gesturing to the sweeping cherry-branch dress. "I’m trying to translate some of the concepts into couture, but I’m not sure I can mesh them with my personal aesthetics. I like inventive, bold fashion, so I have a feeling that once I finally get to Japan, I’ll be more about the street style. Have you been?"
I haven’t, no. But I . . .
He hesitates, pulling cash out of his wallet. I have always wanted to see Kinkaku-ji.
The Golden Pavilion?
He nods. My mother spoke of it with awe.
Why haven’t you ever gone, if you want to?
Oh, you know. Life.
With this, he tugs a worn baseball cap onto his head. He leaves our booth without another word.
I’m not far behind him, because my morning routine has one more stop before work.
Verona Cove sits above sea level, so if you walk westward on any street in town, you’ll eventually hit the bluffs. Some of them drop off right above the ocean, and others taper downhill toward the shore. I think I imagined the California coast with surfers running headlong into the waves and with pops of colorful umbrellas. But it’s quieter, just the whoosh of water and call of birds. I stand on the cliff with mist rising from the ocean almost straight below me, and, even after a week of this, it stuns me. The natural world makes the finest architects and designers and artists look like silly amateurs. I’m so lucky to stand witness to panoramic blue skies and white-tipped waves and the craggy earth beneath my feet.
I anticipated the few birds that scamper near me, which is why I pocketed some crumbs of waffle from my breakfast. They peck at the torn pieces on the ground while I dig into my purse for the thing I came here to discard. I have two neon-orange bottles in my purse, so I’ve got to make sure I find the right one.
The pills are smooth to the touch. I push my finger against one pill to slide it out. Once it’s in my hand, I wind up because I’ve learned that you’ve really got to put some force behind the meager weight of a tiny pill. I fling my arm forward, hand opening for the release.
The pill soars over the cliff, and I imagine the tiniest plink as it hits the ocean’s surface. Maybe a fish will spot it, and his round mouth will break above water to ingest it, and if he’s been having some rough emotional ups and downs, he’ll feel better! You’re welcome, little guy.
Turning my back to the Pacific, I start toward the pottery shop. I can’t imagine a better summer job. I don’t have to wear a uniform, and I get to watch people create art, which is almost voyeuristic—a glimpse at the bare soul. Magic, I tell you. Magic.
I lucked into the job, really. On my second day in Verona Cove, I sat on the bench outside the shop hoping to entertain myself for a while once it opened. By the time the owner showed up—an hour after the posted opening time—I’d run my pencil down sketching dresses. The owner, Whitney, has the warmest energy and the best curls I’ve ever seen—thousands of them, tightly wound. I couldn’t stop staring at her hair and thinking that God himself must have created it with a curling iron the size of a number two pencil. Her apologies flurried between explanations—that she got into this groove with her own pottery the night before, that she overslept again.
We sat for the next hour, me painting a bowl for my mom and Whitney organizing the glaze paints into rainbow formation. She kept apologizing, but I told her not to worry about it, that sleep and I are only casual acquaintances. She joked that maybe I should work in the shop some mornings so she could sleep in. Actually, I said. I’ve been meaning to get a job. That’s when she stopped laughing and asked if I was serious, even though she could only pay me minimum wage. And, well, you can probably guess what my answer was because here I am, digging for the shop keys in my bag.
When I turn onto High Street, I see that the bench outside Fired Up is occupied. Sitting there are a little girl with pink sneakers and a guy about my age with dark hair. Even from a distance, I can tell his hair is not a styling choice but the result of a perpetually overdue haircut—kind of rumpled, with the start of curls. It’s really great hair; if I had hair like that, I would never cut it or dye it or change a single thing.
They’re talking as I approach, the little girl swinging her legs. The guy is seventeen or eighteen—too young to be her dad—but he almost looks like he could be someone’s dad. I can see dark circles under his eyes, so maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s his slouchy khakis and navy T-shirt with a pocket over his heart. This is not a cool outfit or an uncool outfit, just practical. Everything about him says he’s too busy to even realize he’s that cute.
Good morning!
I say. They both stare like I’m a cartoon character come to life.
Hey.
The guy stands abruptly, and the little girl follows his lead.
You here to paint?
Yep,
he says. The girl bobs her head.
Well, come on in.
I motion to them with one hand while still rooting around for the keys with the other, and I give my most charming smile to spur them from their muteness. I’m not much for silence; it simply doesn’t suit me. I’d rather carry on a conversation with myself than crawl the trenches of awkward nothingness. Since I’m not sure what else to say, my mind wrenches back to this morning’s activities and my breakfast companion.
Are you guys locals or here on vacation?
I hold the door open, and they walk inside.
The guy clears his throat. Townies.
Oh, excellent.
The door shuts behind us, and I plunk my purse down on the counter. Do you know if the Verona Cove police are strict? I mean, like, on first-time offenders. Who may have created some, ahem, unsanctioned art on the local plant life. Asking for a friend, of course.
CHAPTER TWO
Jonah
I’m going to murder my alarm clock one of these days. I don’t use my phone as an alarm because there’s a very real chance I’d chuck it out my attic room’s window. Every morning the clock shrieks, and I mentally flambé the whole damn thing. Set it on fire in a huge saucepan. Laugh as it melts. On the rare morning that I feel almost awake, I give the alarm clock a stately Viking funeral in my mind. And there it is again, screeching.
My feet trudge down the stairs. Must. Find. Coffee. Then shower, load of laundry, unload the dishwasher, work. Before I can get to step one, I’m sidelined by a hopping motion in the kitchen.
Jonah! Today, today, today!
Leah’s feet hit the linoleum on every other syllable. She’s already dressed, right down to her pink sneakers. I was eleven when she was born, and sometimes I still can’t believe she’s old enough to tie her own shoes.
What’s today?
Her smile flatlines. I get to paint pottery. I filled up my chore chart, and you promised.
Shit. I did promise.
She crosses her arms. "Last week, Wednesday or maybe Thursday, you said Monday you would take me. Today is Monday. That means we’re going."
You’re right.
I’m not awake enough to figure out how this will work. I have to be at the restaurant by eleven, and my older brother and sister are already at their jobs. But I really don’t want to take the younger ones to the pottery place. There’s a saying about people being oil and water, but Bekah and Isaac are like oil and a hot frying pan. Put them together, and there’s hissing, spitting, and the occasional burn. They got into a screaming match yesterday morning over who’d get to sit in the recliner while watching TV. Bekah lobbed a pillow at Isaac’s head, missed, and broke a vase. So I grounded them both. I don’t really know what grounded entails for an eight-and an eleven-year-old, but it sounded authoritative at the time.
So we can go?
Leah asks.
Yeah, we can go.
Yay, yay, yay!
Lifting a mug from the cabinet, I turn back to Leah. You want oatmeal?
I want peanut butter–banana toast, but Bekah wouldn’t toast the bread for me.
How about peanut butter–banana oatmeal?
She makes a face.
Fine. Toast it is.
I redirect my hands toward a loaf of bread and then drop one slice into the toaster. I hand Leah the banana and a dull knife. She holds the knife in her right hand and braces the banana with her left, tucking the tips of her fingers under like I taught her. Our dad taught me, in the kitchen of his restaurant. He also showed me what would happen if I did not use this technique to protect my fingers from the blade. The demonstration involved ketchup as fake blood and a lot of dramatics. I was nine. It was the greatest thing ever.
When the bread pops up, I plate it for Leah. She smears the peanut butter. Smiling, she says, I’m going to paint a coffee cup for Mom at the pottery shop.
Good idea.
I pour my coffee. Behind us, Isaac wanders into the kitchen. A chapter book eclipses his face. Isaac can walk while reading. Like, he can walk better while reading than the average person can walk while doing nothing else. He sidesteps street signs, climbs stairs, and dodges pedestrians. It’s almost disturbing. He peers at us, and the refrigerator door is reflected in his glasses.
Did you say we’re going to paint pottery?
"We are," I say.
Yes, yes, yes!
Leah says.
Cool! I’m coming, too.
Nope. You’re grounded. And look at the chore chart. Who has all their checks for every week this month?
Isaac squints at the chart, searching for an angle to argue. Well . . . only Leah. But that’s not fair! She gets all the easy jobs because she’s the littlest. Anybody can sort laundry and set the table.
Leah scowls. I resist pinching Isaac, hard. Leah’s only five. She does everything she can, and I never have to ask her twice.
Nobody argued during the days when my mom handled the chore chart, which is a laminated grid with our six names lining the left side. She managed our eight-person family’s calendar of activities and events. She signed permissions slips. She made waffles every Monday morning to soften the blow of the weekend ending. She put away Christmas decorations on December 31. But that was before we became a seven-person family.
Everything about my dad was big. His height, his laugh, his personality. Now I look at pictures of the eight of us and, when I imagine him not there, the whole picture is off balance. And so are we.
My dad used to joke that he’d forget his head if my mom didn’t sew it on every morning. I was too young to know the saying about forgetting your head if it weren’t attached to your body. Instead, I stared at my dad’s collar. I wanted to see Frankenstein zigzags across his neck. Then he died, and it turned out my mom relied on him for basic function, too. My mom mostly stays in her bedroom now. Sometimes I wonder if she’s whispering to her heart: Beat. Beat. Beat. To her lungs: In, out. In, out. Like it takes all her time and energy to exist.
On my way upstairs, Bekah calls for me from the room she