Two or Three Things I Forgot to Tell You Read Free Page A

that she did.
    â€œDon’t worry, Mom—I’m not thinking about you-know-who.”
    â€œI—I didn’t think you were. Not this week, with so much—good news. . . .”
    Tink. Of course, I am thinking about Tink.
    I am thinking about Daddy, and when I am not thinking about Daddy, I am thinking about Tink.
    And when I am not thinking about Tink or Daddy I am thinking about — something else.
    â€œI heard your father talking to you just now—he’s really thrilled, Merissa. This early acceptance at Brown is very good news for us—I mean, all of us.” Merissa’s mother was smiling—trying to smile—but you could see the strain in her face. Quickly Merissa looked away, not wanting to acknowledge those damp, anxious eyes.
    â€œHe’s so proud of you, Merissa. He brags to everyone. . . .”
    Just barely managing not to be impolite—Merissa felt sorry for her mother, and frightened of her, of what her mother might one day soon reveal—Merissa mumbled something more about homework and needing to text Hannah about the yearbook cover, and moved toward the stairs.
    By this time she’d been home about ten minutes. That itchy-excited sensation had begun, on the most secret parts of her body, beneath her clothes, as soon as she returned from school—as soon as she stepped through the door into the back hall.
    Almost! Almost where I need to be.
    Waiting all day for—this.
    Merissa dreaded her mother catching her by the wrist, or just touching her. Merissa’s mother was one of those women who touch, touch, touch to make sure you’re listening to them.
    â€œ. . . dinner tonight, just a little later at seven thirty. Your father needs to be on the phone for a while, there’s a conference call . . .”
    â€œSure, Mom. I’ll come down and help.”
    â€œHe’s been under pressure lately. Which is why . . .”
    â€œSure, Mom! See you.”
    On the stairs, her heart beating quick and light and excited, and she’s thinking, Flirt. Flatter. Fawn Over .
    Thinking, Maybe I haven’t, enough. With Daddy.

4.
    (SECRET!)
    Now Merissa was alone.
    For the first time since early that morning, when she’d wakened in the dark before dawn and the heaviness of GOOD NEWS! GOOD NEWS! CONGRATULATIONS! sank down on her like a low-lying toxic cloud.
    Quickly shutting the door. In her room, and safe.
    Listening to hear if her mother might be following after her—no?
    And in the little bathroom adjoining her room, with trembling hands—trembling with excitement, anticipation!—opening a drawer beside the sink, and, at the very back of the drawer, seizing the handle of a small but very sharp paring knife—bringing out the knife, and pressing its tip against the inside of her wrist, where the skin was pale and thin and the little blue veins just visible—“I can do this. Any time. Nobody can stop me.”
    Her voice was gloating, joyous. In all of the week of Good News, not once had Merissa spoken in such a voice.
    â€œThe Perfect One,” Tink had teased Merissa Carmichael.
    But not even Tink knew about this.
    In the mirror above the sink, a luminous-pale face hovered. The wide-set eyes were shadowed, shining, and fierce.
    At such (secret) moments Merissa could bear to see herself.
    For it was not herself she saw but another—a stranger—with the (secret) power of life/death in her hands.
    Just an ordinary paring knife, stolen from the kitchen downstairs.
    Where there were so many knives—some of them gorgeous, glittering, Japanese-honed stainless-steel carving knives, very expensive—no one would miss this little knife.
    This (secret) Merissa had cherished for the past eighteen months—when she’d first cut herself, clumsily, foolishly, in an act of desperation and not of sublime cerebral design.
    Now Merissa was in control .
    Even Tink