The Swailing

Maine: Knitting

I start school on a Monday and Camden introduces me around to all of his friends. I think some of the girls are jealous of me until they learn that I'm his sister, and then they suddenly want to be best buddies. But even the ones trying to exploit my relationship with Camden seem pretty nice. I like the people here in Maine. They are genuine and warm, generous and intelligent. I'm sure that's not the case with everyone, but so far the kids I've met are different from my friends in Optima. They are more knowledgeable about the world around them, more aware of other people and their needs. They aren't so focused inward, on what they eat, how much they exercise, on keeping a safe distance from others. People here touch each other – shaking hands, hugging, kissing. They even share food and there is something about all of that intimacy that creates a closeness I rarely felt in Optima.

Unfortunately, they all also remind me of Finn.

I think about him more than I care to admit. I've never been particularly boy crazy, despite some evidence to the contrary. Even my attempts to get Logan to kiss me were more about rebellion and hormones than any true romantic feelings I had for him, as pathetic as that may be. But with Finn ... I can't stop thinking about him. About his voice first thing in the morning and how he could sit so still for hours and the way he'd look at me all sincere and sweet.

Lots of evenings I find myself staring off into space, remembering. The cupcake he gave me on my birthday. The way he not only tolerated but seemed to enjoy all of my many, many questions. The way his skin felt beneath my fingertips when I touched his tattoo. How it felt the few times that we kissed. Wherever he is, I wonder if he thinks about it, too.

Sometimes I start to doubt it, in spite of how real it felt to me. He is a full two years older than me, has traveled across the entire continent, has surely kissed girls – or women – more worldly and experienced than me. Who am I kidding – everyone is pretty much more worldly and experienced than me. I doubt that my kisses were anything special, anything that he's sitting and thinking about when he has downtime.

But because I can't stop thinking about him, I look for any excuse to avoid downtime. Tonight my mom is trying to teach me how to knit – something I never felt the urge to learn in Optima. There wasn't much need for wool sweaters or scarves in the land of palm trees. My hands feel clumsy but my mom is patient and kind, encouraging my efforts. Since our talk in the kitchen I've been gentler with her, too, and I'm amazed at how easy it has been to let go of the anger once I decided to try.

I finally get into a rhythm with my needles when she asks, "Do you miss home at all?"

I shake my head automatically, and then rethink my quick answer. "Well, I miss the weather." I can't quite get used to the bitter wind and the brittle, crisp feel to everything.

She laughs. "Yeah, I do too. Even after 14 years."

I knit a few more stiches before she asks, "You don't miss your friends?"

I shrug. "Surprisingly, not as much as you'd think." I look up at her. "That sounds awful, doesn't it? I guess I miss them a little, but I've made new friends here. And here I have Camden."

My mom smiles. I can tell she's happy that the two of us have hit it off so well despite our fairly different personalities.

"What about Finn?" she asks.

Just the sound of his name makes my stomach clench. "What about Finn?" I try to sound cool and indifferent, but I'm sure she can see right through me already.

"Do you miss him?"

I can't just shrug this answer off because I do miss him. Terribly. As is often the case for me, my silence is my answer.

"I remember when I met your dad." My mom looks down at the row of perfect stitches she's made. "I was so crazy about him."

This doesn't surprise me, exactly. My dad is tall and fit and handsome in middle age and he was downright "choice" (as Porsche would say) in his 20s. He can be incredibly charming when he's not being shy. I completely understand how she'd find him attractive. I mean, I found Logan attractive, despite his safe and boring personality.

"Was he always so ... careful?"

She laughs. "A little. He used to be a little more ... like you. But the sovereigns usually win out eventually, don't they?"

"They seem to."

My mom's knitting needles click efficiently while I fumble with mine. She stops suddenly and rests her hands on her lap.

"We used to ..." she starts, but then trails off, as if she's rethinking what she was going to say.

I look at her. "What?"

She shakes her head and blushes. "No. I need to learn to think before I start talking."

"Oh, come on," I say, happy that she is just like me in some ways. Or I'm just like her. "Now you have to tell me."

She pulls the yarn, unraveling what looks like a row of flawless stitches to correct some imperfection I can't even see. "We used to sneak off to the beach and skinny dip. At night."

"You did?"

She laughs and covers her face with one hand. "That dark ocean was so scary. It was such a rush."

I try to imagine my dad being that crazy, but I can't. I wonder if my mom leaving is what changed him, not Optima. Then I think about how I couldn't even get Logan to the beach during the daytime. We were pretty much doomed from the start.

My mom clears her throat. "Did you and Finn...?"

I look at her when she stops, not sure what she's asking. "Skinny dip?"

She shakes her head. "Sorry," she says. "It's none of my business."

By the way she's blushing I start to figure out what she's asking.

"Oh! No!" I protest so strongly that I realize maybe she'll think I'm lying. "No," I say more calmly. "No."

My mom nods thoughtfully and starts knitting again.

I admire how she doesn't push at all. Even so I feel the need to explain.

"I ... never really thought it was an option," I tell her. "My boyfriend in Optima – Logan – he would never have... And Finn and I were just friends until..." I trail off. I'm not sure when things shifted between us, really. I was going to say New York, when we kissed for the first time. But I think back to Sabine's and even Denver and maybe there was always something more under the surface. But actual ... sex? With Finn? I don't think it was something I consciously thought about until recently.

Now it's all I can think about.

My mom smiles at me and then looks back down at her knitting. "I'm sorry. That was a bit much, huh? Sometimes I just feel more ... brave around you than I do around Camden. Like we're ... peers." She shrugs and looks a little sad. "I know that's probably not what you need from me."

I set down my knitting and think for a moment before answering. I've been trying to do that more lately. "I don't know," I say. "Maybe that is what I need. Maybe things are the way they are and that's okay."

She looks at me and smiles. I feel very mature saying that, and even more mature believing it. I think Finn would be proud.

"Do you and Camden talk about ... ?" I let my voice trail off, hoping she'll know what I'm saying without me having to say it.

She laughs. "Um... no. Not really. He'd be mortified."

"Yeah. I can't imagine talking about this with dad, either."

She smiles again and we start to knit again.

"I do miss him," I say after a few minutes. "A lot."

"Dad?" she asks. "Or Finn?"

"Both." My voice catches. My mom sets down her knitting and places her hand on mine.