Celeste Ng - Everything I Never Told You

Lydia is dead. But they dont know this yet. 1977, May 3, six thirty in the morning, no one knows anything but this innocuous fact: Lydia is late for breakfast. As always, next to her cereal bowl, her mother has placed a sharpened pencil and Lydias physics homework, six problems flagged with small ticks. Driving to work, Lydias father nudges the dial toward WXKP, Northwest Ohios Best News Source, vexed by the crackles of static. On the stairs, Lydias brother yawns, still twined in the tail end of his dream. And in her chair in the corner of the kitchen, Lydias sister hunches moon-eyed over her cornflakes, sucking them to pieces one by one, waiting for Lydia to appear. Its she who says, at last, Lydias taking a long time today.

Upstairs, Marilyn opens her daughters door and sees the bed unslept in: neat hospital corners still pleated beneath the comforter, pillow still fluffed and convex. Nothing seems out of place. Mustard-colored corduroys tangled on the floor, a single rainbow-striped sock. A row of science fair ribbons on the wall, a postcard of Einstein. Lydias duffel bag crumpled on the floor of the closet. Lydias green bookbag slouched against her desk. Lydias bottle of Baby Soft atop the dresser, a sweet, powdery, loved-baby scent still in the air. But no Lydia.

Marilyn closes her eyes. Maybe, when she opens them, Lydia will be there, covers pulled over her head as usual, wisps of hair trailing from beneath. A grumpy lump bundled under the bedspread that shed somehow missed before. Iwas in the bathroom, Mom. I went downstairs for somewater. I was lying right here all the time. Of course, when she looks, nothing has changed. The closed curtains glow like a blank television screen.

Downstairs, she stops in the doorway of the kitchen, a hand on each side of the frame. Her silence says everything. Ill check outside, she says at last. Maybe for some reason She keeps her gaze trained on the floor as she heads for the front door, as if Lydias footprints might be crushed into the hall runner.

Nath says to Hannah, She was in her room last night. I heard her radio playing. At eleven thirty. He stops, remembering that he had not said goodnight.

Can you be kidnapped if youre sixteen? Hannah asks.

Nath prods at his bowl with a spoon. Cornflakes wilt and sink into clouded milk.

Their mother steps back into the kitchen, and for one glorious fraction of a second Nath sighs with relief: there she is, Lydia, safe and sound. It happens sometimestheir faces are so alike youd see one in the corner of your eye and mistake her for the other: the same elfish chin and high cheekbones and left-cheek dimple, the same thin-shouldered build. Only the hair color is different, Lydias ink-black instead of their mothers honey-blond. He and Hannah take after their fatheronce a woman stopped the two of them in the grocery store and asked, Chinese? and when they said yes, not wanting to get into halves and wholes, shed nodded sagely. I knew it, she said. By the eyes. Shed tugged the corner of each eye outward with a fingertip. But Lydia, defying genetics, somehow has her mothers blue eyes, and they know this is one more reason she is their mothers favorite. And their fathers, too.

Then Lydia raises one hand to her brow and becomes his mother again.

The cars still here, she says, but Nath had known it would be. Lydia cant drive; she doesnt even have a learners permit yet. Last week shed surprised them all by failing the exam, and their father wouldnt even let her sit in the drivers seat without it. Nath stirs his cereal, which has turned to sludge at the bottom of his bowl. The clock in the front hall ticks, then strikes seven thirty. No one moves.

Are we still going to school today? Hannah asks.

Marilyn hesitates. Then she goes to her purse and takes out her keychain with a show of efficiency. Youve both missed the bus. Nath, take my car and drop Hannah off on your way. Then: Dont worry. Well find out whats going on. She doesnt look at either of them. Neither looks at her.

When the children have gone, she takes a mug from the cupboard, trying to keep her hands still. Long ago, when Lydia was a baby, Marilyn had once left her in the living room, playing on a quilt, and went into the kitchen for a cup of tea. She had been only eleven months old. Marilyn took the kettle off the stove and turned to find Lydia standing in the doorway. She had started and set her hand down on the hot burner. A red, spiral welt rose on her palm, and she touched it to her lips and looked at her daughter through watering eyes. Standing there, Lydia was strangely alert, as if she were taking in the kitchen for the first time. Marilyn didnt think about missing those first steps, or how grown up her daughter had become. The thought that flashed through her mind wasnt How did I miss it? but What else have you been hiding? Nath had pulled up and wobbled and tipped over and toddled right in front of her, but she didnt remember Lydia even beginning to stand. Yet she seemed so steady on her bare feet, tiny fingers just peeking from the ruffled sleeve of her romper. Marilyn often had her back turned, opening the refrigerator or turning over the laundry. Lydia could have begun walking weeks ago, while she was bent over a pot, and she would not have known.

She had scooped Lydia up and smoothed her hair and told her how clever she was, how proud her father would be when he came home. But shed felt as if shed found a locked door in a familiar room: Lydia, still small enough to cradle, had secrets. Marilyn might feed her and bathe her and coax her legs into pajama pants, but already parts of her life were curtained off. She kissed Lydias cheek and pulled her close, trying to warm herself against her daughters small body.

Now Marilyn sips tea and remembers that surprise.

The high schools number is pinned to the corkboard beside the refrigerator, and Marilyn pulls the card down and dials, twisting the cord around her finger while the phone rings.

Middlewood High, the secretary says on the fourth ring. This is Dottie.