Forward Me Back to You Read online

  Robin takes the gift bag from under the table and hands it to his father.

  “For me?” Dad tugs out the tissue and gapes at the keys to the Corvette.

  “I bought another car today, and I want you to drive the Corvette. It’s your dream car, right?” Not mine, he adds silently.

  “Wait … really?” For a second, Dad looks exactly like the sixteen-year-old version of himself grinning in the frame on the grand piano. “What do you think, Marjorie?”

  “You bought a new car, Robin?” Mom asks.

  “Sort of. It’s a fixer-upper, a VW Bug. Mike’s giving it to me for the cost of delivery. I’ll do most of the labor myself, if I can, and find cheap parts online.”

  His parents exchange looks.

  “Sounds like something you’re looking forward to,” Dad says. “I have to admit, I’m going to love driving that Corvette to work. You can borrow it back any time you want.”

  “It’s all yours, Dad.”

  “Thanks, Robin. Thanks.”

  “I’m the one who’s grateful.” He clears his throat and sits up. “But there’s something else I need to say. I want to withdraw my college applications. I’d like to take a gap year when I get back from India. I’ll work full-time at Mike’s, take a few classes at the community college, and figure out if a four-year school is for me.” He takes a deep breath. “Sound okay?”

  His parents are looking at him as though he’s a shape-shifter. Has he sent them into shock by revealing too many “wants” at once?

  “Hear that, Marjorie?” his father finally says. “Robin wants to take a gap year.”

  “Yes, and maybe then he’ll choose to go to college,” she retorts.

  That’s the fighting spirit Robin knows and loves.

  KAT

  INT. GRANDMA VEE’S APARTMENT—NIGHT

  Late at night, after her homework’s all done, with the Canary’s yellow dress and ribbon flying through her mind, Kat is still trying to figure out her Plan A. It feels closer now. At small group, they’ve been watching videos about the global problem of trafficking, Bengali culture, modern-day Kolkata, India’s history. Kat’s been researching all that on her own, too. But she also asked PG for the password to the Bengali Emancipation Society film they saw that day at church, and now she watches it again. And again.

  During her third viewing, an idea starts to form in Kat’s mind.

  Do girls know much about jiu-jitsu in India?

  Saundra says that self-defense is one of the best ways to empower young women, she remembers, after her fourth time through.

  Maybe, Kat thinks after her fifth replay, Plan A can be to teach this brave girl in the film a few BJJ moves.

  She actually gets goose bumps thinking about it.

  But she’ll have to be flexible.

  Quick-thinking.

  Ready to move to a Plan B in an instant, if need be.

  She has no idea if the Bengali Emancipation Society will let her meet the girls, let alone try to teach a martial art to them.

  For now, as always in a solo match, she keeps Plan A to herself.

  ROBIN

  INT. ROBIN’S BEDROOM—NIGHT

  After Mike has the Volkswagen towed over, Robin posts a picture of his new-old car in his feed. He captions it with Goodbye, Corvette. Hello, Bug.

  The first response comes from @dark*knight_7. You traded your sweet ride for this hunk of junk?!? Huge mistake.

  Robin takes a moment to figure out what he’s feeling. There it is again. Anger. What right does Brian have to demean his decision, and publicly? He feels like swearing and yelling, but instead he’s simmering it down to a moderated-for-other-eyes reply—Wait until you see it on the road before you judge … I can school you about cars—when he notices the comment’s gone.

  He tries to go to Brian’s home page, and sees the small lock symbol that indicates a private account.

  He checks Brian’s other social media accounts, one by one.

  This user has blocked you.

  You are not allowed to send a message to this account.

  He tries the online games they play together. No access. It’s like @dark*knight_7 has disappeared from the virtual world. At least Robin’s virtual world.

  Robin tries sending the carefully worded reply by text message. He sends it ten times over ten minutes. No DELIVERED or READ notifications show up there, either.

  Last resort: He calls.

  Goes straight to voice mail.

  @boy*wonder_7’s been deleted.

  INT. METROWEST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH—DAY

  It gets worse over the next few weeks. Not only has Brian stopped coming to small group, he isn’t answering anybody’s texts or calls, not even PG’s. Robin tells himself not to worry, not to miss him, but he can’t help it. He definitely doesn’t want to go back to old patterns, but can’t they make some tweaks to the friendship and start again?

  On Sundays, Robin keeps an eye on the door. Brian’s stepdad and mother sit in their usual pew. But Brian never walks in.

  This is how little kids handle conflict, Robin thinks. But if Brian’s the one acting like a child, why is Robin the one who feels like crying?

  KAT

  EXT. BOSTON—DAY

  Winter finally gives way to spring, and Grandma Vee pulls on a cardigan instead of her down coat. She takes Kat to Fenway to watch a baseball game, where the peanut vendor tosses them a bag for free and shouts, “Love you, Ms. Vee! Can’t join you for Easter this year—I have a girlfriend now!”

  Grandma Vee gives him a thumbs-up, but the Sox lose and she grouses on the T about the “lack of depth in the pitching this year,” or something like that.

  * * *

  Their next field trip is a walk along the Boston Women’s Heritage Trail. Slowly, because Grandma Vee’s rattling the walker across cobblestones, and also because Kat keeps stopping to admire a burst of daffodils or a forsythia bush in bloom. Yellow is exploding in Boston’s gardens, and to Kat the whole city looks like someone’s colorizing a black-and-white film.

  “Boston flowers arrive in a parade,” Grandma Vee tells her. “First, the whites of crocuses and snowdrops. Then these beautiful yellows. Just wait for the pinks and purples of lilacs. Oh, the smell! There’s nothing like it. Makes me feel like I’m sixteen again.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?” Kat asks as they leave the statehouse and start climbing the hills around Beacon Street.

  “On the inside or out? Lilacs will tell you my soul’s the same age as you are. But my body’s saying, ‘Viola, you’re turning eighty-four this year, my dear.’”

  Kat can’t believe it. She’s spry, this Ibis. Pushing her walker, she tells stories about Rebecca Lee Crumpler, the first black woman doctor, the poet Phillis Wheatley, and Harriet Tubman, who was a regular visitor to Boston. As she listens to Grandma Vee, Kat can almost see shadowy feline figures prowling along these winding, narrow streets.

  INT. METROWEST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH SANCTUARY—DAY

  Kat and Grandma Vee go to an extra service on Good Friday, and Kat hears how the Sparrow died. She knows the story, but it hits her this year. The music is somber, the service ends in silence, and Kat leaves feeling tired and drained.

  But on Easter Sunday, fragrant white lilies are everywhere in the church, and Grandma Vee, Martin, and the rest of the choir belt out a song of victory.

  As Kat listens, she feels exactly like she does after a win and the referee hoists her wrist up in the air. Good for you, Sparrow, she thinks. You stayed on the mat. You kept fighting.

  ROBIN

  INT./EXT. METROWEST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH—DAY

  Ms. Vee approaches Brian’s mom after the service. About ten people follow her, including Robin and his parents, Ash, Martin, PG, and even Kat.

  “Where’s that boy of yours been, Emma?” Ms. Vee asks gently. “Is he coming back soon?”

  Brian’s mother shakes her head. “I don’t think so, Ms. Vee. Goodbyes are hard for Brian. He might be making an
early break so it’s easier to leave for college.”

  He’s not the only one who hates goodbyes, Robin thinks.

  “Oh, dear,” says Ms. Vee. “Do you mind if we pray for him? And you?”

  “I’d love that,” says Brian’s mother.

  As his parents and friends gather around Brian’s mother and stepdad, Robin slips out of the church.

  KAT

  Kat stands at a distance, watching people pray for the Alsatian. Is his mother crying? That Grandma Vee—she really does make everyone cry. Is Kat supposed to join them? She has no idea how to pray, so she stays out of the circle.

  When they’re done, Robin’s mother approaches Kat. “So glad you’re coming to our house for brunch. Your grandma Vee always joins us on Easter Sunday.”

  This tall, elegant blonde woman is a replica of the SUV-driving moms at Sanger, but this one’s got a brown son. Somehow, that makes Kat feel differently toward her. “I’m looking forward to it, Mrs. Thornton.”

  ROBIN

  EXT. METROWEST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH—DAY

  Robin sits on the bench near the grass that faces the church building. Easter Sunday came later than usual this year, and tall orange tulips are already making an appearance in the flower beds tended by the ladies’ aid. On the sun-dappled lawn behind him, smaller versions of Brian and Ash and Martin and Robin played tag as soon as the service was over.

  When did he become Brian’s sidekick instead of his friend? It must have happened in middle school—right when Brian’s dad took off—because by the time high school started, they’d already shifted into their new roles.

  PG comes out of the church and sits next to Robin. “Friendships change, Robin. Nothing you can do about that.”

  Robin sighs. “Maybe I shouldn’t have corrected him that day. Not in front of all you, anyway.” He figured out what he’d been feeling after he’d acted out the anger. Not the best sequence, maybe.

  “It’s okay to be passionate. Sometimes you have to overturn tables, right? A wise man texted me that once.”

  Robin smiles. “PG—” he says. And then hesitates. His parents are starting to worry about the details of his search. What if it requires a lot of time, or he needs to take a journey outside Kolkata to follow a lead? Will the Indian staff who work for the Bengali Emancipation Society support him? Mom and Dad have asked him to tell PG the truth, and he knows he has to do that before they leave for India.

  PG’s waiting without a word.

  “PG—” Robin starts again. And stops.

  “Still here,” says PG. “Go on.”

  Big breath. You can do this. “Well, I haven’t been totally honest with you. I—I’m excited to go back to Kolkata with you. But … I also want to search for my … story.” He can’t bring himself to say the word mother. It makes the stakes seem so much higher. “I mean, I want to serve the Bengali Emancipation Society, but I hope they’ll give me time to follow up on any leads. You know, stuff that I might want to do after I open my file at the orphanage.”

  “I’m glad you told me,” PG says. “I guessed that was going on. Now I can check off ‘have big talk with Robin about his motives’ on my to-do list. Have you told your parents this?”

  “Of course. They even hired a reunion counselor to help me get ready.”

  “That’s good.” And then it’s PG’s turn to hesitate. He puts his hand on Robin’s shoulder. “I’ve heard that searches don’t always work out. Don’t let your hopes get too high, buddy.”

  Too late for that, Robin thinks. “Thanks, PG. And can you keep this between the two of us for now? I don’t want the whole church asking questions. I know they love me, but—”

  “Yeah, they get in our business, don’t they? I’ve stopped counting the number of times people have tried to fix me up. No worries, Robin. I’ll tell Arjun to keep it confidential over there as well. And if you need my help for anything, just ask.”

  KAT

  INT. MRS. THORNTON’S CAR—DAY—TRAVELING

  Robin and Kat sit in the back seat with Grandma Vee squished between them. An old man is riding with Robin’s father. Actually, it’s vice versa, because Mr. Thornton lets his guest take the wheel of his fancy red sports car.

  “Isn’t that a bit fast?” Grandma Vee asks Mrs. Thornton as the red car takes off, tires shrieking as it turns the corner.

  Mrs. Thornton follows at a more sedate pace. “The house is only three miles away. What can happen in three miles?”

  “Good job not worrying, Mom,” Robin says, patting his mother’s shoulder.

  As Kat fights through a wave of missing her own mother, Mom texts right at that moment. Happy Easter, sweetheart. Going to church with Saundra. Wish you were here.

  Sure you do, Kat thinks. She doesn’t text back, but that doesn’t stop her mother.

  158 days till you’re home. I’m checking them off on my calendar app.

  Kat sighs. After all, it is Easter Sunday. Happy Easter, Mom, she texts, and waits for the burst of joyful emojis to appear. Sure enough, they do—six dancing ladies in red dresses, fifteen pairs of applauding hands, and ten yellow faces with hearts for eyes.

  “I think this is the twelfth year in a row I’ve joined you Thorntons for Easter brunch,” Grandma Vee is saying. “Last year Dylan came, but this year he’s going to his new girlfriend’s house.”

  “Oh, right, that nice kid who works at Fenway,” Mrs. Thornton says. “I love having you, Ms. Vee. It makes us feel like we have family around. That’s what happens to an only child who marries an only child, Kat.”

  She parks the car along a tree-lined street full of big houses, right behind the red sports car. The old man is climbing slowly out of the driver’s seat. Robin’s father is standing on the sidewalk, mopping his face with a handkerchief.

  “We made it,” Mr. Thornton tells them. “Barely.”

  While he unloads Grandma Vee’s walker from the trunk, and Robin’s mom helps Grandma Vee out of the back seat, Kat gazes up at a three-story mansion set behind a wide lawn and tall, strong trees. Looks like a movie set.

  She turns to Bird Boy. “They might call you Robin, but you’re actually Bruce Wayne.”

  “Want to see the Batmobile?”

  She hesitates. She hasn’t been alone with anyone male since the stairwell. But Bird Boy’s so completely avian that after only a short time, to her eyes he’s become Robin first and a dude second. A distant second, in fact.

  She follows him into the garage and looks around. He’s standing in front of a rusting piece of machinery that might have been a car once. Kat can’t even tell what color it is.

  Robin’s gazing at it with adoring eyes. “Isn’t she gorgeous? They used to call these ‘Sun Bugs’ back in the day. I’m thinking of restoring her all the way—nut-brown sports seats with matching panels and carpeting, wood-finish dashboard, sports GT wheels, and a sunroof with a wind reflector. Plus, that beautiful metallic beige exterior.”

  Sounds like another language to Kat. “Will you be able to drive it—I mean her—before we leave for India?”

  “No way. It’s going to take a while to get the engine running again. And I’ll start with that first. I’m waiting on some parts.” His phone makes a harp sound and he glances at it. “Gracie’s back from Mass and now she’s at some big feast with all her relatives. I’ll tell her you’re here.”

  Maybe you’d better not. “Hey, give me her number, will you? I’d like to text her, too.”

  He reads it out, picks up a wrench, and disappears behind the raised hood of the car.

  Hey, Gracie. Kat here. I’m at the Thorntons’, watching Robin make out with his new girlfriend.

  She waits. Counts the beats. After five of them, an answer appears in all caps: WHAT GIRLFRIEND?

  Kat walks around to the side of the car, snaps a photo of Robin with his head under the hood, and sends it.

  Two beats later: Oh.

  He calls it a “her.” Can you believe it? There’s only one girl in the world that’s a
better fit for him than this one.

  One beat later: Oh?

  You, burro.

  Five faces with hearts for eyes whiz in. I knew it. You do speak Spanish!

  Not really. Just a word or two. Mostly animals.

  Wait. Am I that obvious?

  Yep. But this kid’s too much of a burro to see it. Want me to tell him for you?

  Kat, no! I want him to figure out what HE feels about ME. Maybe India will help.

  Okay. No worries. I can keep a secret.

  Two brown girl faces with hearts for eyes. Happy Easter, Kat! I’m so glad God brought you here.

  ROBIN

  INT. REUNION COUNSELOR’S OFFICE—DAY

  “Been watching reunions online?” the counselor asks Robin. She’s an adoptee herself, from China, so Robin’s not surprised that she guesses how he’s been spending some of his free time.

  Korea. China. India. Colombia. Vietnam. Guatemala. Doesn’t matter where. He streams through dozens and dozens of them, repeating some three or four times, noticing every nonverbal, every stance, who reaches out for whom, who cries first, how long they hold each other.

  “Yep,” he answers. “They’re sort of addictive.”

  “I know,” she says. “But it’s the fairy-tale endings that get a lot of views. That’s not usually how most searches end. Are you … mentally ready for that possibility, Robin?”

  “Er … I’m trying to be,” Robin says. That’s why I’m here, he thinks. So far, though, hope won’t let him imagine any other scenario than a joy-filled embrace.

  She slides a couple of pamphlets over her desk. “Here are some recommendations for post-search counselors. In any case, you’ll need some practical preparation, too.”

  Robin takes notes as she tells him to make copies of documents, prepare questions in advance that won’t get his first mother in trouble, and keep a first meeting with any first relatives short and simple.