Chapter Seven Maya

Chapter Seven

Maya

May 2023

I couldn’t sleep all night. over and over, I replayed the detective’s words: Drug use. Excessive drinking. An overdose.

But I know in my gut something’s not right, that there is more to the story. Naomi and I talked on the phone Friday morning. We’d agreed to meet at the Tenth Reunion tent. It doesn’t make sense that she’d go down to the lake alone instead.

The detective said the last person to see her was one of her roommates, Zalikah, but that was Thursday night. So what happened between then and Saturday?

Naomi didn’t drink alone; she’d even admitted once that she was worried about how often her ex did. She didn’t abuse her meds, not after she’d seen what that had done to Aunt Ella. It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

“Hey.” Nate sits on the bed and gently wakes me from my half-conscious state. “You’ve got to eat something.”

The scent of the food fills the room, a bagel and coffee, but the thought of eating makes me sick. The guilt I have, the feeling that I could have prevented her death, fills my stomach like a fist-sized stone.

I roll over and squint at him in the bright light. His normally vibrant hazel eyes look worried, his shoulders low, locs frayed around his hairline. “I can’t,” I tell him.

Pulling a pillow over my head, I roll away from the window, wishing I could disappear. I want to be back home in my own bed, but we decided to stay in Princeton the rest of the week. My sister’s body was still at the morgue. I couldn’t just leave her. Leaving would feel like giving up.

I manage to drift off to sleep, and a few hours later, a cold, damp towel is placed on my forehead, like I do for Dani when she’s sick. When I feel her tiny hand reaching for mine, I break down. I have to keep going. My daughter needs me.

—

By Tuesday, I manage to shower and walk to small World Coffee to meet Daisy, who stayed in case I needed anything.

I’m absent-mindedly scrolling through Twitter at the table while Daisy waits in line, looking for any mention of my sister, when I come across an article: Princeton Student Drowns Days Before Graduation. A Tragic Accident.

My hand shakes, blurring the text as I scan the comments: Please tell me this isn’t real. Rest in power, sweet friend. I’m so sorry to hear this. And one that catches my eye: When it’s one of us it’s an “accident.” It’s from a private account, @FWPhD. My whole body goes numb as I reread it.

“Maya?” I look up to find Daisy holding two cups of coffee and release the breath I’d been holding. Her large brown eyes have deep lines around them, but she looks put-together as usual in white jeans and a silk blouse, hair pulled off her face to show a scattering of freckles. “How are you doing?”

I look at her weakly. “She was supposed to graduate today. She was supposed to start the rest of her life today.”

“I know.” Daisy places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m here for you. Anything you need.”

I bite my lip as tears well. I can’t cry right now. Not here in front of all these people.

“Come here.” Daisy pulls me into her arms.

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” I say into her shoulder.

It’s hard for me to accept that the last time my sister and I spoke was the last time I’d hear her voice. She didn’t sound like herself, either: the hollowness in her voice, the short responses. More signs I should have seen.

“I’m so sorry, Maya.” Daisy releases me from her arms. “I’m here, okay? If you want to talk or cry or anything.” She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

—

Outside, the air is hot and muggy. too many people walk too quickly, laugh too loudly. We enter the gates on the north end of campus and are immediately swallowed by a churning mass of students, some holding their thesis projects and graduation caps and gowns.

It’s like a punch to the gut. Naomi should be on that stage, smiling, receiving her diploma with them. She would have graduated with honors. She’d almost made it.

Suddenly dizzy, I grab Daisy’s arm.

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t sleep much last night. I should head back, but thanks for this.” I lift the coffee. “And thanks for being here.”

“You sure you can make it back okay? Want me to call Nate?” Daisy asks. Her phone buzzes, and she looks down. “Oh shoot, it’s the nanny—”

“I’m fine, I promise. Go.” I give her my most convincing smile. “I’ll text you.”

“Okay.” Daisy gives me a look that says I’m sorry. “And…eat something, all right?” She gives me a hug. “Call if you need anything.”

—

With Daisy gone, grief seeps in like a tide. I squeeze my eyes shut. Force myself to breathe. I need a moment before heading back.

When I open them again, the crowd has parted, and I see a familiar face: the same shocking blue eyes I remember from all those years ago, the same self-assured set of his jaw—my former professor and Sterling Club mentor, Matthew DuPont.

Matthew stands twenty yards away, leaning on a patina-green tiger statue as he laughs with a pretty blond woman on the steps of Nassau Hall. The sight of him floods me with a mix of emotion—nostalgia, sadness, distrust. I hate the way he can exist in the world, carefree, handsome as ever, as if what happened ten years ago didn’t affect him at all.

For a moment, I consider averting my gaze and pretending I never saw him, but before I have time to think, he parts ways with her and is… Oh god, he’s coming over here.

He looks the same as he did when I was a student, with his lean build, thin-rimmed glasses, his navy cashmere sweater, the confident stride. Though we run in similar circles, we haven’t spoken in years, and I don’t even know what I would say—

“Maya.” He stops abruptly, leaving several feet between us, perhaps able to read my apprehension. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I heard what happened to your sister.”

What did you hear? I wonder, as his eyes search my face. They’re just as bright as I remember, but with a few more wrinkles lining the corners. Wavy hair just as full, but now peppered in gray. I lower my gaze. Naomi’s death is all over social media, but the school hasn’t yet made an official announcement.

“Thank you.” When I glance up at him, there’s something strange in the way he’s looking at me, like he’s about to say something. But doesn’t. “Did you know her well?”

“As well as any of my students.”

“She told me you were helping her look for a job.” Naomi didn’t share much about her life, but she’d told me that much. Probably because she knew I wouldn’t like it. Over the years, she’d asserted her independence, and I’d learned that for the sake of our relationship, the best thing to do was to bite my tongue.

But maybe that was a mistake.

He nods and looks down, shifts his weight. Why does he seem so nervous? I begin to wonder if there’s more he’s not saying. Naomi was a good student, beautiful too, and Matthew always had his favorites…

“Well, was anything—was she acting differently? Did she seem anxious? Stressed about looking for jobs or…?”

He hesitates.

“Yes?” I hold my breath as the muscles in his jaw work. Come on. Tell me what you know. Please.

“She was a lot like you, you know. But—” He looks at his watch. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m late for—again, my deepest condolences.” With that he turns and walks away, long quick strides lengthening the sidewalk between us, as I stare in the direction he went, my heart hammering in my chest.