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Agnes knows paralyzing fear. It’s happened a few times; when Wednesday was thrown into a grave beneath the Skull Tree, when Enid ran off into the woods under the full moon, when she had to walk herself to the nearest hospital with the thought of her appendix rupturing and killing her. But this is new. She’s never known a fear so persistent and nagging.
As graduation approaches, her patience wears thin. She knows she has only two weeks left with Wednesday and Enid still a few doors down from her own, always readily available, always answering the call. And after two weeks, they’ll be gone, moving onto whatever the next stage of their life has to offer them, and Agnes will be here at Nevermore, longing for the attention and the security that accompanies their presence.
It’s a hard thought to reconcile with. It’s an even harder thought to reconcile with when she comes to the realization that there will never be another Wednesday and Enid for her. They’ll leave, and even if Enid will answer the call, they’ll still be miles and miles away, unable to get to her if something really does go sideways. They’ll be there for the emotional support and an occasional “are you okay?” text or letter (if she’s talking about Wednesday), but they won’t be here, and that’s just too much for Agnes to bear.
She’s a ghost for the few days following finals. She isn’t concerned if she passed or didn’t—her grades have always been stable, thanks to Wednesday’s help with English and Enid’s with math—but she’s thinking real hard about what those final grades really mean. Enid and Wednesday had exams, too, and they’re done and spoken for, their last few grades as high school students already submitted and concluding some of the best years of their lives. For Agnes, she’s taking it as a loss.
The penultimate Saturday before graduation, Agnes’s roommate, Cheryl—Agnes read her name wrong upon their introduction and will forever call her Cherry—notices Agnes mulling at her desk. Agnes has been noticeably quieter and hard to get any attention from in the last few days. She’s been thinking a lot yet not saying much of anything, sometimes even using her powers for some solitude, and Cherry is worried.
“It’s Saturday, and it’s finally a little warm outside,” Cherry tells her, nudging her shoulder. “Why don’t we go out and do something?”
Agnes sighs, looking up at her. “Can’t I just be sad without you bugging me about how sad I am?”
Cherry perches on the edge of Agnes’s desk, smoothing out her pleated skirt that reminds Agnes sorely of Enid’s taste in fashion; bright, preppy, special.
“You’re sad because Enid and Wednesday are leaving soon,” Cherry surmises, her voice quiet. “Right?”
“Is that a crime?” Agnes bites, glaring.
Taking in a big breath, Cherry puts a hand on Agnes’s shoulder. “No. It’s not a crime to be sad about it. But Agnes, you knew this day would come eventually. It’s gonna hurt, but you knew that.”
“Yeah, and I’m allowed to let it hurt,” Agnes says.
Enid taught her that. Enid knows what it’s like to hurt in all kinds of ways, especially after losing her humanity for quite some time after Wednesday hunted her down, and although she worked tirelessly to rebuild her life and include Wednesday and Agnes in the process, it still hurt, and she let it hurt.
“It’ll take time to get used to not having them around,” Cherry says. “But it’ll be okay. You’ll have me. I already had my parents put in a request with Dubois to keep me rooming with you.”
That’s news to Agnes, but she’s not at all surprised. Cherry has been around for awhile, and while the two don’t always see eye-to-eye, she’s been someone to lean on. Her fangs scare people away when they’re being relentlessly mean to Agnes. Agnes can’t offer her much in repayment, but she offers up some girl time every other Sunday.
“I know I’ll have you, but…” Agnes pauses. “It’s just not the same.”
“Because they take care of you like the parents you’ve never had,” Cherry says. “I got really freaked out with the whole appendix thing. I know I didn’t help much, but I promise I care.”
Cherry has her own way of caring. She isn’t like Wednesday or Enid, but she’s certainly a close third in the race. Agnes has learned that Cherry isn’t very hands-on; she prefers keeping her distance and offering emotional support in the form of psychoanalysis and armchair diagnosing. Sometimes it’s annoying, but sometimes it makes a lot of sense.
“I’m gonna miss them,” Agnes admits. She hasn’t said it aloud to anyone; especially not to Wednesday and Enid themselves. Wednesday might curl up and die, and Enid might cry. “What am I gonna do? They’re gonna be so far away, and I have to spend the summer with my parents who totally ignore me. I’ll be all alone. And if something happens, where will I go? You’ll be far, too. Texas is, like, a million miles from Pennsylvania.”
Cherry giggles. “You can always FaceTime. I have nothing better to do than hang around my brothers.” She smiles, her dark eyes shining. “And Enid is the social media queen. She’s chronically online. She’ll always be there.”
“It’s not the same,” Agnes laments. “It’s never gonna be the same. Wednesday and Enid are all grown up now. They’re gonna get older and forget all about me. They’ll…outgrow me. Maybe they’ll have their own kid one day and totally forget that they raised me first!”
Cherry’s smile fades into a frown of pity. Agnes is crying genuine tears now, shaking with both envy and sorrow, slumped over her desk and staining her final homework assignment with her tears. For once, Cherry tries to be hands-on, and she brings Agnes into her arms and holds her close in a safe embrace.
It isn’t the same as Wednesday and Enid, but Agnes is going to have to do without.
—
On the eve of graduation, Agnes is sitting in Enid and Wednesday’s dorm, perched on Enid’s bed, watching them work in tandem as they collect what’s little of their belongings they haven’t already put away in boxes and suitcases. This has to be some form of self-harm for Agnes, whose chest aches more and more with every strip of tape that’s peeled off the roll and every zip of every suitcase.
But she stays, because watching them go is something she feels she needs to witness. Their departure hasn’t quite sunk in yet—not until this room is as cold and barren as the arctic—but it feels so, so incredibly wrong. It’s like she’s having a lucid dream, but a bad one, and one that only ends in turmoil no matter how she navigates it.
The colorful film has been scraped off the window, leaving nothing but gross residue and tacky adhesive to glimmer across the bare floor. Enid’s wardrobe has been emptied, leaving a singular hanger suspending a royal purple cap and gown, and her pile of stuffed animals has been sorted and put into boxes according to species.
Wednesday’s trunk is all packed, her clothes are folded in her suitcases, and her cello rests in its case. She grabs her manuscripts out of her desk and lays them neatly in a briefcase before picking up her typewriter and setting it down into a lather case with a handle. Written on the leather are her initials, a nice W.A. in a pretty font.
“That’s it for the shoes,” Enid tells Wednesday as she tapes up a box. “Except the ones for tomorrow.”
Wednesday stacks her typewriter case on top of her cello, a look of satisfaction mixed with concern on her face. She stares intently at her trunk of weaponry, which has all been packed and stored safely for the ride back to New Jersey, frowning.
“I think I’m forgetting something,” she mutters to herself. She thinks hard for a moment. “Oh. Thing.”
“He’s out drowning in his sorrows, probably,” Enid says with a shrug. “He likes this room. He hates Pugsley’s.”
“As if he’s going to be reporting to Pugsley now that my time has come to an end,” Wednesday scoffs. “I’m not passing on the torch.”
Enid smiles and kisses Wednesday’s forehead. They’re rarely intimate in the presence of others, because Wednesday would prefer society to be blissfully unaware of the fact that she might have some kind of emotion flowing through her cadaver, but Agnes has gotten used to glimpses of what love actually looks like.
“What time are your parents coming?” Enid asks Wednesday.
“Eight,” Wednesday says. “They’re going to smother me in unwanted affection and attention for an hour, and then they will sit under the harsh sunlight for another hour while they wait for me to cross the stage and make an entire spectacle over a piece of paper. By noon, we’ll be gone.”
Agnes stops breathing for a solid minute.
By noon, we’ll be gone.
A hand settles on her shoulder. She jerks away, for some odd reason expecting her mother to be there, but it’s Enid, and she looks worried. Wednesday isn’t far behind her, leaning in like a curious cat playing with a half-dead mouse.
“Agnes?” Enid asks. Her voice has that warm, affectionate tone to it. Agnes feels warm yet cold and clammed up under the gentle caress against her arm. “Agnes, you’re turning blue. Breathe.”
Agnes sharply inhales and it hurts like hell. Her heart starts pounding a mile a minute, slamming against her ribs. There’s a familiar coil in her stomach, wound tight and painfully sore. It almost feels like having appendicitis again, except this time the pain is everywhere and it won’t fade.
“You’re leaving me,” she blurts out. She doesn’t mean to, but she lets out a small whimper. “You’re leaving tomorrow and you’re not coming back.”
She doesn’t miss the look that Enid and Wednesday share. It’s both pitiful and remorseful, as if they’re blaming themselves for doing her a disservice by growing up and moving on. The coil is coated in a fine layer of guilt; because Wednesday and Enid don’t deserve to feel that way. They’re meant to graduate out of here and start on the rest of their lives. And if that’s without her, that’s a real risk she’s going to take.
“Agnes,” Enid says as she comes down to Agnes’s level. “I know this really sucks for you. I know it. Change is super hard. It’s hard for us, too. We’re all used to each other, being here for each other. I know it’s gonna be really hard for us all, but I promise that we won’t forget about you, okay?”
“You can’t promise that,” Agnes says. “People always grow apart. That’s all we do. We just keep starting over and over and over hoping that we forget about the past but it’s just gonna keep following us around until we just die.”
Enid winces. “Ow. Stop reading Wednesday’s manuscripts.”
“It’s true,” Agnes huffs. “You’ll check on me for a few months until college takes over your whole life, and then you’ll get too busy with your new friends, and then you’ll graduate college and get married and have a whole bunch of goddamn babies and forget all about me.”
“Okay, let’s slow down,” Enid says, taking a seat next to her on her bed. “One, we already decided on not having any kids because the shrieking and sticky hands upset Wednesday’s autism, and I have this incredibly weird fear of childbirth. Two, it doesn’t matter how many friends I might have, because I’m always on my phone, either writing for my blog or on social media. I’ll never not be stuck to my phone. It’s, like, my holy grail. Literally the only time I don’t have my phone is when Wednesday and I are…doing things.”
“Jesus Christ, you can saying having sex,” Agnes groans, tilting her head back. “I know you see me as a weird little kid, but I’m not that dumb.”
“Fine,” Enid says. “I don’t have my phone when we’re having sex.”
“Well, I’d hope not,” Agnes giggles. The coil starts to loosen. “But I guess that also means you won’t be on your phone much at all then.”
Enid blushes. “Don’t be a little shit.”
“I can literally hear you from downstairs.” Agnes nudges Enid’s ribs. “At least I haven’t been traumatized by walking in on you.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Enid mumbles. She brushes some red hair from Agnes’s face. “You feel better?”
Agnes’s body sags. If she’s being honest, no, she’s not better, and Wednesday seems to take note of the tense silence, because she steps forward, a little wary but persistent. Her presence is strong yet warm as she settles on the other side of Agnes.
“Agnes, what Enid said is true,” she says. “Change is difficult. Departures are difficult. But I can assure that the impact that your presence in our lives is profound. What’s more difficult than both change and departure is moving on knowing that things will have been left said and done. When there is nothing left to say, that’s when it hurts the most.”
“Great, now I wanna kill myself,” Agnes mumbles.
Enid puts a hand on her knee. “She’s trying to tell you that she will miss you.”
Agnes swallows the lump in her throat. “Oh. Well, I’m gonna miss you, too. Both of you. I know I was weird and did…not good things to you two, but you’ve taken care of me when my parents wouldn’t, and I just can’t repay you for it. I wish I could.”
“You don’t need to,” Wednesday promises, suddenly finding some non-cryptic words. “Everything we have done was our choice.”
Enid wraps an arm around Agnes and lets her rest her head on her shoulder. They’re quiet for awhile, listening to each other breathe. Finally, Agnes looks up, and she catches the sight of Wednesday’s black cap and gown hanging in the ruins of what used to be a closet full of clothes.
She bursts into tears, and Enid and Wednesday crowd around her, holding her in the little divot between them, until she falls asleep in their empty dorm room for the last time.
—
By noon, they’re gone, but not without each sliding Agnes an envelope that has her name stamped nicely on the front of the gold paper.
Wednesday was clear in her instructions to not open the letters until Agnes arrives home. It was a difficult plane ride back to Pennsylvania with those things burning a hole in the pocket of her pants, but once she’s settled in her bedroom with her unpacked suitcases cluttering up her space, she quickly finds herself sitting on her bed with the letters laid out in front of her. She stares blankly at them for a moment, trying to decide if she really wants to put herself through something like this, but curiosity will always kill the cat.
Now the toughest decision to make is which to open first. Wednesday mentioned that it didn’t matter, that they were written separately on opposite sides of the dorm room that’s now dark and empty and ready for a new pair of roomies to call home, and neither one is connected to the other. Agnes can take her pick, but she would rather blow herself up than do this.
Still, she has to choose, and she picks up the one Enid handed her. She sighs as she breaks the seal with her fingernail, trying to preserve the paper because it just might go in a scrapbook one day. Inside the gold is a single slip of paper folded in half. She flattens it out against her thigh, noting the pink glitter ink.
Dear Agnes,
I’m not the best at writing anything unless it’s for an assignment or my blog, which I think you know and you’ll forgive. I just needed to get this out of my head and off my chest before I leave Nevermore for good.
I’m going to miss you. Like a lot. I didn’t know what to expect out of you at first. You were strange, a little psychopath who had no boundaries, and for awhile, I was really jealous of the relationship you had with Wednesday. I’m admitting that it made me very, very angry. But then, I saw you crying that one day, and then we danced together, and suddenly I felt like you were an okay kid. I don’t think you meant me or Wednesday any real harm. You were just trying to find yourself. I can’t blame you for that. Being yourself and living in your truth is hard when you’re literally an outcast with a target on your back. Life is hard enough without that, but you seem to know who you are now, and I am so so proud of you for that.
What I’m most proud of is that you trusted me enough to make me your emergency contact. When I got the call, I didn’t have time to think. I just got up and left. I would ask questions later. And I would do it again and again forever if I have to or if you want me to. Because besides being Wednesday’s partner, my greatest honor is being close enough to you that you see me as someone to look after you.
I know you hate that Wednesday and I have to grow up. But you know what? I hate the fact that you have to grow up too. But growing up is part of life, and even if it hurts like hell, you have to do it.
I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave this part of my life behind. But just know that even though I have to do both of those things, I’m always a text or call away. Always.
Love, Enid Sinclair
Agnes stares at the paper. She wipes away a few tears with her palm and sucks in a deep breath, trying to wrap her mind around everything. She wants to sob and cry her eyes out until she’s got nothing left to squeeze out of her eyes, but Wednesday’s letter is looking at her, taunting her, screaming at her. She swipes it off the bed and breaks the seal on it. This one is a little harder than Enid’s was, because the seal is waxy. It’s almost a sign to not open it, but she needs to. She won’t be able to sleep until she knows what’s inside.
The slip of paper is folded, too. The words are inky, clearly rolled out of a typewriter, and smell of dead flowers and lavender; a smell that has always brings Agnes comfort when she’s upset.
Dear Agnes,
It’s best I keep this short and bittersweet, for your sake and mine.
For the past eighteen months, your presence in my life has grown to be one I’m able to tolerate. What began as a silly game of cat-and-mouse that almost drove me into the psychiatric hospital quickly unfolded into something that I can rightfully consider a type of friendship, and until Enid, I had never even entertained the idea of such a thing before.
Although I have to move on with my life, so do you. It’s not going to be without struggle and obstacles, but I can guarantee that you will survive it. Growing older and becoming a person is rife with horrors and misfortune, but I have also learned, by knowing you, that it is also rife with optimism and the ability to be present in the moment. It might be agonizing and horrific some days, but on others, it might be simple and easygoing.
I have learned a lot about nostalgia through words of my Uncle Fester. Some might say that we take these moments in life for granted, but if we took them for granted, why do we yearn so much for the past? I think, in all honesty, that the grief we’re afflicted by in the process of growing up and saying goodbye is really just a love letter to all that has been lost and outgrown.
But Agnes, you have not been outgrown, and this is not goodbye. If you need me, day or night, time zones be damned, you may call me on the cellphone that Enid convinced me to purchase in order to remain your emergency contact.
555-7666
—W.A.
P.S. Look inside your backpack.
The last line is ominous and extremely Wednesday Addams, but Agnes’s heart is beyond full of trust. She picks up her backpack and opens the zipper, and out crawls Thing. He’s holding a note, too.
He always promised to take care of our kid when the time came. It’s time now. We love you, Agnes DeMille.
—Wednesday and Enid