Chapter 35
Robert
I log in to Facebook. I haven’t even added a profile picture to my page. And then—I probably shouldn’t, but I do it anyway—I add a relationship status to my profile: In a relationship. It feels really good. And then it feels really stupid, and I change it back.
I check out Andrew’s page, but it’s protected. If I send him a friend request, he’ll just ignore it; so I don’t, so he won’t have to. Then, just for the heck of it, I check out my fan page.
Those little turds. They took a photo of me talking to Luke in the band hall the other day. And not only that, but there’s a photo of me looking very chummy with Erick Wasserman at a football game, when I know for certain I never sat next to him. I am baritone sax. He is alto. We don’t sit together. Creeps.
Caleb Smith Dudes. I almost touched him. I was soooo close.
Oh my God, I about wet my pants.
Erick Wasserman Where, dude? Where?
Caleb Smith Band hall. And then he left with Luke Chesser.
I wanted to be Luke soooo bad.
Zach Townley I want to be his sax. He can finger me any time.
Caleb Smith He can blow my horn.
Erick Wasserman I want to blow his horn.
Zach Townley Ha, ha. Hey, I saw him last night. At the pavilion.
Caleb Smith Oh my God. Did you just die? Who was he with?
Zach Townley Don’t know. Some guy.
Caleb Smith Nic Taylor?
Zach Townley No way.They broke up.
I feel sick. Mom sticks her head in my room, and I quickly minimize the window.
“Robert. Just so you know, your aunt Whitney’s on her way over.”
“Do we have time to move?”
“We could try.”
If only she weren’t kidding. “No. Please, I can’t take any more Aunt Whitney. Is she bringing the brats over?”
“Probably.”
“Then I’m leaving.” I have plans anyway, but Mom nixes that real quick. Apparently, Aunt Whitney has specifically requested that I be here. I protest, but Mom tells me just to hold my nose and let’s find out what she wants. I’m actually surprised that Aunt Whitney would brave another visit after the bed incident.
I have no choice but to shoot Andrew a text and let him know I might be a little delayed.
Lonely . . . waiting for you.
I smile at the abbreviated Heart lyrics.
Me too.
By the time Aunt Whitney pulls into the driveway, I’m pacing. I open the door for her. Let’s get this show on the road. Sure enough, she’s got both her kids and Aunt Olivia’s, and she’s clutching Happy Meal boxes in both hands. She holds them high as the kids jostle past her into the house, then she sends me to get the drinks from the car. When I get back inside, the kids are settled around our dining room table and the younger ones are arguing over their Mc-action figures. Franny is missing, and I suspect she’s taken her food into my room.
I pass out the drinks. Mark immediately knocks his over, sending Mom dashing for paper towels. Matthew sees a spot of ketchup on his burger and bursts into tears. I take his top bun to the kitchen to scrape off a layer of bread. I consider using the knife on Aunt Whitney, who’s sneaking fries from Jude’s stash as he, unaware, carries on a battle across the table with his older brother.
The door to freedom is just paces away.
Finally, the kids are settled and she gets to the point. “I’ve been so busy with your dad these last few months that I haven’t been keeping up. I know you got early acceptance. I want to make sure you’ve confirmed with LSU that you are coming. And we need to make living arrangements for you. I can’t believe we haven’t done this already. I don’t even know if we’re going to be able to get you in a dorm—”
Since when did she become my mom? “I haven’t even decided whether or not I want to go to LSU, or med school for that matter. I got accepted to A and M too. I’m thinking about veterinary medicine.”
“Veterinary medicine?” She laughs. She actually laughs at me. “You can’t be serious. One, you’re never going to make a decent income working with animals. And two, the trust is strictly for four years of premed study at LSU, four years of medical school, and two more if you decide to specialize.”
“Are you telling me, no medical school, no trust?” I already know this is the case, but I want her to say it. I want her to speak the words. I want her to own the message.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“Then I’ll get a job and pay my own way.”
“Yeah, I hear volunteer work at the animal shelter pays really well.”
“Fuck you.”
She slams the drink she’s holding down on the table, making the kids jump, then she rounds on me. “You know, I don’t know why my dad thought the Westfall name was worth the investment he wanted to make in you, because frankly, you’re not worth it.”
“Whitney—” my mom says sharply, but I cut her off before she can finish.
“No, Mom, let her say it.”
Aunt Whitney looks from my mom to me, then drops her eyes and shakes her head slowly. “I’m sorry.” After a moment she lifts her eyes again and fixes them on me. “I know you have some romantic notion about working with animals, but it’s time to put away childish things, Robert. You’re going to LSU, and you’re going to honor your grandfather’s legacy.”
The hell I am.
You don’t realize what a small world it is until you try to get lost in it.
“So he really Photoshopped a photo of you and him together?” Andrew asks as we explore a large two-story house under construction in a new development a few miles away.
“Yep.”
“You know, that’s starting to make me a little nervous. Maybe you should confront them about the page. Tell them to take it down. You can complain to Facebook if they don’t.”
“Yeah, I thought about that. But at least with the page I know what’s going on.”
“And so does anyone else who looks at it.”
“As far as I can tell, it’s just the three of them. I’m gonna wait. Maybe they’ll get bored and move on. But I don’t want to be wondering what they’re up to.”
“Speaking of being up to things . . .” He presses me into some not-yet-painted drywall in the master bedroom.
“You have a pretty strong libido for an old man,” I say.
“You call me an old man again, and I’m going to hurt you.”
I want to laugh, but I’m thinking about Aunt Whitney’s visit again.
“Do you think I should take the money and go to medical school?”
“I don’t know. The money would be hard to turn down. Eight years of tuition and living expenses. That means you’d not only finish with a highly lucrative career, but you’d finish debt free.”
While that is true, it’s not really what I wanted to hear.
“Look,” Andrew says, tugging on the short hairs in my sideburn, “no one can make that decision for you. You’ve got to decide what’s most important to you, then pursue it with everything you have. Make it happen.”
The sound of a car engine cuts through the still air.
“We have company,” Andrew says, pushing out his bottom lip and sighing heavily.
On the way back to his Civic, however, he has an excellent idea.