Chapter TWELVE
‘So the word on the street,’ my mother said in her formal, cool way, ‘is that you’ve changed.’
I took my toothbrush out of my mouth, already wary. ‘Changed?’
These days, she always called around five, when I was waking up and she was ending her workday. I wanted to believe it was because she missed me, or had realized how important our connection really was to her. But I knew that really, she just needed someone to vent to about Hollis, who was back under her roof, still madly in love with Laura, and completely on her nerves.
‘For the better, if that’s what you’re asking,’ she said now, although her tone suggested she was not entirely convinced. ‘I believe the exact word your brother used was blossomed.’
I looked at myself in the mirror: my hair was uncombed, I had toothpaste on my lips and was still wearing the scoop-necked tee I’d had on last night at the bowling alley, which reeked of smoke. Not exactly flowery. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘that’s nice, I guess.’
‘He was particularly impressed,’ she said, ‘with your newfound social life. Apparently you’ve got scads of friends and a serious boyfriend as well?’
The fact that this last part was phrased as a question pretty much said everything about how she felt about it personally. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend,’ I told her.
‘Just a boy you spend your nights with.’ A statement, this time.
I looked at myself in the mirror again. ‘Yep,’ I told her. ‘That’s about right.’
Among all the other sudden changes in my brother, he was now an early riser – Hollis, who’d always slept past noon – as well as a jogger. He and Laura ran every day at sunrise, then came home to do yoga stretches and meditate. Although apparently, he wasn’t that immersed in his oms and namastes. When he heard me come in the morning after their arrival, he immediately came to investigate.
‘Auden Penelope West,’ he said, wagging a finger at me as I carefully shut the door behind me. ‘Look at you, doing the walk of shame!’
‘I’m not ashamed,’ I replied, although I did kind of wish he’d keep it down.
‘And who is this young man dropping you off?’ he asked, pulling aside a blind to peer out at Eli, who was backing his truck out of the driveway. ‘Shouldn’t he have to show himself, get my approval before taking you out courting?’
I just looked at him. From the living room, I could hear Laura chanting.
‘My little sister,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Staying out all night with a boy. Seems like just yesterday you were playing Barbies and skipping rope.’
‘Hollis, please,’ I said. ‘Mom considered Barbies weapons of chauvinism, and nobody’s skipped rope since 1950.’
‘I just can’t believe,’ he said, ignoring this, ‘you’re growing up so fast. Next you’ll be married and bouncing a baby on your knee.’
I ignored this, walking past him to the stairs, but it didn’t stop him, not then, and not the mornings that followed, when he always managed to be waiting for me, opening the door as I came up the front walk. One day he was actually sitting on the porch when we pulled up, necessitating both an introduction and a conversation with Eli.
‘Nice guy,’ he’d said, when I’d finally wrangled him away. ‘What’s with the scars on his arm, though?’
‘Car accident,’ I told him.
‘Really? What happened?’
‘I don’t really know, actually.’
He shot me a doubtful look as he pulled the front door open for me. ‘Seems kind of weird, considering how much time you two spend together.’
I shrugged. ‘Not really. It just hasn’t come up.’
I could tell he didn’t believe me, not that I cared. I’d long ago stopped trying to explain my relationship with Eli to anyone, including myself. It wasn’t any one thing, but many strung together: long nights, trips to Park Mart and Builder’s Supply, pie with Clyde, bowling in the early morning, and my quest. We didn’t talk about our scars, the ones you could see, and the ones you couldn’t. Instead, I was having all the fun and frivolousness I was due in one summer, night by night.
Now, my mother took another sip of her wine as I left the bathroom, heading back down the hall. Thisbe’s door was slightly ajar, and I could hear her waves, steady and crashing, over and over again.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘frankly, I’m glad to hear you’re not getting involved with someone. The last thing you need before you head off to Defriese is some boy begging you to stay with him. A smart woman knows a fling is always best.’
There had been a time when I liked my mother to think we were similar. Even craved it. But hearing this, I felt a weird twinge, something not settling right. What I was doing with Eli wasn’t like her and her graduate student(s).
‘So,’ I said, shaking this off, ‘how’s Hollis doing?’
She sighed, loud and long. ‘He’s insane. Completely insane. I came home yesterday and do you know what he was doing?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Wearing a tie.’ She gave this a minute to sink in, then added, ‘She had him interviewing for a job at a bank. Your brother! Who this time last year was living in a tent on the side of a mountain in Germany!’
It was just too easy to get my mom off my back these days. One mention of Hollis, and she was off and running. ‘A bank,’ I said. ‘What’s he going to be, a teller or something?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said irritably. ‘I didn’t even ask, I was so horrified. He did volunteer, however, that Laura thinks employment might help him to be “more responsible” and “prepared for their future together”. Like that’s a good thing. I don’t even think this is a relationship, it’s so dysfunctional. I don’t know what to call it.’
‘Call it chicken salad.’
‘What?’
Too late, I realized this had slipped out, without me even realizing it. ‘Nothing,’ I told her.
I heard footsteps, and looked down the hall just in time to see Heidi and my dad coming upstairs. From the looks of it they, too, were having a pretty intense conversation: my dad was throwing his arms around, his annoyed face on, while she just shook her head. I eased my door shut, switching my phone to my other ear.
‘… ridiculous,’ my mom was saying now. ‘Two years of culture and travel, and for what? To sit and process deposits all day long? It’s heartbreaking.’
She really sounded sad. Still, I couldn’t help but say, ‘Mom, most people Hollis’s age have jobs, you know. Especially if they aren’t in school.’
‘I didn’t raise either of you to be like most people,’ she replied. ‘Don’t you know that by now?’
I had a flash of myself the night before, standing at the Park Mart with Eli, in the toy section. He’d stopped by a big display of rubber sport balls, pulling one out and bouncing it on the floor. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said. ‘Hear that?’
‘The bouncing noise?’
‘It’s more,’ he told me, ‘than a bouncing noise. That is the noise of imminent pain.’
I looked at the ball, still moving up and down under his open palm. ‘Pain?’
‘In dodgeball,’ he explained. ‘Or kickball, if you were playing the way we did.’
‘Wait!’ I said, holding up my hand. ‘I have played dodgeball. And kickball.’
‘Really.’
I nodded.
‘I’m impressed. And they aren’t even indoor sports.’
‘Oh, it was, actually. At school, in the gym.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘What? It’s the same game.’
‘Actually it’s not,’ he said.
‘Come on.’
‘Seriously. There’s school rules, and neighborhood rules. The two are very different.’
‘Says who?’
‘Anybody who has played both,’ he said, tossing the ball back. ‘Trust me.’
Now, my mother took another sip of her wine. ‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ she said. ‘A packet has arrived for you. From Defriese. Orientation information, I’m assuming. Would you like for me to open it?’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
There was the sound of paper tearing, then crinkling. She sighed. ‘As I suspected. Meal plan info, updated transcript requests, a roommate questionnaire… which is due at the end of the week, apparently.’
‘Really.’
‘For God’s sake.’ She groaned. ‘It’s like a compatibility test! “What activities do you enjoy?” “Would you say you are a workaholic, or more carefree with your studies?” What is this, higher education or Internet dating?’
‘Just stick it in the mail to me,’ I said. ‘I’ll get it back as fast as I can.’
‘And if you’re late, you’ll end up with some carefree, activity-loving roommate. We’re better off filling it out now,’ she muttered. ‘Oh, wait a moment. There’s a second page here, where you can request “alternate living arrangements”.’
‘Meaning what?’
She didn’t say anything for a moment, busy reading. Then, ‘There are certain floors and dorms you can request where everyone has a specific focus, such as foreign languages or sports. Let me just… ah. Perfect.’
I heard a pen scritching. ‘What’s perfect?’
‘The Pembleton Program,’ she replied. ‘I just signed you up for it.’
‘What?’
She cleared her throat, then read aloud. ‘“Housed in a dorm removed from the main campus, the Pembleton Program offers academically strong students an environment dedicated solely to their studies. With single rooms, on-site research materials, and close access to both libraries, members of Pembleton are free to focus on their work without the distractions of regular dorm life.”’
‘Which means…’
‘No roommate, no parties, no nonsense. It’s just what you want.’
‘Um,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. It sounds kind of restrictive, don’t you think?’
‘Not at all,’ she replied. ‘You won’t have to deal with drunk frat boys and hormonal, gossiping girls. It’s ideal. Now, I’ll just sign your name here, and we can –’
‘Don’t,’ I said quickly. I could feel her surprise, could see her on the other end of the phone, pen in hand, eyebrows raised. ‘I mean, I’m not really sure I want to live there.’
Silence. Then, ‘Auden. I don’t think you understand how distracting it can be to live in a dorm environment. There are people who come to college purely for the social life. Do you really want to be stuck in a room with someone like that?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But I don’t want to spend every single second studying either.’
‘Oh.’ Her voice was flat. ‘I suppose this is part of your blossoming, then? Suddenly school isn’t important anymore, just boys and girlfriends and clothes?’
‘Of course not. But –’
A sigh, loud, filling my ear. ‘I should have known spending the summer with Heidi would do this to you,’ she said. ‘I spend eighteen years teaching you about the importance of taking yourself seriously, and in a matter of weeks you’re wearing pink bikinis and totally boy crazy.’
‘Mom,’ I said, my voice rising. ‘This isn’t about Heidi.’
‘No,’ she shot back. ‘It’s about your sudden lack of drive and focus. How could you let yourself get this way?’
Hearing this, I had a flash of my dad, attributing all I’d done to the name he’d chosen for me. All the good was their doing; the bad, mine. I bit my lip. ‘I haven’t changed,’ I told her. ‘This is just me.’
Silence. And I knew, within it, that the fact this might be true was worse than any frat boy or pink bikini ever could be.
‘Well, I’ll just stick this in the mail.’ She drew in a breath, stiff, formal. ‘You make your own decision.’
I swallowed. ‘Okay.’
For a moment, neither of us said anything, and I wondered what could possibly follow this. How we could come back from such an impasse, this huge expanse stretching between us. There were a million different ways, I was sure, but my mom surprised me by not choosing any of them. Instead, she hung up, leaving me with a simple click, the last word, and no idea where to go from here.
Apparently, conflict was contagious, or at least in the air. When I left my room about twenty minutes later to head to work, Thisbe’s waves had stopped, and another steady noise was coming from her room: the sound of bickering.
‘Of course you deserve a night out,’ my father was saying. ‘I’m just not sure tonight is the right one, is all I’m saying.’
‘Why not?’ Heidi asked. I could hear Thisbe making noises in the background. ‘I’ll be back for the nine o’clock feeding, the baby’s just had a nap…’
‘Nine o’clock!
It’s only five thirty right now!’
‘Robert, we’re having cocktails and dinner.’
‘Where? Istanbul?’ my dad said. ‘There’s no way that will take three and a half hours.’
There was a prolonged silence. I didn’t have to peek inside to imagine the look on Heidi’s face. Finally my dad said, ‘Honey, I want you to go have fun. But it’s been a long time since I’ve been alone with a newborn for that long, and I just…’
‘She’s not a newborn. She’s your daughter.’ Thisbe sputtered, as if agreeing with this. ‘You’ve raised two lovely children. You can do this. Now go ahead and take her so I can go finish getting ready.’
I heard my dad start to say something, but then the door was opening, and I darted out of sight. Not fast enough, though.
‘Auden?’ he called out. ‘Could you –’
‘No, she can’t,’ Heidi said over her shoulder. Then she nudged me forward. ‘Keep walking. He’s fine.’
When we got to the stairs, I turned to look at her. Instead of the Heidi I’d gotten used to seeing, clad in sweats and a ponytail, dark circles perennially under her eyes, this was a different woman entirely. Her hair was sleek, her makeup done, and she was wearing dark jeans, heels, and a fitted black top, a silver necklace with a key studded with red stones around her neck. This I recognized: we’d just gotten them in at the store the previous week, and they were already selling like hotcakes.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘You look great.’
‘You think?’ She glanced down at herself. ‘It’s been so long since I could wear this stuff I didn’t even know if it would fit. I guess stress does burn a lot of calories, after all.’
Down the hall, I could hear Thisbe beginning to fuss. Heidi looked over, then turned on her heel, walking to her bedroom. I followed her to the doorway, leaning against it as she picked up her purse from the bed.
‘So I have to say,’ I said as she rummaged around, finally pulling out a lip gloss, ‘you sure seem different all of a sudden. And it’s not just the clothes.’
Thisbe was really crying now. Heidi bit her lip, then uncapped the gloss, putting some on. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I just… I’ve realized over the last couple of weeks that I needed to take some time for myself. We’ve talked about it a lot, actually.’
‘You and Dad?’
‘Me and Karen.’
‘Really,’ I said.
She nodded, dropping the gloss back in the bag. ‘Ever since the baby was born I’ve been so hesitant to ask your dad for any help. I’m so used to doing everything myself, and it wasn’t like he was really offering much.’
‘Or any,’ I said.
‘But Karen kept pointing out that you and your brother were just fine, and he was your dad as well. She said it takes two to make a baby, and at least that many to raise one well. Usually more.’ She smiled. ‘She made me promise her that I’d set up that girls’ night my friends have been wanting forever. I was dragging my feet, though, until Laura came. When she said pretty much the same thing, I figured they had to be onto something.’
I watched as she checked her hair in the mirror, adjusting a piece in front. ‘I didn’t realize you and Laura talked when she was here.’
‘Oh, we didn’t at first,’ she replied, picking up her purse. ‘To be honest, she kind of scared the crap out of me. Not exactly the warmest person, you know?’
I nodded. ‘No kidding.’
‘But then the night before they left, I was up late with Thisbe, and she came down for a glass of water. At first she was just sitting there, watching us, and eventually I asked her if she wanted to hold her. She said yes, so I handed her over, and then we just started talking. There’s a lot more to her than it seems at first glance.’
‘You should tell my mother that,’ I said. ‘She hates her.’
‘Of course she does,’ she said. ‘It’s because they’re so similar. They both have that whole cold, bitchy, wary-ofall-other-women thing going on. It’s like two magnets repelling each other.’
I thought of my mother just moments earlier on the phone, her voice so sharp and dismissive. If I wasn’t like her, she didn’t care to know who I was. ‘So you think my mom has more to her than that, as well?’
‘Of course she does. She has to.’
‘Because…’
She looked at me. ‘Because she raised you. And Hollis. And she was in love with your father for a very long time. Truly cold bitches don’t do that.’
‘What do they do?’
‘They end up alone.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You sound awfully sure about that.’
‘I am,’ she said. ‘Because I was one.’
‘You?’ I said. ‘No way.’
She smiled. ‘Someday I’ll tell you all about it. But now, I’ve got to run and kiss my daughter and then try to leave without having a breakdown. Okay?’
I nodded and was still standing there, trying to process this, as she started into the hallway. When she passed me, she paused, bending down to quickly kiss my forehead before moving on, the smell of her perfume lingering behind her. Maybe it was to prove her point. Or just instinct. Either way, it was surprising. But not as much as the fact that I didn’t really mind it, not at all.
Later that night, I was walking to the Gas/Gro after work when I heard a car coming up behind me. A moment later, a newspaper landed with a slap at my feet.
I looked at it, then at Eli, who was now pulling up beside me. ‘So you have a paper route now?’
‘Technically,’ he replied as I picked up the paper, noticing the stacks of others piled up in the back of the truck, ‘my friend Roger has a paper route. But he also has the flu, so I’m helping him out. Plus, I thought it might apply to your quest.’
‘Delivering papers?’
‘Sure.’ He stopped the car, gesturing for me to open the passenger door. When I did, he said, ‘It’s a rite of passage. My first job was delivering the Colby Coupon Clipper on my bike.’
‘I’ve had jobs,’ I told him.
‘Yeah? What were they?’
‘I worked for a professor in the English department one summer, helping with a bibliography for his book,’ I said, as I slid inside. ‘Then I worked for my mom’s accountant as an office assistant. And all last year I did test prep at Huntsinger.’
Personally, I’d always thought this was a pretty impressive résumé. Eli, however, just gave me a flat look. ‘You,’ he said, hitting the gas, ‘definitely need a paper route. At least for one night.’
And so it was that, after hitting the Washroom, and Park Mart for a few incidentals, we pulled into a neighborhood just past the pier, driving slowly with a stack of papers between us, and a list of subscriber addresses in his hand. It was just after two A.M.
‘Eleven hundred,’ Eli said, nodding at a split-level off to the right. ‘That’s all you.’
I picked up a paper, getting a good grip, then tossed it toward the driveway. It hit the curb, then bounced into a pile of lawn clippings, disappearing entirely. ‘Whoops,’ I said. He pulled to a stop and I jumped out, retrieving it and throwing it again, this time doing a bit better, hitting the far right of the driveway. ‘It’s harder than it looks,’ I told him when I finally got back in the car.
‘Most things are,’ Eli said. Then, of course, he grabbed a paper, launching it at a house across the street in a perfect arc. It landed right on the front stoop, the delivery version of a perfect ten. When I just looked at him, speechless, he shrugged. ‘Colby Coupon Clipper, I told you. Two years.’
‘Still,’ I said. My next shot was a bit better, but too wide. It hit the lawn, and again I had to get out to move it to a safer, less wet spot. ‘God, I suck at this.’
‘It’s your second one,’ he said before launching another perfect shot at a bungalow with a plastic flamingo in the front yard.
‘Still,’ I said again.
I could feel him watching me as I threw another one, concentrating hard. It hit the steps (good) but then banked into the nearby bushes (not so good). When I came back from retrieving it, some brambles in my hair, my frustration must have been obvious.
‘You know,’ Eli said, tossing another paper and hitting another front stoop – thwack! – ‘it’s okay not to be good at everything.’
‘This is delivering papers.’
‘So?’
‘So,’ I said as he did another perfect throw, Jesus, ‘I’m all right if I suck at, say, quantum physics. Or Mandarin Chinese. Because those things are hard, and take work.’
He watched, silent, as I missed yet another driveway. By about a mile. When I returned he said, ‘And clearly, this doesn’t.’
‘It’s different,’ I told him. ‘Look, achievement is my thing, okay? It’s what I do. It’s all I’ve ever been good at.’
‘You’re good at doing well,’ he said, clarifying.
‘I’m good,’ I said, throwing another paper and doing marginally better, ‘at learning. Because I never had to involve anyone else in that. It was just me, and the subject matter.’
‘Indoors, working away,’ he added.
I shot him a look, but, as usual, he did not seem deterred. Or bothered in the least. He just handed me another paper, which I launched at the next house. It hit the driveway, a bit too much to the left, but he drove on anyway.
‘Life is full of screwups,’ he said, chucking another paper at a split-level before taking the corner. ‘You’re supposed to fail sometimes. It’s a required part of the human existence.’
‘I’ve failed,’ I told him.
‘Yeah? At what?’
I blanked for a moment, not exactly good for my argument. ‘I told you,’ I said, ‘I was a social failure.’
He took another turn, tossing a couple more papers as we cruised down a dark street. ‘You didn’t try to be homecoming queen and lose, though.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I never wanted to be homecoming queen. Or any of that stuff.’
‘Then you didn’t fail. You just opted out. There’s a difference.’
I considered this as we cruised down another street. He wasn’t even handing me papers anymore, just throwing them all himself. ‘What about you, then?’ I asked. ‘What did you fail at?’
‘The better question,’ he said, slowing for a stop sign, ‘is what didn’t I fail at.’
‘Really.’
He nodded, then held up a hand and began to count off, finger by finger. ‘Algebra. Football. Lacey McIntyre. Skate-boarding on a half-pipe…’
‘Lacey McIntyre?’
‘Eighth grade. Spent months working up to asking her to a dance, and she shot me down cold. In full view of the entire lunchroom.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Tell me about it.’ He turned again, going down a narrow street with only a few houses on it. Thwack. Thwack. ‘Winning over Belissa’s dad, who still hates me. Convincing my little brother not to be such a chump. Learning to fix my own car.’
‘Wow. This is a long list.’
‘I told you. I’m very good at being bad at things.’
I glanced over at him again as we came to another stop sign. ‘So you never get discouraged.’
‘Of course I do,’ he said. ‘Failing sucks. But it’s better than the alternative.’
‘Which is?’
‘Not even trying.’ Now he did look at me, straight on. ‘Life’s short, you know?’
I’d never met Abe. Or even heard much about him, aside from the few things Maggie and Leah had said. But suddenly, in that moment, it was like I could feel him. Sitting in the very seat where I was, riding along with us. Maybe he’d been there the whole time.
Eli took another turn, and I realized we were in my dad’s neighborhood, the surroundings suddenly familiar. His house was quickly approaching, and on my side to boot. It had to be a sign. I reached over, picking up a paper from the stack between us. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘This one’s mine.’
I drew back my hand, trying to use my elbow for leverage the way I’d seen him do, and this time aimed not for the driveway but the porch. It came closer, closer, and at the exact right minute, I let it fly, watching as it arced high over the lawn… before landing with a slap on the windshield of Heidi’s Prius.
Eli slowed to a stop. ‘I know it’s family,’ he said, ‘but that demands a do-over.’
I slid out of the car – again – and walked over to grab the paper, tucking it under my arm. Then I crept up as slowly as possible to the porch, trying to be quiet as I bent to slide it onto the perfect center of the mat. Just as I did, though, I heard my dad’s voice.
‘… just my point! I wanted you to have what you wanted. But what about what I want?’
I shrank from the door, backing down one step as I glanced at my watch. It was almost three A.M. Entirely too late for most people to be up, unless something bad was happening.
‘Are you saying you don’t want the baby?’ Heidi said. Her voice was higher, shaky. ‘Because if that’s true…’
‘This isn’t about the baby.’
‘Then what is it about?’
‘Our lives,’ he replied, sounding tired. ‘And how they’ve changed.’
‘You’ve done this before, Robert. Twice. You knew what it was like to have an infant in the house.’
‘I was a child myself then!
I’m older now. It’s different. It’s…’
Silence. All I could hear was Eli’s car, the engine murmuring behind me.
‘… not what I expected,’ my dad finished. ‘You want the truth, there it is. I wasn’t ready for all this.’
All this. Such a round, all-encompassing term, as wide as the ocean, which I could also hear, distantly – the real waves this time. But even with all that vastness, it was impossible to tell what, or who, it really included. It seemed safest to just assume everything.
‘This,’ Heidi said, ‘is your family. Ready or not, Robert.’
I had a flash of all those cul-de-sac games I never really played, but knew the rules to nonetheless. You hide: whoever is It counts down, and then – ready or not! – they came looking for you. If they got close, you had no choice but to stay put, hoping not to be found. But if you were, there was no wiggle room. Game over.
I could hear my father starting to say something, but I wasn’t a child this time, and didn’t have to stay and listen. I could leave, disappear into the night, which was vast, too, wide and all-encompassing, with so many places to hide. So I did.
‘Forgive the mess,’ Eli said, reaching inside the dark room for a light switch. ‘Housework is another one of my failings.’
In truth, his apartment was simply plain. One large room, with a bed on one side, a single wooden chair and TV on the other. The kitchen was tiny, the counters bare except for a coffeemaker, a box of filters beside it. Still, I appreciated his efforts to pretend otherwise, if only because it meant we weren’t talking about the fact that I’d pretty much lost it only moments earlier.
I thought I’d been fine as I backed away from my dad’s house, walking across the already dew-damp grass to the truck. Fine as I slid in, picking up another paper to throw. But then, Eli had said, ‘Hey. You okay?’ and the next thing I knew, I wasn’t.
It’s always embarrassing to cry in front of anyone. But bursting into tears in front of Eli was downright humiliating. Maybe it was the way he just sat there, not saying anything, the only sound my hiccuping sobs and loud sniffles. Or how, after a moment, he just drove on, throwing papers at houses while I looked out the window and tried to stop. By the time he’d pulled into the dark driveway of a green split-level house a block from the boardwalk, I’d gotten calmed down enough to be racking my brain for some way to play the whole thing off. I was thinking I’d blame sudden-onset PMS, or maybe my devastation at sucking so entirely at paper delivering. Before I could say anything, though, he cut the engine, pushing his door open.
‘Come on,’ he said. As he got out, I sat there for a moment, watching as he began to climb a narrow flight of stairs beside the garage. He never looked back to see if I was following him. Which was probably why I did.
Now, he shut the door behind me, then walked over to the kitchen, dropping his keys on the counter en route to turning on the coffeemaker. Only when it began to brew, the smell wafting toward me, did I go to join him.
‘Have a seat,’ he said, his back to me as he bent into the fridge, rummaging around for something. ‘There’s a chair.’
‘And only a chair,’ I said. ‘What do you do when you have company?’
‘I don’t.’ He stood up, shutting the fridge. He had a stick of butter in one hand. ‘I mean, usually.’
I didn’t say anything, instead just watching as he pulled a saucepan out of a cabinet, sticking the butter in it before placing it on the stove. ‘Look,’ I said as he turned on the burner, ‘what happened back there –’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘We don’t have to talk about it.’
I was quiet for a minute, watching as he melted the butter in the pan, tipping it from side to side. It was just another courtesy that he’d given me this easy out, the chance to move on, and I thought it was a gift I’d take, and gratefully. Until I heard myself say, ‘Remember how you were asking me what I’d failed at, earlier?’
He nodded, jiggling the pan over the stove. ‘Yeah. The social thing, right?’
‘That,’ I said, ‘and keeping my parents together.’
It wasn’t until I said this that I realized it was true. That I hadn’t blanked out at this question earlier so much as thought of an answer I couldn’t say aloud. At least until I’d overheard my dad and Heidi fighting, and it all came rushing back to me: those awkward dinners, with the picky little arguments, the unsettled feel of the house as the hours went on and on, closer to my bedtime. The way I learned to stretch the night all around me, staying awake and alert to keep all the things that scared me most at bay. But it hadn’t worked. Not then. And not now either.
I blinked, feeling a tear roll down my cheek. Three years of total stoicism, blown in one night. Talk about humiliating.
‘Hey. Auden.’
I looked up to see Eli watching me. He’d taken out a box of Rice Krispies at some point, and instead of looking back at him I focused on the faces of Snap, Crackle, and Pop, all gathered happily around a big cereal bowl. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, because for some reason, even with these cartoon distractions I still seemed to be crying. ‘I just… I don’t even think about this anymore, but then when I went to throw that paper, they were fighting, and it was so…’
He put the box down, then came over to the opposite side of the island. He didn’t try to reach out for me, or touch me. He just stood there, near, as he said, ‘Who was fighting?’
I swallowed. ‘My dad and Heidi. Things have been pretty bumpy since Isby came, and tonight I guess things just blew up, or something.’
God, I was still blubbering. My voice was all choked, coming in little gaspy sobs. Eli said, ‘Just because people fight doesn’t mean they’re splitting up.’
‘I know that.’
‘I mean, my parents used to go at it sometimes. It just kind of cleared the air, you know? It was always better afterward.’
‘I know my dad, though,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen him do this before.’
‘People change.’
‘Or they don’t,’ I replied. Finally I made myself look at him. Those green eyes, long lashes. His haunted face, not as haunted anymore. ‘Sometimes, they don’t.’
He just stood there, looking at me, and I had this flash of us, here in this little garage apartment, in the middle of the night. From up above, in a plane passing over, you’d just see one little light in all this dark, with no idea of the lives that were being lived within it, and in the house beside, and beside that one. So much happening in the world, night and day, hour by hour. It was no wonder we were meant to sleep, if only to check out of it for a little while.
There was a sudden crackling pop from the stove, and Eli looked over his shoulder. ‘Whoops,’ he said, turning back to the saucepan and pulling it off the heat. ‘One sec, let me just finish these.’
I wiped my hand beneath my eyes, trying to collect myself. ‘What are you doing over there, anyway?’
‘Making Rice Krispie treats.’
This seemed so odd, and incongruous, it almost made sense. Along with everything else that night. Still, I felt compelled to ask ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s what my mom always did when my sisters were crying.’ He glanced back at me. ‘I don’t know. I told you, I never have company. You were upset, and it just seemed…’
He trailed off, and I looked around the room, taking in the plain bed, the one chair. The single light outside the door, glowing yellow and bright, all night long.
‘… perfect,’ I finished for him. ‘It’s perfect.’
Of course, nothing is really perfect. But Eli’s Rice Krispie treats were pretty close. We ate half a pan while we split the pot of coffee, using the one chair as a table, each of us sitting on the floor on either side of it.
‘So let me guess,’ I said, putting my mug on the floor by my feet. ‘You’re a minimalist.’
He glanced around the room, then back at me. ‘You think?’
‘Eli,’ I said. ‘You have one chair.’
‘Yeah. But just because all the furniture at my old place was Abe’s.’
Hearing this, it was all I could do not to start, or jump, so jarring was it to hear him say his name, after all this time. Instead, I took another sip of my coffee. ‘Really.’
‘Yeah.’ He sat back, picking a bit of sticky crumb off the side of the Rice Krispie pan. ‘The minute he made some prize money riding, he was all about decorating our place. And he bought the stupidest stuff. Huge TV, singing fish…’
‘A singing fish?’
‘You know, those plastic ones that you hang on the wall, and when you walk by they start singing, like, some Motown song?’ I just looked at him. ‘Okay, so you don’t know. Consider yourself lucky. Ours was, like, the center of our apartment. He put it right by the door, so it went off constantly, and everyone had to listen to it.’
I smiled. ‘Sounds interesting.’
‘That’s not the word I’d choose.’ He shook his head. ‘Plus he insisted on buying these big papasan chairs, you know the ones that are circular, filled with squishy cushions? I wanted a plain, normal couch. But no. We had to have these stupid things that everyone was always getting sucked down into. No one could ever get up and out of them on their own. We were always having to pull people out, like a freaking rescue mission.’
‘Come on.’
‘I’m totally serious. It was ridiculous.’ He sighed. ‘And then there was the whole water bed thing. He said he’d always wanted one. Even when it leaked, and gave him a crazy backache, he would not admit it was a mistake. “I must have spilled something,” he’d say, or “I really pulled a muscle on that last ride.” He was hobbling around like an old man, complaining constantly. All night long, all I could hear was him thrashing around, trying to get comfortable. It was, like, an endless squishing.’
I laughed, picking up my mug again. ‘So what happened? Did he finally give it up?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘He died.’
I knew this, of course. But even so, hearing it this way was like a shock to the system, all over again. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I –’
‘See, but that’s the thing, though.’ He sat back, shaking his head. ‘Everyone always wants to tell these stories, all the stories. It’s all anyone wanted to do at the funeral, and after. Oh, remember this thing, and this, and what about this? But the ending to every story is the same. He dies. That’s never going to change. So why even bother?’
We were both quiet for a moment. ‘I guess,’ I said finally, ‘that for some people, it’s how they remember. You know, by telling the stories. It keeps the person close.’
‘But I don’t have that problem,’ he said quietly. ‘Not remembering.’
‘I know.’
‘You want to talk about failure?’ He looked up at me, meeting my eyes. ‘Try being the one who was driving. Who got to live.’
‘Eli,’ I said. I tried to keep my voice low, even, the way his had been when he’d been reassuring me. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.’
He shook his head. ‘Maybe. But the bottom line is, I’m here and he’s not. And everyone who sees me – his parents, his girlfriend, his friends – they know that. In all the uncertainty, it’s the one thing they know for sure. And it sucks.’
‘I’m sure they don’t hold it against you,’ I said.
‘They don’t have to.’ He looked down at his mug, then up at me. ‘The whole do-over thing, that’s all I think about since it happened. What if we’d left that party earlier, or later. If I’d seen the car coming at us and not stopping, a moment sooner. If he’d been driving instead of me. There are a million variables, and if even one was different… maybe everything would be.’
We were both quiet for a moment. Finally I said, ‘You can’t think like that, though. You’ll make yourself crazy.’
He gave me a wry smile. ‘Tell me about it.’
I started to say something, but then he was getting to his feet, picking up the tray and taking it to the kitchen. Just as he did, I heard a thump from the wall by his bed, followed by another. I stood up, walking closer, and listened again.
‘That’s the McConners,’ Eli said from the kitchen.
‘The who?’
He came over, standing behind me. ‘The McConners. They own this house. Their son’s room is right through that wall.’
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘He usually wakes up once or twice a night. Asks for water, you know, the whole thing.’ Eli sat down on his bed, the springs creaking beneath him. ‘If it’s really quiet, I can hear every word.’
I sat down beside him, listening hard. But all I could make out was two voices murmuring: one high, one lower. It was kind of like Heidi’s waves, distant white noise.
‘I used to do that,’ Eli said. We were both whispering. ‘The whole waking up, wanting water thing, when I was a kid. I remember it.’
‘Not me,’ I told him. ‘My parents needed their sleep.’
He shook his head, lying back on the bed, folding his arms over his chest. Through the wall, the negotiations continued, the higher voice rising, urgent, the lower one staying level. ‘You were always thinking of them, huh?’
‘Pretty much.’ I stifled a yawn, then looked at my watch. It was four thirty, about when I usually headed home. Through the wall, the voices kept going, and, still listening, I slid down next to Eli, resting my head on his chest. His T-shirt was soft beneath my head, and smelled like the detergent I knew he used at the Washroom.
‘It’s late,’ I said quietly. ‘He should go to sleep.’
‘Not always so easy.’ His voice was low, slow, too, and I felt his lips brush the top of my head, gently.
The light was still on in Eli’s kitchen, but it became muted as I closed my eyes, still hearing those murmurings behind me. Shh, shh, everything’s all right, I was sure I heard a voice say. Or maybe it was the one in my head, my mantra. Shh, Shh. ‘It’s not your fault,’ I said to Eli, my voice sounding thick to my own ears. ‘You’re not to blame.’
‘Neither are you,’ he answered. Shh. Shh. It’s all right.
It was so late. Late for children, late for anyone. I knew I should get to my feet, go down those stairs, and find my way home, but already I could feel something happening. A feeling, thick and heavy, creeping over me. It had been so long since I’d done this that for a moment a part of me was scared, wanting to fight it off, stay vigilant. But instead, just before it took me, I rolled over, pressing myself closer against him. I felt his hand rise to my head and then, I was gone.
When I woke up the next morning, it was seven thirty and Eli was still sleeping. His arm was around my waist, his chest moving slowly up, down, up, down, beneath my cheek. I closed my eyes again, trying to drift back, but the sunlight was slanting in overhead, the day already begun.
I eased myself away from him, getting to my feet, but then stood watching his face, relaxed and dreaming, for a few moments. I knew I should tell him good-bye, but I didn’t want to wake him. Plus, I had no idea what I could say in a note that would possibly convey how grateful I was to him for everything he’d done for me the night before. In the end, I did the closest thing I could: I refilled the coffee-maker, put fresh grounds in a new filter, and flipped the switch. It was already brewing as I slipped outside and made my way down his steps to the street.
It was one of those gorgeous beach mornings, bright and sunny already, everything enhanced with the benefit of actual nighttime sleep. Walking the four blocks or so back home, I was more aware than ever of the salt in the air, the beauty of the rambling roses climbing along someone’s fence, even the friendliness I felt toward the bicyclist I passed, an older woman with a long braid, wearing a crazy orange jogging suit and whistling to herself. She returned my wide smile, lifting a hand to wave as I made my way up the front walk.
I was so immersed in all this – the night, the sleep, the morning – that I didn’t even see my dad until I was about to walk right into him. But there he was, in the foyer at this early hour, already showered and dressed.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘You’re up early. Did inspiration strike or something? Ready to start another book already?’
He glanced up the stairs. ‘Um,’ he said. ‘Not exactly. Actually I was just… I’m headed out.’
‘Oh.’ I stopped. ‘Where are you going? Campus?’
A pause. Right then, in that too-long beat of silence, I got the first inkling that something was wrong. ‘No. I’m going to a hotel for a couple of nights.’ He swallowed, then looked down at his hands. His face was tired. ‘Heidi and I… we have some things to work out, and we decided this was the best thing. For now.’
‘You’re leaving?’ Even the word sounded wrong, said aloud.
‘It’s only temporary.’ He took in a breath, then let it out. ‘Trust me, this is better. For the baby, for everyone. I’ll just be at the Condor; we can still see each other every day.’
‘You’re leaving?’ I said again. Still weird.
He bent down, picking up the bag I’d not spotted until now, which was by the stairs. ‘It’s complicated,’ he said. ‘Just give us some time. Okay?’
I just stood there, speechless, as he walked past me to the door, pulling it open. Here I was, with finally a chance to say everything I hadn’t two years earlier, the do-over of all do-overs. I could have asked him to reconsider, to think of other options. To stay. And yet nothing came. Nothing. I just watched him go, again.
I stood there for a long time, thinking this had to be a joke. It wasn’t until I had watched him pull out of the garage, flip down his sun visor, and drive off that I walked over and locked the door.
When I went upstairs, Heidi’s door was closed, but as I passed Isby’s room, I heard something. Not surprisingly, at first, I assumed it was a cry. But listening another minute, I realized it wasn’t. Tentatively, I pushed open the door, peering in. She was in her bassinette, looking up at her mobile, waving her arms around. Not wailing. Not shrieking. Even though these would have been perfectly acceptable and expected any day, but especially this one. Instead, she was just murmuring, making little baby noises.
I went closer, to the edge of her bassinette, and peered down at her. For a moment, she kept kicking, intent on the ceiling, but then she suddenly looked at me. Her face relaxed, changing entirely into something new, something amazing. A smile.