Halfway Perfect (23 page)

December 23, 6:30 p.m.

“There's a party tonight at Jenna Phillips's house,” Katie says, looking right at my mom from across the table. “It's a pre-holiday thing. Soda and board games and all that.”

“I don't know, sweetie.” Mom's voice emerges from the dining room where I'm about to enter. “Will her parents be home?”

“I think they'll be right across the street at a different party,” Katie says.

Just as I sit down, my dad gives his one-word answer. “No.”

An odd and uncomfortable quiet fills the walls of my parents' four-bedroom tri-level home, and it has nothing to do with the tuna casserole topped with crushed potato chips that my mom is famous for.

My dad is seated at the end of our dining-room table, reading the sports page. I'm sure he already read it first thing this morning. I'm also pretty sure my mom hasn't changed her rules of no newspapers at the table, which is why she's busy glaring at my dad. Katie's sulking and is now completely invested in picking the peas out of her casserole and sliding them to the far side of her plate.

My brother Bradley is shoveling food into his mouth and watching Katie make designs with her peas. My oldest brother, Jared, and his girlfriend, Leslie, who I met for the first time today, are busy looking at each other as if silently conversing about how weird my family is.

“Leslie's a vegetarian,” Mom says out of the blue, breaking the full four minutes of silence. Everyone, including me, looks up at her. “But she eats fish.”

I guess this is supposed to be an explanation for why we're having this meal instead of steak, but tuna casserole has been on my mom's weekly menu since I graduated from Gerber baby food. I don't think she changed anything for Leslie's sake.

“So, Leslie,” I say to break the awkward silence. “My mom said you're a teacher?”

“It's my first year teaching. I'm at St. Mary's. Second grade.”

“Cool. Where did you go to college?”

The whole family seems to be hanging on to this conversation as a lifeline. I don't know exactly what is up with all the weird silence and everyone behaving themselves, because I got the impression from Mom that Leslie's been around my family enough. She spent Thanksgiving with them. So it must not be her presence that's causing the shift, even though Jared having a girlfriend
is
quite a shocker for me.

“University of Nebraska in Lincoln,” she says.

“So, you're a Cornhusker?”

She just smiles and doesn't give another reply, because it isn't really a question. And the conversation has died.

I think I've pissed Jared off or something, because he sets down his fork and looks over at me. Maybe he feels inferior because his girlfriend actually graduated from college and his college career ended with his football career.

“So, Alex,” Jared says. “Where's your girlfriend? Emma, right?”

I force down a mouth full of noodles and mushroom soup concoction and then clear my throat. “Elana. And she's in France with her family for Christmas, then she's doing a runway show in Paris after New Year's.”

My dad snorts back a laugh and opens his paper to the middle section, completely hiding his face. In the five hours since I arrived home, I've started to get the feeling that my dad thinks I'm gay. And it might be easier to just admit to it then to try to convince him otherwise.

“Aren't you worried about her hooking up with some French dude,” Jared says.

My mom moves her glare from Dad to Jared. I don't know if she's glaring because she doesn't want my feelings hurt or because the term “hooking up” isn't on her list of polite dinner conversation words.

“I'm sure she'll be fine. We'll be fine,” I add as an afterthought just to keep the hoax alive.

Bradley decides to speak up for the first time tonight. “Does she even speak English or is it all physical—”

Mom slams her fork against her plate. “Bradley!”

Katie starts laughing. I kick her in the shin from under the table. “Yes, it's all physical,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Just hours upon hours of making out and sex. Lots of sex, thanks to the giant box of condoms Dad bought me.” Dad drops the paper below his eyes and raises an eyebrow. “And despite the language barrier, I have picked up a few French words, but none of them are appropriate for the dinner table.”

Leslie's face turns bright red, probably due to her second-grade mind-set. My mom still looks pissed at Brad for starting this whole conversation.

“Oh, come on,” Brad says. “Don't tell me all of you weren't dying to ask him that. She was like topless and all over him in those Calvin Klein pictures. And then he was hooking up with that other model, the hot brunette who's sleeping with his agent to get work.”

My eyes are probably massive right now. I look from Brad to Katie, and Katie gives me a weary smile and says, “He's on Twitter.”

I stare at my older brother in disbelief. Both of my brothers are the polar opposite of me—dark hair, stocky build, just under six feet—and then there's Katie and me, the scrawny blond kids. It's always been us against them, so it's not like I ever expected any amount of acceptance from them, but this is worse. They're embarrassed by me. I can tell. That's why no one is saying anything. That's why the usual texts teasing me about various industry items have stopped these past few weeks.

I pick up my plate and carry it to the kitchen sink. I walk past the table again, muttering, “I'm tired. I think I'm gonna take a nap.” Then I head down the basement steps to my old bedroom.

• • •

It's nearly eleven at night when I wake up again. I'm starving, because my tuna casserole went half untouched. I walk up the steps and hear Brad and Jared's voices. They're playing cards at the dining room table and drinking Dad's beer. I can also just make out the soft muffled sound of my parents' upstairs bedroom TV telling me they're already in bed, watching the evening news, like always. It's a little weird that Jared is still here and Leslie isn't, considering they have an apartment about ten minutes from here.

“Hey,” I mumble as I walk past them, into the kitchen.

“What? No suitcase?” Jared calls from the dining room as I'm pulling random items from the fridge in preparation for making a monster sandwich.

“We figured you'd be tired of us by now,” Bradley adds.

“Just getting a snack.” I continue to pile cold cuts and cheese onto a slice of bread, topping it with spicy mustard and another piece of bread. I return everything to the fridge and then join them in the dining room, standing against the wall. “Jared, I thought you lived at Leslie's place?”

“Not at the moment.” He doesn't look up at me, his eyes on the cards spread across the table. “Her parents are visiting for the holidays. She doesn't want them to know we live together.”

“Won't the smell give it away?” Brad says.

Jared half stands up in his chair and reaches across the table and slugs him in the shoulder. “She's fucking Catholic. You know how they are.”

They both crack up and relax back into their chairs. Brad glances at me and then back at his cards. “Alex knows all about that. He's waiting for marriage, right? What was that magazine we read that in…
GQ
or maybe it was
US
Weekly
?”

I set my sandwich down and grip the back of my dad's chair at the head of the table. “All right, Brad, what do you want to know? Let's just throw it all out there so you can quit getting your information from Twitter.”

He tosses a card onto the table and looks over at me. “You don't tell us shit. Where else are we supposed to get information from? I got tired of running into people around here and having them tell me what's going on with my own brother.”

My knuckles are white from squeezing the chair so hard. “What do you want to know?” I repeat, emphasizing each word.

He and Jared shake their heads and go back to their game.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize that it was my responsibility to warn you before any fashion gossip popped up on the Internet,” I snap. “I'm sorry that Mrs. Hensley next door saw me on a billboard in underwear before you did.”

I'd heard this one from my mom last week. I figured it had come up in a family discussion.

Brad pushes his chair back and lets out a frustrated sigh before turning to Jared. “I'm getting another beer. You want one?”

“No, I'm good.”

He's got the top off the new bottle of beer before he responds to me. “I think the underwear was probably the easiest to deal with.”

Sarcasm drips from his voice, and I know he's about to really let loose on me. “Have you seen the picture of this Eve Castle chick making out with your agent?” He's flipping through his phone, scrolling through Twitter and then holding up a picture of Eve kissing Wes. I'd read that there was photographic evidence a while back, but I'm relieved to see that Eve's wearing the clothes I recognize from our last rainy run. Wes had said they would be leaving my building together. This was part of his plan to save me. And even though them kissing might have happened more than once, so far I hadn't been given any proof of that.

I have to look away from the picture after only two seconds. It feels like the worst punch in the gut I've ever gotten in my life. How did Eve stand looking at pictures of me and Elana?

Brad is scrolling again, pulling up another photo. “Look at this one. This @fashion_gossip81 chick got another picture of her a few days ago. I think she's hittin' the crack again. She's melting away.”

“She had pneumonia, you asswipe!” He's hit a big giant nerve, which doesn't happen too often with me. And before I even realize what I'm doing, my hands are gripping the front of Brad's shirt and I've just slammed his back against the wall. I don't even remember walking across the room.

Brad lifts one eyebrow, reminding me of Dad, and gives me a split second to realize what I've started. I might have acquired a little more muscle power from my hours in the gym these past several months, but I had nothing on either of my brothers.

Shit.

With almost no effort at all, Brad lifts an arm, and his fist makes contact with the side of my face. My grip loosens on his shirt as I stumble backward a few steps. But one hit isn't nearly enough to stifle my anger. Before I can stop myself, I'm diving forward, tackling my brother to the floor. He lands on his back, a loud thud echoing through the entire house.

“Boys! Knock it off!” Dad shouts from upstairs, probably thinking this is just another indoor wrestling match.

Brad and I freeze for a second and the hesitation is enough for me to get a good swing in, hitting his cheekbone just like he hit mine. And he looks pissed. So pissed I can tell he's about to break my nose, but before he gets the chance, Jared, who is twice as strong as Brad, is yanking me to my feet.

“Cut that shit out before Mom comes down here.” He shoves me across the dining room, positioning himself between Brad and me. He looks completely calm, like he's already bored with this activity.

Brad scrambles to his feet, straightening his shirt. I'm surprised to see a grin spread across his face. “Little bro's learned how to throw a punch. One that's actually got some force behind it.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “Yeah, all those years of beating on him paid off.”

Brad shrugs. “I don't know about you, Jare, but I'm quite proud.”

I'm rubbing my face. I can't help it. There's already a lump forming on my right cheekbone, and my eye feels puffy. Now that the adrenaline rush is fading, it hurts like hell.

Jared, at twenty-two, seems to be so much more mature than Brad and me, because he ruins the potential for another fistfight by turning to me and saying, “Personally, I don't give a shit if you take a million pictures in banana hammocks or whatever the fuck they're called. I don't care if you want to hook up with a dozen girls. But what pisses me off, and obviously Brad too, is that we know most of that is bullshit, and you don't trust your own brothers with the truth. I'm not talking about Mom or Dad. Hell, I don't tell them my personal shit, but Brad, he knows it all.”

I plop down in a chair, running my hands over my eyes. “Trust me, you don't want to know. You're not going to get it. I don't get it half the time.”

“Right.” Brad takes his seat again, taking a long swig of his beer. “Us small-minded folk don't understand complicated matters.”

“That's all right. He doesn't have to tell us anything. Let's just have a nice Christmas together, make Mom happy.” Jared has uncapped another bottle of beer. He hands it to me and sits down again, across from Brad. “Wanna play? We can deal you in.”

I stare at them for several seconds, trying to figure out what the hell just happened and then I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “Sure, I'll play.”

“Good, it's much better with three,” Brad says.

It feels like I'm in an alternate reality right now. If only I could punch a few people in New York and fix all the drama in my life.

“How's it going with Dad?” I ask Jared after a few hands of Texas hold 'em. “Work and all?”

“It's all right.” Jared shrugs. “I wish he'd quit being so hardheaded and admit that he can't work the hours he used to. His back is shit right now.”

“I thought that surgery helped him?” After throwing out his back a dozen times, my dad finally went to see a doctor last summer who said he needed surgery to repair a ruptured disk.

“It did,” Brad says, “But he's not exactly a teenager anymore, and Jared's got everything under control, got the books all squared away and the staff managed. He doesn't need to be on-site lifting shit every day.”