Her and Me and You (9 page)

Neither said yes. Dad skipped yes and went straight to: “We were going to tell you.”

We
again. “When?”

“I’ve only been here a couple of weeks.”

“Weeks?”
I looked at Dad. “You’re not even divorced yet. Is that legal?” Back to Caroline. “How old are you, anyways?”

“Alex.”

I dashed passed them, grabbing my bag. “I’m going upstairs,” I said, too tired to drive back to Grams’s. “I’ll leave first thing, okay?”

“Al, you can stay as long as you like.” Then again, “
Al
.”

“What?” I considered blurting it, telling Caroline about the porch incident between Dad and Mom, the kissing. “It’s fine,” I said, resisting. It seemed like a shitty move—
outing
Dad to his baby girlfriend. Besides, at this point I had zero hope for parental reconciliation. “I’m going upstairs,” I said, my mind jumping to Fred. “I’ll be out of your hair by morning.” I pounded the steps, leaving Caroline and Dad in the dust.

I slept in, got up at eleven, and went downstairs in my socks and T-shirt. Caroline was on the floor unpacking books and broken CDs.

“Don’t you work?” I asked, breezing past her toward the kitchen.

“Funny.”

“I’m not kidding,” I said, grabbing the kettle off the stove and filling it with tap water. “Aren’t you a secretary or something?”

“Or something,” she said softly. So soft I could barely hear. Then: “I’m between jobs.”

“Oh.” I switched on the gas and shuffled forward.

“Don’t you have school?” she asked, not looking up. She was inspecting the spine of a paperback.

“I’m not going,” I said, resting against the doorframe, watching her. Wondering what she saw in Dad. What he saw in
her
—that was clear.

“You want food?”

“I’m leaving.”

“When? Your dad’ll be back by one.”

“I’ll be gone,” I said, following the call of the kettle.

“You should stay.”

“That’s okay.”

“I mean you’re here, it’s the weekend. What’s one more day?”

I filled my cup with steaming water. “Three’s a crowd. . . .” I mumbled, dropping a green tea bag into my mug.
Three. Three
used to feel right. Me, Mom, Dad—the perfect unit. Now
three
felt lopsided and odd. Me, Evie, Ben. Me, Adina, Fred. Someone was always,
always
getting pushed to the side. “Why?” I asked Caroline. “Why do you want me to stay?”

She glanced up. Her eyes, pretty and blank and blue. “You make your dad happy.”

I thought about Mom, home alone in pieces. Dad had Caroline. Mom had me, and I was
here
.

“Stay for lunch at least?”

I needed to leave. “Can’t. Besides, I can afford to skip a meal,” I muttered, shuffling past and back upstairs. “I’m fat enough as is,” I said, slamming my bedroom door shut.

33.

I spent the remainder of my weekend home with Mom,
watching her smile wanly while wondering whether it was worth it to confess what I knew about Dad and Caroline. Fred hadn’t called once. Not even to ask why I’d missed school Friday. Clearly I’d wrecked everything. I’d taken a perfectly good friendship and made it all creepy and weird. If I’d been Evie, that kiss would have led to something sexy and momentous. But I was babyish and unappealing.
Fine
, I thought, alone in bed Sunday night.
You don’t want me? Lesson learned
.

Monday, I ate lunch alone on the field hockey field. Baby carrots and warm Diet Coke. Then, feeling hollow and nauseated, I walked to class. I passed the twins on my way. Fred’s eyes flicked in my direction, and my legs shook. Adina moved past without the teensiest glance.

*   *   *

At home, I sat with Mom on the couch downstairs. She lay on her side, her feet in my lap, laughing at some shitty rerun on channel four. Do I tell her? Keep quiet? The last thing I wanted was her feeling hopeless and miserable again—already she’d been knocked sideways and down.

“You want soda?” I patted her ankles then stood.

“Hmm?”

“I’m getting a Coke. You want something?”

She sat up, curling her knees to her chest. “Thanks for the foot rub, babe.”

“Yeah.”

“Grab me a water?”

I moved to the kitchen, the TV lighting my way. I pulled a Coke and a water bottle off the fridge door, then mustered the nerve to say, “Mommy?” I would come clean about Caroline’s move. She’d hear it from me, not Dad—perhaps that would soften the blow?

“Babe?” A muffled
ding ding ding
. “Babe, your phone.” I ran back to the den, dropped the drinks on the sofa, and grabbed my cell off the coffee table. One new text. From Fred. My heart sped up.

“Who is it?”

“Charlotte Kincaid.” An easy lie. Why burden her with shitty drama?

I’m sorry
, it said.
Can I see you?

I hit reply, then tapped nervously at my keypad.
Sorry
.
With Mom
, I wrote.

Seconds later:
I’ll come to you. Please?

I glanced at my mother. Sipping her water, clutching a pillow, she looked so small, like a girl. “I want candy,” I said, circling the couch. “You want anything from the liquor store?”

“You’re going out?”

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

She looked down at my hands, still clutching the phone.

“Be back soon, okay?” The Dad news could wait. I bent down and kissed her forehead. “You want chocolate?”

“Always.”

I grabbed my coat, keys, and lunged for the door.

We met at the 7-Eleven. We sat in the parking lot, in the front seat of my car, not talking. Until: “You’re furious.”

“No.” I spoke quickly. “I’m really not.”

He smelled sweet and smoky, like cigarettes and suckers.

“You hate me.”

“I don’t, no, why would you say that? I’m embarrassed,” I said, wiping my nose, looking down. “You embarrassed me.”

“How?”

“How?”
I let out a small laugh. “You really have to ask?”

We were touching. Two palms. Fingers entwined. “The other day—I didn’t mean to freak out.”

I shrugged.

“Audrey Glick?” he said. “She made that girl miserable.”

“Adina?”

He nodded.

“What happened with her?”

“Nothing happened. She’s at Sacred Heart in Brooksville, alive and wearing a kilt.” He faced me. He let go of my hand and twisted my wrist toward the ceiling. “She’s not a bad person, Alex.” He said this softly, tracing a blue vein on my arm
up up up
. “She thinks she’s protecting me.” His finger lingered at my inner elbow.

“From who?” I got a chill.

“I dunno. You?” He laughed a little. “Absurd, right? The other day—” He stopped. “I just didn’t want—” Another pause. “She’s a little crazy, okay? Let me talk to her first?”

“First?”

“Let me tell her how I feel?”

Something rattled around in my chest. “How
do
you feel?” I asked, wondering what this was—a confession? Declaration? Did he
love me want me need me
?

“I feel great,” he said, leaning back against the windowpane, looking bright. “Right now I just feel—totally great.”

34.

After school, Tuesday.

Audrey Glick.

I shot down the candy aisle of CVS, dropping jelly beans, Twizzlers, and mini Twix bars into my shopping basket. I’d been on an Audrey Glick kick all morning: Was she cuter than me? Smarter? Had Fred slept with her? Loved her?

I paid for my crap, popped open a Twix, and wandered outside. It was sunny and cool. I looked left: an antique shop, a tobacconist, a tailor. To my right: the local library branch. I went inside, found an empty computer station at the back of the lab, and Googled “Audrey Glick.”

There were hundreds of pages. A gazillion Audrey Glicks. One, a teacher; another, a bioengineer; yet another, a book blogger. I found my Audrey,
Fred’s
Audrey, on page eleven: “Audrey Glick . . . Brooksville Sacred Heart . . .” I clicked the
link. There was a photo, an action shot—Audrey alongside two other girls in field hockey jerseys and knee socks. All three wielded sticks. She was the one hunched over, working the ball. She was shiny and clean; a sporty brunette. The braid down her back spoke volumes. It said, “I ride horses. I excel academically. Boys love me.”

I closed the page and stepped away from the computer. A jealous twinge tickled my gut. I popped open another Twix and shoved the entire thing in my mouth.

I found Mom upstairs, blinds drawn, asleep at four p.m.
What now?
I stepped forward into the dark. Her room smelled like stuck air and sleep. I put one hand on either shoulder and rocked her awake. “Mommy?”

She rolled over.

“You okay?”

“I’m sleeping. What do you need?”

“Nothing, I just—” I let my hands fall from her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“You’re sure?”

She opened one eye. “Was she there? At Dad’s?”

“Who?”

“Come on, Alex.”

I didn’t answer. I watched Mom watch me.

“Let me sleep, please?” She rolled away, toward the wall.

“Mommy—”

“
Please, Alex. Go downstairs and let me sleep. There’s a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge.”

“That’s fine, I don’t want it.”

“Alex.”

“What?”

She curled one shoulder toward the mattress and pulled the sheet to her chin. “Shut the door, will you?”

I got up.

35.

“Are you ever gonna ask me inside?”

Fred and I were sitting on Grams’s porch floor, using a picnic blanket for warmth. It was seven and dark. Mom was upstairs still.

“I told you. You can come over but you can’t come in.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because
why
?” Fred looked glowy in the pink porch light. “I wanna see your room.”

“It’s not
my
room,” I said. “It’s the guest room. My room is in Katonah.”

“So take me there.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I stretched my legs long, crossing my ankles. “Because that’s not—that’s not home either.”

He gave me a sympathetic shrug, tugging the blanket up and slipping a hand between my thighs. The gesture was quick and sent a shock through me. I gasped.

“Sorry.” He pulled his hand back. “I didn’t mean—I meant—I was trying to comfort you, not feel you up.”

I put my hand where his hand had been. My leg pulsed. I looked at him.

“Are you really freaked out? You look really freaked out.”

I was shaking, only, “No.” I wasn’t freaked out. Or cold. I felt warm and alert. “You could’ve left it there,” I said.

“What?” His voice sounded small.

I took his hand and put it back were it’d been. I slid closer. So our hips and shoulders lined up. “Like that,” I said.

His face flushed.

After a minute: “Adina’s sorry,” he said. He whispered it.

I wanted so badly to believe. Adina had given us her blessing and now Fred could love me freely and wouldn’t life be stellar, everyone loving everyone else?

“She’s making Peruvian tomorrow. Come?”

So much of me touching so much of Fred. “Peruvian, huh?”

“I want you there.” He was like my own personal space heater. “We both just—really want to make things right.” Then: “She’s not a monster, Katonah.”

“You’re sure?”

He yanked his hand away, stung.

“No,” I said, grabbing him back, pushing into him. “I’m sorry, okay? That was a shitty joke. I’ll come. Of course I’ll come.”

He relaxed. “You will?”

“Yeah,” I said, gripping his arm, feeling high. “I’ll be there.”

36.

I got there at five past six and rang the bell. I wore a
dress—my
only
dress—pale blue, sheer, and sleeveless. Over that I wore a slim cardigan and my parka.

“Hey, you.” Fred. He had on a holey sweater vest and his favorite cords.

“You look nice,” I said, undoing my coat and dropping it onto the upholstered chair in the foyer.

“You too—your dress.” He touched my upper arm gently. “You want anything?” He looked uneasy—glassy-eyed and drunk, maybe. “Adina hasn’t started cooking yet.”

“I’m fine,” I said, following Fred past the den into the kitchen. Adina sat on a high chair at the end of the island drinking wine from a tumbler.

“You’re sure? You want wine? We can open another bottle.”

“Let’s,” said Adina, downing the last of it while pulling a
second off the rack on the hutch. “You look like you could use a drink, Katonah.”

I shut my eyes for a sec, steeling myself—and when I reopened them, Fred was passing me a glass.

“Thanks.” I took a sip.

“Hey, D.”

“Mm?” Her hair was tangled and her sleepy eyes, muddied with kohl.

“What happened to your Peruvian feast?”

“I’m not cooking,” she said. I wondered if she’d smeared her makeup on purpose. “Your girlfriend’s all dressed up—don’t disappoint, she looks hungry.”

“I’m fine,” I whispered.

“It’s okay,” Fred said, hurrying to the pantry, pulling out pasta, jarred sauce, and pots. “I’ll cook, no biggie.”

“I don’t need to eat anything,” I said, sounding shrill. My hands trembled. “I just—” I wanted it over with. I wanted to say my piece before dinner and drinks dulled my nerve. “Are we gonna talk about what happened or not?”

She looked up. “Why, what happened? Did you two do it, finally?”

“Adina.”

“What? What’s the big deal? You guys are big prudes. You probably fuck with your eyes closed.”

“Adina!” shrieked Fred.

“What? What’re you looking at?” She was talking to
me, not him. “God, I’m so sick of your flat little face.”

My eyes flooded. My cheeks felt on fire. I turned away, walked to the living room, sat down on the couch, and cried. I missed Evie. Why was I here?

“Hey.” This came moments later. “Hey, look at me,” Fred said. A hand touched my head. I looked up. Both of them hovered above.