The Good Goodbye (26 page)

Everyone’s in the family room, talking while the television’s playing. “Can we go out for Chinese food?” I call out, a joke between my dad and me. I’m always asking to go out to eat and he always answers,
Do you know any good places?
Percy lets out a volley of barks, then he and Oliver skid into the hall. “For real?” he says, as Percy bounds toward me, his long ears flopping. “You’re here for real?” Henry is right behind him. “It’s a miracle!” he shouts.

My mom’s car crunches into the driveway and I push back my kitchen chair. Oliver and Henry jump up and down. “Guess what? Guess what?”

Her measured voice in the hall, happy the way she always is when she’s talking to the boys, the clatter of her keys in the bowl. “You won your game?”

“Hi, Mom.”

She stops in the doorway, her fingers pressed against her mouth, her eyes shiny with tears. She doesn’t move, not even after Dad grabs her shoulders and squeezes. “Look who’s here, sweetheart!” I go over to my mom because she’s not moving and she drops her hands and opens her arms. We hug for a long time, but nothing about it feels the same. She feels smaller, somehow. “You came home for your birthday. Thank you, darling.”

She had wanted to drive up with Dad and Oliver and Henry and take me out, but I had told her no. She had sent a cake instead, chocolate fudge with mocha buttercream and my name carefully scrolled on top in purple icing, packed in dry ice. It had probably taken her a long time. She’s not a pastry chef like Uncle Vince. He sent me a cake, too, but I don’t tell her that.

My bedroom doesn’t look anything like I left it. My bed’s made, my clothes hung neatly in my closet and folded in my drawers. The dirty dishes under my bed have disappeared, my trashcan’s been emptied, and the carpeting shows vacuum cleaner tracks. It smells clean and fresh. I lie down and stare at the ceiling. I know every stucco whorl, the five-fingered crack around my ceiling fan, the wiggly brown stain above the window where the roof leaked. I hold up my arm and look at the white gauze covering a little purple butterfly. Now Rory and I are as close to twins as we’ll ever be. My brothers are twins and so are Grandpa Howard and Great-uncle Melvin. I look at them all old and wrinkly and try to picture my little brothers grown up like that. My aunt Christine separates twins who are born connected, which grosses Rory out. Whenever I talk to her about it—two babies sharing a heart or a brain or three legs—she makes a face and covers her ears.
Shut up, will you?
she’ll say. But I want to know. Where do you draw the dividing line?

My arm’s itching.
Give it a week,
the guy had said.
Don’t peel it. Let it flake away by itself.
I pick at the corner of the gauze to sneak a look.

A knock on my door and my mom’s there. “I’ve brought you some towels.” She stops and frowns with concern. “Did you hurt yourself, honey? Let me see.”

I slap my hand over my arm. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I can see that it’s not nothing.”

“You have to promise not to be mad.”

“Why would I be mad? Oh, Arden. What have you done?”

—

I’m in the front hall, crouching beside my bag, stuffing in my gloves and scarf for the cold mornings that are right around the corner. My mom’s upstairs, getting my laundry out of the dryer, and my dad’s in the boys’ room, supervising as they make their beds. “Like this, Daddy?” Oliver says. “I got it,” Henry says.

There’s still something missing. I look around, searching. I see my brothers’ shoes, my dad’s briefcase leaning against the table in the hall, Percy’s leash hanging from the hook. A toy airplane, my mom’s gardening gloves. Now I see it, what’s missing. It’s me.

Rory

THE STREETS SHINE
with rain. The trees drip, a sudden cool splash on my head, the back of my neck. Music thrums, growing louder as I turn the corner. The house on the corner’s filled with light that sprays out, dusting the lawn. Shadows of people moving inside print themselves against the windows. I walk up the steps and through the front door. The first person I really see is Hunter, in the middle of a bunch of people, the way he always is. He sees me and comes over. “Hey, babe.” His smile is tight. “You get lost?” He holds out a plastic cup of beer and I shake my hair, wipe moisture from my bare arms. “Let’s go.” I grab his hand to pull him through the mob of people. “Whoa,” he says, following along, laughing.

When we get up to his room, I slam the door and twist the latch. It’s quieter in here. A person can think. “What’s going on?” he says. “You okay?” I turn into his arms and pull his T-shirt over his head. “I’m fine. I just missed you.” I kiss the warm skin of his neck, feeling his steady pulse beneath my lips. I breathe in his clean-boy smell. “Got a problem with that?”

He kisses me back. He doesn’t answer.

—

When I get back to my room Sunday, I hear voices coming from inside. Arden’s back and someone’s with her.
D.D.?
I unlock the door and swing it open. “Hello, bitches.” Too late, I see it’s my mother. I’m not even wearing long sleeves.

“Oh, Rory. You know how I feel about that language.” The things on my desk are out of order, the papers moved from one side to the other, the drawer left open half an inch. She’s been looking through my stuff again, probably while Arden had her back turned. My mom can be very quick about this sort of thing. Had I left anything out—the Baggie of weed, the strip of condoms? My mom would freak if she saw that. She still thinks I’m a virgin. I used to leave her traps, like the fake diary under my mattress. Arden and I would giggle as I wrote sappy entries just for my mom’s sake.
I can’t believe he likes me! But I won’t even let him kiss me. I’m saving myself.
She believed every word. I know she did. She tells me all the time.
I want you to grow up to be a strong woman. I don’t want you to settle. I don’t want you to rely on a man to make you happy.
Which tells me a lot more about my parents than I ever wanted to know.

I pull down a hoodie from my closet and tug it on.

She comes toward me, her expression smooth and not yielding clues, which doesn’t mean I’m in the clear. As we hug, I throw Arden a dark look. She makes a face back. “You should have come home, too,” my mother says. “We could have gotten you in to see Jean-Pierre. Ah, well. Thanksgiving will be here soon enough. I’ll make you an appointment. Come on, I want to take you both shopping. I owe Arden a birthday present.”

“No, you don’t,” Arden says, and I quickly add, “Hunter’s coming over.”

“Yes, I do, Arden, and that’s perfect, Rory. He can come, too.”

Which is the entire point of her coming here, isn’t it? “Hunter doesn’t want to go shopping, Mom.”

“Well, of course not. He can join us afterward. We can go back to that little place I took you to, Arden.”

This is the first time I’ve heard anything about
that.
“We were planning to study,” I say. Arden rolls her eyes. I ignore her. “We have a big test tomorrow.”

“Just a quick bite, then. Boys are always hungry. Hunter’s an athlete. He can do that carbo-loading.”

I want to die. “Please don’t say that around him, Mom.”

“That’s not the right expression?”

“Don’t you want to beat the traffic?”

“Oh,
cherie.
You make me feel like you don’t want me here.”

Sunday afternoon’s a terrible time to go shopping. Most of the shops are closed, so we end up at the university bookstore, going through all the lame EMU stuff. Maroon and gold are just two colors that don’t belong together.

Arden keeps pulling stuff on and my mom keeps shaking her head. “I’m not sure that does anything for your figure.” And, “That’s just not special enough.” Finally, she decides on a cashmere scarf that Arden insists is too expensive, to which my mom replies, “Don’t you think you’re worth it, darling?”

Finally, we go to the coffee shop around the corner. I look around, but she’s not there.

“We’ll be right back.” I give Arden a look. She rises from her chair with a noisy sigh and pushes into the bathroom behind me. Only one stall, and we crowd in front of the mirror.

“Don’t be pissed,” Arden says. “It’s not my fault. She found out I was home and offered to drive me. She said she was coming to see you anyway. I texted you.”

I’d seen her text come through but ignored it. “Whatever. Did you tell her?”

“No, but my mom knows. She totally lost it.”

That surprises me. I’d have guessed Aunt Nat would’ve been cool with it. “Too bad.”

Arden crosses her arms. “You want to tell me what happened to my birthday cake?”

—

We take a booth in the corner, and when Hunter comes in, I wave him over.

He’s wearing a button-down shirt and cologne. My mom will notice he’s making an effort. I’m not sure whether this is good or bad. I’m annoyed with myself for even caring. “Hello,” he says politely. I slide over to make room.

“I’m so glad you could join us,” Mom says.

After we order, my mom leans forward, her hands clasped. “I’ve been to your family’s website,” she says to Hunter. “It looks like they have quite a lovely shop.” This is her way of telling me she’s on to me, that she knows exactly where he’s from and it’s not an exclusive area in California. She’s been with me for more than an hour and has kept this information tucked inside her. She’s very good about timing revelations so they’ll have the greatest impact. She went through my college essays—the ones Arden helped me write—moving things around so that they read more like short stories. “Are they artists themselves?”

“Not really. My dad took a few classes in community college, but that’s it. My mom quilts.”

Great. My mother’s biggest threat while I was growing up:
You don’t want to end up at community college, do you?
I can’t even look at her face. I know it’s gone rigid with politeness. I want to throw up. I want Hunter to stop talking. Doesn’t he realize how this sounds?

“They must be so pleased to know you’re going into medicine.”

I press my knee against Hunter’s and he says in a slightly startled way, “They are.”

“Do you know where you’ll be applying?”

“Uh.” He looks to me.

“Mom, seriously. It’s too early to be thinking about that.”

“I wish that were true, but you remember what your guidance counselor said. College is just a stepping-stone. We have to think of the big picture.” My mother, reading glasses perched on her nose, leaning over and nodding as my guidance counselor pushed papers across for her to examine while I sat there, bored out of my mind and texting beneath the table. “I’m not talking about you, Hunter. How you figure these things out is of course your own business. But Rory knows.” She fixes me with a meaningful look. “In order to get into the best schools, you need to start planning now. Speaking of which, have you started on those summer internship applications? You’ll need two letters of recommendation. Congressman Simmons says he’ll write one. Do you have a professor you can ask?”

My mother’s emailed me a list of links, with her helpful comments.
TOP priority! Not sure they take out-of-state applicants. Two essays, but maybe you can use the ones you wrote for your college apps. We might know someone in this firm.
I’ve clicked the links, the tiny print swimming before my eyes. Mr. Simmons is the congressman who lives next door. I can just picture my mom banging on the door and smiling when he finally answered. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You’d better think about it. Internships at the best law firms go fast. You don’t want to end up at some little general law firm in the suburbs. You might as well work scooping ice cream for the summer.”

I feel Hunter shift uneasily beside me. “Mom, I’ve got four years.”

“Four years is nothing. It will fly by, I promise you. You need to think of the big picture.”

“Why? I have you to do that for me.”

Her mouth tightens and she sits back. “Tell me, Hunter. Do you talk to your mother this way?”

The waitress arrives and sets down our cappuccinos. “I’ll be right back with your pie.”

As I pluck a packet of sugar from the bowl, my mom says, “Careful, darling.”

Careful, Rory. Don’t touch.

She raises an eyebrow as she sips her coffee, her way of telling me that she’s noticed how I’m wearing my blouse long to cover the undone top snap of my jeans. My cheeks burn and I drop my hand to my lap. Arden’s got her head lowered with embarrassment for me. Hunter looks puzzled, like he knows he’s missed something but he’s not sure what. My mother’s talking to Hunter, badgering him about his family. Now Arden’s shooting me sympathetic looks that bounce off, harmless rubber balls. My mother’s voice swims. I listen carefully to all the syllables flowing together but still can’t hear her accent.

“Isn’t that right, Rory?” I don’t know what my mother’s talking about now, but I nod anyway. Of course I do.

—

The house is dark.

The wooden steps creak. I stand on the rough, bristled mat, the carved wood of the door lost in shadow. An owl hoots. It makes me think of Lake Barcroft, the birds rustling in the trees as Arden and I drift on her boat. It feels very far away. A dog barks. Another one barks back. A car drives slowly past, the sucking sound of tires kissing pavement. I knock. I pull my hoodie around me. I’m shivering though it’s a warm night, and still.

I knock again, louder this time.

The porch light flashes on. Someone’s peering at me through the tiny circle of glass. The light flashes off, draping me in darkness. The rattle of the latch and she’s there, standing in the doorway, her robe tied around her waist. Her hair is loose and shining. She’s smiling. “Hey.”

I step forward.

Natalie

MY CELL PHONE BUZZES.
It’s Liz, texting to say she needs to talk. “There’s a problem at the restaurant,” I tell Theo, standing. “I’ll be right back.” I let myself out of Arden’s room and walk down the hall.

Liz answers immediately. I cut her off before we can go into the whole conversation about how Arden’s doing. I don’t want to talk about Arden. “What do you mean the linen order’s been canceled?”