The Six Rules of Maybe (16 page)

“A secret second job.”

“Pet Palace?”

“Did my belt buckle give me away?”

He laughed. I’d forgotten about not looking at him. And, God, I did like looking at him. “Nice to involve us in private jokes, people,” Juliet said.

“I’m not sure elopement requires a gift,” Dean Neuhaus said.

“Well, then, that decides it for sure. If elopement doesn’t require
a gift. Tomorrow,” Hayden said.

“Good,” I said. Good. Settled. I set my napkin down on the table, a napkin period at the end of a dinnertime sentence.

“This is one of the first ones I did,” Mom said, as she walked back in. She looked around at us and paused; she caught the moment of something in the air, decided to dismiss it just as quickly. She hated conflict as much as I did, maybe more. She placed the book in front of Hayden, leaned over him as he opened the pages.

“Prague,” she said. “Well. You can see.”

“Wow,” he said.

“Nineteen twenties Paris. Etcetera, etcetera …” She started flipping pages.

“Wait,” he said. “Slow down.”

It could have been embarrassing, this show. I remembered the time she’d spent on these, her head bent down over pages, the glue stick in her hand. Concentration that seemed to mean a mission I couldn’t really understand and maybe wasn’t meant to. It wasn’t a mission that had anything to do with me. I hadn’t really looked at them in a long time; maybe I hadn’t really looked at them ever. It was just Mom doing an inexplicable Mom thing—listening to “Be” for the millionth time, exercising on a beach towel in front of the TV, buying a new scarf or hat, something we knew she’d never wear (and, of course, didn’t ever wear), and then later shoving it into the closet with the rejected cowboy boots and animal print leggings and lime suede skirt.

But looking at the scrapbooks again, I saw something else, something I’d never appreciated before. The pages were collages of postcards and cut-out letters and bits of things—small shells and sand glued down in swirls. A key, a stamp, a picture of a clock face or train schedule. They seemed old, made of memories, places and
experiences of a long life lived. The life of an interesting person with stories and secrets. But not the person who stood above Hayden, chopsticks holding up her hair, two deep lines now on her forehead that I hadn’t noticed before, wearing an old tank top I remembered since elementary school. That person wanted things she had never gotten. I could see that now.

“I always thought they were beautiful,” Juliet said.

“Really?” Mom said.

“Paris,” Hayden read. He turned the page. “Morocco.”

“I never knew you went to Morocco,” Dean Neuhaus pouted. The idea seemed to bother him.

“Oh, I never did. Only time I’ve been out of the country was Canada,” she said.

“You never went to any of these places?” Dean Neuhaus couldn’t imagine the point. He squinted in the direction of the book, but you knew he couldn’t even see it from where he sat.

“It’s about
art
,” Hayden said. “It requires
imagination
.”

“Not that I wouldn’t love to go,” she said. “I would have loved to go.”

“Of course you would,” Hayden said. “Of course. You were raising kids. You couldn’t, is all.”

I was watching Mom’s face, so I saw what happened when she heard those words.
Of course. Of course
, given to you when you maybe weren’t used to
of course
. I don’t know if I ever realized before how important those words were—those words that meant you were completely understandable. Words that meant you were reasonable and sound and valid. It was funny how often we didn’t feel any of those things on our own. Not that we were a trembling mess and incapable—just that a lot of the time we weren’t so sure all by ourselves.

Mom looked almost stricken. The idea of actual understanding came as a shock to her. My throat closed then; I thought I could cry. Her own self, her person, the woman she was and wasn’t and wanted to be, the person who had and never had—she stood in front of us, her own story right there on her face. I hadn’t done a very good job of trying to understand her myself, and Juliet wasn’t, even now—she was just shooting her narrow eyes at Dean Neuhaus to let him know what a creep we thought he was.

I swallowed. The moment passed. Still, I felt this arrow of sorrow. Most of our parents wanted the best for us, I knew, but we also wanted the best for them. Mom showed Hayden the rest of the albums. She put on some music, and after dinner, Dean Neuhaus had his hands on Mom’s waist when we did the dishes. She left those hands there and didn’t stop him either when he patted her butt as she passed by to use the bathroom.

When he said good night at our door though, I noticed, she only offered him her cheek. And when that happened, I silently cheered for her.

Chapter Fourteen

Y
ou’re a toilet,” Jacob said.

“
You’re
a toilet,” Jeffrey said.

“You’re a toilet
face
,” Jacob said, and they both laughed so hard they held their stomachs. They sat on the sidewalk behind their mother’s Acura, hiding. Jeffrey seemed to be holding something in his hands. Fishing line, I realized. And it was tied to an old purse lying in the middle of the street. God, I hoped it wasn’t Clive Weaver who jetted out there to grab it only to have it yanked away. He was already fragile as it was; he didn’t need one more thing snatched from him.

“I don’t understand why you require me for this outing,” Juliet said as we got into Mom’s car on Saturday morning. “Mom can take you.”

“God, Juliet. You’re kidding, right? I’m going to trust Mom with fashion advice? You. You’re the one I need. Juliet, this is
huge
.”

“Fine,” Juliet said. But it wasn’t fine. Juliet looked stressed. She
kept running her fingers through her hair and her mouth was in a tight line. “Who did you say you were going with? And where did you get money for a dress? Mom only paid half of mine, and this isn’t even your prom.”

I had to think fast. What name did I give? Justin? Johnathan? “Jared. Finnley. You don’t know him, I told you. He’s new this year. And I’m using my own money.”

“I can’t believe you’re going with a senior.”

“God, you make it sound like you’re surprised anyone might actually like me.” Okay, I might be surprised anyone except Reilly Ogden might like me, but it wasn’t okay for her to feel that way.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Just, you’re getting so old. Growing up. Look at those brats,” she said.

“Let’s run it over,” I said. But Juliet didn’t seem to hear me. She drove right past the purse. She was already looking at the clock in Mom’s car, and we hadn’t even gotten out of the neighborhood yet. Saturday was now officially and completely booked. Screw you, Buddy Wilkes.

“This is going to take all day,” Juliet said. She rubbed her temples.

It was impossible to understand why it was so hard to get people to do what was best for them.

“I don’t see why you won’t let me come in there with you,” Juliet said.

“No way. Uh-uh. I’m the only one who gets to see me naked.”

“Not even Jared?” She poked me in the arm. I had no idea what she was talking about until I remembered. Jared! Right!

“Ha,” I said. I had an armful of dresses. This would take a while. I made her take me onto the ferry and into Kingston where there was
a mall. Now we were in this store called Vibe! and it was the kind of place I hated. High school girls with clothes so tiny they rivaled Clive Weaver’s latest favorite outfit for fabric square footage and salespeople who asked if you needed help as if your presence there was seriously imposing on their personal time. The music in there was so loud and pulsing, you could feel it like a pop-song earthquake. Shiny, overconfident clothes you could never imagine yourself wearing hung along the walls. I felt some sort of clothes-store consumer shame creeping up my insides. It was all the insincerity of high school with the added humiliation of mirrors.

“Scarlet, please. I’ve seen your body before. Since I was three, for God’s sake. I’m your
sister
.”

Precisely. “Uh-uh.”

“I’m tired. I’m
pregnant
, remember? I need to sit. I’ll shut my eyes.”

“Fine.”

We closed ourselves in the little dressing room with the slatted wood door. Juliet sat down on the triangular corner seat. I hung the fat bunch of dresses on the hook, slipped off my shoes. I could see the sock clad feet of the person next to me under one side of the wall.

“So tell me about this Jared,” Juliet said. She leaned against the tight corner of the dressing room, eyes shut. She looked sort of sweet then. I remembered how much I loved her. She didn’t look capable of ripping Hayden’s heart to shreds.

“Jared,” I said. I stepped into the first dress, wiggled the zipper up behind me. The bust of the dress gaped out and I pushed my palms against the material to flatten it out. “Jared is … No boobs,” I said.

She popped open her eyes. “Yeah, no. That won’t work. What do they think? If you had a chest that big you’d fall over every time
you stood up.”

I plumped out the material to its fullest full to make her laugh. “Triple Venti Double-Tall implants,” I said.

“Move on,” she said. Eyes shut again. “Jared.”

“Really nice, you know. Wants to be a …” I wriggled free from that dress, put on the next one. It was black, with white decorative piping. I was a human Hostess Cupcake. “A chef.”

“A chef?” She popped her eyes open.

“A pastry chef.”

“Oh.” She seemed to ponder this as she pondered the dress, realized they both left something to be desired.

“No comment even necessary,” I said.

“You should try something sexier. You could pull it off. You don’t have to be virtuous
every
minute.”

“Right, what, low-cut black lace? I’m sorry, I’m not
you
.”

“Look at you. You turned gorgeous. I go away for a year and, well,
look
at you. Jesus.”

I did—gave a good long look in the dressing room mirror. I looked back at me, unimpressed. I looked through the hangers, deciding what to try next.

“Tell me about Hayden,” I said.

“What’s to tell?”

“You make it sound like he’s so simple. Like it’s all right there to see.”

“It is. He’s sweet. A good person. Etcetera, etcetera. You can see it. Anyone can see it.”

“Does he like the mountains? Did he ever go to camp? What is he afraid of?”

“I don’t know, Scarlet.” She was getting pissed at me.

“I’m just saying, there’s a lot to a person.”

The little room shuddered as the door next to me closed. A mom with two small children by the sound of it. There was a lot of shuffling and bumping, and then, “Sit here with Sarah, okay, Benjamin? Make sure she doesn’t fall.”

I unzipped a satiny brown dress and tried to lift it over my hips but it wouldn’t go. Plan B, try again. I raised my arms and scootched it down. There was a small voice: “I like what’s in your purse, Mommy.”

And then: “Benjamin! Don’t play with that. Put that back!” And then, a thump and a wail.

“Brown satin,” I said.

Juliet looked. “I really like that. That’s great on you.”

It was hard to see anything since the mirror was so close up, but from what I could tell, I looked like me, only shinier. The kid was still wailing next to us and Juliet squinched up her face as if the sound pained her. I did the same. “Can’t you do what I ask you for one minute?” the woman next door said. The second kid started to yell-whine. “Mom! Give it baaaaack! I want it baaaaack!”

“We’ll put this one in the maybe pile,” I said.

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you,” Juliet said too loudly. I hated when she did things like that. Juliet wasn’t one to just be nice and go along.

“Juliet!” I whispered.

“Well, for God’s sake,” she snapped back.

“Fine, here. Take it. Just don’t take everything out,” the woman said. The sock-clad feet in the dressing room on my other side put their shoes on and got the heck out of there. Smart.

Getting out of the dress was harder even than getting it on. I was sure it had shrunk a size somewhere between lifting it up over my stomach and up to my shoulders, where it appeared to be jammed.
“Ow,” I said.

“Are you okay?”

I managed to get one arm free, hoisted the dress over my head so that it was basically stuck on my face. “God! How do they expect you to get these things off?”

Juliet laughed. Damn it, she was peeking. “Don’t look!” I said. The dress was hanging on my head like a turban, with one of my arms in the air out the neck hole, when the wailing stopped next door and a face peered under the door.

“Hi la-dy,” the little kid said.

“
God!
” I said.

“Hi-ii,” the kid said again.

“Go back on your side, honey,” Juliet’s voice was a hostile, too-loud message to the mother next door.

“Sarah! Come here! Quit that! The lady needs privacy!”

“Can I have gum?” Benjamin said.

I finally managed to free the dress, and I stood there, clutching the brown satin to my mostly naked self as the little girl retreated and appeared again, and as I watched Juliet’s face change in a moment from pissed to horrified. She put her fingertips up to her face, as if their touch kept the thoughts in her head.

“Juliet?”

She looked ill. I got scared. What did I know about any of this, this pregnancy? Was this some medical emergency? I tried to remember about anything I might have read in
What to Expect When You’re Expecting
. What if something happened to her right here? What if there was some sort of pregnancy disaster right here in Vibe!?

“Oh—” It was more a sound than a word. Pain. I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there clutching that strangulating dress and
looking down at her.

“Tell me,” I said. “What? Are you hurting? Is something going wrong?”

“I just …”

“What?”

“I didn’t think about this,” she said.

“Juliet, what?” Okay. This was okay. It was an emotional crisis not a physical one.