Wake (88 page)

I can’t. My brother is in the hospital. I need to stay by the phone.

Ok.

That’s it? Did he even want to see me tonight? It stings that he so readily lets go of the idea of making plans. A minute later he signs off without saying goodbye.

I ought to hex that jerk.

I go downstairs, scoop myself a big bowl of chocolate ice cream—not as good for heartache as conventional wisdom purports, but comforting nonetheless—and eat it alone in the dark kitchen. I even take the time to sculpt a little castle in my ice cream before it melts into a sopping mess. The hum of the refrigerator keeps me company. I bet this is how James felt when Lily—

The doorbell rings. What the heck is that about? No one visits us, and certainly not past dinner hour.

Maybe it’s Willa, come for company and news.

I pick up my bowl and carry it with me to the front door. It’s habit; I’ve learned to never leave delicious food unattended in this house, and nothing is going to part me from my ice cold comfort right now.

I open the door and
crap
, it’s him. And I’m standing here in my pajamas, ice cream in hand, hair uncombed, and ready to freaking die.

“Hey,” he says like nothing is wrong. “You busy?” He freaking knows I’m not.

Kipp holds up a plastic shopping bag and steps in. I forgot to invite him in the middle of my mental meltdown.

“Um, no, not busy,” I mumble belatedly as I shut the door.

“Mind if I keep you company?”

How sweet of him to ask. “I don’t mind. You sure you want to?”

“Yeah.” He reaches into the shopping bag and pulls out a package of microwave popcorn, a pack of Twizzlers, and two DVDs.

And I freaking melt. Totally goo. No bones left. Mush to the core. He is too flipping perfect to even be talking to me.

“Your pick,” he says, and hands over the DVDs. He brought
Wall-E
and
Finding Nemo.
Somebody likes cartoons.

…Me. And him. And isn’t that awesome?

“I’m in the mood for robots,” I say. “I’ll just go change first…”

“Nah,” he says. “You look comfy.”

I’m wearing pink fuzzy slippers, Jem’s sweatshirt, and baggy flannel pants that I stole from Eric after he put holes in both knees. Comfy might be an understatement. I look like I’m preparing for hibernation.

He leads the way to the living room, since I’m incapable of being a good hostess. I turn on the TV and crack open the DVD case.

The disk inside isn’t
Wall-E.
It’s a white and red one called
Young People Fucking.
Ohmigod. Should I say anything, or should I just put it on?

I put it on. I’m curious. Yes, curious.

Kipp leaves to put the popcorn in the microwave and I put the TV on mute. Can’t let the main menu track give away my little switch, can I?

“Shal I start it?” I call to him.

“Go ahead.”

The movie opens with two people arguing on a couch. It’s pretty well lit, for porn. Not that I’d know, or anything. It’s not like I have two older brothers who
never
clear their browser history or create strong passwords for their computers.

The couple on screen kisses. A subtitle at the bottom declares them “The Friends.” Please God, let that be a sign.

Kipp comes back with popcorn. He stops dead behind the couch and stares at the screen like he’s never seen a TV before. And then he goes beet red. He is so freaking cute when he blushes.

“Uh…was that in the wrong case?”

“Yeah. But it’s cool.” I pat the couch next to me. “So where’d you find this one?”

Kipp scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. “It was at TIFF.”

An educated taste in smut, I see. Kipp offers to put on
Finding Nemo
instead.

I try to make a joke of it: “Are you saying that because you think I’m too young for anything above PG?”

“Uh, no.” Kipp looks over his shoulders like he’s wary of being watched. “Is anyone else home?”

“No.” Hint?

“I don’t think your parents would thank me for bringing a movie like this into their house.”

“They won’t be home till late, and I’m not all that impressionable, I promise.” A little voice in the back of my head keeps telling me not to stare at his mouth. I should really listen to that. I should…

I should have put on a horror movie. That would give me an excuse to cozy up to him…for comfort.

A woman moans and gasps on screen as the camera pans up her legs and torso. She’s getting fingered on the couch. “Think she’s faking?” I say, trying to ease the tension and Kipp’s embarrassment.

For a shy guy, this must be double awkward. He chuckles at my question and agrees with me.

“She’s putting on a show.”

“You know what faking sounds like?” Eric must be rubbing off on me. I don’t normally make crude jokes like that.

Kipp gives me a look. “No,” he says defensively. There’s a moment where I wonder if I’ve really offended him, but then he laughs at himself.

“Trying to embarrass me, Shrimpy?” Not even my brothers can get away with calling me stuff like that.

But he can.

“Is it working?”

He throws a kernel of popcorn at me and I lean over to catch it with my mouth. He throws another to see if the last one was a fluke, and then another. I just keep catching them. Kipp makes a crack about me having a talented mouth, and it’s my turn to blush.

“Too bad I don’t have someone to appreciate it properly.” I’ll blame that one on Eric’s influence too.

“Don’t rush it,” Kipp says. “Stay unattached as long as possible.”

“Says the guy in a serious relationship.”

“You’re still pretty young.”

“And apparently I look like a lesbian.”

“For the hundredth time, it was an accident!” I laugh at his indignation and elbow him teasingly.

“I didn’t say you were wrong. For all you know I could be plotting to steal your girlfriend away from you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“We should put money on this.” We spend the next ten minutes arguing what counts as a ‘loss’ in this wager, and who should have to pay whom in what event. If I steal Nina away, shouldn’t I have to pay up to compensate him for the loss of his girlfriend? If I can’t steal her, have I lost the bet and therefore have to pay? He manages to twist the scenario in so many different ways, all of which end with me paying him.

“You should be in law school.” I elbow him and mutter ‘jerk’ loud enough for him to hear.

“I’m probably not doing a good job of keeping you company,” he apologizes. He mutes the TV.

“Do you want to talk?” He sounds like he expects me to say ‘yes’ and get all weepy—catharsis on demand. I turn sideways on the couch to face him and ask how job training is going. He’s been driving up to Camp Concord on weekends all month, doing things like brushing up on First Aid and basic Sign Language to communicate with the hearing impaired campers. This is his first weekend off all month. I bet Nina is working tonight; otherwise he’d have never had the time to hang out with me.

“It’s going okay.” He shows me how to sign my name. I like the feeling of his fingers on mine, guiding me where to place my thumb to make an ‘E.’ I like how obvious the letters are; the signs look exactly like they’re written. He puts up with my questioning about how to spel other names and words. I just don’t want him to stop touching me, even if it is just my hand.

“I wish I’d known this last year. There were weeks when my brother was in isolation and we could only mime through the hospital windows. Specific signals would have been great.”

“You were his donor, right?” Kipp asks seriously. “That time you were out of school for three weeks?”

“You remember that?” I thought he didn’t even know my name until this semester. Kipp shrugs and smiles apologetical y.

“Your family isn’t from here. New people don’t come around that often. It makes you interesting by default.” And new people don’t often provide such great gossip fodder, like having an il son.

“I gave him marrow, yeah.” I nod. “But I had some complications. I wasn’t supposed to be out of school for three weeks. More like two or three days.”

“But you’re okay now?” How sweet of him to ask.

I smile. “I got a gym exemption for this year because of it. That’s an awesome silver lining.” That, and Jem’s survival.

Kipp smirks. “You don’t like sports?”

“Sure I do. I’m just picky. I was on the swim team when I lived in Ottawa.”

“Were you any good?”

“Yup.” Not to brag, or anything.

“We should go to the lake when it’s warm.” I might be hall ucinating this. “Maybe later this weekend, if the weather is nice. Oh,” his brow furrows, “maybe not this weekend, with your brother being…”

I wave away the awkwardness. “We’ve got this summer.” And I will hold him to the promise of swimming, even if we have to go with a group of people. I wouldn’t mind that, as long as it involves wetness and bathing suits…

Eric comes home and I quickly pause the movie. Luckily we’re not in the middle of an incriminating scene—the image on the screen is of two heads. Eric looks from us to the screen and back again.

“What are you guys doing?”

“Just watching a movie.”

“What movie?”

“It was at the Toronto International Film Fest—”

“Pass.” He turns to go, but then stops to remind me not to stay up too late. His tone makes it sound like he’s really telling our guest to leave.

“The movie is almost over.”

“Does Mom know you have a company?”

“Eric, you’re adopted, nobody loves you.” I get a smack upside the head for that one and a cheery reminder to brush before bed. “You sound like Dad.”

“Eat your vegetables, you’ll get scurvy!” Eric says with a laugh, and finally, mercifully, leaves us alone.

“Sorry about him.”

Kipp looks at me with a quizzical expression. “I’m adopted.”

Oh
fuck
.

He laughs. “I’m just kidding. The look on your face was priceless.” Merlin’s beard, he scared the crap out of me.

“I should probably go.” Kipp stops the movie and gets up to retrieve the DVD.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s late.”

“Okay.” I try not to sound disappointed. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“It was, uh…interesting.” His ears turn a little bit pink as he puts the disk back in the wrong case and packs up his stuff from the coffee table. We clean up the refuse from our snacks and I walk him to the door.

“Good luck with work,” I tell him. “Say hi to Nina.”

“Thanks.”

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… “Is the camp still hiring?” I hope he’ll say ‘no’ just as much as I want to hear ‘yes.’ A ‘no’ would spare me the indecision and guilt of spending a summer away from my brother.

Kipp thinks on that for a moment. “Cooks and stuff, probably. I know they’ve hired all their counselors, but they might need more support staff. You’re a good cook.” He smiles at me and my heart squeezes.

Compliments from him are like candy, and that smile…

“See ya, Shrimpy.” Kipp musses my hair and heads out the door. I need to find a nickname for him.

Saturday the 10th of June. Cloudy.

At breakfast, Dad announces that Jem is being discharged today. He says it like Jem is a new baby brother we’re expecting to bring home from the hospital—someone we’ve never met before, alien and fragile but also very special. What a load of crap. I avert my eyes and stare into my coffee mug, but Eric gives Dad a look that reads
We know the drill,
and Dad retreats into a tone of detached professionalism.

“Let’s keep it down so your mother can sleep,” he says. “She was up most of the night.” Just like every night. For a guy who deals with catastrophic injuries on a daily basis, Dad is useless when it comes to saying the right thing.

The morning seems long, waiting for Jem to come home. I call Willa to let her know that he’ll be out of the hospital, even if he isn’t up to having visitors, because I know she’s been worrying. And because time is crawling, I keep her on the phone for almost an hour until she absolutely has to leave for work.

“Keep me posted, okay?” she says.

“I will . He’ll probably call you himself once he gets his voice back.”

“Right. Because Jem is a patient person.”

I have to say, she knows my brother well.

*

I stay home while Eric goes to the hospital with Mom and Dad to pick Jem up. I can set things up while they’re gone—warming his pillowcases in the dryer, digging the humidifier out of the linen closet, fill ing a hot water bottle…

I go out to the porch when I hear the car pull in to the driveway. I expect them to get out right away, but Dad opens the rear door and has to help Jem up. He sways a little and has to lean on Dad’s shoulder. I thought he was well enough to come home. What are they doing discharging him when he’s too sick to even stand up?

Getting Jem inside and situated is a long ordeal. While Mom tucks him in, Dad removes medication bottles from Jem’s backpack and sets them up along the nightstand. There seem to be a lot more bottles than he left with.

“Are you hungry?” Mom asks. Jem shakes his head. Dad starts portioning out pills and Mom leaves to get a glass of water to wash it all down.

“I’ll make you as many milkshakes as you want,” I tell him.

Jem smiles. “Thanks.” His voice is high and hoarse. It takes a few minutes to get all the medication he needs into him, and then Dad sets the cup of water aside and tells him to rest.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Mom says to me, and holds out her hand. I start to move away and Jem grabs the back of my t-shirt.

“Uh…I’ll follow you down,” I tell Mom and Dad.

They look from Jem to me with concern. “Is there something you need?” Dad asks.

“Elise,” Jem says, and leaves it at that. They share one of those parental looks that make me believe in telepathy, because they somehow come to an agreement without saying a word, and give us a moment of privacy.

“Not too long,” Mom says, and shuts the door behind them.

As soon as they’re gone Jem reaches up and pulls my mask off.