What We Keep Is Not Always What Will Stay (15 page)

I haven’t told anybody but Felix about the dreams. And God, of course, but He hasn’t given me any advice. Maybe I’m just as batshit crazy as Felix is. Maybe I ought to tell someone before I start wandering around with a saucepan on my head or something. I could start with Lily, I guess; she could tell me whether she thinks I really need a shrink or am just upset about Mom. And why would being upset about Mom make me dream about being in some foreign country where they’re shooting people? Or worse yet, being a guy having sex with a girl. Oh God, I don’t even want to think about that one. Go away! Get out of my head!

I called Lily the next day to see if we could hang out at her place because I was totally sick of watching Ben walk around the house with his own personal thundercloud following him, and she came and picked me up. Lily’s house has all this wild Nepalese and Tibetan art and embroideries all over. They have a big silver head on the coffee table that Lily says is Mahakala, the Face of Wrathful Compassion. I thought that pretty much summed up what I’m feeling about Ben and Mom right now—wrathful compassion. Emphasis on the wrathful.

We got some chips and yogurt and a bowl of hummus out of the refrigerator and took it to her room. She put on the Norah Jones CD I gave her and I told her about the dreams. I left out the part about Felix claiming he’s a saint. I figured the dreams were enough.

“So, am I crazy?”

Lily pointed her yogurt spoon at me. “It’s always a possibility.”

“That is so not what I wanted to hear.”

She swung her head side to side. Her hair looks like a curtain when she does that. I wish mine would. “I don’t think you’re crazy, if you want to get serious about this,” she said. “Maybe you’ve just got too much going on in your life right now, and stuff kind of runs from one place to another.”

“My head leaks?”

“Possibly.”

“That’s reassuring. Seriously, Christmas was weird. On top of my parents fighting, Noah gave me a present. I know his mom made him, because my mom told her how he trashed me, and
his
mom told
my
mom he’s sorry. God!”

“
Noah
gave you a present?”

“Drugstore chocolate.”

“Imaginative.”

“Come on. This is Noah.”

“No one else?”

I bounced on the bed and forgot all about the dreams. “Yes, Miss Too-Smart. Jesse did. And don’t tell me you’re surprised, because you told him what to get me. And what’s more, he kissed me!”

Lily looked interested at that. She stopped with a spoonful of yogurt halfway to her mouth and smiled. “I
thought
he had a crush on you.”

“And I’ve got to get him something, but I don’t know what. What can I give him?”

“Music?”

“I don’t know what he likes.”

“iTunes?”

“Oh God that’s lame. That’s like a gift certificate.”

“Art supplies?”

“Maybe.” I bit my lip. “But what if he thinks I’m trying to get him to make art because I think it’s therapy for him, or—”

“Cologne?”

“What if he thinks that’s coming on too strong? Is cologne too personal?”

“Are you getting a tad bit obsessive here? You sound like someone who takes those quizzes in
Seventeen
. I say this as a friend.”

“Lily, the cutest, most interesting guy in the school just kissed me. Could you please get into the spirit? Imagine … who? Who do you like? Imagine whoever it is just kissed you and gave you a Christmas present.”

“Um. What we have here is a divergence in point of view,” Lily said.

“Huh?”

“Divergence. Difference. To be honest, there isn’t anybody in that school I would touch with a toasting fork.”

“Well, thanks for the testimonial on my taste.”

Lily grinned. “Mom says I’m an old soul. I have to wait for the boys to grow up.”

I thought about the way Ben was acting. “Good luck with that.”

“You might want to wait, too,” she suggested.

I looked stubborn. “Not going to.”

She grinned again. “I expect not.”

That’s why I like Lily.

She did say she doesn’t believe I’m actually crazy, so we switched to the subject of New Years’ Eve. Some friends of Mom and Ben are having a party, and I’m invited too because apparently they have kids my age, so I think I’ll go to that. I want to see what Mom and Ben do at midnight. I hope it’s not try to kill each other. When I asked Mom why they were both going to the same party, she said that half the people in Ayala used to be married to the other half, and if people didn’t go to parties just because their former partners would be there, no one would be able to go anywhere. I so do not want to end up like that. Maybe I should just be a nun. On the other hand, I don’t want to end up like
that
either. Particularly not now.

I miss how I used to go and tell this stuff to St. Felix the statue, and he would just listen while I talked to him. I don’t know why I don’t ask Father Weatherford where the statue is. I think I’m afraid of him saying “What statue?” And even if I did find it again, I wouldn’t ever be sure who I was really talking to anymore. Anyway, Felix (the one who’s walking around) is part of the problem now, rescuing dogs and getting invited to dinner. And I started that, which is even worse.

In the meantime, I am going to get Jesse some good brushes at the art store. Therapy aside, that seems to strike the right balance between friend and girlfriend. A sort of present-from-someone-you-have-kissed-once present.

New Year’s Eve is like the full moon squared—everyone goes nuts. Ben, of all people, asked me if I thought he looked okay while we were getting ready for the party. And then Mom called me up to ask what
she
should wear. Usually Mom is more worried about what I’m wearing and whether it’s appropriate, which means not too low on top or too short on the bottom, or black. I’d bought a killer dress that is all three, but she didn’t even remember to ask me. And when we got there and she saw it, she didn’t even say anything. She was too busy pretending she hadn’t noticed Ben and making sure he could notice her, in a black and silver dress that was even more outrageous than mine.

There was a huge crowd, with a caterer passing around trays of little cheese puffs and things in phyllo dough. I felt very glamorous in my dress, but it was kind of a waste until Jesse came in with his parents.

Everyone in Ayala knows everyone, like Mom says, so I wasn’t completely surprised. I’d really been hoping Jesse would come, so I’d brought his present just in case. Up until he got there, there were only two twelve-year-old girls and the hosts’ kid, Gregory, who is thirteen; you could tell his parents were making him socialize with us when he’d rather be playing video games. That is not my definition of “kids your age, dear.”

As soon as Jesse came in he was mobbed with people patting him on the back. I lost track of him until he popped up beside me.

“Hey, Ange,” he said. “Can I hide behind you?”

He still had his down jacket on and he looked like he was trying to hide in it.

“Who’s after you?” I asked him.

His mouth twisted. “The anti-war committee and the pro-war committee, and the committee to tell me what a fine young man I am and see if they can’t enlist me in their cause.”

“Oh. Then I’ll hide you.”

“You want a glass of wine?”

That made me feel extremely grown-up, but I said, “I don’t think they’ll give me one.”

“They’ll give me one,” Jesse said. “Stay here.”

He wriggled his way through the crowd around the bar and came back with a glass of wine in each hand. “White okay?”

“You aren’t twenty-one either,” I said when he handed it to me, but I didn’t hand it back.

“War hero.” He grinned. It was kind of a nasty grin, but then it softened up. He said, “I was hoping you’d be here.”

I scoped out the room to see if Mom or Ben was noticing me, then took a sip of wine.

“Come in here.” Jesse took my elbow and we slid past a knot of people into the sunroom, where Gregory and the girls were watching a giant orange on TV, counting down to midnight. They didn’t pay any attention to us.

“Give me that coat,” I said. “You look like you’re getting ready to explore the Alps.”

He took it off and I handed him my wine. “Hold this for me and look like they’re both yours if Mom comes by. I have something I want to get for you.” I took his coat to the bedroom where everyone else’s were piled on a bed and grabbed his Christmas present out of the pocket of mine.

When I got back to the sunroom, he was standing in a corner with a glass in each hand trying to look invisible. “Merry Christmas.” I handed him the package.

“I didn’t mean you had to get
me
something!”

“I know you didn’t,” I said. “Did it ever occur to you, maybe I
wanted
to?”

“Actually, no,” he said. “My social skills aren’t that finely tuned.” He opened it and smiled a big smile. I was glad I hadn’t gone for the cologne. “Wow. These are great. And I really need them. I’m hell on brushes.”

I know. I’ve watched him jab them into the paper when he’s mad. Probably not tactful to mention that.

He wrapped them back up and stuck them in his shirt pocket where they looked like a giant Christmas-wrap cigar. Then he looked me up and down and said, “I really like you in that dress.”

“I like me in this dress, too,” I said, grinning at him. “It makes me feel older.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s a dangerous dress. You’re still a youngster, even if you are about the only person I can talk to who just listens and doesn’t think I’m a freak.”

“You’re not a freak,” I said encouragingly.

“Yeah, well, I’m not real stable either,” he said.

I’d been talking about the missing leg, not what was going on in his head. I tried to think of the right thing to say. “It must be hard coming back to school, when the rest of us are so much younger, and really clueless.”

“That’s why I hang out with you.”

“Because I’m clueless?”

“Because you’re not putting anything on. All the senior girls are trying to be grown up, like they know everything, and I just want to grab them by their necks and say, ‘You don’t know anything, you stupid
bitch
.’”

“Mmm.” I really didn’t know what to say to that, so I took another sip of wine and tried to look less like a youngster. The Christmas tree in the corner was all sparkly. It reflected off my wine glass, and I could feel the wine making my head just a little swimmy and then Jesse leaned down and kissed me again. It made me feel grown-up, like this was important and real, until Gregory turned around and saw us and said, “Aw, get a room!” I was embarrassed, but Jesse just grinned at Gregory like he didn’t care.

Then, before we could figure out a better place to go, the woman who writes the “People” column for the valley weekly bubbled up to Jesse, like a border collie cutting a sheep out of the herd, and I had to leave him there looking irritated at her. He grabbed my hand and put her on hold for a second, first. “Don’t get lost, okay?” he said.

“Okay.”

After that I spent most of the party making nice to my parents’ friends, talking about where I might want to go to college (I have no clue), and was I going to be a teacher or poet like Mom (I can confidently say no), and how nice we all looked in the Posadas parade. I told Mom how cool her black and silver dress looked. Mom gave my dress a good look then and raised her eyebrows nearly up into her red hair, which was full of silver spangles. Then she shrugged and took another glass of champagne off a tray.

When the bells rang at midnight, Jesse slipped into the circle next to me and squeezed my hand while we all sang “Auld Lang Syne.” With everybody watching, he didn’t kiss me again, but he said, “Let’s do something tomorrow. I’ll call you.”

“Sure,” I said. “And, uh, I’m glad you like the brushes.” I probably sounded like a goon, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

After Jesse left with his parents, I grabbed Ben and said, “Are you ready to go? I’m really tired.”

He looked kind of surprised and scanned the room. I saw his eye light on Mom, who was standing by the sunroom door, watching him over the rim of her glass. He pointed at me and I saw her nod. “Sure,” he said to me. “Come on then, if you’re beat. Let’s get you home. I’m surprised. I thought you’d outlast the old fogies.”

“I got up early,” I said.

I put on my pajamas, climbed into bed, and hit Lily’s number on my cell.

“Of course he liked the brushes. I told you you were obsessing,” Lily said. She was at the Art Center folk dancing. I could hear “Hava Nagila” playing in the background.

“We’re going to go out somewhere, tomorrow.”

“How’s your mom going to like that?”

“Mmmm. I haven’t got that far.” That might be tricky. “But I’ll think of something.” I’m pretty sure that if Jesse just has someone to care about him, he can get past all the stuff in his head from the war, and people will relax. Maybe that’s what Felix didn’t have—someone to love him. I wish he could find somebody, as long as it’s not Mom.