August. Chapter Twelve

August

Chapter Twelve

“Come on! Who wants to KaBoom? ”

I looked at Lissa. It was over ninety degrees out, the sun was blasting hot, and somewhere over to my left, a barbershop quartet was singing “My Old Kentucky Home. ” It was official: we were in hell.

“Not me, ” I said. Again. Two weeks into her job shilling a new sports drink/caffeine jolt soda, and Lissa still couldn’t accept that I didn’t like the taste of it. And I wasn’t alone.

“It’s… it’s like… fizzy lemonade, ” Chloe said delicately, swirling the tiniest sip of it around in her mouth. “With a weird cheap cola aftertaste. ”

“So what do you think? ” Lissa asked her, refilling the row of plastic cups on the table in front of her.

“I think…” Chloe said. Then she swallowed, and made a face. “Eeeech. ”

“Chloe! ” Lissa hissed, glancing around. “Honestly. ”

“I told you, it tastes like crap, ” I said, but she just ignored me, piling more KaBoom merchandise‑ plastic Frisbees, T‑ shirts, and plastic cups all emblazoned with the same swirling yellow sunshine logo‑ onto the table. “You know that, Lissa. You don’t even drink this stuff. ”

“That is not true, ” she said, adjusting her KaBoom name tag, which said Hi, I’m Lissa! Want to Boom? I’d tried to point out that this could be taken in other ways than sampling products, but she’d only waved me off, so self‑ righteous in her quest to spread the KaBoom message to cola drinkers everywhere. “I drink this stuff like water. It’s amazing! ”

I turned around and looked behind me, where a family of four was passing by, hands already full of Don Davis Toyotafaire freebie merchandise. They didn’t stop, though. In fact, the KaBoom table was pretty much deserted, even with all the free stuff Lissa and her coworker, P. J., were giving away.

“Balloons, everyone! Who wants a KaBoom balloon? ” Lissa shouted out into the crowd. “Free samples, folks! And we’ve got Frisbees! ” She picked up one of the Frisbees and hurled it across the parking lot. It sailed evenly for a little ways before banking off and missing one of the new Land Cruisers by about a foot before crashing to the pavement. Don, who was talking up some customers by a row of Camrys, glanced over at us.

“Sorry! ” Lissa said, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Easy on the Frisbees, slugger, ” P. J. told her, picking up one of the plastic sample cups and downing it. “It’s still early. ”

Lissa smiled at him gratefully, blushing, and I realized Chloe’s hunch about her feelings for P. J. were, in fact, correct. KaBoom, indeed.

The Don Davis Motors Toyotafaire had been in the works for weeks. It was one of the biggest sales bonanzas of the year, with games for the kids, fortune‑ tellers, Slurpee machines, even one very tired looking pony that was walking circles around the auto bays. And, right this way, in the shade by the showroom, local author and celebrity Barbara Starr.

Normally my mother never did publicity except when she had a new book out, and she now was at a point in her writing when she didn’t even want to leave her study, much less the house. Chris and I had been used to her schedule for years and knew to keep quiet when she was sleeping‑ even if it was at four in the afternoon‑ to stay out of the way when she passed through the kitchen mumbling to herself, and to understand that we’d know when she was done when she pushed the typewriter carriage to the left one last time, clapped her hands twice, and let out a loud, very emphatic, “Thank you! ” It was the closest she came to religion‑ this one, final expression of gratitude.

But Don didn’t get it. First, he had no respect for the beaded curtain. In he’d walk, without hesitation, putting his hands on her shoulders even as she was still typing. When he did this, my mother’s keystrokes grew speedier: you could hear it, as if she was rushing to get out what was in her head before he broke her train of thought entirely. Then he’d go to take a shower, asking her to bring him a cold beer in a few minutes, would you, darling. Fifteen minutes later he’d be calling for her, wondering where that beer was, and she’d type fast again, pounding out the last lines she could before he padded back in, smelling of aftershave and asking what they were having for dinner.

The weird thing was that my mother was going along with it. She seemed totally smitten, still, with Don, to the point that she saw creeping around in the wee hours to write as a completely fair trade. With all her other husbands and boyfriends, she’d always stuck to her schedule, lecturing them, as she had us, about her “creative needs” and the “disciplinary necessity” of her time spent in the office. But she seemed more willing to compromise now, as if this was, indeed, going to be her last marriage.

Now, Chloe headed to the bathroom as I walked over to the table Don had set up for my mother next to the showroom. MEET BEST‑ SELLING AUTHOR BARBARA STARR! was painted on the banner that hung behind her, in big red letters framed by hearts. She was wearing sunglasses, fanning herself with a magazine while she talked to a woman wearing a fanny pack who had a toddler on her hip.

“… that Melina Kennedy was just the best character ever! ” the woman was saying, switching the baby to her other side. “You know, you just really felt her pain when she and Donovan were separated. I couldn’t stop reading, I really couldn’t. I just had to know if they got back together. ”

“Thank you so much, ” my mother said, smiling.

“Are you working on something new? ” the woman asked.

“I am, ” my mother said. Then she lowered her voice and added, “I think you’ll like it. The main character is a lot like Melina. ”

“Oooh! ” the woman said. “I can’t wait. I honestly can’t. ”

“Betsy! ” a voice shouted from over by the popcorn machine. “Come here a second, will you? ”

“Oh, that’s my husband, ” the woman said. “It was just so nice to finally meet you. Really. ”

“Same to you, ” my mother replied as the woman walked away, over to where her husband, a shorter man wearing a bandanna around his neck, was scrutinizing the mileage on a minivan. My mother watched her go, then glanced at her watch. Don wanted her to stay for the full three hours, but I was hoping we’d get to go soon. I wasn’t sure how much more barbershop music I could take.

“Your public loves you, ” I said as I walked up.

“My public is not really here, I don’t think. I’ve already had two people ask me about financing, and I’ve mostly just directed people to the bathroom, ” she said. Then, more brightly, she added, “But I have really enjoyed that wonderful barbershop quartet. Aren’t they charming? ”

I plopped down on the curb beside her, not even bothering to answer this.

She sighed, fanning herself again. “It’s very hot, ” she said. “Could I have some of your drink? ”

I looked down at the bottle of KaBoom Lissa had forced on me. “You don’t want this, ” I said.

“Nonsense, ” she said easily. “It’s scorching out here. Just let me have a sip. ”

I shrugged and handed it over. She screwed off the top, tipped it to her lips, and took a decent‑ size mouthful. Then she made a somewhat uneasy face, swallowed, and handed the bottle back to me.

“Told you, ” I said.

Just then the white Truth Squad van bumped into the parking lot, pulling into a space by the auto bay. The back door opened and John Miller jumped out, his drumsticks tucked under his arm, followed by Lucas, who was eating a tangerine. They started unloading equipment and stacking it as Ted climbed out of the driver’s side, slamming the door behind him. And then, as I watched, Dexter got out of the van, pulling a shirt on over his head. He checked his reflection in the side mirror, then ducked around the side of the van, out of my sight.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him, of course. The morning after we broke up, in fact, I’d been standing in line at Jump Java for Lola’s morning mocha when he walked in, crossed the room in a most determined fashion, and came right up to me.

“So I’m thinking, ” he said, no hello or hi or anything, “that we need to be friends. ”

Instantly, my internal alarms went off, reminding me of the breakup logic I’d been preaching for almost as long as I could remember. Not possible, I thought, but out loud I said, “Friends? ”

“Friends, ” he repeated. “Because it would be a shame if we did the whole awkward, ignoring‑ each‑ other, pretending‑ nothing‑ ever‑ happened thing. In fact, we could just jump right in and deal with it right now. ”

I looked at the clock next to the espresso machine. It was 9: 05. “Isn’t it a little early, ” I said slowly, “to take that on? ”

“That’s just the point! ” he said emphatically as a man talking on his cell phone glanced over at us. “Last night we broke up, right? ”

“Yes, ” I said, in a quieter voice than he was using, hoping he’d catch the hint. No luck.

“And today, here we are. Meeting up, as we are bound to do endless other times between now and when the summer ends. We do work across from each other. ”

“Agreed, ” I said as I finally got up to the front of the line, nodding as the guy behind the counter asked if I wanted Lola’s usual.

“So, ” he went on, “I say that we just admit that things may be a little strange, but that we won’t avoid each other or allow things to be awkward at all. If anything feels weird, we acknowledge it straight up and move on. What do you think? ”

“I think, ” I said, “that it won’t work. ”

“Why not? ”

“Because you can never go from going out to being friends, just like that, ” I explained, grabbing some napkins out of the dispenser. “It’s a lie. It’s just something that people say they’ll do to take the permanence out of a breakup. And someone always takes it to mean more than it does, and then is hurt even more when, inevitably, said ‘friendly’ relationship is still a major step down from the previous relationship, and it’s like breaking up all over again. But messier. ”

He considered this, then said, “Okay. Point taken. And in this scenario of yours, since I’m the one pursuing the idea of a friendship, then it would be me who would get hurt again. Correct? ”

“Hard to say, ” I said, taking Lola’s coffee and mouthing a thanks to the counter guy as I stuffed a dollar bill into the tip box. “But if this followed the formula, yes. ”

“Then I, ” he said, “will prove you wrong. ”

“Dexter, ” I said softly as we walked to the door, “come on. ” It seemed surreal to be discussing the previous night in such analytical terms, as if it had happened to someone else and we were just off to the side, doing the play‑ by‑ play.

“Look, this is important to me, ” he said as he held the door open and I ducked beneath his arm, keeping the cup in my hands level. “I hate bad breakups. I hate awkwardness and those weird stilted conversations and feeling like I can’t go somewhere because you’re there, or whatever. For once I’d like to just skip all that and agree to part as friends. And mean it. ”

I looked at him. Last night, as we’d stood in my front yard, I’d dreaded this, seeing him again. And I had to admit I kind of liked that it was already pretty much over with, the first awkward Ex Sighting. Check it off the list, move on. Break up efficiently. What a concept.

“It would be, ” I said, brushing a hair out of my face, “the challenge of all challenges. ”

“Ah, ” he agreed, smiling. “Indeed. You up for it? ”

Was I? It was hard to say. It sounded good on paper, but when actually put into practice I suspected there would be a few variables that would really screw up the numbers. But I hadn’t backed down from a challenge yet.

“Okay, ” I said. “You’re on. We’re friends. ”

“Friends, ” he repeated. And then we shook on it.

That had been two weeks ago, and since then we’d talked several times, sticking to neutral topics like what was happening with Rubber Records (not much yet, but there was talk of A Meeting) and how Monkey was (good, but suffering through an infestation of fleas that had left everyone at the yellow house scratching and cranky). We’d even eaten lunch together once, sitting on the curb outside of Flash Camera. We’d decided there had to be rules, and established two so far. Number one: no unnecessary touching, which could only lead to trouble. And number two was if anything happened or was said that felt strange or awkward, there could be no strained silences: it had to be acknowledged as quickly as possible, brought out in the open, dealt with and dismantled, like diffusing a bomb.

Of course my friends all thought I was crazy. Two days after we’d broken up, I’d gone with them to Bendo, and Dexter had come over and chatted with me. When he’d left, I’d turned back to a row of skeptical, holier‑ than‑ thou faces, like I was drinking beer with a bunch of apostles.

“Oh, man, ” Chloe said, pointing a finger at me, “don’t tell me you guys are going to be friends. ”

“Well, not exactly, ” I said, which only made them look more aghast. Lissa, who’d spent the better part of the summer reading the kind of self‑ help books I normally associated with Jennifer Anne, looked especially disappointed. “Look, we’re better friends than dating. And we hardly dated at all, anyway. ”

“It won’t work, ” Chloe told me, lighting a cigarette. “Crutch for the weak, the whole friends thing. Who used to say that? ”

I rolled my eyes, staring up at the ceiling.

“Oh, that’s right! ” she said, snapping her fingers. “It was you! You always said that, just like you always said that you should never date a guy in a band‑ ”

“Chloe, ” I said.

“‑ or give in to a guy who really pursues you, since they’ll just lose interest the moment the chase ends‑ ”

“Give it a rest. ”

“‑ or fall for someone with an ex‑ girlfriend who is still hanging around, because if she hasn’t gotten the message he probably isn’t sending it. ”

“Wait a second, ” I said. “That last one has nothing to do with this. ”

“Two out of three, ” she replied, waving her hand. “My point is made. ”

“Remy, ” Lissa said, reaching over and patting my hand, “it’s okay. You’re human. You make the same mistakes as any of us. You know, in that book I was reading, Coming to Terms: What Love Can and Can’t Do, there’s a whole chapter on how we break our rules for men. ”

“I am not breaking my rules, ” I snapped, hating that I’d ended up on the advice‑ receiving end of things, jumping from Dear Remy to Confused in Cincinnati all in one summer.

Now, at Toyotafaire, Chloe and I left my mother chatting with another fan and headed over to a patch of grass for some shade. At the microphones, Truth Squad was almost totally set up. Don had told us over dinner a few days earlier that he’d hired them to play an hour‑ long set of nothing but car‑ related songs to really push the idea of fun, freewheeling summer driving.

“Okay, so I’ve got some prospects for us, ” Chloe said as Truth Squad launched into “Baby You Can Drive My Car. ”

“Prospects? ”

She nodded. “College guys. ”

“Hmm, ” I said, fanning myself with one hand.

“His name is Matt, ” she continued, “and he’s a junior. Cute, tall. He wants to be a doctor. ”

“I don’t know, ” I said. “It’s too hot to date. ”

She looked at me. “I knew it, ” she said, shaking her head. “I knew it. ”

“Knew what? ”

“You, ” she said, “are so not one of us anymore. ”

“What does that mean? ”

She crossed her legs at the ankles, kicking off her shoes, and leaned back on her palms. “You say that you’re single and ready to be out there with us again. ”

“I am. ”

“But, ” she went on, “every time I’ve tried to set you up or introduce you to anyone, you beg off. ”

“It was just the one time, ” I told her, “and that was because I’m not into skaters. ”

“It was twice, ” she corrected me, “and the second time he was totally cute and tall, just the way you like them, so don’t give me that crap. We both know what the problem is. ”

“Oh, we do? And what is that? ”

She turned her head and nodded toward where Truth Squad was in full swing, while two little kids in KaBoom T‑ shirts were dancing, jumping around. “Your ‘friend’ over there. ”

“Stop, ” I said, waving this off as ridiculous, which it was.

“You still see him, ” she said, holding up a finger, counting this off.

“We work two feet from each other, Chloe. ”

“You’re talking to him, ” she said, holding up another finger. “I bet you even have driven past his house when it wasn’t even on your way home. ”

That I wasn’t even going to honor with a response. God.

For a minute or two we just sat there, as Truth Squad played a rousing medley of “Cars, ” “Fun, Fun, Fun, ” and “Born to Be Wild. ” There were only a certain number of songs related to automobiles, but already they seemed to be grasping a bit.

“So, fine, ” I said finally. “Tell me about these guys. ”

She cocked her head to the side, suspicious. “Don’t do me any favors, ” she said. “If you’re not ready to be out there, it’ll show. We both know that. It’s not even worth the trouble. ”

“Just tell me, ” I said.

“Okay. They’re all going to be sophomores, and…”

She kept talking, and I half listened, noticing at the same time that Truth Squad was stretching the theme considerably as they started playing “Dead Man’s Curve, ” not exactly the kind of song that fired anyone up to plunk down five figures on a shiny new car. Don picked up on this too, glaring at Dexter until the song was cut short, just as the curve was about to get really deadly: instead, they segued, a bit clumsily, into “The Little Old Lady from Pasadena. ”

I could see Dexter rolling his eyes, between verses, back at John Miller, and felt that twinge again, then quickly shook it off, not wanting to risk another set of told‑ you‑ so’s from Chloe. It was time to get back on that horse, before I’d done permanent damage to my reputation.

“… so we set it up for tonight, seven o’clock. We’re all meeting at Rigoberto’s for dinner. It’s free breadstick night. ”

“Okay, ” I said. “Count me in. ”

The thing about Out There that you always forget is how, at times, it can really suck.

This is what I was thinking that night around eight‑ thirty, as I sat at a table at Rigoberto’s, chewing on a stale breadstick and wishing my date, Evan, a chunky guy with tangled shoulder‑ length hair that desperately needed washing, would shut his mouth when he chewed.

“Tell me again, ” I said under my breath to Chloe, who was already cuddled up close with her date, the only good‑ looking one in the bunch, “where you found these guys? ”

“The Wal‑ Mart, ” she said. “They were buying trash bags, and so was I. Can you believe it? ”

I could. But this was because Evan had already told me that the day they’d met Chloe they had been on their way to pick up litter. Their fantasy game club had adopted a stretch of highway and spent one Saturday a month cleaning it up. The rest of their time, apparently, was spent drawing up sketches of their game “alter egos” and combating strange trolls and demons by rolling dice in somebody’s basement. In just an hour, I’d already learned more about Orcs, Klingons, and some master race invented by Evan himself called the Triciptiors than I ever cared to know.

Chloe’s date, Ben, was cute. It was clear, however, that she had not taken the trouble to look past him when making these plans: Evan was, well, Evan, and the twins David and Darrin both were sporting Star Wars T‑ shirts and had spent the entire dinner so far ignoring Lissa and Jess completely while discussing Japanese animation. Jess was shooting Chloe death looks, while Lissa just smiled politely thinking, I knew, about her KaBoom coworker, P. J., and the crush she had on him that she thought wasn’t obvious. This, basically, was Out There, and I realized in the last four weeks I’d not missed it one bit.

After dinner the brothers Darrin and David headed home with Evan in tow, clearly as smitten with us as we had been with them. Jess begged off by saying she had to put her little brothers to bed, and Chloe and Ben stayed at the table, feeding each other tiramisu, leaving just me and Lissa.

“What now? ” she asked me as we climbed into my car. “Bendo? ”

“Nah, ” I said. “Let’s just go to my house and watch movies or something. ”

“Sounds good. ”

As we turned into my driveway, the headlights curving across the lawn, the first thing I saw was my mother sitting on the front steps. She had her shoes off, her elbows on her knees, and when she saw me she stood up, waving her arms, as if she was in the middle of the ocean clinging to a life raft instead of twenty feet from me on solid ground.

I got out of the car, Lissa behind me. I hadn’t taken two steps when I heard someone off to my left say, “Finally! ”

I turned around: it was Don, and he was holding a croquet mallet in one hand. His face was red, his shirt untucked, and he looked pissed.

“What’s going on? ” I asked my mother, who was now coming across the grass to us, quickly, her hands fluttering.

“What’s going on, ” Don said loudly, “is that we have been locked out of the house for the last hour and a half with no way of gaining entry. Do you realize how many messages we’ve left for you on your phone? Do you? ”

He was yelling at me. This took a moment to compute, simply because it had never happened before. None of my previous stepfathers had taken much interest in the parenting role, even when Chris and I were young enough to actually have tolerated it. Honestly, I was speechless.

“Don’t just stand there. Answer me! ” he bellowed, and Lissa stepped back, a nervous look on her face. She hated confrontations. No one in her family yelled, and all discussions and disagreements were held in controlled, sympathetic, indoor voices.

“Don, honey, ” my mother said, coming up beside him. “There’s no need to be upset. She’s here now and she can let us in. Remy, give me your keys. ”

I didn’t move, keeping my eyes on Don. “I was at dinner, ” I said in an even voice. “I didn’t have my phone with me. ”

“We have called you six times! ” he said. “Do you have any idea how late it is? I have a sales meeting at seven A. M. tomorrow, and I don’t have time to be standing around out here trying to break into my own house! ”

“Don, please, ” my mother said, reaching out a hand to touch his arm. “Calm down. ”

“How did you get home if you don’t have your keys? ” I asked her.

“Well, ” she said. “We‑ ”

“We drove home one of the new year models, ” Don snapped, “and that’s not the point. The point is that we have left messages for you and your brother which were not returned or acknowledged and we have been out here for over an hour, about to bust out a goddamn window‑ ”

“But she’s here now, ” my mother said cheerfully, “so let’s just get her key and we’ll get inside and everything will be‑ ”

“Barbara, for Christ’s sake, do not interrupt me when I’m talking! ” he snapped, whipping his head around to look at her. “Jesus! ”

For a second, it was very quiet. I looked at my mother, feeling a pang of protectiveness that I hadn’t experienced in years, since it was usually me either yelling at her or, more often, just wishing I could. But regardless of the anger my mother could flare in me, there had always been a clear line, at least in my mind, de marking the short but always clear distance between the We that was my family and whatever man was in her life. Don couldn’t see it, but I could.

“Hey, ” I said to Don, my voice low, “don’t talk to her like that. ”

“Remy, honey, give me your keys, ” my mother said, reaching out to touch my arm. “Okay? ”

“You, ” Don said, pointing right in my face. I stared at his fat finger, focusing only on it, while everything else‑ Lissa standing off to the side, my mother pleading, the smell of the summer night‑ fell away. “You need to learn some respect, missy. ”

“Remy, ” I heard Lissa say softly.

“And you, ” I said to Don, “need to respect my mother. This is nobody’s fault but your own and you know it. You forgot your keys, you got locked out. End of story. ”

He just stood there, breathing hard. I could see Lissa shrinking down the driveway, bit by bit, as if with just another couple of steps she might be able to disappear completely.

“Remy, ” my mother said again. “The keys. ”

I pulled them out of my pocket, my eyes still on Don, then handed them past him to her. She took them and started quickly up the lawn. Don was still staring at me, as if he thought I might back down. He was wrong.

The porch light snapped on suddenly, and my mother clapped her hands. “We’re in! ” she called out. “All’s well that ends well! ”

Don dropped the croquet mallet. It hit the driveway with a thunk. Then he turned his back to me and headed up the walk, taking long, angry strides. Once up the front steps, he pushed past my mother, ignoring her as she spoke to him, and disappeared down the hallway. A second later I heard a door slam.

“What a baby, ” I said to Lissa, who was now down by the mailbox, pretending to be engrossed with reading the new letters STARR/DAVIS that had recently been affixed to it.

“He was really mad, Remy. ” She came up the driveway carefully, as if expecting Don to throw himself back out the door, ready for round two. “Maybe you should have just said you were sorry. ”

“Sorry for what? ” I said. “For not being psychic? ”

“I don’t know. It just might have been easier. ”

I looked up at the house, where my mother was standing in the doorway, hand on the knob, glancing down the hall to the darkened kitchen, the direction in which Don had stalked off. “Hey, ” I called out. She turned her head. “What’s his problem, anyway? ”

I thought I heard him saying something from inside, and she eased the door shut a bit, turning her body away from me. And suddenly I felt completely strange, like the distance between us was much much greater than what I could see from where I was standing. Like that line, always so clear to me, had somehow shifted, or never even been where I’d thought it was at all.

“Mom? ” I called out. “You okay? ”

“I’m fine. Good night, Remy, ” she said. And then she shut the door.

“I’m telling you, ” I said to Jess. “It was totally messed up. ”

Across from me, Lissa nodded. “Bad, ” she said. “Like scary bad. ”

Jess sipped on her Zip Coke, pulling her sweater tighter over her shoulders. We’d gone by and knocked on her window after leaving my mom’s, when I decided I wasn’t about to spend the evening under the same roof as Don and his temper. Plus there was something else: this weird feeling of betrayal, almost, as if for so long my mother and I had been on one team, and now suddenly she’d up and defected, pushing me aside for someone who would stick a finger in my face and demand respect he hadn’t even begun to earn.

“It’s really kind of normal behavior, ” Jess told me. “This whole my‑ house‑ my‑ rules thing. Very male. Very Dad‑ esque. ”

“He’s not my dad, ” I told her.

“It’s a dominance thing, ” Lissa chimed in. “Like dogs. He was making clear to you that he is the alpha dog. ”

I looked at her.

“I mean, you’re the alpha dog, ” she said quickly. “But he doesn’t know that yet. He’s testing you. ”

“I don’t want to be the alpha dog, ” I grumbled. “I don’t want to be a dog, period. ”

“It’s weird that your mom would put up with that, ” Jess said in her thinking voice. “She’s never been the type to take much crap, either. That’s where you get it from. ”

“I think she’s scared, ” I said, and they both looked at me, surprised. I was surprised myself; I didn’t realize I thought this until I said it aloud. “I mean, of being alone. This is her fifth marriage, you know? If it doesn’t work out‑ ”

“‑ and you’re leaving, ” Lissa added. “And Chris is this close to being married himself‑ ”

I sighed, poking at my Zip Diet with my straw.

“‑ so she thinks this is her last chance. She has to make it work. ” Lissa sat back, ripping open the bag of Skittles she’d bought and popping a red one in her mouth. “So maybe, she would pick him over you. Just for now. Because he’s the one she has to live with, you know, indefinitely. ”

Jess eyed me as I heard this, as if expecting some reaction. “Welcome to adulthood, ” she said. “It sucks as much as high school. ”

“This is why I don’t believe in relationships, ” I said. “They’re such a crutch. Why would she put up with his baby ways like this? Because she thinks she needs him or something? ”

“Well, ” Lissa said slowly, “maybe she does need him. ”

“Doubtful, ” I said. “If he moved out tomorrow she’d have a new prospect within a week. I’d lay money on it. ”

“I think she loves him, ” Lissa said. “And love is needing someone. Love is putting up with someone’s bad qualities because they somehow complete you. ”

“Love is an excuse to put up with shit that you shouldn’t, ” I replied, and Jess laughed. “That’s how it gets you. It throws off the scales so that things that should weigh heavily don’t seem to. It’s a crock. A trap. ”

“Okay, then, ” Lissa said, sitting up straighter, “let’s talk about untied shoelaces. ”

“What? ” I said.

“Dexter, ” she said. “His shoelaces were always untied. Right? ”

“What does that have to do with anything? ”

“Just answer the question. ”

“I don’t remember, ” I said.

“Yes, you do, and yes, they were. Plus he was clumsy, his room was a mess, he was completely unorganized, and he ate in your car. ”

“He ate in your car? ” Jess asked incredulously. “No shit? ”

“Just the one time, ” I said, and ignored the it’s‑ a‑ miracle‑ throw‑ up‑ a‑ hallelujah face she made. “What’s the point here? ”

“The point is, ” Lissa cut in, “that these are all things that would have made you send any other guy packing within seconds. But with Dexter, you put up with them. ”

“I did not. ”

“You did, ” she said, pouring more Skittles into her hand, “and why, do you think, were you willing to overlook these things? ”

“Don’t say it was because I loved him, ” I warned her.

“No, ” she said. “But maybe you could have loved him. ”

“Unlikely, ” I said.

“Extremely unlikely, ” Jess agreed. “Although, you did let him eat in your car, so I suppose anything’s possible. ”

“You were different around him, ” Lissa said to me. “There was something new about you that I’d never seen before. Maybe that was love. ”

“Or lust, ” Jess said.

“Could have been, ” I said, leaning back on my palms. “But I never slept with him. ”

Jess raised her eyebrows. “No? ”

I shook my head. “I almost did. But no. ” The night he’d played the guitar for me, that first time, picking out the chords of my father’s song, I’d been ready to. It had already been a few weeks, which at one time might have been considered a record for me. But just as we’d gotten close, he’d pulled back a bit, taking my hands and folding them against his chest, instead pressing his face into my neck. It was subtle, but clear. Not yet. Not now. I’d wondered what he was waiting for, but hadn’t found a good time to ask him. And now I’d never know.

“That, ” Lissa said, snapping her fingers as if she’d just discovered uranium, “proves it. Right there. ”

“Proves what? ” I said.

“Any other guy you would have slept with. No question. ”

“Watch it, ” I said, pointing at her. “I have changed, you know. ”

“But you would have, right? ” she asked. She was so insistent, this new Lissa. “You knew him well enough, you liked him, you’d been hanging out for a while. But you didn’t. And why is that? ”

“I have no idea, ” I said.

“It’s because, ” she said grandly, sweeping her hand, “it meant something to you. It was bigger than just one guy and one night and out you go, free and clear. Part of the change I saw in you. That we all saw. It would mean more, and that scared you. ”

I glanced at Jess but she was scratching her knee, choosing not to get into this. And what did Lissa know anyway? It was Dexter who’d stopped things, not me. But then again, I hadn’t tried to push it further, and there had been other chances. Not that that meant anything. At all.

“See? ” Lissa said, pleased with herself. “You’re speechless. ”

“I am not, ” I said. “It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. ”

“Dexter, ” she said quietly, “was the closest you’ve come to love, Remy. Real love. And you dodged it, at the last second. But it was close. Real close. You could have loved him. ”

“No way, ” I said. “Not a chance. ”

When I got home later that night I realized, irony of ironies, that I was locked out. I’d given my key to my mother, and never thought to ask for it back. Luckily, Chris was home. So I just tapped on the window over the kitchen sink, making him jump about four feet vertically and shriek like a schoolgirl, which made having to forge through the dark and navigate around the pricker bushes in the backyard at least worthwhile.

“Hey, ” he said nonchalantly as he opened the back door, all cool now, as if we both hadn’t just witnessed this particularly spineless behavior. “Where’s your key? ”

“Here, somewhere, ” I said, stopping the door before it slammed shut. “Mom and Don were locked out earlier. ” Then I filled him in on the gory details as he munched on a peanut butter sandwich‑ bread butts again‑ nodding and rolling his eyes in all the right places.

“No way, ” he said as I finished. I shushed him, and he lowered his voice. Our walls, we both knew, were thin. “What a chump. He was yelling at her? ”

I nodded. “I mean, not in a violent way. More in a pouty, spoiled brat kind of way. ”

He looked down at the last remnants of bread butts in his hand. “No surprise there. He’s a total baby. And the next time I trip over one of those Ensures on the side porch someone’s going down. Down. ”

This made me smile, reminding me of how much I really liked my brother. Despite our differences, we did have a history. No one understood where I was coming from the way he did.

“Hey Chris? ” I asked him as he pulled a carton of milk from the fridge and poured himself a glass.

“Yeah? ”

I sat down on the edge of the table, running my hand over the surface. I could feel little pieces of sugar, or salt, fine but distinct beneath my fingers. “What made you decide to love Jennifer Anne? ”

He turned around and looked at me, then swallowed with a glunking noise my mother always screamed at him about when we were kids, saying it made him sound like he was drinking rocks. “Decide to love? ”

“You know what I mean. ”

He shook his head. “Nope. No idea. ”

“What made you, ” I expanded, “feel like it was a worthwhile risk? ”

“It isn’t a financial investment, Remy, ” he said, sticking the milk back in the fridge. “There’s no math to it. ”

“That’s not what I mean. ”

“What do you mean? ”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Forget it. ”

He put his glass in the sink, then ran water over it. “Do you mean what made me love her? ”

I wasn’t sure I could take further discussion of that question. “No. I mean, when you thought about whether or not you wanted to open yourself up, you know, to the chance that you could get really hurt, somehow, if you moved forward with her, what did you think? To yourself? ”

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Are you drunk? ”

“No, ” I snapped. “God. It’s a simple question. ”

“Yeah, right. So simple I still don’t even know what you’re asking. ” He flipped off the light over the sink, then wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “You want to know how I debated about whether or not to fall in love with her? Is that even close? ”

“Forget it, ” I said, pushing off the table. “I don’t even know what I’m trying to find out. I’ll see you in the morning. ” I started toward the foyer, and as I got closer, I could see my keys laid out neatly on the table by the stairs, waiting for me. I slid them into my back pocket.

I was on the second step when Chris appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Remy. ”

“Yeah? ”

“If what you’re asking is how I debated whether or not to love her the answer is I didn’t. Not at all. It just happened. I didn’t ever question it; by the time I realized what was happening, it was already done. ”

I stood there on the stairs, looking down at him. “I don’t get it, ” I said.

“What part? ”

“Any of it. ”

He shrugged and flipped off the last kitchen light, then started up the stairs, brushing past me. “Don’t worry, ” he said. “Someday, you will. ”

He disappeared down the hall, and a minute later I heard him shut his door, his voice low as he made his required good‑ night‑ again‑ this‑ time‑ by‑ phone call to Jennifer Anne. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and was on my way to bed when I stopped by the half‑ open door of the lizard room.

Most of the cages were dark. The lights for the lizards were kept on timers, which clicked them on and off at just the right cycles to make the lizards believe, I supposed, that they were still sunning themselves on desert rocks instead of sitting in a cage in a converted linen closet. But at the far end of the room, on a middle shelf, one light was on.

It was a glass cage, and the floor of it was covered in sand. There were sticks crisscrossing it, and at the top of one stick were two lizards. As I came closer, I saw that they were entwined‑ not in a mating, nature‑ takes‑ its‑ course kind of way, but almost tenderly, if that was even possible, like they were holding each other. They both had their eyes closed, and I could see the pattern of their ribs, revealed and hidden with each breath they took.

I kneeled down in front of the cage, pressing my index finger against the glass. The lizard on the top opened his eyes and looked at me, unflinching, his pupil widening slightly as he focused on my finger.

I knew this meant nothing. They were just lizards, cold‑ blooded and probably no smarter than the average earthworm. But there was something so human about them, and for a minute all the things that had happened in the last few weeks blurred past in my mind: Dexter and I breaking up, my mother’s worried face, Don’s finger pointing at me, all the way up to Chris shaking his head, unable to put into words what seemed to me, at least, the most simple of concepts. And all of it came down to one thing: love, or the lack of it. The chances we take, knowing no better, to fall or to stand back and hold ourselves in, protecting our hearts with the tightest of grips.

I looked back at the lizard in front of me, wondering if I had finally gone completely crazy. He returned my gaze, now having decided I was not a threat, and then slowly closed his eyes again. I leaned in closer, still watching, but already the light was dimming as the timer kicked in, and before I knew it, everything was dark.