Where It All Lands

by Jennie Wexler

  “Seriously?” She crosses her arms over her chest, then rolls her eyes. “It was nice. You?”

  “It was good,” I say.

  I should’ve gone to Dino’s after the Thanksgiving game. Anything to avoid what went down at home. When I got there, Mom was in the kitchen, a fresh turkey glistening, the whole house smelling like stuffing. She darted around the dining room table, setting three places, using our best china. Her pointless hope gave me hope, even when I knew better. And sure enough, as the sun set, the house got quiet anticipating a guest who was never arriving. Mom kept checking the time and shaking her head at her phone. I knew Dad wasn’t coming, and if I’m being completely honest, I knew he wasn’t coming even when I told everyone at the game that he was. Finally, after the turkey got cold, our phones buzzed at the same time. He didn’t even have the decency to call.

  Dad

  Got caught up. See you guys soon.

  Mom pushed her phone so hard, it slid across the kitchen island and onto the floor. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. So I crashed in my room and didn’t come out. Mom didn’t check on me all weekend.

  But I don’t tell Stevie any of it. That’s not why I waited out here in the freezing cold all afternoon.

  “I should get going,” she says, picking up her sax case. That fireplace smell wafts through the air and I bet some family is sitting down to dinner, all happy and cozy. The only person who ever made me feel like that was Stevie. She starts heading down the sidewalk again, but I can’t let her walk away.

  “You know when you walk into a room, it’s all you?” I shout after her. This isn’t the exact speech I had planned, but it’s close enough. She stops abruptly but doesn’t turn around.

  “You’re the only one I see. I could be lost in a room full of people, but when I see you, it’s like no one else matters.”

  I pause, staring at the back of her coat.

  “I’m listening,” she says, her back still to me. I take a deep breath and keep talking.

  “Ray kissed me, not the other way around. I didn’t want it to happen. I’m so sorry it happened. Please, you have to believe me.”

  Stevie turns, the tip of her nose pink and her cheeks flushed. She opens her mouth, then closes it again.

  “I really need to go,” she says softly, before turning and walking away from me.

  * * *

  I head inside and rip the hood off my head. Mom’s in the kitchen polishing off a glass of chardonnay. She places the glass in the sink and checks her phone, shaking her head.

  “Mom?”

  She finally looks at me and sighs.

  “You must be freezing,” she says, enveloping me in a hug and rubbing my shoulders. “What were you doing out there for so long?”

  “Nothing.” I wipe my nose on my sleeve, longing to be upstairs in my room. “I’m gonna head up.”

  “I made dinner reservations.” Mom’s smile is too wide, all teeth, but her eyes don’t crinkle at the corners. I trail her to the mudroom, unease hitting my stomach as she rummages through the closet. “Albert’s going to be here any minute.”

  She grabs a long fur coat and my North Face, pushing the jacket at me. I rush to the living room window and pull the curtains back. Sure enough, a black SUV slows to a stop in front of the curb.

  “Your dad’s waiting at Keens.” She fastens her coat and heads for the foyer.

  “He sent Albert?” I ask, referring to Dad’s driver, as Mom grabs her bag and opens the front door. I follow her to the car and as we get in Al tips his hat to me. As much as Al is the man, it feels wrong to be driven around like royalty when some kids in my school don’t even have a car. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed by what we have, acutely aware of my advantages and the pressure to do something great with it all. I sink down in my seat, the weight of responsibility pushing hard against my chest, making it difficult to breathe.

  “My man,” Al says, and all at once I’m ten years old, riding with Dad to a Knicks game, or headed to see one of his clients backstage, or on my way to meet him for one of our weekly dinners, which were always at Keens.

  “Only the best for the best,” he would tell me.

  The leather seats are cold against my body. I lean my head against the window, staring at the sidewalk, wishing I was still freezing my ass off outside with Stevie. Mom sits next to me and fishes through her bag, the one that cost more than a piece of furniture.

  “What’s this about?” I ask, as we merge onto the turnpike, cars whizzing by, everyone rushing somewhere.

  “Your dad wanted to see you,” Mom says carefully, and it’s bullshit, I can tell. I don’t ask her anything else because, frankly, I’m afraid of the answer.

  When we walk inside Keens, the maître d’ nods as we step into the mahogany-paneled room. Tiny candles centered on white tablecloths light our way through the restaurant, and a plate carrying a fifty-dollar steak glides past us, precariously balanced on a waiter’s hand. We head for Dad’s table, the one in the back away from the main dining room. He’s about halfway through a glass of scotch when we reach him. He stands as we sit, patting me on the back and pulling out Mom’s chair. I have no patience for his theatrics tonight.

  “Where’s what’s-her-face?” I can’t stand to say her name. She’s not that much older than me, which is disgusting. And before her, Dad was actually, you know, my dad. Once he started seeing her, he stopped caring about Mom and me.

  “Vicky’s back at the apartment,” Dad says carefully.

  “Where were you?” I demand, leaning across the table.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, looking at Mom for answers, but Mom stares at the napkin folded in her lap.

  “My show. Old Silver. Thanksgiving dinner. Where were you?”

  “Oh.” Dad takes a slow sip of scotch. “Got tied up with stuff. You know how it is. I’ll catch the next one, promise.” He flashes me a smile but doesn’t say sorry. He doesn’t even look sorry. Mom eyes him.

  “Listen, Andrew, we wanted to talk to you.”

  “Your father and I…” Mom starts to say.

  “We’ve come to a mutual decision.”

  “Well it wasn’t exactly mutual,” Mom says under her breath and Dad puts his hand over her wrist, the light reflecting off her gumball-size diamond engagement ring. It kills me that she still wears that thing.

  “We’ve decided to get a divorce.”

  “Well that’s the fucking shocker of the century.” I stand.

  “Andrew, sit.” Dad glares at me and I plop down in the chair. A waiter appears and sets down three steaks, with an assortment of side dishes. I spoon mashed potatoes and creamed spinach onto my plate, but I have no intention of eating. “Vicky and I are having a baby. You’re going to be a big brother.”

  It’s the sentence I longed to hear as a little kid, the promise of a built-in best friend. But this news is all wrong, stinging like rubbing alcohol in an open wound.

  “You’re replacing us.” My voice catches and the spoon shakes in my hand. I drop it on the tablecloth, creamed spinach staining the pristine fabric.

  “Andrew, no,” Dad says, but I don’t want to hear it. I can’t even look at him.

  “That’s not what this is,” Mom says, a futile attempt. It’s obvious even she doesn’t believe it.

  “How much is he paying you?” A rage builds in me, a volcano that’s about to rip wide open. I need to know the price tag for keeping Mom so calm. No amount of money could keep me from going off right now.

  “Andrew, enough.” Dad takes off his glasses and stares at me. “You’re seventeen. You’re not a little kid anymore. Man up.”

  When he says those words, I feel like a little kid. I feel like a little kid so much that my throat burns. My nostrils flare and I swallow it back.

  “What does that even mean? Man up? To be like you? Well, fuck that, Dad.” I stand again.

  “Drew, sit,” Mom says, but I don’t listen. She looks at my father and sighs, fiddling with a diamond nec
klace that sits above her collar bone. “We never intended to hurt you like this.”

  “We?” I yell way too loud for this fancy restaurant. “Like you had a choice. Face it, Mom, Dad traded us in for a newer model.” My stomach twists as those vile words shoot from my mouth. I expect to see hurt on Mom’s face, but instead she narrows her eyes and glares at Dad.

  “You sit down right now,” Dad hisses at me, his eyes darting around the restaurant. I don’t give a shit if anyone hears me. Mom shifts away from Dad and pushes her plate across the table.

  “He’s right, Don,” she says softly.

  “Mom, let’s go,” I extend my hand to her and she hesitates, looking at me, then at Dad. Dad won’t meet her eyes, so she stands, taking my hand. We leave him, surrounded by steak and money.

  * * *

  It’s been a few days since the Keens dinner and my plan is to play basketball until I forget about Dad. I stand outside after school, throwing shot after shot, hoping Shane comes by, but he doesn’t make an appearance. He hasn’t been by in a few weeks. As night falls around me and my fingers begin to cramp, thoughts of Dad still torture my mind. Even though Shane never showed, I head for his house because the fact is, he’s my best friend, the one I need right now.

  Shane opens his front door and stares at me. He takes in my matted hair as a chilly gust of November air cuts through my sweatshirt. I march past him and sit on the leather sectional in his living room. There’s a fire going in the stone fireplace that extends all the way to the ceiling. Even though the heat warms my cheeks I shudder into myself.

  “Are you okay? You don’t seem like … you.”

  I sigh, pulling my hair back then letting it fall around my face. I really need a shower.

  “It’s official. My parents are getting divorced.” I grab one of the couch pillows and hug it against my chest. Ever since I saw those unsigned divorce papers, I expected it. But expecting isn’t experiencing. Expecting still has a sliver of hope attached. Experiencing is definite, no rewinding, no last-minute script change.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, sitting next to me. “When did this happen?” he asks, as he tries to piece it all together, his eyes concerned. Shane should already know about my parents. At first I wasn’t ready to talk, hoping to stuff it all down, ignore it until it went away. But it didn’t go away. Instead this disgust I have for my father keeps growing inside me, an unstoppable weed squeezing out all the love I ever held for him. And now I’m afraid if I don’t talk, it’ll consume me.

  “A few days ago. My dad’s having a baby with his girlfriend. I’m going to be a big brother.” I chuck the pillow at the couch.

  “I take it you’re not happy,” Shane says, meeting my eyes.

  I shake my head, afraid to speak the words out loud. But I can’t pretend in front of the one person who sees right through me. “I’m jealous of a kid I’m supposed to love. A kid that’s not even born yet. What kind of person does that make me?”

  “It doesn’t make you anything. You can’t help how you feel.” Shane shifts his gaze to the floor. “I really thought your parents would work it out.”

  “Well, shit doesn’t always work out.”

  “Maybe not now, maybe not a year from now. But one day, you’ll be okay.”

  “How can you be so sure of that?”

  “Because you’re you. There’s a reason you’re my best friend, even if you drive me nuts most of the time. You don’t see it, but you’re a survivor, the kind of guy who gets through stuff and is better on the other side. Take the day at the skate park. You turned that around into the best day of your life. And now, you’re the guy who lives for the moment, instead of planning everything out. Not everyone can do that. Plus, you stick up for me, even though I hate it. You rise above every bad situation and find a way to go on, to really live. And you help everyone around you do the same. This is no different.”

  “I wish that’s how I saw myself,” I say, because it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way.

  “Well I do,” Shane says, smirking. “And I’m smarter than you, so…”

  He is smarter than me and kinder and a better musician. Even though the coin landed on heads, Shane’s the obvious choice. I’m quicksand, losing it all with nothing to grab hold of. And yeah, maybe I’m a guy who wants to make it right. But it’s not enough. Because I’m also the guy Stevie’s dad hates, the guy who kissed his ex, the guy whose dad left him to start another family. I’m not enough. And then all at once, it hits me—the reason Shane hasn’t been by for basketball. But I ask him anyway, because I need to hear him say it.

  “Why haven’t you been over for basketball?”

  Shane stammers then collects himself.

  “Stevie’s been here. We’ve been practicing for All-State.”

  Even though I don’t have the right, I flinch at his words, a slight twinge eating at my stomach.

  “I thought you only practice once a week?” I ask carefully.

  “We’ve been practicing a bit more lately.” Shane won’t look at me, and I wonder if he feels it too—the crack between us that’s threatening to split wide open. “I think I’m going to tell her.”

  “Please, Shane,” I beg him. I need a little more time, another chance to ask for forgiveness. If Shane tells Stevie about the coin toss, she’ll never forgive me. No more chances.

  “Just tell her, okay?” Shane’s eyes are serious, but I don’t nod in agreement. He sighs and throws a basketball game up on his flatscreen. We sit here in silence, the crooked crack extending a bit further, two halves of a lifelong friendship barely holding on.

  CHAPTER 14

  Stevie

  I’m on my way to second period when Drew rounds the corner, his hair hanging limp like he hasn’t showered all week. His eyes are bloodshot, the sight of him making something within me break. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve already forgiven him. Last week, as he stood outside his house, remorse pouring from his eyes, I knew he was telling the truth. But even though I’ve forgiven him, I haven’t told him. The thing is, the past few weeks have been, I don’t know, easier. My audition piece is almost ready, and my parents have been pretty chill. Dad took me to a fancy sushi place in the city on his day off. Just me and him. And even though he still hasn’t warmed to the idea of music school, he pointed out some of the NYU dorms as we drove past, a small flame of excitement flickering in his eyes.

  So now when Drew approaches me, I freeze. Part of me wants to talk to him and make everything right. But another part of me wants to avoid it all. So that’s what I do, ducking into the girls’ bathroom.

  I pull gloss from my bag and smear it on my lips. The mirror is cloudy, my reflection only partly visible. A lighter clicks from behind one of the stall doors and a small exhale sends a puff of smoke through the air.

  “Shit,” says a hushed voice.

  I crouch down and Converse shuffle back and forth against the tile as the toilet flushes. The door squeaks open revealing Ray, her eyes sunken and her blond hair hanging over a gray sweatshirt covered in tiny white hearts.

  “Don’t tell anyone.” She pulls her hair into a neat ponytail. “I’d get kicked off the team if I was caught smoking in school. Maybe I should get kicked off.” She steps next to me and we stare at each other in the mirror as she dabs concealer under her eyes.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I’m sure you saw the way I completely screwed up our last game.”

  I saw it. Everyone saw it. Fans stomped their feet, shaking the metal bleachers as Ray geared up for the game-winning field goal. It was hard to tell from way up in the stands, but she seemed unsure of herself as she charged the ball, running at half speed. And when her cleat launched it into the air, it sailed to the right just outside of the goal. Ray ripped off her helmet and threw it on the sidelines, storming off the field.

  “I saw it,” I say as she turns on the sink. She punches at the soap dispenser, then lets water rush over her hands. When she’s done, she grabs for a pape
r towel but there are none left.

  “Now I have to work extra hard to keep my spot on the team.” Ray dries her hands on her ripped jeans. She pulls her sweatshirt to her nose and inhales. “Do I smell like smoke?”

  “No,” I say, heading for the door, desperate to get away from her.

  “I fucked up,” she says again, as my hand touches the handle.

  “I told you I saw it.” I’m losing patience and she doesn’t deserve my sympathy. “I gotta go.”

  “No, at Tom’s party,” she says quietly, and I glance over my shoulder.

  Ray stares at the soap dispenser, her eyes glassy. “I’m sorry. Like, really sorry. I don’t know why I did it. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “You told me you were cool with everything,” I say, echoing her words from September. “Were you lying?”

  “I didn’t think so,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “But maybe I was. Maybe I was lying to myself, trying to forget about him, you know?”

  “What you did was so—”

  “Shitty, I know. I’ve been hating myself for it ever since.”

  Ray’s not the confident girl I thought she was. Nowhere close. Even in this dirty mirror, I see her clearly now. She sits on the radiator and tightens the laces on her sneakers. Dirt cakes the bottoms. “You should know he didn’t kiss me back,” she says, looping one lace over the other. “He’s a solid guy and it’s obvious he’s fallen for you.”

  As much as I want to hate Ray for what she did, I can’t. She’s a girl like me, trying to figure it all out but messing up along the way.

  “You know,” I say, our eyes meeting in the mirror. “If it weren’t for this Drew stuff, I think we would have been friends.”

  Ray pops a piece of gum in her mouth and smiles, turning to me.

  “We definitely would have been friends.” She extends a stick of gum at me. “Maybe we still can be?”

  Forgiveness is easy. It’s the forgetting part I’m not so sure about. Friends without trust is a tall order.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, taking the gum.