Something Wild

by Hanna Halperin

  “Marco!” Jonathan shouted, and he made a big show of closing his eyes and spinning around in the water, but the only person who said “Polo” was Simone.

  “Marco!” he said again. Tanya doggy-paddled up to Nessa and splashed her hard in the face. Nessa splashed back and Tanya laughed.

  “Polo,” Simone said again, her voice soft as a wisp, but Jonathan still heard it. He paddled toward her, his eyes closed, and suddenly Nessa understood what her mother meant when she’d said her father was a taker.

  * * *

  —

  SIMONE STAYED THE NIGHT. Their father tried to pretend this was normal, but Nessa could see him stealing glances at Tanya and her, trying to see if this bothered them. Nessa and Tanya slept on the pull-out sofa bed in the living room with the blankets and pillows that their father had bought especially for them to use when they stayed over. When he kissed them good night he asked if they wanted him to sing the moon song, a song their parents used to sing to them when they were little. The idea of her father singing the moon song made Nessa’s skin hurt, but Tanya said yes, so Nessa turned over and stared at the wall and dug her fingernails into her palms while Jonathan sang. The room was dead quiet except for his voice and the song seemed to go on forever.

  * * *

  —

  IN THE MORNING while their father made breakfast, Nessa locked the bathroom door and looked through Simone’s makeup case. It was like a treasure chest in there, with dozens of silver tubes, pink powdery palettes in plastic cases, and various metal instruments whose functions she didn’t know. She liked the way the different tubes and wands felt in her hands—expensive, and mysteriously feminine.

  Then a picture appeared in her head—a picture of Nessa and Simone. It was vivid, fully formed, as though it had always existed, even though this was impossible, since she’d only met Simone yesterday. Simone was showing Nessa how to put on makeup. She was bending down, pressing a brush to her cheeks, blowing the stray flecks from her face. “Close your eyes,” Simone said, while she applied mascara. In the picture, Nessa was herself, but she was older and prettier. It was as if she had taken all her good qualities and gotten rid of all her ugly qualities, and there she was: Nessa, but better.

  In the picture she was getting ready for a date. “Don’t let him try anything you don’t want,” Simone said to her. “Now dab those pretty lips together.” And Simone dabbed her own lips together to show. Though her father wasn’t in the picture, Nessa knew that he was right outside of it, just behind the bathroom door, waiting for them to come out.

  The picture was soothing to imagine and she let herself melt into it. She played it over in her head—the cheeks and the eyes and the lips—the things Simone said to her. But after a few minutes she felt that she should stop. She opened her eyes and forced herself to look at her reflection without warping it in her imagination to look any happier or prettier or skinnier than it actually was.

  She didn’t try the makeup out—she wasn’t so stupid as to paint the evidence all over her face—but she slipped two tubes of lipstick, one shimmery pencil for eyes, and one of the soft rose blushers into her pocket. She fished through the case some more and pulled out a little suede pouch with silver script letters across the front: Salt Lake City, Morgan Jewelers. Inside was a gold chain so light and fragile that when she lowered it into her palm it just felt like a soft tingle before disappearing completely, as though dissolving into her skin. She held it up to her neck to see how it looked, then sat down and took off her sock, and slipped the necklace in before pulling her sock back on her foot.

  * * *

  —

  JONATHAN HAD MADE WAFFLES for breakfast and Nessa ate three of them before anybody else even started their second.

  “Slow down, Ness,” Jonathan said. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

  Nessa shrugged and took several slow bites, opening her mouth wide so that Jonathan could see all the mushed-up waffle inside. She made a point of swallowing hard and that was when she remembered Tanya’s medication.

  “Dad,” she said. “You didn’t give Tanya her pill.”

  “Oh, right. Thanks, Nessa.” Jonathan drizzled more syrup over his waffles. His hair was sticking straight up on one side and the pillow lines tracing his jaw made him look strangely bare, like Nessa was seeing a part of him that should have been covered up. “Tee?” he said. “Let’s get you your pill.”

  And in that moment, Nessa hated her father. “Are you a moron?” she said.

  Jonathan and Tanya and Simone all turned to look at Nessa.

  “Are you a fucking moron?” she said again.

  “Nessa, language—” Jonathan started to say, but Nessa cut him off.

  “Mom told you that she has to take it before eating, otherwise it’s not effective.” She was shouting. “Now if her chest burns it’s all your fault and if she throws up it’s because of you.”

  “Calm down, Nessa. This is not the end of the world.” He turned to Tanya. “Tee, you can take the pill now and you’ll be fine.”

  Tanya nodded and stared down at her half-eaten waffle and Simone stood up in her seat, as though she was about to offer to get Tanya’s pill.

  “You don’t know that,” Nessa said.

  “Excuse me?” Jonathan looked at her and Nessa could see that she was embarrassing him in front of Simone.

  “You don’t know she’ll be fine,” Nessa said. “You act like you know everything, but you don’t.” She stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said. “These waffles taste like shit.” She waited for Tanya to laugh or for her father to yell, but they both stayed quiet. As she hulked out of the room she could feel them watching her and she tugged her shirt down to cover the flabs of skin on her hips that Lorraine called love handles, though Nessa didn’t know why, because there was nothing lovable about them.

  * * *

  —

  NOBODY TOLD LORRAINE about what happened during breakfast. Not Nessa, not Tanya, and not their father. Nessa couldn’t tell if they didn’t say anything because they didn’t want to humiliate Nessa or because they thought that if they told Lorraine, they’d also have to mention Simone.

  * * *

  —

  THAT NIGHT, when Nessa was sure her mother and Tanya were both asleep in the bottom bunk, she pulled out her new makeup from her pockets and turned the ceiling fan so that the cosmetics blade was closest. She put the eyeliner, the lipstick, and the blush next to her watermelon lip gloss. In the dark, she admired her collection, how pretty each item looked, how perfect they all seemed, huddled together like a little family. She imagined how she’d look the next morning in the mirror, how she would watch her face transform from something plain into something beautiful.

  As for the gold necklace that was still hidden in her sock, she decided that she’d give it to her mother. She would sneak it into Lorraine’s bedroom when her mother wasn’t home, put it somewhere visible enough so that Lorraine would find it, but carelessly enough so that she wouldn’t be sure how it got there. At first her mother might be confused. She wouldn’t recall ever having bought a gold necklace and she’d rack her brain, thinking maybe it was a gift from a long time ago that she’d simply forgotten. She might ask Nessa and Tanya if they knew where it came from, and because Tanya actually wouldn’t know, she’d just shake her head and forget about the whole thing.

  Nessa would shrug and say, “I have no idea, Mom, but it looks really nice on you.”

  “You think?” Lorraine would say, touching the shimmer of gold on her neck.

  And Nessa would smile and maybe she’d even hug her mother and then she’d say, “Yes, look in the mirror, Mama. See how beautiful you are.”

  When Tanya gets back from her morning jog, Nessa is out and Jesse still hasn’t returned. Tanya tells Lorraine that she has to run an errand for work, and then leaves in her rental car to meet Simone at their usual spot. Tanya a
nd Simone discovered Rosie’s during Tanya’s junior year of high school, back when she and her stepmother started getting together, just the two of them. Rosie’s is private—a coffee shop tucked away down a side street in Harvard Square. In the warm months, there’s a patio set up out back where they’ve planned to meet today. Their visits aren’t secret exactly, though neither one of them has told anyone else in the family about them.

  When Tanya arrives, her stepmother is already there, sitting at an outdoor table. Simone is wearing a long yellow dress that clings to her slender body, and wedge sandals dangle from her feet. Her hair is shorter than the last time Tanya saw her, cut right at her jawbone, parted on the side. When they’re out, people often mistake them for mother and daughter, and though Tanya never lets it show on her face, she finds pleasure in those moments; the brief charade the two of them play together, standing a touch closer than they usually stand, Simone paying for the both of them.

  Today Simone’s beauty is something of an offense. It practically seems to mock Lorraine.

  That morning, Tanya texted Simone briefly about what happened, so when Simone spots Tanya from across the courtyard and stands to embrace her, there is panic in her stepmother’s movements.

  “I’m glad to see you,” Simone says, kissing Tanya on the cheek. Simone’s worn the same scent for as long as Tanya can remember, a fragrance called Rose Noir that comes in a little glass bottle that sells for one hundred and ninety dollars at Nordstrom. Tanya looked it up.

  “You too,” Tanya says, and she feels a twinge of guilt then, keeping her secret. It was easy not saying anything to Nessa and Lorraine, but keeping the pregnancy from Simone feels more like a lie.

  They both sit, pushing their sunglasses up on their heads. “Ben’s arm is feeling better?” Tanya asks.

  “Fine,” Simone says, waving her hand. “Tanya, how is she? How are you?”

  “Her face looks like hell. But that’ll go away. He came back last night at, like, five a.m.”

  Simone’s eyes grow wide with shock and outrage, and Tanya can’t help but feel comforted by this. “I got him to leave the house, though,” Tanya says.

  “Honey, he’s dangerous,” Simone says. “You shouldn’t be doing this all on your own.”

  “We’re going to get a restraining order.”

  “Good. Oh, thank God.”

  “She’s not being very cooperative.”

  “Your mom?”

  Tanya nods.

  Simone purses her lips. She’s careful not to say anything about Lorraine. She’s always been careful about this. “How’s Nessa?” she asks.

  “She’s in just as much denial about Jesse as my mother is,” Tanya says. “Always has been.”

  A waitress comes with their coffees then, gently setting down two mugs and a small pitcher of cream.

  “May I bother you for some soy milk?” Simone asks the waitress.

  “And a peppermint tea,” adds Tanya. “Thank you.”

  The waitress nods and hurries away.

  “I’m avoiding caffeine these days,” Tanya explains to Simone.

  “Oh, I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have ordered without asking you first.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tanya says. “It’s a new development.”

  “Trouble sleeping?” asks Simone.

  “Not really. Just trying it out.” She doesn’t break eye contact with Simone when she says it, and it occurs to Tanya that she’s a skilled liar. It would never occur to Simone that Tanya might not be telling the truth.

  “Is Eitan coming?”

  Tanya shakes her head.

  “He couldn’t get off work?”

  “He could have, I guess. But it’s too hard for me, balancing everything. Everyone. It would just be more stressful for me, having him here. It’s better this way—keeping things separate.”

  Simone looks as though she’s going to say something, and Tanya knows she’s trying to come up with a gentle way to probe this. “Have you told my dad what happened?” Tanya asks, before Simone has the chance.

  “Not yet,” Simone says. “I will, when I get home. But I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Thanks. And Ben is doing okay?”

  “He’s fine, honey. He got his cast off just in time for the end of baseball season.”

  “Do you have pictures?”

  Simone smiles a little and pulls her phone from her purse, then hands it to Tanya.

  Tanya scrolls through the photographs. “I like this one,” she says, turning the phone to show Simone: Ben in his baseball uniform, cheering from the sidelines. His left arm is in a cast tattooed with autographs, and his right arm is up above his head, triumphant. It surprises Tanya, every time she sees a photo of Ben, and even more when she sees him in person, that he’s her little brother. He doesn’t feel like a brother in the way that Nessa feels like a sister. Tanya loves him, but it’s a distant and simple love; a lesser one. It’s the way Tanya loves her father.

  It’s taken a long time—a decade really—for Tanya to feel comfortable speaking to Simone about her family, but now that she does, her conversations with her stepmother have become a critical piece in enduring her visits with her family. She can be honest with Simone, and when she wants to cut the conversation short, Simone always takes the hint.

  The waitress comes with Tanya’s tea and the pitcher of soy for Simone, and Tanya watches Simone pour the milk into her coffee, white spiraling elegantly into brown.

  When Tanya and Nessa were kids, Tanya hated Simone. Given the circumstances, that was expected, and eventually Tanya got over her hatred toward her stepmother—or maybe it was hatred toward her father that she’d outgrown. Simone was different from her mother. She was polished and confident, with a law degree from Harvard and a summer house on Martha’s Vineyard. She came from a wealthy family and you could see it in the way she interacted with the world. She was used to getting the things she asked for, and when Tanya was around her, she grew used to getting those things, too. When Tanya was applying to law schools, Simone’s father, a retired family court judge, wrote her a letter of recommendation and made a phone call to the dean of admissions at Columbia to “put in a good word.” When Tanya was accepted, Simone was the first person she called with the news.

  Simone was the sort of Jewish, Ivy League–educated, intellectual woman that her father must have always thought he was entitled to, because once he got Simone, he held on tight and never looked back. He committed himself to his life with Simone in a way that Tanya didn’t remember him ever doing with Lorraine. It took Tanya a while to realize this wasn’t Simone’s fault, but a reflection on Jonathan.

  Simone and her family, from Manhattan, were the kind of people with enough social grace not to flaunt their good lot in life—but you could sense it right away when you spoke with them. Their intellect, their quiet confidence—it was like good hygiene. It was just there. But Tanya knew it was more complicated than that. The kind of life that Simone and her father led in Lexington now—the kind of life they were giving Ben—it was expensive, and it was passed down from generation to generation.

  Simone would never say this out loud to Tanya, but she would never raise her son in Arlington in a two-family house, where the schools were good but not great. Ben would probably grow up to go to Harvard and discover a new type of diabetes or be a world-renowned cellist. He’d started taking lessons at age four. “Soon he’s going to have to choose to focus on baseball or the cello,” Simone had told Tanya recently. “Colleges want to see mastery.” Ben’s bedroom is double the size of what hers and Nessa’s was growing up. It’s baseball themed, with baseball wall decor and a collection of signed baseballs displayed on the top shelf of his bookcase. Tanya doesn’t resent Ben for this, and she doesn’t resent Simone. She gets it. It’s natural, she knows, to want to give your kid what you had, and more. The person in all this she resents i
s her father.

  After the divorce, her mother had stayed in the house on Winter Street with Nessa and Tanya. Her father paid Lorraine his part of the mortgage as well as alimony—he continued to for many years—but Lorraine was the one who ended up with less, and therefore, so had Nessa and Tanya. Looking back on this, Tanya isn’t surprised, given her father’s career and the shark he hired as his divorce attorney.

  Her parents both found new partners quickly—and significantly younger. Simone was fourteen years younger than her father and Jesse was ten years younger than her mother. For a while, Tanya had felt personally offended by this: as though her parents had wanted to delete the last decade of their lives and start again with someone who was practically a kid themselves.

  At Tanya’s graduation from law school, all four parents and stepparents sat together, along with Nessa and Eitan and Ben. When Tanya found them afterward in her cap and gown, the women had lunged at her with their phones to take pictures, so eager they had seemed to get away from one another. As she posed for photographs, she watched Jesse and her father make conversation several feet away, both with their arms folded across their chests. Her father was comfortable on the university campus, but Jesse appeared out of place. It was cold that day and over his suit jacket he had on a bright red windbreaker and a Red Sox hat. At one point a student walked by and called out, “Fuck the Red Sox!” and Jesse promptly yelled back, “Fuck you, asshole!”

  Immediately Tanya glanced at her father. Jonathan, she could see, was horrified and amused. He was looking to Simone to share the moment with. He wanted to roll his eyes or quietly laugh, but Simone was avoiding her husband’s gaze, pretending she hadn’t heard Jesse’s comment at all.

  “Don’t start,” Lorraine muttered to Jesse. “Why you’re wearing a Red Sox hat in New York is beyond me.”