Mean

by Justin Sayre

  As I open the door, I hear my mother talking in the kitchen, and I’m so surprised by the sound that I almost cry a little. Very little, like barely even a tear. I wasn’t expecting her to be home today, but here she is. Maybe she can help me figure things out before she’s off again.

  But probably not.

  Chapter 12

  Have you ever heard of someone lighting up a room? My mom does that. I don’t know how she does it or if it’s actually physically possible, but when she’s around, everything just seems brighter. Colors are more like themselves. Food almost tastes better. I laugh louder and talk more than I ever do when she’s not here. I’m also really funny, but not nearly as funny as she is. No one is as funny as my mother. When I get home from Hebrew school that night, she’s sitting in the kitchen telling Bubbe and Zayde a story about ordering a sandwich, and it’s the funniest story either have ever heard. They’re cracking up; Zayde’s even laughing his old laugh. Apparently, she ordered a pickle and when the guy asked if she wanted a dill pickle, my mother thought he said “Bill” so she said, “I don’t care what he’s called as long as he’s not Harry.” That’s the whole story. The pickle guy laughed. My mother laughed. Everyone’s laughing. This is what she does with simple things. She turns them into magic. I miss that all the time.

  She doesn’t get up from the table when I go over to them, but she pulls me in close to her and hugs me before I can get a word out. My face squishes against her chest, and I can smell the lavender soap she always uses. Sometimes when she’s gone for a very long time, I sniff the bottle in her bathroom just to get the scent of her. I know this all sounds super weird, like I’m obsessed with her, but the truth is, I am. We all are. My mother makes people obsessed with her. Dad doesn’t know what to do without her. When she’s gone for long times, he gets mad and they fight about it, but I think he’s more sad than angry. Hannah freaks out about my mother, which isn’t saying a lot because Hannah freaks out about everybody. But with my mom, it’s different. Hannah doesn’t scream and run up to her. She just gets very quiet and very still, almost like she’s examining her, like she’s an alien person that Hannah’s never seen before. She’ll play with her hands or feel her sweater. She’s preciously curious about my mother and, for some reason, I see that as a more sincere way of showing her love. Hannah adores her.

  “Oh my God, it’s so good to see you!” my mother says with my head against her chest. “You’re getting so big.”

  “She is,” Bubbe says, and I can almost hear her making some sort of face that I know I wouldn’t like if I saw it. My bubbe is great, but she’ll talk about things at the worst possible times, and I’m sure she’s talking about my boobs or something if she hasn’t already.

  I finally pull away, not because I want to, but more out of a chance to at least defend myself. Hannah jumps over to me and grabs my legs, so I hobble over to a seat at the table and put Hannah in my lap. She’s signing to me a mile a minute about Mom being home and Bubbe and Zayde, but I’m barely paying attention to her. Like most times, I can’t take my eyes off my mother.

  This is the way I’m obsessed with her, I guess. I think she’s beautiful. She has amazing teeth and skin, the lightest orange freckles on her arms, and brown hair that people usually only have in commercials. Her eyes are green like cut grapes and they’re big and full of excitement. She’s almost a completely perfect person, except for the fact that you can’t usually count on her and you can’t count on her to be home when she says she’s going to. Besides that, she’s pretty dazzling. And I think she knows both and uses both to get people to like her and forgive her at the same time. I mean, look at Bubbe and Zayde now. Yesterday, they were so upset that she wasn’t home, Bubbe actually said she was going to call her and yell at her about it, but today there’s no yelling. There’s no hurt feelings. Everybody’s laughing and happy, and the pain and real hurt is all gone, or at least it’s not invited to this table.

  “So, are you all ready to become a woman?” my mother asks.

  “I’m getting there.” I smile back.

  “Did you do well with the Reb today, darling?” Bubbe asks, getting a glass of water for Zayde, who needs to take a pill. Zayde’s been laughing so hard, he’s having a little trouble calming down again. I tell them I did and that we talked about mitzvahs today. “Well, you come from a long line of people who do nothing but mitzvahs, did you know that?”

  My mother smiles, a big smile, because she knows my bubbe is going to launch into a family story.

  “And you’re looking at the biggest one right here,” Bubbe says, coming back with the water. She points to Zayde, and my mother takes his hand. Zayde was a lawyer, a very famous one in New York for a very long time. He was part of a big firm that handled famous people’s divorces and money, but Zayde wasn’t part of any of that. Zayde was the “do-gooder.” The firm hired him to take on cases that were important to the law, not the ones that would bring in a lot of money. So, while the rest of the lawyers could make money tending to all the stupid things lawyers need to do to make money, Zayde could fight for the rights of black people in Brooklyn, or women trying to make the same money as men. He was a great man, and it’s strange to talk about him now, but it’s on all our minds, and he smiles after taking another of his pills.

  When Dad gets home, he’s brought sandwiches and stuff for dinner. Bubbe’s upset that he won’t let her cook for us, but both he and Mom say she’s not here to take care of us, she’s here to enjoy. She squinches up her face and says fine, but tomorrow she’s cooking, No Matter What. All through dinner, Mom tells about her recent trip to Chicago and how great a city it is. Such great food and people, it almost sounds like she wishes she were there now, but I don’t want to think that. It’s one of those bad thoughts I’m supposed to forget when she’s home, and I feel guilty for it popping up in my mind.

  After dinner, my parents have a glass of wine with my grandparents and I go up to my room to do some homework, but also to check my phone. Sophie’s texting me pictures of other dresses but none seems right. Ducks is texting a little but he’s mostly just complaining about school or something, it’s hard to tell even after I read them. I answer him a little, but I know there’s something else going on. I keep expecting him to say more, and there’s bubbles and bubbles but then nothing. I don’t want to push it too hard with him and screw things up like I did with Charlie.

  After I finish my algebra homework, there’s a new text from a number I don’t have saved in my phone.

  Sorry you didn’t come for pizza.

  How did Allegra get my number? And why is she texting me? What does she want to talk to me about? Does she need to just rub it in my face a little more that she’s just the sort of stupid girl that Noah goes for? I don’t know what to say back, so I pull out a classic and see if I can stall a little bit from actually having a conversation.

  Sorry New Phone. Who dis?

  That will make her really mad that I don’t instantly know her number or that I don’t have it saved, but come on, she has to know even a little bit that I don’t like her. I mean, she said I didn’t have to wait for her if I didn’t want to, which I obviously didn’t want to.

  It’s Noah.

  Holy s@!%. What?! How the hell did he get my number? Why is he texting me? What does he want? What if it’s not him at all? What if it’s Allegra playing some sort of dumb joke? But a really smart joke because she was able to figure out how much I like Noah. But that would be a lot smarter than I think she is, so maybe it’s not her. But you never know. I certainly don’t. So I text.

  Oh yeah. What’s up?

  See? Simple. Not giving anything away. Not saying anything that could really be held against me.

  I got your number from Allegra. Hope that’s cool.

  Totally.

  How the hell does Allegra have my number? I text Sophie to ask
her if she gave Allegra my number, but she’s not on her phone and I can’t think who else to ask, when there’s another text from Noah.

  You seemed really distracted today, is everything ok?

  Yeah, I’m good.

  Good. Just checking.

  Thanks.

  ok.

  Yeah, I screwed that up. I should have been nicer. I could have been funnier or nicer at least, but how do I know if it’s him or not? How do I know when he’s never texted me before? Why would he text me today? What made this day so different?

  I spend the rest of the evening rereading the texts over and over and over again, wondering if I could have done any of it any better and not knowing what the answer is. Everything else disappears in the light of this new development and the brighter lights that my mother brought home with her pale around the development of Noah texting me. Why the hell is Noah texting me?

  I go to bed with the question still in my head. I sleep with my phone right next to me, waiting and hoping that Sophie will text me back, even though I haven’t told her about Noah. Luckily, she never does. I could text Ducks about it, but he doesn’t know either. The only one who does know is Charlie, and I’ve messed up with him.

  I try to fall asleep, but the texts are so close to my head that I can’t stop reading them. My questions about Noah keep me staring at the ceiling until almost midnight. I know it’s midnight because that’s when Hannah sneaks into my room. Mom and Dad are arguing. They’re not loud, but they’re whisper fighting to keep it down for Bubbe and Zayde. I guess I just wasn’t paying attention.

  Hannah snuggles in beside me and puts her hands on my face until she falls asleep, but I still hear them talking. I pry my arm and my face free and sneak into the bathroom to hear what they’re talking about.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve already said I’m sorry,” Mom says.

  “You’re always sorry. But you’re never here,” Dad whisper-yells back at her.

  “I don’t know what else to say,” Mom says, more upset than I’ve heard her in a long time. “Have you told the kids?”

  “No. I do enough by myself. You want to change everything, you should at least be here to tell them yourself.”

  I sneak back into my room and try to fall asleep, but there’s no chance of that now.

  Chapter 13

  I am apparently becoming one of those girls. One of those stupid girls, and I’m sorry to say it, but seriously, sometimes Allegra just does actually say stupid stuff, like the other day she didn’t know what an adverb was, she thought it meant add a verb, like, just add another one, like in “they were swimming and jumping,” for no reason, but anyway Allegra does girl stuff, girl stuff that I don’t hate but I just don’t get. Like why, to like a guy, do you have to be something else? Why do you have to be quiet about something you like or, like, not want to beat his butt at basketball? Why can’t that be part of liking someone? Why do I have to pretend to, like, be an attachment or why should I hold somebody’s books because their shoe’s untied? I want to be myself, because I like myself, and I know that sounds weird to say, maybe, but I do. I think I know how to be a good person sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes you feel like maybe you’re pretty okay. I think I am pretty okay. I like what I think about, and the people I think about, and the way I try to be in the world. I think about that, honestly, I really think about how we are in the world. Like how what you do matters. How when you drop something in an ocean or when you’re mean to a salesclerk for something that’s obviously not their fault, I think that matters. It all matters, you hope, or at least I do. I hope that it does. I hope being good matters. I hope that even if there isn’t a God in a white beard sitting on a cloud, it matters that you were nice to people. That you were kind. Even when they called you mean. That through it all you tried to be pretty okay. That’s a huge thing to think about, but I do, and I don’t know that I can have those thoughts and like a boy at the same time, because that doesn’t seem possible.

  Because that all goes out the window when I think about Noah. All of it. I don’t think about anything else. All I think about, and all I want to think about, is how I can get him to like me more and what I have to be like to make that happen. I forget about the rest and concentrate just on him. And while I like him, I don’t really like that. I have lots of other things to think about. So many things.

  I mean, I’m becoming a woman, and I don’t even have a dress.

  Charlie’s not texting back.

  Zayde is so sick looking.

  Hannah is supposed to get her implants in a month.

  And my mom and dad have something to tell us.

  Something that’s going to change everything.

  People only have to tell you bad things. People want to tell you good things.

  And I think I know what it’s going to be.

  I think they’re going to get a divorce.

  I hate that I think that, but I really do. She’s never home, and he’s not happy about it. I can tell. He tries not to show me, but I see. My dad is sad all the time. Honestly. It’s why I don’t want to bother him with things like bras and stupid stuff that I can handle anyway. I mean, I got the sports bra, didn’t I?

  I think they’re going to get a divorce, and I think my mother is going to move to Cleveland to work at the clinic there because they love her, and I’ll have to fly back and forth with Hannah, and we’ll never see them together again, and it’ll all be awful. And then they’ll both be sad.

  Maybe Mom is sad already, I don’t know. I don’t really see her enough to know, and I’m not saying that to be a brat, I’m saying it because I actually don’t see her much. Even when she’s home, she still has late hours. I’m not mad about her saving other people’s lives, that’s a totally awesome thing that she does, but I don’t understand why the great parts about people get to cancel out the crappy parts of them too. You can be great at something, so great that everybody in the world wants you, but you can also be not great about being home, and I can be mad about that if I want to be.

  I get mad that my mom’s not around. I don’t want to but I do. I want to be chill about it and see the bigger picture, but a lot of the time I can’t. A lot of the time I’m just mad because nobody told me a definite time when she was coming home because they didn’t want to get my hopes up. I’m mad because I don’t feel like I’m allowed to be mad. I mean, she comes in smiling, with stories about ordering a sandwich and everything’s supposed to be fine. It’s not fine. We miss her. And we know she’s doing good, but we just want to be part of it. Sometimes I just wish she would text me more. It could even be something gross, or dumb, or nagging, or just a hello, and that would be amazing. I’m becoming a woman all on my own over here, and I don’t know what to do about it, and that’s the biggest picture I can see right now.

  I wish I could ask her things. I wish I could show her the texts from Noah. I think about them all day. I can’t manage to think about anything else. I’m so scattered, I forgot my jacket this morning. Not once but twice, and it got so late that Rosalinda had to call me an Uber just to get to school. I’ve been so crazy since last night because of the texts from Noah. Well, that and the explosion of my family. But a lot of it is still Noah. I said I was becoming one of those girls. I keep reading the texts. It’s Noah. It’s Noah. It’s Noah. Is it like: IT’s NoAH or It’s noAH? And now I’m a crazy person, and I don’t have anyone to talk with about it.

  I walk through most of school in a daze. I don’t even pay attention at lunch today. I’m so distracted that I miss that they brought out tater tots halfway through because they ran out of regular fries. I didn’t even get any. I thought it was impossible to make me miss out on tots but when tots were offered, I got no tots. No tots for me. I never thought this day would come, but here it is. And it’s Noah’s fault, and my mother’s fault, and I hate and love them both, and I
don’t know what to do.

  I like him so much, but I don’t want to like him if it means I have to be someone else. I want to be myself and not have to worry about what anybody else thinks or where anybody else is or isn’t and who is disappointed either way. I don’t want to be what somebody else wants, because I know how bad it is when you don’t feel wanted.

  Sometimes I don’t feel wanted with my mom. If she wanted me around, I would be around, or she would be. Sometimes I have to believe she chooses not to be around, and I’m trying to be okay with that, but it still hurts. I know I’m being so crazy serious about a stupid text and a fight I wasn’t supposed to hear, but that’s the whole picture for me right now. I can’t think about being good in the world because my whole world is revolving around these two things. I hate that. But I don’t know what else to do.

  I want to go back to being myself, but I don’t feel like there’s room for me at the moment. I feel like I have to change or fix something for any of this to make sense, and even if I do, I don’t know that it’ll make a difference. But I also don’t want to change. I don’t think I should have to. I don’t think anybody should have to change. I said that to Sophie about the stupid Halloween costume thing with her ex, and I’d say it to Charlie if he’d reply to a text. You shouldn’t have to change a thing about yourself to be loved. You shouldn’t. I don’t want anybody to, and maybe that’s why I know they’re getting a divorce, because they’re tired of trying to change. They fight, but they don’t fight angry, it’s like they fight sad. It’s lazy and it just makes you angry because you don’t remember being anything else.