In Your Dreams

by Amy Martin

  Chapter 9

  “The Laniers are kind of weird. Just saying.”

  My announcement prompts Gram, who’s wearing a novelty apron with the torso of a woman in a waitress uniform painted on the front, to turn away from the stove, brandishing a wooden spoon. Mom and I sit on either side of the two-person table up against the wall, watching as my grandparents whip up one of their classic meals—vegetable soup and a romaine lettuce salad to start, marinated pork tenderloin and potatoes with red wine gravy for the main course, and a red velvet cake for dessert. After repeatedly offering to help and getting shut down every time, we’ve opted to watch the culinary magic happen while sneaking cherry tomatoes from the salad bowl when Gram and Gramps aren’t looking.

  “They’re weird? Well, now you tell me,” Gram sighs, waving the spoon.

  “Mom, you’re getting soup all over the floor,” my mom points out.

  Gramps takes the dishrag from the sink and crosses to wipe up the splatter from the linoleum. “So the Laniers are weird, are they?” he asks.

  “Well, not weird exactly,” I hedge, thinking back two weeks to when I met Kieran’s parents for the first time. “They’re just very private and kind of…awkward, I guess. It’s hard to put my finger on.”

  “And the girl hates you, right?” Mom weighs in, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth.

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”

  Gramps drops the dishrag in the sink and spins around to face us. “Now that can’t be true. No one hates my Zipperino.”

  “Well, it is true,” I say to his back as he resumes washing utensils and bowls. “She seems, like, jealous of me for hanging out with her brother, like she wants to keep him all to herself or something.”

  “Okay—now that’s weird,” Mom mumbles through a mouthful of tomato.

  Gram whirls around to ask, “April, what are you eating?”

  “Nothing,” she lies after swallowing.

  Gram shoots her a look before telling Gramps “Larry, put a few more tomatoes in the salad, would you?” And then to me: “If the Laniers were so weird, they wouldn’t have accepted our dinner invitation. They’re obviously not strange enough to want to stay locked up in that house by themselves.”

  “They’re probably just a little wary of strangers because of Kieran’s condition,” Gramps says, scooping a handful of cherry tomatoes from a plastic container and dumping them on the salad.

  “Yeah,” Mom agrees. “Life’s tough when you’ve got a unique kid. I should know.” She sticks out her tongue at me, and I grab a towel from the table and zing it at her.

  Gram turns down the burner under the soup pot and smirks at my mother. “I know a little something about raising a unique kid myself,” she notes.

  Once I’m done giggling at them, I draw my knees up to my chin, the heels of my Chuck Taylor’s resting on the edge of the chair. “All kidding aside, though—could everyone please try not to embarrass me tonight?” I beg.

  Gramps, back over at the sink, rinses a fork and shuts off the faucet. “So don’t act like ourselves, in other words.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Seriously, Dad—tonight’s important,” Mom pipes up, and I’m not entirely sure where she’s headed until she completes her thought. “Zip’s angling for a Prom date with the young Mr. Lanier.”

  “Oh, my God, Mom. I am not.”

  “April,” Gram warns, and my mom rolls her eyes before Gram turns to me and asks “When is your Prom, sweetheart?”

  “Sometime in early May, I think.” I roll my shoulders forward as if I don’t care about Prom at all, but Mom settles the question for everyone: “It’s May eighth.”

  Unbelievable.

  “Mom! Are you kidding me? How do you even know that?”

  “I found the date on the school website. What can I say? I’m a little excited for you.”

  “Apparently.” I heave a sigh at her. “But if anyone breathes a word tonight about Prom or pretty much anything having to do with Kieran and me being more than friends—” My unfinished threat hangs in the air because I can’t think of a punishment bad enough to hold over their heads. So I raise an eyebrow to inform them they’ve been warned, and my mom shakes her head in response as the doorbell rings. Gramps slips into “Man of the House” mode, drying his hands on a dishtowel and heading out of the kitchen into the front hallway to answer the door. Gram takes off her apron and places it on the counter, checking her reflection in the window over the sink and running her hands through her hair.

  “You look great, Mom,” my mom tells Gram.

  “Thanks, honey.”

  Mom gets up and links arms with me as we head into the hall, voices at the door drifting back to us. “Do I have lipstick on my teeth?” she whispers to me before curling her lips so I can get a full view of her chompers.

  “No—ewww. Get your mouth out of my face.”

  She drops my arm and glides forward to greet our guests. Gram comes up behind me and pats me on the head before joining my mom and Gramps in the front entry, which is way too small to hold eight people. I already know everyone, so I hang back a bit from the chaos of introductions and coat removals—lighter coats now, since the temperature’s actually staying well above freezing at night—and once Kieran’s given his hoodie to Gramps, I pull him aside into the dining room.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  “Hey.” He glances back out to the hallway at his parents. “I really hope they don’t embarrass me tonight. We never do stuff like this.”

  “My family will embarrass me first. Count on it.”

  He smiles. “Good to know.”

  “So you’re still grounded?” I ask, as his parents had put him on lockdown for a month over our little excursion to the boat launch, which I thought was kind of an extreme punishment for staying out too late. And with end-of-quarter tests coming up next week, we haven’t had much of a chance to talk at school because teachers are actually keeping us busy for once.

  “Nah. Time off for good behavior. Not like I ever go anywhere, but—”

  “Well, maybe Mom and Dad will let us all go out somewhere after dinner,” Kayla says, and I flinch as she’s slipped up on my other side, surprising me. “I’m sick of hanging out at home on Saturday nights like we’re twelve. What do people do around here for fun?”

  I’m stunned. I don’t think Kayla’s ever said that many words to me at one time. “Well…um…” I fumble, but Gramps comes up behind me and reaches his arms out wide, placing a hand on Kieran’s and Kayla’s backs as if he’s about to fold all of us into a giant bear hug. “Why don’t you kids sit right here?” he booms, nodding towards the three dining room chairs in front of us, and we do as suggested and take our seats, Kieran between Kayla and me. Jim and Carlie round the table to the other side and sit down just to the right of Gramps, who takes his usual place near the front window. Mom and Gram flit in and out of the room, carrying platters and bowls and filling water and wine glasses before they join us, Mom sitting next to Carlie with Gram at the head of the table closest to the kitchen.

  “This is all so lovely, Mrs. Shipman—I mean, Barbara,” Carlie corrects herself, taking in the feast. “We do so appreciate being invited over tonight.”

  I sense a bit of the weirdness from two weeks ago creeping in again and settling over me as I listen to Carlie say things like lovely and We do so appreciate. She’s so stilted, so formal—both she and Jim—and I hope the entire night doesn’t play out like that evening in their living room. Gramps proposes some toast about home and hearth, and I lift my water glass while glancing across at my mother, raising my eyebrows in a sort of See—what did I tell you? look before shifting my eyes to Carlie and back. Mom glances sideways at Carlie and shrugs her shoulders, as if she’s saying she hasn’t formed an opinion of our new neighbors yet.

  We pass the food around and load our plates, the room quickly separating into two conversational camps. At one end, Gramps and Jim talk about art and artists, and I hear Gramps in
vite Jim out to the shed behind the house that doubles as an art studio. But I’m paying more attention to the discussion at my end of the table, which revolves around Carlie.

  “So, Carlie, I understand you’re a doctor?” Gram asks.

  Carlie swallows some potatoes, nodding. “I haven’t practiced for several years because I’ve been homeschooling the kids. One of these days, the time will be right for me to go back to work again.”

  “Thought about opening a practice here?” Mom asks. “We have a lot of empty storefronts in town, and people could always use an alternative to the hospital clinic.”

  “Down the road, perhaps. Right now, I’m focused on getting us settled and getting the kids through school.”

  Bored with this particular conversation, I turn to Kieran, but he’s fallen asleep. I jab him in the ribs with my elbow and his eyes pop back open and focus on his mother, as if he’s just returned to a book to begin reading right where he left off. Kayla, on the other hand, is closer to the art conversation but keeps her attention on her food, which she raises to her mouth on her fork in tiny, almost precisely measured bites.

  “Kieran tells me you own a store downtown,” Carlie says to my mother, who bobs her head as she lowers the wine glass from her lips.

  “Yeah. Arts and crafts and doodads, basically.”

  “Things you make yourself or…”

  “Mostly my stuff,” Mom explains. “Other local artists sell through me as well and I take a small commission. You should come by sometime. I may carry some things that would fit in with your décor if you’re still decorating the house.”

  “That would be lovely, April. Thank you.”

  Mom shoots me a look at Carlie’s use of lovely, and I raise my eyebrows at her after I jab Kieran awake once again.

  “So, Kieran, I guess you’re a bit of an artist as well?” Mom asks.

  “Sort of,” he tells her, eyelids drooping. “I like to draw.”

  “Well, you should keep at it. I saw the rose you drew for Zip, and you’ve got a lot of talent for pencil drawings.”

  Carlie’s face seems nearly paralyzed after Mom brings up Kieran’s gift to me, her mouth tightening into a tight, fake smile but her eyes are moving, pupils widening with surprise until they become two big blue pools of confusion, each lined by a raft of perfectly manicured eyebrows. Nice going, Mom, I think, as I slide down in my chair a little to reach my left foot across the expanse underneath the table so I can kick her in the shin.

  “Ow,” Mom howls, the conversation about Impressionism or whatever at the other end of the room grinding to a halt and plunging us into silence, save for the halting breaths I hear Kieran push out through his nose as he stifles a laugh.

  “Just hit my knee against the table leg,” Mom explains once she recovers. “I’m such a klutz sometimes. Carry on, Gentlemen.”

  Gramps shakes his head at her before turning back to Jim.

  “Anyway, Kieran,” Mom resumes, “Dad and I have sort of a makeshift studio behind the house if you’re interested in taking a look later. The place may seem like your average storage shed on the outside, but inside—mini art museum. Trust me.”

  Kieran gives my mom a heavy-lidded smile. “I’d like that a lot. Thanks.”

  “Honey, if you need to lie down, you just say so,” Gram says to Kieran, seeing him struggle to stay awake. “We have two guest rooms upstairs and I put all my best quilts out for the occasion.”

  Carlie’s expression thaws and softens on hearing Gram’s offer. “You know, Kieran,” she says, voice low. “Maybe you should—”

  “Yeah,” he mumbles. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m a little…” He pushes his chair back and I scoot mine over a bit so he can get away from the table.

  “Do you need any help?” I ask.

  “Nah. Thanks, though.” He lowers his voice so only I can hear him say “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I whisper back.

  “First two rooms on either side of the hall at the top of the stairs,” Gram calls after him. “We’ll save you some cake.”

  “Thank you so much,” Carlie says to Gram, who nods a “You’re welcome.” With Kieran gone, we turn back to getting-to-know-you conversation, my mom expressing her desire to visit Asheville someday and Carlie telling her how much she’d like it. Sensing the main portion of the meal is winding down, Gram stands and starts clearing the table, and I jump up to help her, taking Kayla’s somehow empty plate and sliding it underneath mine before putting Kieran’s half-full plate on top of both so I can carry them into the kitchen.

  “They’re not weird at all,” Gram says to me in a low voice at the sink. “A little formal maybe, but they’re not—”

  “We should get them drunk to loosen them up,” Mom hisses, coming up behind us and putting a hand on the wine bottle on the counter.

  “April!” Gram scolds, but she’s smiling. Mom moves to the other side of the counter and puts some coffee on to brew while Gram cuts the cake and I make deliveries, two at a time, to the dining room. Once we’re all seated again, Carlie turns to a mandatory topic of discussion whenever teenagers are in the room—school.

  “So I understand you’re ranked first in your class, Zip.”

  “For now anyway.” I shoot Kayla a glance from the corner of my eye, and she hunches up her shoulders and takes a miniscule bite of cake as her mother says “So you’ve given a lot of thought to college, I assume?”

  “Northwestern all the way,” Mom chimes in. “I can’t remember her wanting to go anywhere else.”

  “Kayla’s considered Northwestern, too, now that we’re living in Illinois.”

  At the mention of her name, Kayla places her fork at the side of her plate and raises her head. Somehow, she’s managed to eat half her cake even though she seems to be eating a molecule at a time.

  “What are you interested in studying, Kayla?” Mom asks.

  “Political science, maybe,” she breathes. “Or journalism. I’m not sure. Maybe both.”

  “Journalism or communication,” I tell her, referring to my top two major choices. “I’m not sure, either. Maybe both.”

  Mom scrunches up her mouth. “Interesting. You two should be roommates.”

  I don’t get to gauge Kayla’s feelings about Mom’s suggestion because I’m too busy trying to restrain myself from kicking Mom under the table again. The conversation turns to the high cost of college and how both mothers hope we can get scholarships to help out, which leads to a discussion about the high cost of everything. Kayla and I continue eating cake while the adults try to solve the world’s problems.

  “Should we move into the living room where we’d be more comfortable?” Gram suggests once everyone’s almost finished with dessert.

  “I’ll start the dishes,” I volunteer, immediately surprised when Kayla jumps in with “I’ll help.”

  “Thanks, girls.” Gram smiles.

  The grown-ups take their coffees and head across the hall, while Kayla and I clear the table in silence. After about four trips back and forth between the dining room and the kitchen, we’ve stacked up all the plates, platters and utensils next to the sink and are left with nothing to do but get to work. Together. Alone with no one else to talk to.

  “So, um, you rinse and I’ll put stuff in the dishwasher?” I suggest, leaning up against the counter edge. “Or I’ll rinse and—”

  “I can rinse. No big deal,” Kayla responds, pulling an elastic band from her front jeans pocket and winding her hair into a low ponytail. I move over so she can stand in front of the sink basin, and we begin our mini assembly line—she rinses something, hands the thing to me, and I reach down to put it in the appropriate place in the dishwasher on my other side. We perform this routine in silence for about a minute before Kayla blurts out “I don’t hate you, okay?” without stopping her work and without looking at me.

  “Okay.”

  She hands me a fork, but doesn’t move to rinse anything else. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been act
ing. Kieran and I aren’t used to people taking the time to get close to us, so I guess I was…suspicious.”

  Suspicious seems like a strange word to use, but since it’s what she’s given me to work with…“You know, I don’t have any crazy motives for hanging out with you and Kieran. I just want to be friends.”

  Kayla braces her hands against the narrow ledge where the sink and the counter come together. “Deep down, I believe you. But nobody’s ever really wanted to be our friend before. And we’re very private people, so my guard’s always up.”

  We’re very private people. It’s like the Laniers are programmed to say that. Except for Kieran, of course. I think about him telling me about his dreams and how good he said he felt to be able to tell someone, and I wonder what the deal is with Kayla and her parents that they’re so determined to keep a wall around all of them when Kieran just seems to want to tear it down.

  “Kieran’s never…Kieran tells me everything, you know?” Kayla continues. “It’s always been Mom and Dad and me looking out for him and nobody else.”

  “I’m not trying to take your place,” I offer, not sure if that’s what I should say or not.

  “I know. Really.” Kayla resumes rinsing and handing dirty plates to me as she speaks. “I was so shocked when he basically kicked me out of the cafeteria to be alone with you that night after your game, because he’s never done anything like that before. But Kieran’s obviously comfortable with you, and you and your family seem like cool people, so I’m trying not to be so weird anymore.”

  I want to tell her she’s not totally succeeding, but I keep my mouth shut so I don’t kill whatever good will might be building up between us.

  “Plus, Kieran straight up told me to stop being such a bitch,” she says. “He’s my brother and I love him so, you know, whatever he wants.” Kayla’s smiling, so I relax my shoulders and allow myself a smile as well. “Anyway, I’m sorry I haven’t tried harder to be friends,” she continues.

  “Apology accepted.”

  Kayla hands me another plate and starts running dishwater as the dishwasher’s too full for pots and pans and the larger serving dishes. I reach into the cabinet under the sink for the dish soap and squirt a few streams into the water gushing from the faucet.

  “To be totally honest, knowing someone else has Kieran’s back sometimes is kind of awesome,” Kayla tells me in a low voice, as if her parents could hear us talking all the way from the living room. “I love him, but he’s exhausting, you know?”

  “I get the sense he’s kind of frustrated not being able to be more independent sometimes,” I say, handing her the soup pot, which she drowns in the soapy water.

  “Yeah. Like when he went to your Regional game? Huge deal for him. Now, don’t get me wrong—I wanted to kill him for lying and leaving me sitting in the library waiting for him like a complete idiot, but part of me totally understood. He’s almost eighteen and he has no freedom. He’s frustrated, and sometimes I’m frustrated over always being expected to be with him so he doesn’t get himself into trouble. Plus,” she continues, lowering her voice again, “He likes you. I mean, he really, really likes you. So I get that he was willing to do whatever he had to do to go to your game. Him getting all hung up on a girl is a new one for both of us, too.”

  “Yeah?” I squeak, as Kayla attacks a serving platter with the dishrag.

  “Yeah. I mean, he’s had crushes on girls before, so that’s not new, but the girls have always been totally out of his league. They were, like, older girls he’d see around at coffee shops and stuff, who he wouldn’t have the guts to talk to in a million years. He’s never liked anyone who was both pretty and was actually an option for him.”

  My cheeks go up in flames as I pretend to be extremely interested in drying every droplet of water from the soup pot.

  “So now that you’re totally embarrassed,” Kayla giggles, “why don’t we change the subject?”

  “Fine with me,” I agree with a sigh. “How’s track going?”

  Kayla stands up a little straighter, obviously happy I’m asking about track. “Good, thanks. Our first meet is next week. I’m running the sixteen hundred meters and the four by eight-hundred relay.”

  “Cassie mentioned that.”

  Kayla nods. “Cassie’s cool. She’s got just the kind of twisted sense of humor I like in a person. You guys are friends, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ve known her, like, forever. She can be kind of a ditz sometimes, but she’s a lot of fun.”

  “She’s always my warm-up partner before practice, so we talk some. And Brad Wallace is on the team, too, and he’s been pretty friendly. Neither one of them treats me like a total leper, so that’s something.”

  I reach over to the cabinet next to the sink and stand on my tiptoes to put the soup pot back in its proper home on the top shelf. “You have to understand about people around here,” I start, not sure how to explain what I want to get at. “We don’t get a lot of new blood in this town, and Kieran sort of announced your arrival on Day One in this huge way. So kids at school are just…I don’t know…”

  “Suspicious and freaked out?” she fills in, the corners of her mouth turning up. “Guess it kind of works both ways, huh?”

  I shrug, smiling back as I feel the iciness between Kayla and me finally melting away for good. “Yeah. I guess it kind of does.”