He went out to lunch with Betsy to celebrate. And he drove, which was a big deal in itself.
“Now I feel like a proper boyfriend,” he said. He’d never used the word with her before, just in his head. Once it was out there, floating around Lana’s car with them, he wondered if he shouldn’t have said it.
Betsy leaned across the center console and kissed him. He turned to kiss her back and she pointed forward. “Eyes on the road, boyfriend!” she said. They laughed all the way to the café. He was having the best day ever.
His mom made cupcakes and let him eat three of them before dinner. It was his dad’s night for dinner, anyway. So what did she care if he ruined his appetite?
When Graham picked them up, Ivy was waiting in the car. Lana spotted her as she greeted Graham at the front door. Byron waited for some reaction, but Lana just smiled and gestured to Byron.
“Did you hear? It’s official. The powers that be have deemed him roadworthy.”
“Terrifying,” Graham said.
“Dad,” Abby scolded.
“I’m kidding,” Graham said. “I’m very proud of you.”
“Can I drive to dinner?” Byron asked. Lana and Graham both started laughing, but Byron wasn’t kidding. “What? I’m insured.”
“Oh, I know,” Graham said. “I got the bill. I think buying a second home would be cheaper than having a male teenage driver in the family. Let’s just enjoy a nice dinner, shall we?”
Which meant no. Byron figured it was too much to hope for Graham to suddenly become a different kind of guy. He figured asking for a car was totally out of the question.
They let Ivy pick the restaurant, and she chose the little Italian place. Graham did their taxes and always got a break on the bill, which he felt compelled to tell Byron and Abby every single time they went there. After they ordered dinner Graham’s phone rang and he ducked out front to talk to whoever it was.
“I’m sorry,” Ivy said to Byron and Abby. “About last time. I didn’t realize that I was going to be a surprise guest.”
Byron shook his head. “Not your fault. That’s just how he operates.”
They watched Graham through the window, chatting and laughing on the phone. It didn’t seem like a business call. What could be that funny about taxes? Ivy had a funny look on her face, sort of scrutinizing with narrow eyes. When she caught Byron looking at her she gave him a big smile like everything was fine.
“So what kind of art do you do?” she asked him.
Byron shook his head. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be friends with this woman. It felt like a betrayal of his mom to like her.
“I’m still figuring it out,” he said.
“I just love art,” Ivy said. “You know the Museum of Art in Balboa Park? Maybe we could all go there. Make a day of it. Pack a picnic. We could educate your dad a bit on art. Maybe help him come around?”
“Why bother?” Byron asked. He was annoyed with his dad, ditching them for a phone call, but the only person there to take it out on was Ivy.
Ivy sighed. “My parents divorced when I was thirteen. My mom married the most boring man alive. Sweet, loved her dearly, but my god, he was dull. My dad couldn’t take losing her. It nearly killed him. He was a very emotional person. Too much for her.” Byron and Abby exchanged looks as they waited for the moral to the story. “He was an artist. My father. Broke and broken but passionate and so full of . . . everything.”
Byron smiled. “That’s how art should be.”
“Yes,” Ivy said. “But CPAs are not naturally wired that way. Maybe I can help bridge the gap.”
Dinner came and they all looked at Graham out front, still yakking away. They decided not to wait for him and started eating without him.
“I hope it’s okay that I came along tonight,” Ivy said.
“Of course,” Byron said. “If you weren’t here we’d be eating alone.” He pointed out the window with his fork and resumed eating. He noticed that Abby was eating, too. Little bites of some veggie pasta thing, mostly just the veggies, but still. He pointed at the pile of pasta she was leaving behind and she scraped about half of it onto his plate.
“I have to eat the rest,” she said, in the same tone you’d use to tell someone you needed a flu shot or a cavity filled at the dentist.
“I heard about your . . . struggle,” Ivy said to Abby, very softly. “I just want to say that I’m proud of you.” She reached over and touched Abby’s hand like she was afraid to say more. Abby looked at her for a while, then started laughing.
“Thanks. I do what I can,” Abby said. She speared one of the corkscrew pasta pieces and put it in her mouth, still grinning as she chewed. Abby was so different lately that Byron barely recognized her. Different in a good way.
He patted Abby’s head. “Good girl,” he said. Which just made her laugh harder.
Pretty soon they were all laughing. At everything. At nothing. Graham finally joined them. He sat down, smiling. “What did I miss?” he asked. “You seem to be getting along swimmingly.”
“Abby ate a piece of pasta,” Byron said. “It was awesome. She’s a master.”
They started laughing again. All except Graham, who of course didn’t get the joke.
“I’m glad you’re eating,” he said to Abby, taking the mood from silly to serious just like that. “If you ever want to . . . talk about it, I’m here.”
Abby nodded, very serious. Then she speared another coil of pasta and waved the fork around in circles, the way parents make a spoonful of baby food into an airplane to get a fussy kid to eat. She popped the bite into her mouth.
“Woohoo! Another winner!” Byron shouted, and he, Abby, and Ivy erupted into giggles again. Graham smiled, but he looked around the restaurant to see if anyone was annoyed at the noise. Byron could see that he didn’t get it. Maybe never would. That being happy and silly and having fun were more important than money. That being responsible didn’t have to mean having to be serious all the time.
A text came in and Graham smiled at it before turning his phone over.
“Who is it?” Byron asked, because even though it was rude to be nosy, they were all wondering.
“I’m glad you asked,” Graham said. “A friend of mine who used to coach swimming at USD.”
“Is that who you were on the phone with? Is he a recruiter or something?” Byron hated when his dad was smug and coy.
“Yes, I was on the phone with her, and no, she isn’t a recruiter. But she’s well connected there. She said maybe she could get you an in.”
Byron looked at Ivy to see if she was bothered that his dad had been on the phone all through dinner with some other woman, but Ivy was unreadable.
“Isn’t USD some crazy-expensive private school? Why would I go there?”
“I’m just trying to get some options lined up for you,” Graham said.
“Do they have a good art program?” Byron asked.
Graham sighed and started eating. Ivy smiled at Byron. She slid her hand over toward Graham and he put his hand on top of it without saying anything. Byron wondered what Ivy saw in his dad. Did he laugh with her? Or did he just tell her what she could do better all the time? Did she think a good guy would leave his wife after eighteen years and hardly see his kids afterward? Or maybe Ivy had been the reason Graham left.
“So, Ivy, how’d you meet my dad?” he asked. He watched her closely for signs of lying.
Ivy laughed. “It’s such a boring story. We were in line together at the DMV. Changing our addresses at the same time.” She smiled at Graham and he smiled back.
“We were in line for a good hour, making the best of bureaucratic hell,” Graham said. “She was the prettiest girl in there. And smart, and funny, and—”
“And I had snacks and he was hungry.”
They laughed together. Graham touched Ivy’s hair and she rubbed his back. “Then it took him another month to get around to calling me.”
“More like two weeks. I was terribly busy with work. You
know it’s—”
“Tax season,” Abby, Byron, and Ivy said together, all laughing. Graham smiled, but he didn’t seem to think it was quite so funny.
So then Ivy hadn’t shown up until after his dad had moved out. Byron sighed. Ivy wasn’t the enemy. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.
“Do you still write?” Abby asked.
“Not in a long time. I have to say, hanging out with you kids has me thinking about starting up again. Writing and painting.”
“Yeah,” Byron said. “How’d you go from being a theater major and artist to dating a CPA and working as a . . . ?”
“Sales rep for a cosmetics company?”
“Whoa,” Byron said. She hardly even wore any makeup. He wanted to ask how old she was, but he knew that was rude. She looked younger than Lana.
Ivy shrugged. “Life.”
“Well, you should definitely get back to painting,” he said. “My uncle is sharing his supplies with me right now. He lives with us. But I need to get some of my own.”
He looked at Graham, but his dad was busy eating while checking emails on his phone and not even listening to the conversation.
Ivy smiled, practically brimming with excitement, and playfully smacked Byron’s arm. “So, I was at the DMV because I moved, right? Into my father’s house. My artist father’s house? He’s in a home now. But his studio is still there, in a building out back. Just full of endless supplies. Maybe a bit dusty. I keep meaning to go through it all but I have no idea where to begin. I’d love to find a good home for that stuff.”
Byron smiled. There was no way he was going to get out of liking her. “Really?”
“Come by and take what you want. Really. It would make my father so happy, to share it with a budding artist.”
Graham finally looked up, palmed his phone, turned toward Ivy. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, but didn’t say anything. He looked like a cow chewing cud.
“How about now?” Byron said. “Can we go after dinner?”
“A perfect idea!” Ivy said. “Graham, I can show you one of my plays while Byron gathers supplies.” She grinned at all of them, but only Abby and Byron grinned back. Graham pursed his lips until they were white. Byron was impressed that he hadn’t said anything yet. Graham didn’t like it when anyone made a decision for him. He even refused to let waiters suggest their favorite dishes. Byron could already see that Graham’s days with Ivy were numbered. He figured he’d better take advantage of her dad’s studio while he had the chance.
Ivy wasn’t kidding about the art stuff. Byron scored two easels, a stack of prestretched canvases, four huge rolls of canvas, brushes, gouache, wax medium, varnishes, glazes, every kind and color of paint imaginable. Byron didn’t even know what half of it was, but he couldn’t wait to experiment with it.
The next day Matt helped Byron organize the new art supplies in the garage. They were converting one side of it into an art studio.
“Now you really need to take some art classes,” Matt said. “I can pay for them.”
“Seriously?” Byron said. He already knew which ones he wanted to take. A whole summer series offered through the Art Academy of San Diego. Lana couldn’t afford them, and Graham had shot the idea down. “You’d do that for me?”
“I have money,” Matt said. “I would have used it for art supplies. Since you’re letting me use these, I can give you the money. Besides, I want you to get better at art.”
He made it sound so simple. He was the exact opposite of Graham.
“I can’t believe you’d do that. I don’t even know how to thank you,” Byron said.
Matt started sorting the messy pile of supplies. “You can set up the easels,” he said.
Things were looking up for Byron’s art career. When he showed Betsy the new studio she said, “Maybe I could model for you. Nude. Except for a necklace. Like in Titanic.”
Byron wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not, but the idea kept him awake at night. She was moving back home at the end of the month. He was looking at a long summer with his hot girlfriend living just a few blocks away. Lazy afternoons lounging around Tilly’s pool, beach days, day trips to the desert, Tijuana, L.A. With his driver’s license, they could go anywhere, do anything, finally find some privacy.
She kissed him and he risked touching her breast again. She made a little noise whenever he did it. He was getting to know the terrain of her body. Then they heard someone’s footsteps in the house, growing louder, and they stepped apart. Byron thought endlessly about sex. He and Betsy hadn’t been alone much yet. Lana or Trent or Magda were always around. But come summer, there would be a lot more chances for alone time. And more chances for sex. The all-the-way kind. Betsy knew he was a virgin, but he kind of wished he hadn’t told her.
“You’re sure it doesn’t bother you?” he said.
“Why would it bother me?” she said. “You know, I might as well be one, too, since I’ve never had sex while sober. When we do it, it’ll be different.”
She rested her head on his chest. Byron wanted to know more about that, and he didn’t. He didn’t like to think of her being with other guys. And he didn’t like to think of asshole frat guys taking advantage of a drunk girl at a party. It made him so insanely jealous and protective of Betsy that he didn’t know what to do with the feeling. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight.
“I’ll never take advantage of you,” he said. “And I’ll never hurt you.” But all the while his brain was playing slideshow images of taking advantage of her in really fun ways. Ways that she’d enjoy, too.
Gabe and Abby were a cute couple, the hand-holding type. They sat and stared into each other’s eyes and giggled and whispered a lot. Byron thought about asking Gabe basic questions about sex, because he was sure Gabe and Caitlin had slept together. But then he realized this was his sister’s boyfriend. And that one day they might sleep together. And then he felt suspicious of Gabe. So instead he just told Gabe he better not hurt Abby, or push her into anything. Gabe was quick to reassure him that his intentions were honorable. That was his exact phrase. It was a funny way to say it, but it put Byron at ease.
So then Byron was back to wanting to know more about sex but not knowing who to talk to. It wasn’t like he could talk to Trent about his own sister. Talking to Graham wasn’t an option. Lana had already given him the sex talk about condoms and not bragging about sleeping with a girl and realizing that once a relationship turned sexual it never went back. All valid stuff, but not the stuff Byron wanted to know.
“You ever had a girlfriend?” he asked Matt as they painted side by side. Matt had taped up a family photo for them to paint. It was of the new family: Lana, Matt, Abby, and Byron. They were both painting an interpretation of it.
“Three,” Matt said. “Michelle, Kayla, and Susan.” He ticked them off on his fingers.
“What were they like?” Byron asked.
“Michelle had short brown hair and a funny laugh. And she was allergic to peanuts. Just hives, though. She wouldn’t die from eating one. Kayla was blond and drank a lot of coffee, which I didn’t like, but she used breath mints. Susan had long brown hair. She played the guitar. She had a cat named Murray. He was orange with stripes.”
“So, what was it like, being with them?”
Matt painted a little, looking very closely at the canvas. Then he backed up and put the paintbrush down. “Sometimes I don’t like when people touch me. That was a problem. Not during sex. I liked the touching then.” Matt laughed. “But Kayla always wanted to hold hands. And I can’t do that. It’s too . . .” He looked at his hands, rubbed them together. “And kissing was good during sex, when I was excited. But other times I didn’t like it. There are too many germs in saliva. You have no way of knowing if someone else is getting sick, is already contagious. Michelle was okay with that. Kayla wasn’t. Susan didn’t seem to care. She never said anything about it.”
“What was it like? You know, sex?” Byron asked. He really hoped
no one came into the garage during their conversation.
“The first time I was very excited. And it was over very fast.” Matt laughed and started mixing some new colors. “And I couldn’t wait to do it again. After that I figured some stuff out. How to last longer. You think about other things. Or stop for a minute if you have to. Women don’t like it if you rush. And you need to pay a lot more attention to them than they do to you. You need to touch them more.”
“You mean foreplay?” Byron asked.
“Yeah. And after. They like to cuddle after. I’m not a fan,” Matt said. He picked up his paintbrush, dabbed it in the new color, and got back to work.
Byron sighed, his longing even stronger. He wanted foreplay. He wanted sex. He wanted to cuddle afterward for days.
29
* * *
Lana
Lana settled on the crisp paper of the cold exam table for her follow-up exam with Dr. Tucker. She waited all of five minutes, but it felt like hours. Just enough time to run through every worst-case scenario she could think of. Dr. Tucker entered and smiled, her usual polite but aloof self, until she saw how much Lana’s hands were shaking.
“Hey, none of that,” she said.
“I think I’m a little bit terrified,” Lana said, laughing. “I really don’t have time to be sick.”
“You aren’t sick,” Dr. Tucker said, settling on a stool before Lana. She performed a quick exam while Lana tried not to panic. “See? Easy.” She tossed her gloves in the trash and helped Lana sit up. “You had a procedure and are recovering nicely. The pain is gone. The discharge is normal. In six months we’ll do another pap smear. Hope your body has knocked that HPV out of your system and make sure all cells are normal.”
“So I just wait on pins and needles for another six months?”
“No, you forget about it completely, go on with your happy life. In six months I’ll call you to come in. Don’t waste time worrying about it. We found a problem and we dealt with it. You have no reason to worry.”
“Right,” Lana said.
The Art of Adapting Page 28
