“A little,” said Lacey, and I decided I wouldn’t be asking her for any more advice for the time being.
We stopped for a second to watch one of the boys trying to climb into a Dumpster.
“Did you know that Savannah’s having a party?” said Lacey.
“Nope,” I said, still watching the boys in the Dumpster.
“It’s not for a while, but she’s already got this exclusive guest list,” Lacey went on.
“You’re making Savannah sound like some Hollywood A-lister,” I said.
“She probably is a Harltree A-lister,” said Lacey. “Which makes us Harltree D-listers, I guess.”
“Stop it, Lacey. You’re overwhelming me with joy.”
“Maybe we’re C-listers?” said Lacey, hopeful.
“Nah, we’re definitely D-list. If that.”
“Well, she can’t just have A-listers at the party, or there’ll only be three of them there.”
That sounded like my last party. Me, Lacey, and Amanda, dancing to my collection of vintage NOW albums. “That’s okay,” I said. “As long as it’s the right three people.”
“Yes, but her dad’s spending a load of money on it. There’s going to be a tent in her garden. A really enormous one, with caterers and a light-up dance floor and everything.”
“Just how big is this tent?” I asked.
“It’s so big,” said Lacey, “that it even has its own toilets. That’s what Paige told me.”
“Savannah won’t allow her guests to put their butts on her proper toilet?”
“No,” said Lacey, snickering. “Only Savannah’s beautiful behind gets to sit on that.”
This was especially funny because last week a picture had gone around of Savannah’s bare butt. At least it was supposed to be Savannah’s. Savannah herself denied all knowledge, and it was a suspiciously perfect butt, even for perfect Savannah.
Still, we all shared it. Because, you know… Butts.
“Do you really think she’ll invite people like us?” I said, thinking that maybe if she did, I might get a shot at standing somewhere in the vicinity of Dominic Preston, who is gorgeous.
Lacey looked a little offended. “She’s invited me. Maybe it’s my bangs. I think my hair is B-list, even if I’m not. You really need to consider cutting yours, Katie. It would completely open up your face.”
“I am considering it,” I said.
“I could do it tonight,” said Lacey. “If you’ve got some sharp scissors.”
I made a mental note to text Amanda and get her to hide the scissors.
“I think Adrian’s going to be there tonight,” I said. “Maybe we could go to yours.”
“Is he that bad?”
“I did try to like him,” I said sadly. “For Mom’s sake. I did try.”
• • •
I’d opened the door to him the day before.
“All right? I’m Ade.”
He was wearing a tight black T-shirt, which was not even slightly appropriate for a man of forty or fifty or whatever he was, and jeans and a huge, cracked leather jacket.
“Hello, Ade…rian.”
“You Amanda or Katie?”
“Katie.”
“Mind if I come on in, Katie? I’m dying to pee.”
He came on in, his jacket making a creaky noise, and an invisible battle started up between the lunch smell of roast chicken and his very strong aftershave. The chicken was just making a retreat back to the oven as Adrian emerged from the bathroom.
“Is that him?” Amanda was at my elbow.
“Shh,” I said. “Just watch for a second.”
We stood in the doorway as he went through to the kitchen, kissed Mom, then poured himself a glass of water. He headed straight to the right cabinet and even knew to do the funny twist thing to make the water come out of our touchy faucet.
“What?” hissed Amanda. “What’s the matter?”
“He’s been here before.”
“So?”
Was it while I was at school? I reran two months’ worth of breakfasts, me jabbering away over the Nutella, thinking I had Mom’s full attention while all the time she must have been counting the minutes until she could get rid of me and see lover boy.
Or had he come around at night? Did Mom wait until Amanda and I were in bed and then sneak out to let him in?
All those times she’d given me McDonald’s money to go and meet Lacey in town, had she really been trying to get rid of me?
Judging by the evidence—whose hand was now caressing my mother’s back—the answer was yes.
Now there are a lot of ways you can spoil a Sunday lunch. You can burn the chicken. You can drop your headphones in the gravy. Or you can sit down across the table from a man with two hairs sprouting out of his nose. By which I mean, the skin on top of his nose. Not his nostrils, which would have been disgusting but at least normal.
“Good chicken, Mom,” I said.
“Yes,” said Amanda.
“It’s not too burned, is it?” said Mom.
“Not at all.”
“It’s terrific.”
“Your best ever.”
“It really tastes…like…chicken.”
There was a pause, which might have lasted a moment or maybe a hundred years.
“It’s delicious,” said Adrian, and then he leaned over and kissed Mom on the mouth. While she was still chewing. With tongue.
After five of the most awkward seconds of my life, he finished eating my mother and went back to his plate. “So Amanda, Zoe tells me you play bass?”
“I guess so,” she said, looking at her lap. “Sometimes.”
“I used to be in a band once. A while back. Split up. Creative differences. You know.”
“Oh, right,” said Amanda.
“Still got a lot of industry connections. You should meet my pal Tony. Tony Topper. The stories he could tell—”
“I bet.”
“So are you any good?”
“I’m…okay.”
“Just okay?” Adrian leaned forward, and I noticed he had a piece of squashed carrot stuck to his elbow. “Who are your influences?”
And that was it. For the next ten minutes, Amanda was off in Amanda Land, talking about the music she loves and the bands she’s going to see and the people she’d like to see but can’t because they’re not touring at the moment or they’ve split up or they’re dead and blah blah infinite blah.
And Adrian was doing it too! For every band she wanted to talk about, he had an actual opinion, which is not what you do when Amanda starts up on one of her music rants. You keep quiet until it’s over. Nose Hairs, on the other hand, was encouraging her. And all the while, Mom was nodding and smiling and stuffing her face with chicken.
“You know,” said Adrian, “I could use someone like you in the store. Vox Vinyl, you know it?”
Amanda nodded like it was Christmas and her birthday and she’d won the lottery. Twice.
“We’re a little short-staffed right now, and it’s so hard to find someone who knows their stuff. You free to do a few hours next week?”
“I can be,” said Amanda. Seriously, I thought she might faint. I mean, I know she’d always said she dreamed of working in a record store, but I hadn’t realized it was her life’s great ambition. Until now.
“Great,” said Adrian.
“I just have to tell the café I’m leaving, but that’s fine. I’m a lousy waitress anyway.”
“I don’t know that we’re busy enough to justify you coming on board full-time.”
“That’s all right,” said Amanda. “I’ll just—I’ll be really useful. It’s fine.”
“Is it?” I said.
He turned his attention to me. “I’ve heard you and your sister like jamming together?” Then he di
d a little burp. “’Scuse me.”
Mom giggled.
“I’ve got some instruments kicking around that I’ve been meaning to sell. Some Gibsons, a couple of Fenders—you’d be welcome to come and mess around with them.”
“That would be amazing!” said Amanda.
I said something that can only be written as, “Mblm.”
“Katie writes songs,” said Amanda. “About her life and stuff. She’s like Lily Allen used to be, sort of. Kooky.”
I’d planned on keeping quiet, but this was too much. “Don’t call me kooky! Kooky is for girls who wear plastic flowers in their hair and have names for their toes.”
“Feisty?”
“No. Feisty says, ‘She’s so out there, which is really surprising because she’s a girl.’”
“Quirky?”
I mimed being sick.
“All right then,” said Amanda. “How about different?”
I thought for a second. “I will accept different. Thank you.”
There was a very long silence.
“So Katie, how’s school?” said Mom.
“Fine,” I said.
“Tell Adrian what you’re studying at the moment.”
“Nothing much.”
“It’s okay, Zo. When I was her age, school was the last thing I wanted to think about. Especially on the weekend. Bet you’re too busy chasing the boys, right, Katie?” Then he winked.
“We’re doing a play called Julius Caesar,” I said, “which is where this annoying guy who thinks he’s the best ends up getting stabbed.”
And then I did my most evil stare. And then I choked on a roasted potato.
• • •
“It was all pretty grim,” I said to Lacey, as we slumped into our homeroom. “So grim that I only managed to eat half my dessert. Which is saying something.”
“But you went back for the rest later, right?”
“Of course I did,” I said. “Things are bad enough. I can’t risk malnutrition too.”
“And Amanda’s going to be working for him?”
“She’s giving her notice at the café today. I tried talking her out of it, but all she’s interested in is whether he’ll give her an employee discount. As far as she’s concerned, getting 20 percent off the latest Alabama Shakes album is more important than the fact that there is this man in our flat, groping our mother.”
“Mad Jaz alert,” said Lacey, which is our code for when Mad Jaz is in the vicinity. Okay, it’s not much of a code.
“What’s she doing here? I thought Jaz was finished with school?”
“Look! Nicole’s filming her. This should be good.”
We watched as Jaz opened a can of Fanta and poured it into Ms. McAllister’s top drawer. Then, like she’d finished her work for the day, she turned around and left.
“She is so crazy,” said Lacey. “And that is such a waste of Fanta.”
“What is?”
“Katie? Earth to Katie?”
“Adrian drinks Fanta,” I said.
“You need to forget about him,” said Lacey. “Focus on Savannah’s party. Or writing a song. Or your new bangs.”
But I couldn’t. He was all I could think about. How, when we went for a walk in the park, Mom and Adrian had held hands. And how, when Adrian took Amanda into his shop to show her how to work the cash register, she was so excited that she’d given him a hug.
And last night, when it got later and later and later and Adrian didn’t leave and didn’t leave and didn’t leave, and at midnight, when I knew he was next door in Mom’s room in her bed, all I could think about were those two nose hairs lurking—just a yard away—in the dark.
Autocorrect
You ask if I’ve finished, and I say can you wait
But before I can stop you, you’re clearing my plate
You ask, “Am I happy?” and I say “I’m trying”
Your voice says that’s great, but your eyes know I’m lying
I guess if you want to earn my respect
Can you maybe turn off the autocorrect?
When you talk to your folks, I couldn’t be better
The undisputed star of your epic Christmas letter
My behavior’s amazing, my grades are great too
It’s kind of a pity that none of it’s true
I get that there’s stuff that you have to protect
But please can we turn off the autocorrect?
It’s late and I’m lonely, and though you’re next door,
There’s nothing to link us but walls and a floor
I don’t want to lose you, but I know I might
No way will we talk when he’s here for the night
Mom, if there’s any chance we’ll ever connect
You’ll have to turn off the autocorrect.
After that, Adrian was just always there. Leaving his stupid jacket on top of the laundry basket or coming out the bathroom with his chest all hairy or using the kitchen table as an imaginary drum kit.
“You do like him, don’t you?” said Mom on one of the very few occasions where he wasn’t standing next to her.
“Um, yeah,” I said, which was about as positive as I could manage.
“Because—”
“It’s just—”
We’d both started at the same time.
“You go,” I said.
“What were you going to say?”
I was going to say that I thought it was all going kind of fast, but Mom had a funny look on her face, so I decided I’d let her finish.
“It’s just…we were thinking we might move in together. He’s here most of the time anyway!”
I did a few fish gulps before I managed, “But…there’s not enough room. Doesn’t he have ten million records or something?”
“Ten thousand. But there’s plenty of space for them. And us. You girls would each have a room. And there’s a decent-sized kitchen and a garden. With a shed. And a pond, sort of. Either a pond or a drainage problem, it depends how you want to look at it.”
“Hold on. We’re all moving somewhere new? Together? As in us and him? Sharing a house? And…a bathroom?” I don’t know why this was the most horrifying thing to me, but it really was.
“Actually,” said Mom, “our bedroom has its very own bathroom. I don’t think even your father’s place has that. Not that you’re going to tell him. Well, maybe you can.”
“I did. Last night,” said Amanda.
“Is everyone in on this except me? Because it’s starting to feel like some kind of conspiracy.”
“Of course it isn’t,” said Mom.
“Then how come Amanda already knows?”
“I guess I might have mentioned it to her. But look, it’s not definite yet—”
“Mom showed me pictures,” said Amanda, “and it’s nice. Well, it could be.”
“The lady who had it died, and it’s really cheap,” said Mom, digging into her purse, probably so she wouldn’t have to look at me. “Adrian thinks—”
I was about to launch into a long speech about taking things slowly and thinking of others. And was she absolutely sure? And even if she was, maybe she should at least check that everyone else in the household was on board. But, before I could, the man himself came barging in.
“What?” I said. “What is it that Adrian thinks?”
“About what?” he said, looking from me to Mom. She waved a crumpled scrap of paper at him, and I spotted an upside-down photo of a house.
He grinned. “Ah! The place is a bargain, Katie. A real gem. If we move fast, we can get it before anyone else even knows about it.”
“Isn’t it exciting?” said Mom.
Going to live with Nose Hairs in the house of a dead lady.
“Yaaaay.”
&n
bsp; • • •
They put in an offer, and it got accepted right away, so I had to drink sparkling wine and plaster on a fake smile while Mom and Amanda decided what we would take with us and which of my childhood memories they would throw away. (Spoiler alert: all of them.)
And every night as we built up to the move, I was asked to help wrap stuff and pack it away when I could have been sitting in my room with my guitar. Instead I was forced to be a part of Team New Home, stacking box after box in teetering piles up against the walls, which was incredibly dangerous, and when I stopped looking where I was going even for a second, they came crashing down on my head, which meant that everyone got mad at me for breaking their stuff at the exact moment I might have given myself permanent brain damage.
Fun times.
• • •
“Bye-bye, geese,” I said to the geese paddling along the canal. “Bye-bye, footbridge. Bye-bye, old mattress.”
“I can’t believe you'll have to ride the bus with those guys,” said Lacey. “They’re messed up.”
“Thanks for being so supportive.”
“What can I say?” said Lacey, who clearly knew exactly what it was she was going to say and was about to continue saying it. “You’ve got Finlay from seventh grade, who has the mental age of a six-year-old. Then there’re the sixth-graders. Like, about a billion of them. And Nicole, who’s a sophomore.”
“At least she’s interesting,” I said.
“Apparently, she got her ear pierced last week right at the top with this really tiny stud. Only it swelled up in the night, and the stud part disappeared into her ear like her skin had eaten it. She had to go to the emergency room and get it taken out. Mad Jaz filmed the whole thing and put it online.”
“That is so disgusting,” I said. “Have you seen it?”
We slowed down so Lacey could show me. The camera zoomed in close, and there was even a little blood. It finished with Jaz giving the nurse a high five.
“Eighty-seven views,” said Lacey. “Seriously, who watches this stuff?”
“I know.”
“In fact, I think Jaz gets the bus too.”
“No, she doesn’t,” I said. A dose of Mad Jaz was the last thing I needed. Mad Jaz with her gothy clothes and pale skin, like she’s some dead lady from a hundred years ago who just crawled out of the grave in order to hang around, looking spooky and making snarky comments.
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