“I’ve been around,” I said, scanning the crowd. “Have you seen Rebecca?”
“She was just here. Maybe she’s in the kitchen.” The boy on the couch was beckoning to her with a come-hither finger.
“He is so hot,” she said to me. “He goes to Andover.”
I nodded, pretending I cared.
I entered the kitchen. Cute little painted flowers were spaced out on every few tiles on the floor and behind the stove. The refrigerator was a retro mustardy yellow. Heavy wooden beams ran across the low ceiling and matched the old barn door at the front of the house. I wanted to live in this kitchen. It was small, cozy, comfortable. Not like my kitchen where the ceilings were so high that you couldn’t even chew without an echo. Jacqueline’s kitchen table was a long thin rectangle with chairs that had soft flowery cushions on it. Everything felt very Euro-country, but in an authentic way. Nothing was trying too hard.
I found Rebecca sitting at the table, drinking a beer and staring out the window. People were sitting all around her laughing and telling jokes, but she just looked pathetic sitting there. I came up behind her and put my arms around her neck.
“Hi,” she said. “Oops, I didn’t wait outside.”
“It’s okay.” I sat in the chair next to her. I didn’t feel any particular urgency to rescue Cody. He deserved to wait.
Her mascara had smudged a little below her eye. I licked my finger and wiped at it.
“Gross,” she said.
“You look like a rabid raccoon.”
“Let’s get out of here,” she said.
“We have to do something first.”
“What?”
“You’ll see,” I said. I led her out of the kitchen toward the staircase. I didn’t recognize many people at this party. It was a different crowd—not quite mainstream, but not quite edge either. Maybe Euro.
“Where’s the French chick?” I asked Rebecca as we started up the stairs. The carpeting was navy blue with specks of tan in it and the wood on the edges was dark. I was curious who lived in this house, the kind of house that made me want to be an architect in the first place. What lucky girl had parents who cared more about warmth and comfort than big and fancy?
“I don’t know,” Rebecca said, sullenly. “Why are we going up here?”
I didn’t answer, just kept walking up another flight of stairs to a small third-floor room with slanted ceilings. The same dark wood beams as in the kitchen stretched down on either side, holding up the ceiling. The room had been made into a study, with a dark green rug, soft lighting, a simple wooden desk, and a wooden chair. Two red leather armchairs sat facing each other with a small table in between. I yearned to sit at the table in the daylight and look out the window to what I knew would be trees—tons of them. Instead, I went to the desk and found a paper clip. The only door in the room had to be the bathroom. I knocked on it.
“Oh, thank god!” Cody’s voice shouted. Rebecca’s mouth dropped open.
“What the hell are you doing?” she whispered loudly at me. “Torturing me? You want me to catch him hooking up? Are you trying to prove something?”
“No,” I said, straightening the paperclip. “He didn’t ditch you tonight. He’s been locked in this bathroom since you last saw him.” I stuck the small wire in the tiny hole of the knob and jiggled until I heard a little pop. The door swung open.
“Cody?” Rebecca said quietly, peering into the bathroom, as if she didn’t believe me. Cody was standing in front of us, his phone in his hand. He looked like he’d been locked in the bathroom for a long time. His hair was a mess, like he’d been tugging at it in frustration.
“What the hell?” she said. “Are you okay? I thought you ditched me.”
“Beck, you know I wouldn’t do that,” he said, putting his arm around her. “Thanks, Macy.”
“Wait!” Rebecca said. “How did you know he was in here?”
“I called Chris,” he said. “He called Macy.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” she said.
“I tried.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “My phone is dead. I’m such an idiot.”
“At least you’re a hot idiot.” He kissed her.
“Okay, then,” I said. “All’s well that ends well.”
“Um,” she said, her face bright, her eyes smiling. “Maybe we should stay.”
Cody put his arm around her waist.
“Yeah, I’ve been locked in the bathroom all night,” Cody said. “I need a drink.”
I felt the momentary urge to stay, if only to meet the elusive French Jacqueline, but when I realized it was getting close to midnight, I fought it. It wasn’t worth the inevitable blowout with Mom.
“Turning into a pumpkin, have to go,” I said. “But have fun, guys.”
I started back down the stairs.
“Talk tomorrow,” Rebecca said. “Love you!”
As I got to the bottom step, I could hear the slurp slurp of them making out.
On my way to the front door, I waved to Jasmine, still on the couch with her Andover guy. Once outside, I looked back longingly at the murmuring fishpond, the house, everything I imagined it to be.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
That night I dreamed of the country. Not the New York City suburban country, where we lived, but real country, where seeds were planted and things grown and harvested. Fields and fields of vegetables. Cows being milked, tractors, horses, the works. A thick, sturdy log cabin with one simple room just big enough for cooking, eating, and sleeping. Furnished only with a table and chairs and a bed. I lived in that house. When I woke up, I felt oddly refreshed. And then I looked around my room, which Mom had decorated—silky blue and brown striped comforter, twelve-foot ceilings with giant crown moldings, custom-made blue and brown paisley roman shades, plush beige wall-to-wall carpet, a walk-in closet, the door to my private bathroom with matching blue and brown towels and shower curtain. I wanted to throw it all away and move into that log cabin. Or at least into French Jacqueline’s house.
After the kids had all been picked up from camp, I turned on my phone for the first time since I left for Marwood in the morning. It buzzed incessantly with texts.
CHRIS: U @ camp alred?
GAVIN: Bored. U comin home?
CHRIS: Going 2 Mets game. Call me.
SEBASTIAN: Can you do something today? I have an idea.
Intrigued, I texted him back.
ME: What is it?
SEBASTIAN: Secret. When are you free?
ME: Rest of day.
SEBASTIAN: 2pm. But can you drive? I don’t have full car “privileges” back yet.
ME: I’ll pick u up. Where r we going?
SEBASTIAN: Dress comfortably. See you at 2.
When I got home, I listened in at Gavin’s closed door. Silent. I wrote him a note Gone fishin’ and put it on the floor outside his door. I got dressed in a short flowered skirt and a black tank top. Downstairs, I slipped on flip-flops and went out to my oak tree until it was time to go.
I pulled up in front of Sebastian’s house. Before I could put the car in park and get out—I didn’t want to honk for him—the front door opened and Sebastian came out. He was all sported out in long basketball shorts, a white athletic-type shirt, and sneakers. He shouted something inside the house, closed the door, and jogged toward the car. He looked really cute, all tall and thin and grinning at me. A huge smile spread across my own face in response.
“Hey,” he said, as he got in the car. And then he looked me up and down.
“That’s your interpretation of comfortable clothes?” he asked, taking in my tank, skirt, and flip-flops, but I happily noticed his eyes lingering on my legs.
“Yes, this is comfortable,” I said.
“No, no, no, my sweet mistaken girl. This. This is what I meant by comfortable,” he said, gesturing at himself. “Shorts, sneakers.”
“But these are the very definition of comfort,” I said, lifting up a flip-flopped foot and smiling.
&n
bsp; “But you can’t run in those,” he said.
“Well, that’s okay, I don’t run.”
“Ah, but you’re running today,” he said, pointing at me.
“Ah, but I’m not,” I said, pointing back at him.
“You didn’t know I was on the cross-country team, did you?”
“Um, no,” I said. “And if by cross-country, you mean like you enjoy driving to California and back, that’s great and all, but I don’t see how you’d have the time.”
“Ha, ha. I’m a runner.”
“How nice for you,” I said, but I was surprised. “But how are you a runner and a …”
“A druggie?”
“Yeah. That.”
“I know. It’s a weird combination, but I am very good at it.”
“Again, how nice for you.”
“Come on,” he said. “We have to go back to your house now so you can change. We’re going jogging.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“You’ll like it,” he said. “I promise.”
“Let’s see, the last time I ran was in eighth grade when they made us run forever as fast as we could. I seem to remember feeling like someone had reached into my throat, squeezed my heart, scraped the roof of my mouth with a dull razor blade, and then put my legs in a vice. So, hmmm, I don’t think I’ll like it.”
“You’ll see,” he said. “You’ll like it. Now drive.”
“Yessir,” I said, saluting his faux-bossiness. I started driving, aware of his large body in the small seat just inches away from me.
Jogging? Mom jogged. I didn’t jog. But if Sebastian jogged, then what? The world was completely upside down now—Mom wanted to work, Dad was more MIA than usual, and Sebastian was a long-distance runner.
We pulled into my driveway and went into the kitchen.
“Um, wait here, I’ll be right back,” I said. He was so tall that the giant room with soaring vaulted ceilings didn’t even make him look shorter.
He slid a stool out from the counter—the heavy iron made a scraping sound on the tile—and he perched half his nonexistent butt on it.
He could have come up to my bedroom, but something stopped me from inviting him. It’s not like I cared about propriety for Mom. At this point, she wouldn’t have even cared if a guy were in my room. But instinct told me being in a bedroom together would be too tempting for me.
I ransacked my room. I’d never voluntarily run before in my life, but somehow Sebastian made me want to do things I didn’t usually do, like laugh hysterically and cry and … jog. I found an old pair of school gym shorts, faded red with a small pointy-nosed fox on the bottom. I didn’t own a sports bra, so I took out the rattiest bra I had and tightened the straps as far as they’d go, then slipped on one of Dad’s shirts I’d stolen to sleep in—light blue with yellow writing: BLEU RIDGE SUSTAINABLE FARM—SUSTAIN THIS! Now for sneakers. I rummaged through the closet until I found them. I hadn’t worn them since we were required to take gym class in tenth grade. I ran into Gavin’s empty room and grabbed his Star Wars baseball cap, the one with crossing light sabers. I stretched it as far as it would go over my dreads and galloped down the stairs, enjoying the soft cushioning of the sneakers.
As I approached the kitchen, I heard voices—the Spanish-speaking voices of Sebastian and Mom—bouncing off the high ceiling. Mom had always claimed she spoke fluent Spanish, but I’d never heard her until now. But—wow—she was gabbing away. And Sebastian’s voice in Spanish was different than in English. It was just as raspy but had a slightly lower pitch. It was hot that he could speak two languages. Mom was looking intensely at Sebastian, talking to him like he was an adult. She had never looked at me like that.
I stood in the doorway to the kitchen, listening to the r’s rolling off Sebastian’s tongue, until finally Mom saw me and switched to English.
“What are you planning to do after you graduate?” Mom asked him. I stepped into the room, unsure of my place in this strange adult-like conversation. Sebastian looked at me and smiled, but Mom was waiting for him to answer.
“I don’t know yet,” Sebastian said, also switching to English, so smoothly it was as if he didn’t notice. And then I wondered which language he dreamed in. I wondered if he dreamed about me. “I still have some stuff to work out, but I’ve considered applying to schools in Spain.”
Sebastian hadn’t mentioned this possibility to me, and I hoped that it wasn’t true.
“That would be amazing,” Mom said, a far-off look in her eyes. “How wonderful to bring your experience back there.”
“I’m ready,” I said, cautiously. Mom snapped out of whatever European fantasy world she was living in. I could tell by the way she sized me up that she was not pleased with what I was wearing, but thankfully she didn’t say anything.
“What are you guys up to?” she asked.
“We’re going for a—” Sebastian started.
“Nothing,” I jumped in quickly. If Mom knew I was exercising, I wouldn’t hear the end of it.
“Okay, then,” Mom said, her voice cold and distant as she turned to open the refrigerator. “Have fun doing … nothing. Should I expect you for dinner?”
“No,” I said.
“It was nice to meet you, Sebastian,” she said.
“You too. Bye, Mrs. Lyons.”
We went through the garage to my car. He got into the passenger seat slowly, his knees pushed up against the glove compartment.
“So, where are we going?” I asked.
“To the reservoir.”
I started the car, revving the gas.
“So,” he said after I started down our driveway. “Why are you so nasty to your mama?”
“Are you kidding me? You mean why is she so nasty to me?”
He shrugged.
“What?”
“It’s just that she seems pretty cool. She’s interesting. Come on, she did public relations for the US team in the Barcelona Olympics.”
“Oh.”
“You didn’t know that?” he said.
“I guess I knew she’d done something Olympic-related, but I never really knew what.”
“God,” he rolled his eyes at me. “That woman knows shit.”
“Whatever,” I said, refusing to give in, but I felt kind of guilty for never asking Mom more about what she’d done before I was born.
“You’re so stubborn, you know that?” I felt him looking at me and I heard the smile in his voice, and I shivered. I wanted to touch him so badly. I felt the skin on my hand go all prickly on the gearshift, itching for him to touch it.
“Pull over here,” he said, pointing at the art museum parking lot. “We’ll park here and walk over to the path.”
I pulled into a spot. A huge banner for the museum’s Chinese photography exhibit flapped in the wind.
We got out of the car, and I held my keys since I had no pockets. Sebastian took them and put them on top of my front tire.
“What if someone takes them?” I whispered, looking around.
“Never happens,” he said. “It’s a rule of running.”
“How could you possibly know that?” I whispered again.
“I just do.”
He put his hand on my back as we walked toward the path. His touch felt hot on my already-warm back.
“First we have to stretch,” he said, moving his neck from side to side and bending his gangly body toward his toes.
I laughed, but I copied everything he did.
“Loosen up,” he said. “Bend, twist, get your blood moving. Jog in place.” He moved his knees up and down while he rolled his neck and shook his arms by his sides.
“You look ridiculous,” I said, and then he exaggerated the movement, making his skinny legs spring off the ground and almost touched his knees to his chest.
He cocked his head to the side, with a mock-curious look.
“You makin’ fun o’ me?”
“Yup,” I said.
“Come on,” he said, so I did wh
at he was doing, and I looked ridiculous too, and I didn’t care. We both bent over laughing.
“Okay, all warmed up. Let’s go.”
I started running slowly. He ran next to me, clearly at a crawl’s pace for himself, but he didn’t seem to mind. We were silent. I heard the rhythmic sound of our feet on the dirt. My breathing almost immediately got loud and heavy. After what felt like forever—the taste of metal in my mouth, the fast pounding of my heart—I stopped.
“Phew,” I said. “Okay, you’re right. That was great. Can we go back now?”
He laughed and looked at his watch. “We’ve been running exactly three minutes and twenty-three seconds.”
“Seriously?” It felt like it had been at least fifteen minutes.
“We’re going to run twenty minutes,” he said.
“I don’t feel like it,” I whined. “Can’t we just go get a cheeseburger?”
The truth was, I didn’t really care what we did. I just wanted to stay near Sebastian.
“Nope,” he said. “Twenty minutes.” And then he lightly smacked me on the butt.
“The football smack?”
“It works in every sport. It’s very motivating,” he said. His smile was contagious. “Let’s go.”
I started running again.
“You can do this. You can do anything for twenty minutes,” he said.
We stayed silent as we ran. The sound of our shoes on the dirt was calming; my breathing got more measured as my body got used to pushing the breath in and out at the right speed for running. My mind wandered to my parents’ argument, addiction, French Jacqueline, Scott’s face when he asked if I wanted to hang out. And then my mind stopped wandering and it was just clear and relaxed. I barely noticed Sebastian next to me. At one point, he touched my elbow and gestured to turn back, but I shook my head. I wanted to keep going. We ran the entire loop around the reservoir. My legs and my whole body felt free. My mind was focused, not on anything particular, but just a general sense of clarity. And then I saw the parking lot.
“Just slow to a walk now,” he said. “Get our heart rates down before stopping.”
I felt my breathing slow, my heart slow, and my body relax.
“Wow,” he said, looking at me with what I can only describe as admiration. “That was four miles.”
The Fix Page 16
