by Lori L. Otto
“Unless she’s, like, child-genius-sixteen or something and it would be illegal when we hook up. Is she?”
“I–I don’t think so. She’s smart, but she didn’t mention that.” If he wants to know her, he can do the legwork himself. “I mean, you may want to make sure.”
“You didn’t talk age?”
“The assignment was for her to write about her first impression of me, so she steered the conversation that way,” I tell him, even though I learned a lot more about her than I’m letting on, including her age.
“I’ll clear that tiny hurdle,” he says with a self-assured smirk. “Thanks, man.”
“Sure.”
I stand up and start to pace behind him, shoving my fists in the front pockets of my jeans to make sure I don’t punch anything, because all of a sudden, I really want to hit something.
“So, what do you think?”
Admittedly, I want to change my response to him and tell him I do mind. “I don’t like–” I start, and then realize he’s asking me about the layouts. “Ummm…” I walk closer to the large-screen monitor and point to a photo placeholder. “I don’t like the size of that and how it cuts so much into the second column.”
“Yeah, I told them the same thing. The word-wrap is going to look hideous if there are any words over four letters in that section.”
“Exactly. Maybe just a vertical picture in the third column. They could go a little taller,” I suggest.
“I like that. I’ll make a note of that,” Asher says, documenting it on his iPad. “New masthead. What do you think?” He scrolls to the beginning of the document.
“Really? That font?”
“You don’t like it?”
“I’m not a designer. I’m probably not the one to ask. But it looks like the same typeface they use for the National Enquirer. Has anyone checked that?”
He pulls up the website and compares the two.
“We’ll get someone to change that. Horrible. Good catch.”
“Hanging out with my sister and Jon has taken its toll. I see more details than I care to,” I admit.
We go through a few more pages that give this year’s Witness a more updated look before we both gather our things for our next classes.
“Wish me luck with Coley,” he says just before he opens the door.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” I mumble, not referring to her, but to the situation, because something tells me she’s not going to say yes to him. I’m pretty sure she’s smitten with me. I shouldn’t want her to be, but right now, I really don’t want her to go out with him. I like Asher as my friend, but I’d never set up any girl friends of mine with him. He may be a few years older than me in age, but in maturity, I just don’t think he’s there yet.
chapter four
I get in about an hour of reading for one of my required science classes before I meet my family for dinner. I’d picked Stars, Galaxies, and Cosmology since my brother-in-law’s brother, Will, is one of the top theoretical astrophysicists in the country. It’s not that I think I’ll struggle with the material, but I thought having meaningful conversations with someone who bleeds astronomy would make it more interesting for me. He’s excited to teach me what he knows, too.
I take the subway to the restaurant, not wanting to deal with traffic all the way to the meatpacking district. It only takes me 30 minutes to get to Valbella, so I wait in the bar for everyone else to get there. Of course I can’t drink anything, but the private room isn’t ready yet, and I don’t feel like being up close and personal with everyone walking in the front door.
“You always get attention like this?” the bartender asks after five minutes. I finally look up from my phone and glance around, seeing all eyes on me. It’s not unexpected. If New York had royalty, we would be it.
I shrug my shoulders at the man mixing drinks in front of me, watching him pour bourbon into a glass and desperately wishing it was for me, and answer him quietly. “Not always. Sometimes more, sometimes less.”
“How do you deal with it?”
“With that,” I joke with him, nodding to the drink and lifting my brows hopelessly.
“Got your ID on you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not twenty-one. I was just kidding. Honestly, I don’t subject myself to this that often. I’m just waiting for our private room and for my family to get here.”
“Let me see it.” I hand it over, and he looks at me, disappointed.
He pours the drink he’d been prepping into a glass less conspicuous than the lowball. “Coke?” he asks after adding some soda and setting it in front of me. “On the house.” He gives me back my ID, too. I take a sip, tasting the smooth, buttery alcohol.
“Ah, man. Thanks.” After I put my ID away, I pull out a bill and slide the twenty across the counter.
“Say nothing of it. And your parents just got here. Don’t get me in trouble.” He grins.
“I won’t say a word, not that they’d care.” I stand up and shake his hand, grabbing the drink with my other hand and holding onto it for dear life. “Thanks, again.”
“Enjoy your night, Trey.”
“You, too, man.” I smile at the onlookers on the way to the private room, where the hostess is now leading my mother and father. Once in the room, I set my drink down at the place next to Dad and across from Mom, and then walk over to give my mother a hug.
“You wore a tie,” she says, obviously happy. She kisses me on the cheek as I lean down to embrace her.
“I always do when I come here,” I explain to her. “I’m uncomfortable here without one.”
“Oh,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s just us.”
“And the people I waited with in the bar.”
“We’re on time,” my dad argues, shaking my hand before hugging me, too.
“I took the subway and got here early.”
“Jon and Livvy are running late.”
“Of course,” I say.
“They’re excused,” Mom says in their defense. “Those two girls have minds of their own.”
“No,” Dad argues. “Edie has a mind of her own. Willow just does what Edie does.”
“That’s true.” After my parents sit down, they hold hands over the table. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen their love waver–not since I was maybe six years old, and that was all Livvy’s fault.
My sister was a prickly teenager, to say the least. Fortunately, I was too young to remember most of her bad behavior, but I do remember a few of the worst fights she had with my parents and especially with my dad. I never had that problem with my parents. If I did something wrong, I accepted their punishment with no argument. Sometimes it took me a few times to learn my lessons, but Mom and Dad are fair and generous and do everything out of love and compassion for us. I know that. I always knew that. And I knew that my mother risked a lot when she was pregnant with me.
I remember one stupid fight I had with my sister. It was a fight for our parents’ time or attention, I’m sure, but I don’t recall the specifics. Livvy and I were yelling at one another in the basement. Me, with my innocuous, “you’re a meanie!” rants, and her, being ten years older than me, saying things to truly earn my insults to her. The thing that brought my parents barreling downstairs, though, was when she told me that the doctors told my parents that they should have aborted me before I was born.
There was no reason for anyone to panic. I had no idea what ‘aborted’ meant at that point, but before the night was through, I would learn.
I didn’t know until that night that my mother had been involved in a terrible accident just before she turned thirty, nine and a half years before I was born. She had been pregnant at the time, but miscarried that child days after the accident. Months later, she found out she would never be able to conceive children of her own due to the amount of scar tissue in her body.
That was also the same night I learned that Livvy was adopted; that I learned what it meant to be adopted.
My parents ha
d spent their entire marriage believing they’d never have a child of their own; believing that their family of three was complete, because it had felt complete to them all the time they were together. But then one day, a miracle happened–or, at least that’s how they explained it to me.
It was true what my sister had told me. Mom’s doctors didn’t think I had a chance of making it to term, and having lost one child to miscarriage, my mother didn’t think she was strong enough to lose another one. But my father was adamant that I would survive. At the time, the doctors said I was healthy and Mom was healthy; Dad saw no reason to terminate the pregnancy when there was a chance for a healthy baby. It didn’t take much to convince my mom to believe that I’d survive, too.
With frequent doctor visits that kept confirming we were both strong, hope blossomed within my family. And although the last few months were spent on bed rest for my mother, she delivered a relatively healthy baby boy a little bit early. But there were no regrets.
And somehow, here I am, 6’4”, two inches taller than my dad, with no ill-effects to my health at all.
“And there’s my sister,” I say as Livvy walks in carrying her youngest daughter, Willow. Edie, the soon-to-be four-year-old, runs past her and straight into my dad’s arms.
“Granddaddy!” she says.
“There’s my little bunny!”
Willow squirms out of her mother’s arms as soon as Jon closes the door to the private room and walks over to my mom. “Hi, Memi,” she says shyly.
“Hello, Willow. Can I pick you up?”
“No,” she says.
“Can I have a kiss?”
“Yes,” she concedes sweetly, now letting my mother pick her up and into her lap. I get up to greet my brother-in-law and sister. They both look exhausted.
“Rough night?” I ask.
Livvy lays her head against her husband’s chest as Jon puts his arm around her. He kisses the top of her head and answers for both of them. “Already fighting with Edie over what clothes she’s wearing.”
“Not really that, Jon,” my sister argues. “We let her wear whatever the hell she wants. It’s just that once she’s dressed, she sees something else and throws a fit until she’s wearing that instead.”
“Just take her in another room to dress her,” I suggest.
“You’re cute,” Jon says.
“You think you have all the answers,” Livvy adds on. “Because then you have that other one… that terrible-two over there who’s just… adorably… terrible… who just runs amok.” My sister pathetically sighs.
“You let us know when you’re ready to watch them by yourself.” I shake my head at my brother-in-law’s invitation. “Didn’t think so.”
“Mr. Holland,” a waiter peeks into the room, and we all get settled into our seats. He takes our drink orders, and after he brings us those, we place our meal orders, too. Jon makes fun of me and Livvy for always getting the filet mignon and lobster tail. Every time we come here, we do order the same exact thing.
“So, buddy, how was your first day back?” Jon asks.
“It was fine. Normal,” I tell him.
“Did you like all your professors?” Mom asks.
“Yeah, definitely.” I nod my head.
“Good to be back at The Wit?” Dad asks. “How’s Asher?”
“It feels good to be back. I’m anxious to write again. Asher’s Asher, you know. He’s good.”
“Hey,” Livvy says. “Isn’t this when you get to mentor someone? Be an editor this semester to a newbie?”
“Yeah. I’m surprised you remember that.”
“So? What do you think of your mentee? Give me some details… name, qualifications, first impression.”
“Name is Coley…” I half-mumble.
“Cole?” my dad asks.
“Yeah,” I answer reflexively.
“And what do you think of him?”
“I, uh… I think he’ll be good,” I say. Fix it now, Trey. “He’s from Virginia. His dad’s a secret service agent assigned to the president, actually. His mom’s a cop in DC. They’re divorced, apparently.”
“How’s his writing?”
“He wouldn’t let me see his work. But he has to do that first impression assignment on me, so I’ll get to see something Wednesday. He’s obviously good enough to get on The Wit staff.”
“So, Trey, did he know who you were?” Mom asks.
“I mean, yeah, I guess so,” I answer vaguely. “He didn’t make a big deal out of it.”
The waiter delivers our salads. I stare at mine, knowing that I’m not going to be able to maintain a lie of this magnitude for an entire semester. I’m surprised they’re believing what I’m saying now, since I haven’t given anyone eye contact since I started answering them.
As soon as our waiter leaves, I continue the conversation. “She has a twin brother who’s deaf.”
“Who does?” Jon asks.
“Cole.” I shake my head, still mentally berating myself for being unable to say her name.
“I thought you said she.”
I clear my throat. “Coley. Her name is Coley Fitzsimmons. It is a girl. She is a she.”
All the adults look at me curiously. “Is she, um… gender fluid?” Livvy asks, trying not to make a big deal about it. “Or transgender?” Everyone at the table smiles, showing their open-mindedness as they await my response.
“No,” I say as I exhale the breath I’d been holding in. “She’s a female, feminine, girl. I don’t know why I was lying. Why I was saying he. Coley. That’s her name. And yes, she knows who I am, too. Everything else is true.”
Of course, my face is most definitely the color of the tomatoes in my salad. When I look up, everyone is still staring at me. “Is she getting under your skin, there, Trey?” my brother-in-law asks.
“What?” I ask, adamantly denying that she is. “No! No, no. She’s just my… I’m just her editor. That’s all it is. It’s just weird to be partnered with a girl. You know, we’re going to be working closely together a lot this semester. I don’t know how it’s going to go, that’s all. I expected a guy.”
“You were with a girl when you were simply a writer, though,” my mom says. “It’s no different, right?”
“It’s very different,” I say defensively, having no rational reason why, though. “Hey, Jon, I started my astronomy class today, so make sure you tell Will.” Deflection seems like the best way to get out of this conversation. A quick scan around the table shows me that everyone gets my hint, too.
“Yeah, I’ll let him know.”
I take a bite of my salad and am just getting ready to relax when Edie runs up to me and signals for me to pick her up. I push my chair back and pull her into my lap. “What’s new with you, bunny?”
“I don’t know,” she answers coquettishly.
“You don’t know?”
“Uncle Trey?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’s Zaina?” she asks me.
I look at her closely and smile, giving her a big kiss on her forehead. “She’s in England. And thank you,” I whisper the second part in her ear, grateful that she’s centered me and brought me back to my reality with her innocent question.
I send a text message to Zaina before I go underground to the train.
- I know it’s late. Please tell me you’re awake.
After only a couple of seconds, I can see she’s typing something.
- - I was getting ready for bed. Are you okay?
I decide not to make her wait for me to get home, and hail a cab instead of taking the subway, where I’ll have no cell service for my entire ride home. I dial her number just after I check in with my taxi app on the phone.
“Hi there, Tria. This is a nice surprise.” she says, her voice sounding so far away, as it always does over the phone when she’s in England. The connection is never great, which is why we do so many video calls from our computers.
“I’m sorry it’s so late, Zai, but I miss you.
I just got finished with dinner at Valbella with my family. I’m in a cab.” It’s my way of letting her know this won’t be the most personal conversation we could have.
“That’s okay.”
“Why are you still up?”
“It’s stupid, but I was catching up on some TV shows, watching those DVDs my parents got me for Christmas. Two episodes turned into five.”
“And here I thought you were studying.”
“I probably should have been… I had to take a break from memorizing the names of all the bones in the body.”
“Do you have a test?”
“Yeah. It’s at three tomorrow. I know them all,” she says. “It’s just insecurity making me doubt myself now. You know how I get.”
I smile and laugh to myself, knowing exactly how she gets. “Yeah.” In high school, I’d spend many late nights simply distracting her so she wouldn’t worry herself to death over things like this. “I think the TV shows were probably just what you needed.”
“You aren’t here,” she says sadly. “And you don’t have time for that nonsense anymore, anyway.”
“I could always make time for a little distraction, if that’s what you need, Zai. Sure, I’m busy, but what are friends for, right?” I ask her, immediately shocked by what I just said to her. “Boyfriends for… what are boyfriends for?”
“Right,” she agrees, not giving it a second thought. I’m relieved, but still stunned. “Can you distract me right now?”
She sounds sexy, the way she asks me. “I’m at least twenty minutes away from my apartment, Zai–”
“Twenty-five,” the cab driver says.
“Did you hear that? Twenty-five, according to the cabbie, who probably doesn’t want to hear me do that right now,” I tell her.
“That would be embarrassing,” she says.
“Just a tad.” I think back to our night together when she was still in town, celebrating our anniversary. We didn’t seem as close as we used to be, but it was still an incredible night with her. “When you need a distraction like that, remember the Glenmere,” I tell her softly. “With the fireplace going, we had the lights off. And the snow outside, it was lit so perfectly by the full moon. I remember how beautiful you were in my arms, how your skin looked in the glow of the fire. Do you remember?”
