by Anne Dayton
Christine shakes her head. “Ana’s serving dinner at the nursing home, and Tom’s in town, so Riley’s out with him.”
Christine’s dad snaps the cover of the timer back on and holds it up triumphantly. Mr. Lee is not one of those Mr. Fix It dads like Ed. “I did it!”
“We’re going first.” Emma starts to clap, then reaches for the big ten-sided die.
“Emma, you need to calm down and be patient.” Candace wags her finger at her. “This is not how a big sist—” Candace claps a hand over her mouth, making a hollow thud.
We all turn to her and study her beet-red face. Emma is the little sister at the Lee household, not the big sister. But why would it matter if Candace got them confused? Who cares?
Mr. Lee starts shaking in silent laughter.
“What?” Emma asks, jumping up and down. “What? What, what, what, what? Tell me!”
“You might as well tell them now.” Mr. Lees nudges his wife and snickers again.
“I really can’t believe I did that.” Candace shakes her head, grinning from ear to ear. “I guess it’s on my mind today with all of us hanging out like this.”
“That’s okay.” Christine stands up and heads toward the kitchen. “You don’t have to tell us. Don’t force yourself.”
Candace studies Christine as she pulls a plastic cup down from the cupboard and then glances at Mr. Lee. He nods. “I was going to wait to tell you guys, but, well, I guess the secret is out now.”
Christine’s eyes widen, and her face drains of color.
Emma leans forward. “OMG! What already?”
Candace reaches for Mr. Lee’s hand, and he smiles at her. “We’re expecting a baby!”
Emma’s shrieks nearly blow out my eardrums. She starts clapping her hands and bouncing around on the couch. She begins to spin in circles singing, “I’m going to be a big sister! I’m going to be a big sister!”
Christine slowly wanders back into the living room with an empty plastic cup in her hand. “When?” She sets it on the coffee table and eases—almost collapses—onto the floor next to Tyler.
“We’re due in May.”
I let my breath out and try to process the fact that while my family is falling apart, Christine’s family is expanding yet again. She leans back against the couch, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, Tyler reaches for her hand.
***
I’m crawling into bed when I finally get a text back from Dean. I stare at it in the half-light of my bedroom.
Cool. Wanted to wish everyone a good day. See you around.
I read it over several times. Did he send his text earlier to everyone in his phone book? I scroll through my phone and pull up the message. It’s impossible to tell. But why would he mention Tofurky unless he was talking specifically to me? And yet, his new message doesn’t make sense unless he sent it to a bunch of people.
I pull up a text Ana sent to the Miracle Girls about Ms. Moore last week. Riley and Christine wrote back, but I can only see that she sent the original message to me.
My phone falls to the bed. What if I’m the only loser who wrote him back?
I snap off my light and crawl under the covers, burrowing down into them and pulling my old quilt up over my head. He probably thinks I’m obsessed with him now. I press my eyes together as tight as they’ll go. I want to block out this whole, horrible day.
Eventually, slowly, I begin to pray, mumbling my requests out loud, asking for God’s blessing on my family, on Ed, and on Dreamy. I pray for reconciliation and forgiveness. I pray for Christine and the changes her new family is about to face. And I pray for Dean, wherever he is, that he will forget I ever existed.
I’m finally drifting off to sleep when I realize I never called Marcus back.
19
“Whatever happened to those bonds your great aunt Emmeline left you?” Dreamy peers at Ed over her reading glasses. “I want to make sure those go to you. Or you can sign them over to the kids.”
“Didn’t we cash them in for Nick’s graduation party?” Ed’s face is ashen, and he seems even thinner than normal. The skin on his face almost hangs. Is he eating enough?
I trudge past them into the kitchen for some Thanksgiving leftovers. I open the fridge and sigh. I had real pumpkin pie at Christine’s house, and now the soggy vegan substitute at my house is just plain depressing.
“You’re right. Okay, let’s move on.” I hear Dreamy rustle some papers. When I came home last night, she was still up preparing for this. They’re trying to make sense of a lifetime of combined finances. Listening to them has turned this grim holiday weekend into a torture session, but I can’t tear myself away.
I opt for the candied sweet potatoes and pull a spoon from the drawer. I’m not supposed to eat out of the dish, but who even cares anymore?
“Okay, on to the house. How are we going to divide that up? I read some articles at the library and it seems that—”
“Well, I’m not going to live at the Sea Witch forever.” At first Ed seemed to be kind of blindsided by the divorce, but lately he’s been voicing grievances of his own, hinting at old hurts and scores unsettled, and I’ve realized that they both have issues to work out. “I can tell you that much. I built this house with my own two hands.”
As I shovel my third bite of sweet potatoes into my mouth, the doorbell rings, but my parents don’t notice.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Dreamy gives a loud sigh. “I was right there next to you, helping you build this house, every nail.”
“I’ll get it,” I yell, but no one responds. Nick must be hanging out in his room, avoiding everything yet again.
I shove the casserole dish back into the fridge as the bell rings another time. I dash to get it, blocking out the rise in Dreamy and Ed’s voices. I’ve been around them fighting enough to know that we’re only a few minutes from an all-out screaming match. Whoever it is, I need to get rid of them.
I peer through the peephole and almost gasp when I see Marcus. How long has it been since we’ve hung out? I crack the door just enough, then wiggle through the opening, and shut it behind me.
“Hi.” I give him a quick wave and glance nervously behind me. Can he hear their voices through the door? I can, but I’m listening for them.
“Hey.” Marcus leans in and gives me a hug that I can barely return. I’m really not in the headspace for this. He needs to learn to call before he comes over.
We wait for a long moment, and it dawns on me that he thinks I’m going to invite him in. “So . . . how was your grandma’s?” Ed’s booming voice is clearly audible in the silence that follows. They’re at it now for sure.
“It was good . . .” Marcus moves his head, trying to make eye contact with me. “What about,” he coughs, “your Thanksgiving? Did you guys have a big meal?”
“Yep.” I take a few steps away from the door, hoping he’ll follow me. It’s a bright November day, but the air is brisk and sharp and there’s not a cloud in the sky. “A crazy vegan feast.”
“It must have been good to finally have all four of you at the table.” Marcus walks behind me. I don’t know where I’m leading him, but I’m glad he can’t see my face. “I mean, now that Nick is home.”
“Um, something like that.” I plop under a tree in our front yard and rub my hands together a little. It’s too cold to sit outside for long, but at least we’re out of earshot of the fight.
Marcus sits down next to me, taking pains to find a spot without any twigs or pebbles. “You know, I see Nick around a lot, but I haven’t seen Ed in a long time.”
“Umm . . .” I try to think of something truthful I can say in response. I guess I haven’t quite managed to tell Marcus everything. I’ve tried a couple times, but it never seems to come out. “He’s here now.” I gesture at his beat-up Datsun.
“Zoe.” He takes my hand. I can feel him trying to look at me, but I keep my head bowed. “What’s going on?” He rubs my hands, keeping them warm.
It hits me that th
ey’re in there talking about who gets the house. It’s our house, the weird white bubble that represents us, the funky, free-spirited Fairchilds. You can’t divide it up. And why hasn’t Ed moved home yet? When he first decamped to the Sea Witch, I thought it was going to be a temporary thing, that I could make them see how silly they’re acting. Ed would understand how much he needs us, and Dreamy would realize how empty our house feels without him.
“Please tell me.” Marcus shakes his head. “You’ve been so distant and closed off. I’m really worried.”
I raise my head and see his warm brown eyes staring back at me. Why haven’t I told him? Marcus is so good to me. Maybe I don’t want to disappoint him with my messy life and imperfections.
“My parents are . . .” My lips quiver so much that I have to pinch them together to steady them. Marcus squeezes my hands and keeps his gaze locked on me. “They’re saying they’re going to get a divorce.” As soon as the d-word leaves my mouth, the tears well up in my eyes. Marcus pulls me into a hug and rubs my back as I sob harder than I have in ages. This is why I love Marcus.
“But they’re not going to . . .” I glance back at my house. From this distance, it’s the picture of quiet domesticity, the same loving household I’ve always known. “They’re not going to go through with it. I’ve got a plan.”
Marcus gives me a lopsided grin. “I’m sure they’ll work it out. Dreamy and Ed love each other very much.” He puts a hand on my knee. “But if they don’t, you can come to me.”
“They will! They’re going to figure this out!” I don’t mean to yell, but Marcus isn’t listening to me.
“Okay, okay.” He holds his hands up. “They’ll work it out.” He scratches his head and looks at me warily.
I lace my fingers through the parched brown grass and grip the dying roots. All we need is a couple of good rains, then Ed will start landscaping again and we’ll have more money. Dreamy won’t be stressed if she can pay the bills. “You really think they’ll work it out, right?”
“I do.” Marcus nudges me so that I’ll look at him. “I really do.”
20
I peer into the smudged windows of El Bueno Burrito and hesitate. With a fake Mexican theme, it looks dreary and depressing, the way only an off-brand fastfood restaurant can. I might as well go in. It’s not like they’ll be hiring anyway, and then I’ll know I’ve exhausted every option. I walk past a few occupied orange plastic tables and approach the counter.
After several weeks of halfheartedly searching online postings, I decided to get serious about finding a job. It’s the Christmas season, and stores always need extra help this time of year, and well, we need the help too. I started my job search at the Half Moon Bay Coffee Company. That was three hours ago, and I was stuttering and shaking so hard that I had to repeat myself three times. Now I’ve almost gotten used to the humiliation.
“Hi,” I say to the tall, skinny guy working the register. I see a patch of hair on his neck that he missed when shaving. “Are you guys hiring?”
I wait for him to say no. Half Moon Bay Coffee Company, Bayside Books, the record store, and four different gift shops all told me the same thing.
“I’ll go get the manager.” Ah yes, this trick. I’ve already encountered it several times. He’s going to let the manager tell me no.
As he disappears behind the swinging door to the kitchen, I steel myself so I won’t cry. Stupid small town. Stupid, stupid Half Moon Bay, where all the good jobs are taken—and the bad jobs too. I don’t even like burritos.
The manager walks over to the front counter, followed by the tall guy.
Maybe I can make money by selling stuff on the Internet instead? Or by starting some kind of green company? Oh. I could collect cans and scrap metal and recycle them. That has to be worth something.
“Gus is the name.” The manager sticks out his hand eagerly, and I shake it.
“I’m Zoe.”
“You need a job?” He’s a very average man: average height, brown eyes, not fat, not thin. In fact, he’s almost completely forgettable except for his nervous energy and his brown brush-like mustache.
“Yeah.” I start to back away from the counter. “But I know you’re probably not hiring. I’ll check back in the spring.”
“No, wait.” Gus waves his hands in the air. “We need someone.”
I stop in my tracks. “Really?”
“Hold on. I’ll go get my interview forms.” He dashes into the back. While he’s gone, I try to smile at the skinny guy, but he won’t meet my eyes so I stare at his Adam’s apple, mesmerized by how it moves up and down his neck.
Gus runs back in, wagging a piece of paper in the air. “Please, please,” he ushers me over to an empty table. “Do you have time for the interview right now?”
I walk over to the table, taking in the ugly orange tile, the hideous piñatas hanging from the ceiling, and the smell of greasy meat that lingers in the air. “I guess so.” I pull out the chair across from him and sit with my back to the door. The tabletop feels sticky.
Gus takes a pen from his pocket and clicks the ballpoint out. “Zoe, may I please have your last name?”
For the first fifteen minutes, Gus meticulously ticks boxes, fills in blanks, and gets his little form just so. I answer his questions, smile a lot, and try to look hirable. No matter what he offers me, I need to take it. I focus my thoughts on buying groceries for the family, shopping for a nice blouse for Dreamy, splurging on some new work boots for Ed. We need this. I can do this. But my hands are slick with sweat.
“Now I know you probably have your heart set on cooking.” Gus shakes his head solemnly. I shiver. The idea of touching raw meat creeps me out. “But you have to work up to that. For now we need someone to run the register. Are you good with numbers?”
The door to the shop opens, distracting him for a moment.
I cough. “Well . . . I’m a fast learner.” There. That wasn’t a lie.
The people walk up to the counter, and I almost gasp out loud when I spy a familiar flash of über-blonde hair. Riley? Riley and Michael?! Jeez louise. What are the odds? I slump down a little in my chair.
“Are you good with machines? The reg can be a little tricky.” Gus’s excited voice snaps me back.
“Well . . .” I don’t think there’s really any way to spin this. One time I exploded a mug in the microwave, I can barely operate our TV remote, and don’t even get me started on computers. Nick got all of those genes.
I glance nervously at Riley. She hasn’t seen me yet, but her brother, Michael, seems to be counting the tiles on the floor. What if he looks up?
“Wonderful, wonderful.” Gus makes some notations, and I decide to keep my stupid mouth shut. “You start Saturday, Zoe. Welcome aboard.”
My mouth hangs open.
“What do you say to that?” Gus bounds out of his chair and grins at me like a maniac. It dawns on me that he wants me to show some enthusiasm.
“Awesome,” I say quietly. Maybe if I hurry things along here, I can sneak out before Riley sees me. I thought no one ate here. I don’t mind working somewhere cool and seeing people, or even somewhere lame if no one ever visits, but I don’t want to work somewhere lame that people do go to. I’ll die of embarrassment. What if . . . but he wouldn’t. Not his style.
Gus gives me an awkward high five and sort of accidentally slaps my shoulder, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Can you get here at seven?”
“What?!” I sputter before I can stop my mouth. “A.m.?”
Michael turns at the sound and squints across the room. His face lights up, and he points at me. Marvelous.
“We’re doing these new breakfast burritos that people are crazy for.” Gus stares around the cramped, grim burrito place and smiles with pride. “Let me run to get your W-2 and some other HR forms to fill out.” He disappears into the back room, and I lean against the table, trying to look nonchalant, like maybe I just polished off a nice veggie burrito and I’m on my wa
y home.
Michael tugs on Riley’s arm until she turns to him. He points at me, and I give a shy wave back. Busted.
“Zoe!” Riley walks over and hugs me. “Your mom does this too?”
“What?”
She holds up two white paper sacks. “You know, makeshift Mexican. Mom sends me and Michael for burritos about once a week, whenever she gets too busy.” Like most of the rich families in town, they live within walking distance of downtown, not out in the boonies like us.
“Who was that man?” Michael says, skipping the part where we exchange niceties. Last summer he attended a special program for autistic kids in San Francisco, and he’s gotten a lot better, but he can still be a little blunt.
“Um, the manager.” Maybe they won’t ask more questions. I don’t know if I’m prepared to answer them.
Gus strides out of the back room at just that moment. I have no luck today, I swear.
“Hi there.” He waves frantically at Riley and Michael. “Gus, the manager, here. Just wanted to say thank you for stopping by!”
“We come every week.” Michael’s tone is a little harsh, but Gus doesn’t seem to notice.
“Great! I love it!” Gus turns to me. “And here are your forms, Comrade Zoe. See you bright and early Saturday morning!” He gives me one more high five for good measure.
“Thank you,” I say, ignoring Riley’s stunned face. “See you then.” I put my arm on Riley’s back and move her to the door. There’s something kind of off with Gus. It’s good to love your job, but he loves his job a little too much, if you ask me. It’s just meat inside a flat pancake. It’s not rocket science or anything.
Gus waves until I finally get all three of us outside and shut the door.
“You got a job, Zo?!” Riley shrieks.
“When will you work? You have to go to school.” Michael makes momentary eye contact with me. “It’s a state law.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Riley laughs a little, shaking her head. “Are you sure you can handle it?”
