by Anne Dayton
“Did you have a nice time?” Her voice is low, and in the moonlight from the open window I can see she’s lying on her bed, staring straight up at the ceiling. The stuffed bear her dad gave her when she was a baby is tucked under her right arm.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I did.”
“I’m glad.”
I lie back down on my bed slowly and wait for more, but she doesn’t say anything else. Her deep, even breaths are the only sound from her side of the room.
“Why are you awake, Emma?” I readjust my position and try to get comfortable again.
“I don’t know. Couldn’t fall asleep.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me, and try to focus my thoughts back on Andrew, but now I can’t get the image of Emma, lying there on her bed, out of my head. For some reason she looked so small, and some strange part of me wants to reach out and touch her.
“Emma?” I don’t really know what I’m saying, but the silence is too much.
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever miss your dad?” I roll onto my right side, trying to get comfortable.
“All the time.” Her voice wavers a bit.
“Yeah.” I raise my head and fluff up my pillow, then lay my head back down slowly. “Me too.”
16
Zoe and Ana and standing at the edge of Riley’s driveway when I pull up to her house. I park in front of the McGee’s house, which is strung with a banner that says “Happy Birthday Michael!” It’s Michael’s fourteenth birthday, and Riley’s family is throwing him a party at their house this afternoon. Most fourteen-year-old boys wouldn’t want their sister’s friends crashing their party, but Michael is different. Also, he’s not exactly Mr. Congeniality, so at least this way there will be a few guests.
I stroll over to the girls, who are in mid-conversation.
“This morning he came over to see if I wanted to practice our new piece for band together,” Zoe says, shaking her head. She turns to me. “Marcus.”
“So did you? Practice the new piece with him?”
“Yes, but only because I had to do it anyway.”
“You guys, I’m worried about Riley,” Ana says suddenly. “Tom’s going to be at this thing, right?” She gestures toward the house.
Zoe nods. “It could be a good chance to talk to him and get to know him a bit.”
Ana unwraps a piece of gum and pops it into her mouth. “I don’t want her to get hurt.” I glance at her in the rearview mirror, jawing away at her gum. I love Ana, but I kind of doubt that this is her whole reason for opposing Tom. I suspect there’s something far more complex going on here. She’s always kind of looking for a chink in Riley’s armor.
“I’m going to see what I can do about it.” Ana starts heading up the walkway toward the house.
“Welcome!” Mrs. McGee ushers us into the room. I count exactly one person I don’t know: a pale, reedy boy about Michael’s age, wearing a dark blue tracksuit. He and Michael are playing Wii bowling, swinging their controllers around spastically.
Riley waves to us from the kitchen. She’s wearing an apron, and her hands are covered in flour. We put our gift—we all chipped in on a star chart since Michael loves astronomy—on the table. Zoe picks a chip out of a bowl on the table and pops it into her mouth.
“Michael, say hi to your guests,” Mrs. McGee says.
“Hi,” Michael says without turning around, while he swings the controller and sends the ball straight into the gutter. “Eighty-eight.”
“And that’s Alexei,” Mrs. McGee says, pointing at the other boy. “He’s a nice boy. Just moved here from Russia a few months ago, so his English isn’t that good.” I smile. Riley once told us that most of Michael’s friends come from the international club at school, which was formed to give new immigrants a place to connect, but Michael hangs out there because the kids are nicer to him.
We all watch as Alexei uses his controller to bowl. He knocks over five pins and gives Michael a high five.
“Ninety-seven.” I realize Michael is calling out the score after each round. If I know him, that’s not the only thing he’s counting. If I asked him right now, he could probably also tell me how many chips Zoe has eaten, how many times his father has laughed, and exactly how many tiles are on the kitchen floor, both including and not including the pantry. He’s sort of like a counting superhero.
“Hey, guys,” Riley says as she stamps cookie cutters into a thin piece of dough. “Come here and meet Tom.” We trudge into the kitchen, and Mrs. McGee disappears into another room. I hear talking and a little laughter in the dining room.
“Aunts and uncles,” Riley says, nodding in her mother’s direction. “Mom’s so excited that she’s running all over the house.”
Tom, dressed in black pants and a blue polo shirt, stands next to Riley, pulling the cut cookies off the cutting board and laying them gently on a cookie sheet. I’d forgotten how tall he is. He wipes his hands on a kitchen towel, and then holds out his right hand to me.
“Christine. Nice to see you again.” He gives me an easy smile, and I take his hand grudgingly. He is quite handsome. I’ll give her that.
“And this is Zoe and Ana,” Riley says, nodding at each of them. She uses her arm to brush a piece of hair out of her face.
“One hundred and five.”
“Delighted to meet you,” Tom says smoothly, smiling as if he doesn’t notice the scowl on Ana’s face. He seems comfortable, like he’s spent a lot of time here.
“So what are you guys making?” Zoe says quickly. “Cookies?” Her eyes light up.
“One hundred and seven.”
Riley bites her lip. “Yep. We’re all going to decorate them later. Christine, you will be expected to produce a masterpiece.” She laughs, but no one else does.
Suddenly high-pitched shrieking emanates from the living room. Alexei is jumping up and down, his tracksuit rustling. Michael throws his controller down and stomps his foot, then begins to wail. He does this screaming thing that will drive you bananas, and it looks like he’s about to launch into it here at his own party.
“MICHAEL!” Mr. McGee appears in the doorway, but Tom gestures to him to stay, striding through the living room. Mr. McGee takes a step back, as if he’s deferring to Tom. Alexei looks confused and toys with the strap of the controller in his hand.
“Michael,” Tom says, taking the birthday boy by the shoulders. He looks into Michael’s face. Michael looks around, not meeting his eye, but Tom just waits. Slowly Michael begins to quiet down, and soon his whimpering stops.
I look from the scene in the living room to Riley, who smiles. “Tom’s mom is a psychiatrist at the UCSF medical school. She specializes in autism, and Tom has helped her out at the clinic since he was a kid,” she says quietly. Zoe looks like she wants to give Tom a big hug.
“Would you like to play again?” Tom asks, and Michael nods. “Okay. Pick up the controller.” Michael obeys Tom’s calm instructions. “Alexei, may I use your controller?” The small Russian boy nods and hands over his controller. “Thank you.” Tom puts his hand through the safety loop and pushes a button to go to the main menu. He selects his character—a tiny little digital version of Tom—and begins the game.
“You guys want to use the cookie cutters?” Riley asks, gesturing to the pile of metal shapes on the counter next to her.
“Actually,” Ana says, “it’s a nice day for a walk, don’t you think?” She takes a step toward the door, then looks back, urging us to follow her.
Riley looks uncertainly out the window at the gray afternoon. It’s November and thus not a nice day for a walk, but Ana goes right out the front door, and the rest of us don’t have any choice but to follow her. Riley takes off her apron and lays it on the counter, and we all chase after Ana.
“What’s going on?” Riley asks, her smile fading a bit. In the pit of my stomach I feel a rock forming. Maybe it’s the foggy, damp weather, but I have an eerie feeling all of a sudden. The hair on my arms stands up.
“This is an intervention,” Ana says calmly.
“No, it’s—,” I start but Ana cuts me off.
“I’m worried that Tom isn’t right for you. He’s older, he lives too far away, and he’s not good for you spiritually. And isn’t he going away to college next year?” Ana crosses her arms across her chest and suddenly looks exactly like her own mother. “You’re going to get hurt, and I’m worried. ”
Riley stares at Ana, incredulous. “You didn’t even give him a chance. Not even a little bit.” She takes a step toward Ana, her fists balled, then turns to us. “Is that what you guys think too?” Zoe shakes her head vigorously, and I make some sort of noncommittal gesture. I don’t mind Tom exactly, but I do think we have a growing problem here. What happened to the girls who would back each other up, no matter what? The girls who could spend all day helping Zoe’s dad with some weird project in the garden? Where did our easy friendship go?
“Everyone loves him. My parents love him. Michael loves him. No one else has a problem with this. What’s the big deal?” She takes another step toward Ana, who stiffens her shoulders and stands firm.
“We just don’t think this is right. You’re going to get hurt, and— ”
“Okay, Ana. You don’t like Tom. I get it.” Riley points her finger at Ana. “But why? What’s the big deal? What is this really about?”
Zoe goes into panic mode, shaking her head. “You guys.”
“Is this about the trig test you got a C on?” The moment the words leave Riley’s mouth I have the urge to duck for cover. It’s no secret that Ana struggles with math.
“What?” Ana rears her head back. “No. This isn’t about school at all. This isn’t about me. It’s about—”
“Please, please don’t do this. You need each other.” Zoe wrings her hands.
“Zoe’s right.” I put my hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “Stop it.”
“Of course it’s about you. It’s always about you.” Riley says, rolling her eyes. “You and Princeton. You and Dave. You and God. All you ever think about is you, you, you.” Riley seems surprised by her own outburst, and she stops and clears her throat.
Ana looks like Riley has thrown cold water in her face. For a moment, there’s a spark in her eyes, as if she’s mustering the words to fight back, but then it passes, and tears start to pool.
“I see,” she says slowly. Fighting back sobs, she begins to walk away, down the lawn toward the street. I don’t know where she’s going, since she doesn’t have a ride or a phone to call anybody to come get her, but she holds her head up and doesn’t look back. Zoe covers her face with her palm for a second, and then chases after Ana.
I watch them go, then reach out my arms and pull Riley into a hug. I’m not really a touchy-feely person, but I make do, and soon Riley’s body is shaking. Over her shoulder, I can see Ana throwing her hands in the air, and Zoe trying to calm her down.
I think Ana really is trying to do what she thinks is right. She believes that Riley needs to hear our reservations about Tom, but what I’m learning, what I wouldn’t have the first clue how to tell her, is that sometimes what we actually need isn’t really that important. Sometimes just being there for each other is enough.
I know in my heart that things have been said today that cannot be taken back. What we had was special. . . . Now it’s all messed up.
17
I walk into the living room wearing jeans, a plaid shirt rolled up at the elbows, and a gold hoop in my nose. Consider this phase two of my brilliant plan. If Candace doesn’t slap me on the face or curse a blue streak, I’ll give up painting forever. Dad is going to be so angry when he sees how she treats me.
“Christine?” Dad stares at my outfit, his eyes bulging out. “We don’t have time for this tonight.” My dad’s angry tone of voice is followed quickly by the sound of someone running down the hallway in heels, then Candace appears in the living room. Dad stands up and pushes his chair back from the kitchen table, where he was looking over a stack of papers.
Dad’s district covers the area from San Francisco down the coast, including Half Moon Bay. It’s not like being the governor, but it’s bigger than being president of the Rotary Club. It’s somewhere in between, kind of like being a congressman but just for the state of California, so his staff felt that he needed to have a huge, nauseating engagement party at the Ritz, as if just being in the same room with my dad and Candace isn’t nauseating enough. The gala is officially being thrown by the mayor of Half Moon Bay, but a lot of bigwigs are attending it. And I am not.
I spin around so they don’t miss the fact that I am wearing my favorite black Chuck Taylors too. Candace’s face is utterly calm, but I can almost see her internal temperature rising as my plan starts to work. “If your friends can’t accept me the way I am, then that’s their problem.”
Emma, who is waiting quietly on the couch, dolled up in a pink dress, her silky chestnut hair falling down her back, lets her mouth drop to the floor.
My dad is pretty pale normally, but suddenly his face is as red as the sun. It looks like steam might shoot out of his ears at any moment. Fine. As long as Candace yells at me and Dad lets me stay home tonight, I don’t care. No way am I going to prance around at an engagement party and act like I’m excited about this ridiculous marriage. Besides, I promised Zoe I’d call her so we can strategize about how to resolve this horrible fight.
“Put something else on now! NOW!” He points at my bedroom.
I cross my arms over my chest and raise my chin. “No. I’m an adult. I was invited. I can wear what I want.” I give him a saccharine smile, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Emma still gaping at me. “Unless, of course, you’re ashamed of your own daughter.”
Dad clears his throat and takes a step toward me, but Candace raises her arm to indicate he should stop. Here it comes. She’s going to kill me, and hopefully she’ll get so angry that they’ll call off not only the party but the whole stupid wedding.
“James? A word?” She drags him down the hall to his office where I can hear them hissing at each other. I try to listen in, but even though the walls are paper-thin in our little house, they’re just out of earshot. She’s probably trying to convince him that it would be easier to leave me home and tell everyone I have a cold or that she knows a nice boarding school in North Dakota that does a great job with troublesome stepdaughters like me.
“You’d better thank me when you’re in high school,” I say to Emma, who finally closes her mouth and scrunches up her face. “You’re going to have it so easy. I paved the road for you.”
“I think you look pretty,” she says quietly.
My dad comes back into the room, his nostrils flared, with Candace on his heels. “Okay.” He opens and closes his hands into fists, and Candace gently touches his back. This makes him stop doing the fist thing, and he mutters quietly. “Get in the car everyone. We’re leaving.”
They bustle around me, Candace digging in her purse for her keys, Emma doing one last spin in her dress, my dad patting his coat, looking for his wallet, while I stand completely still in shock. Wait. They’re going to let me go like this? Why isn’t Candace seething at me, threatening to do me bodily harm?
“Come on, girls,” Candace says and smiles warmly at me. It’s not even one of her Kool-Aid-laced fake smiles. Her heels click on the wooden floor as she walks toward the front door, and Emma stands up obediently. I glance down at my outfit. They’re not really going to let me go in jeans. What kind of trick is this?
“But—”
“We have to get going or we’re going to be late,” Dad says through his teeth. Candace gestures for me to hurry, and I realize they’re serious. “Come on, Christine.”
I look down at my jeans and notice there’s a hole in the right knee.
“One second.” I dash back to my room, swap the plaid shirt for a feminine top with a scooped neck, shove my feet into ballet flats, and change my nose ring to a simple diamond stud. I’m still wearing jeans, but a
t least I no longer look like Johnny Depp. Even I have more pride than that.
They’re all buckled into their seats waiting for me when I trudge to the car.
Maybe they’re going to drop me off at a home for wayward girls, I think as we cruise down the quiet streets of Half Moon Bay, but as we near the hotel, I realize they’re serious. We’re really going.
When we pull up to the uniformed valets in front of the Ritz-Carlton, I admit defeat.
***
The Ritz-Carlton is perched on an emerald green cliff, high above the Pacific Ocean. When you look out the windows, you can see straight into the moody abyss. Not that I’ve been doing that or anything.
“Did you see the fish eggs?” Emma squeals as she comes up behind me.
“I’ll pay you twenty bucks to try them.”
She claps her hands over her mouth. “Not for a million dollars.” She grabs my hand and begins to pull. “But come look at this.”
I allow myself to be dragged to the chocolate fountain.
“Look, they have donuts, and strawberries, and raspberries, and even marshmallows!” She skewers a marshmallow on a wooden stick, plunges it into the fountain, and devours it in one bite.
This must be one of the benefits of having a little sister: you’re never alone at these kinds of things. That doesn’t really make up for having to share my room and put up with her mom, but at least it’s something.
For the next two hours, Emma and I sneak through the crowd unnoticed. I catch a few people staring at my outfit, but I hold my head up and pretend it doesn’t bother me. We sample the full offering of hors d’oeuvres and stalk the waiters carrying the best selections. Plus, we make friends with the guy at the bar, and he gives us more soda whenever we want it without waiting in the line. And every five minutes Emma hits the chocolate fountain like a serious addict.
And not once does either my dad or her mom utter even a syllable to us. In fact, they don’t even glance our way. I guess they’re busy—I haven’t seen either of them sit down yet. I can’t help feeling a little lonely, as if we’re invisible, even when I wear old beat-up jeans and a nose ring, even when everyone else seems to stare at us.
