The Beautiful Between

by Alyssa B. Sheinmel

  I try to act nonchalant, but I can feel my muscles tense as I answer him. “I don’t know, I guess we’re not close. We respect each other’s privacy. She doesn’t ask what I’m doing, leaving every night at eleven.”

  “Well, that’s weird too.”

  “Well, we’re a weird pair, what can I tell you? Whatever we’re doing, it works for us.” I’m exasperated now. “See how normal you’d be if your dad-slash-husband died.” I’m immediately sorry for saying this, because Kate is sick, and for all I know Jeremy might have to find out what his family will be like after a death in it.

  “I’m sorry, Jeremy, I didn’t mean to be—” I search for the word. I can’t think of one to use that won’t reference Kate’s illness.

  “No, it’s okay. I was being rude. It’s none of my business how your family copes with its loss.”

  “I know we’re strange.” I’m so close to telling him that I don’t know about my dad, but the embarrassment takes over. “Most families aren’t like ours.”

  “Not like mine either.”

  I smile, thinking of their millions of dollars, of their power and prestige. Royal families are a rarity; of course there aren’t many like his.

  Jeremy sits up, presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.

  “I mean, my mother can barely acknowledge what’s happening. She just keeps shopping and going to her lunches and to her charity board meetings and whatever. Even when Kate’s in the hospital. I mean, she visits her and stays with her too; she’s not a bad mom. But Kate was diagnosed months ago, and still it’s like she can’t stand to let this disrupt her … I don’t know, her place in society. And my father—he’s still going to his board meetings; he even went on a business trip last month. Like they don’t think they should be soaking up every second they can—you know, just in case.”

  “Maybe your parents know something you don’t,” I say carefully.

  “What?”

  “Well, maybe the doctors have told them something you don’t know yet.”

  Jeremy smiles, but it’s a hopeless kind of smile. I guess if there was some promising news, his parents wouldn’t exactly have kept it from him.

  “I was the one—” He pauses, swallows hard. “No one told her, what she had, how sick she was. Like it would be easier for her that way. They finally told her what she had, but they didn’t tell her everything about it. I was the only one—I had to tell her the truth. My parents kept walking around like it was an easy fix. But when she asked me, I told her the truth. It wasn’t fair. I mean, there she was, Googling her disease, trying to find out what it meant. If it were me—I would have been more scared, you know, not knowing how serious it was.”

  “Jeremy,” I say, feeling brave, “what’s wrong with Kate? I mean, you never said—what is she sick with?”

  Jeremy looks at the floor. “She has leukemia. Same as your dad.”

  Same as my dad. My dad had leukemia. I always thought of that as something kids had, but of course adults can have it too. Of course they can.

  I begin to cry. There’s none of the usual warning, no lump rising in my throat, no tears building up slowly. Suddenly I’m just crying harder than I can ever remember crying. I don’t know if I’m crying for my dad; for my mom, out I don’t know where or with whom; for Kate, the sweet princess who’s sick; for Jeremy, who could lose the sister he loves; or for myself.

  And if I’m crying for myself, I don’t know why either. Because I miss my dad? How can I, when I don’t remember him? Am I crying because Jeremy told me what my family couldn’t? Because I’m relieved that the search is finally over? Is my search over? Am I crying because I miss my mother, even though I see her every day?

  I don’t see him move, but just like that, Jeremy has slid across the hardwood floor and he’s hugging me tight. He must have some built-in big-brother ability to hug so fast like that. My shoulder where his chin rests is wet, so I know he’s crying too, and so I don’t even try to stop. I don’t try to cover up or pretend it’s nothing. We’re both crying hard and messily. There’s snot on my face, and I’m not even embarrassed when I wipe it on his shirt because I know it’s on Jeremy’s face too. Who knew a prince could cry so much?

  I don’t know how much times passes, but eventually we both stop and we’re out of breath.

  “Can I ask you something?” I want his permission first.

  “Sure.”

  “How is Kate—now, I mean?”

  “She’s back at home, but she’s not … They cut her hair, Con. She loved her hair, but they cut it so that it won’t be so messy when it starts falling out. She cried the whole time. I held her hand and she cried. My mother hired some famous hairdresser to do it, and Kate made a joke that it was a waste of a good cut when it was only temporary”—he smiles, remembering her joke—“and I said nothing was ever wasted on her. It was just so hard, you know, ’cause I had to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal when I was just as upset about it as she was.”

  I think about that hair—long, blond, wavy; the kind of hair every girl wishes she had.

  “It must have been awful.”

  “I’m stupid enough to think that it must be harder for me and my parents than it is for her. ’cause we might have to lose her.”

  Then Jeremy smiles at me like he just remembered something.

  “Cigarette?” he says, and I smile too. It feels good to have that routine, smoking together, still in place.

  “Sounds good,” I say, and I press up off the floor. We stand normally—not particularly close, not too far apart, but just like we would have an hour ago, without any leftover intimacy.

  Downstairs, Jeremy says, “You know, Sternin, I’ve begun to really look forward to these bedtime cigarettes.”

  “Me too,” I say, and I wonder what I look like. Jeremy’s face is blotchy from crying, and I know mine must be too. I’m wearing a bulky sweater and a scarf. How come boys never seem to feel cold?

  “Sternin, I know I don’t have to ask you this, so don’t be hurt or anything, but please don’t talk about it around school, okay?”

  “Of course not. It’s your family’s business, no one else’s.”

  “Thanks, Sternin.” Jeremy looks relieved.

  “And I won’t tell people, you know, that I know about your dad. I know everyone thinks that your parents are divorced.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “That’s kind of my fault.”

  “Yeah?” he says, without any shock or judgment.

  “That’s what I’ve always said. That he lives in Arizona.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “I guess I thought it would be easier.”

  “Has it been?”

  I exhale until my chest feels hollow. “I guess it used to be.”

  Jeremy crushes his cigarette and looks like he’s thinking very hard. Then he looks back up at me.

  “Yeah, but why Arizona?”

  I burst out laughing and Jeremy grins at me, proud that he made me laugh. I want to thank him. For making a joke, for not judging my lie, and also for telling me about the cancer because he trusted me with his family’s secret and, without even knowing it, helped me figure out my family’s.

  We don’t hug each other good night. Jeremy gives me a kiss on the cheek and gets into a cab. I am suddenly so exhausted. It’s like the crying wore me out completely. I fall asleep without any fantasies, and I don’t remember any of my dreams when I wake up.

  On Wednesday, Jeremy sits next to me at lunch, and after a few minutes a couple of his friends sit down on his other side. I slouch in my plastic chair. I always watch the cool boys, but I’ve never gotten to do it this close-up.

  “Dude,” says Mike Cohen, “Fisher’s party is going to be sick.”

  Mike means Brent Fisher, Marcy’s new boyfriend.

  “Yeah,” says Jeremy.

  There’s no question whether or not Jeremy is going; even I know that. New York City high schools are so incestuous that if you refused to go to a party that was aff
iliated in some way with some ex, you’d quickly run out of parties to go to. Besides, a prince is above such trifles. A prince must make his appearance at all the top engagements.

  “Where’re his parents, anyway?” continues Mike. “Fucking Madagascar?”

  “Madrid, idiot,” cuts in Ellis White, sitting next to Mike.

  “Whatever, man. Fisher’s getting a keg.”

  I don’t understand this, since I don’t really drink, but I think all high school boys see the availability of a keg as a kind of wide-open treasure chest, all those riches there for the taking. Even Jeremy, who I know gets to sample all the finest wines and mixed drinks at his family’s parties, is turned on by the idea.

  “Right on, man,” Jeremy says, and then Mike looks around Jeremy at me. “You’re coming, Sternin, right?”

  I didn’t even know that he saw me there, sitting on Jeremy’s other side. He hadn’t acknowledged me till now. I’ve just taken a bite of my sandwich, so I have some time to chew before answering. I’m excited that whether or not I’m invited isn’t a question. I’m Jeremy’s friend now, I guess. People have noticed us sitting here almost every day. For all I know, he’s told people he comes over to study and for cigarettes, though I’m pretty sure he hasn’t.

  Luckily, Mike speaks before I can respond. “All right, Sternin. It’s gonna be a rage.”

  I don’t know what “It’s gonna be a rage” actually means, but I know I can’t ask. At least I can tell it’s a good thing, so I smile and say, “Sounds awesome,” hoping my use of “awesome” isn’t too passé.

  Peanut butter from my sandwich sticks to the roof of my mouth. I feel so much younger than they are; is this how Kate feels when she hangs out with Jeremy’s friends? I can’t imagine her ever feeling so awkward. She knows the right things to say.

  After Mike and Ellis leave our table, Jeremy turns to me and whispers, “What the hell does ‘It’s gonna be a rage’ mean?” I feel my lips widen into a grin. Jeremy has no idea how happy he’s made me.

  Later, when we’re smoking, Jeremy interrupts the silence by saying, “You gonna come on Saturday? I just mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

  I’m perched against the planter outside the building. When I straighten up, the stone catches on my sweater and I feel a thread pull. I hope I haven’t just ruined the sweater.

  “You think I shouldn’t?” I ask, disappointed, but then maybe Jeremy knows that I shouldn’t, that I wouldn’t know what to do at a party like that. He knows better than I if I have any chance of fitting in there. But I want to go, because sometimes I feel like I’m kind of missing out on high school.

  “No, of course not, if you want to. I just didn’t want you to think you had to come with me. I’m okay, you know—you don’t have to babysit me.”

  I burst out laughing. Jeremy looks hurt.

  “I’m sorry, Jer, it’s just that … God, you’d be the one babysitting me! You go to these parties all the time; it’s not like you don’t know how to be there.”

  Jeremy laughs too. “I meant, like, maybe you thought I’d get stupid drunk to drown my sorrows or something.”

  “Hell, who am I to say that’s not what you ought to do?”

  “Good point. Maybe drunk is a good thing.”

  “I’ve never really drunk much.”

  “Don’t worry, kid, I’ll make sure you get good and plastered. Come over before the party and I’ll take you there.”

  “We’ll babysit each other,” I say, excited that I’m going to the party, thrilled and relieved that Jeremy has volunteered to be my guide.

  “Absolutely.”

  I love that he understood that I wouldn’t have wanted to go by myself. I lean back against the planter again, watch Jeremy exhale smoke in the opposite direction. He’s always careful not to blow it toward me, like he knows that even though I smoke down here with him, I don’t really like cigarettes.

  11

  Three days later and I’m searching for something to wear to the party. I wonder if Jeremy’s family will be there tonight. I’ve never met his parents. I think Kate will be there. She hasn’t been in school for a couple weeks now, and as much as I want to see her, I’m scared too. I know she’ll look different. Her hair could be gone by now.

  I take care in getting dressed not because I want to look pretty for Jeremy, but because I think I’ll be more comfortable at the party if I like the way I look. But I don’t want to look overdressed. I mean, it’s just a party at someone’s house. I know the guys won’t be dressed up and the girls won’t be dressy so much as slutty, hoping to drag the guys’ attention away from the liquor. I wish Jeremy was a girl so I could call him and ask him what he was wearing.

  I take a cab down to Jeremy’s. I’m not stopped in the lobby, but given a friendly nod from the doorman in the direction of the elevator. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know the floor, because there’s an elevator operator and he does. The mark of a really nice building in New York isn’t one where the security is so tight that they don’t let you in, but one where they know whether to let you in and take you where you’re going without your having to say a word.

  The elevator opens directly into the apartment, and I have no idea which way to go. There’s no one in sight and the apartment is enormous. I silently narrate my entrance: The peasant girl barely steps inside the castle, scared of the sounds her shoes will make on the marble floor. Will anyone come look for her, or will she be left waiting, standing in the foyer forever? She dares not make a sound until someone comes to acknowledge her. Too frightened—and maybe a bit too stubborn—to move, she stands like a statue, until that’s what everyone thinks she is. Days will go by; weeks and months, even. The maids will dust her.

  I hear feet shuffling toward me, shaking me out of my nightmare. Kate is walking toward me, sliding her slippers on the floor, in pajama pants and what must be an old T-shirt of Jeremy’s, or maybe their father’s. I’m relieved to see her—someone to keep me from becoming a statue. And I’m relieved because even though her hair is short, she doesn’t look sick. She looks the same.

  “Hey, Connelly, you’re here.”

  Now that I’ve been acknowledged, I can move. I begin with my mouth. “Yup, I’m here.”

  I think she must be sick of people asking how she’s feeling, sicker still of people telling her they like her haircut. So I reach into my purse.

  “I brought you a book.”

  Kate looks surprised. “You did?”

  I smile. “It’s one of my favorites.” I hold the book out toward her. It’s my own copy, and I don’t think I’ve ever given a book away before.

  Kate flips through it. “It’s all underlined.”

  I smile. “I know. I underlined my favorite parts. You can ignore that.”

  Kate grins. “Nah, I’ll pay attention. Bet I’ll be able to tell a lot about you from the parts you marked.”

  I smile. That sounds like something Jeremy would say.

  “Where’s your brother?”

  “In his room. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Even though Kate’s in slippers and pajamas, I feel underdressed here, like I was supposed to dress more like a grown-up would. My boots—black, pointy-toed, with high heels—clack loudly on the floor, and I consider trying to tiptoe.

  “You excited about the party?” Kate asks me as we walk down the hall.

  I shrug. “Kind of.”

  Kate stops walking, and so do I.

  “Why are you only ‘kind of’ excited about the party?”

  I bite my lip. “I’ve never been to a party like this before.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be the belle of the ball.” She starts walking again, but I take a second before I follow her. I kind of can’t believe she said that, like maybe she knows about the fairy-tale world too.

  Kate opens the door to Jeremy’s room without knocking, which I guess is normal for sisters and brothers. Jeremy’s room is a mess, and even though I’m such a neat freak, I fin
d the mess comforting.

  “Jer-bert, Connelly’s here.”

  “Hey, Con, have a seat,” he calls. He must be in the bathroom—his voice comes from behind a door on the other side of the room. Kate climbs onto the unmade bed, and I guess that I’m supposed to sit on the edge of it, next to her. I remain standing. I’m highly aware that I’m a girl and Jeremy, obviously, is not. There are probably things in here that girls aren’t supposed to see.

  “Ew, Jeremy,” Kate calls toward the closed door. “You left your underwear on the floor.”

  “Oops,” Jeremy says, but there’s no embarrassment in his voice.

  Kate turns to me. “Boys never put anything away.”

  I shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”

  She pats the bed beside her. “Sit down.”

  I sit. Kate says, “You look nice. I’ve never seen you dressed for anything but school.”

  “Really?” I say, feeling relieved. “I wish you’d been there to tell me that when I was getting ready! I needed some serious advice.”

  Kate smiles. “Well, you made the right choices.”

  Kate’s said exactly the right thing. And I know she’s right, because surely Kate’s seen dozens of girls come over here to meet Jeremy before a party, so she knows what she’s talking about.

  “Hey, Con.” Jeremy comes out of the bathroom with jeans and no shirt. He kisses me on the cheek. I really, really hope I’m not blushing.

  “I promised you liquor, didn’t I? Katie, go get her something.”

  “No, that’s really okay.”

  “No way, Connie, we had a plan.”

  Kate’s already marched out of the room.

  “Where are your parents?” I’m not asking because I’m worried they’ll catch us drinking—I can’t imagine they care—but because I wonder if Kate will be alone tonight.

  “At some dinner thing. They’ll be back before we will.”

  “What about Kate?”

  “Our housekeeper’s here.”

  Kate comes in with two bottles of beer in her hand. Nothing fancy, just Bud Light. Jeremy twists off the tops and hands me one, which I begin drinking dutifully. I didn’t know you could twist off the tops of these kinds of bottles. I nurse my beer. Jeremy puts on a shirt. Kate climbs back onto his bed and gets under the covers like she’s settling in for the night. Jeremy leans down, gives her a kiss, and tosses her the remote.