by Emma Mills
“You need GoogleMaps to find your way out of my eyes,” Gideon says, executing an elaborate turn before catwalking back. “Or at least a comparable navigation app.”
I smile a little.
We eat and watch TV, and there’s not a whole lot of talking in general, but it’s … nice. It’s comforting.
Iris and Gideon fall asleep eventually—Iris in my dad’s lounger, Gideon on the floor at her feet. Zoe and Alex are sitting on either side of me on the couch. I get up at one point to show Noah where the bathroom is, and when I come back they’re as far apart from each other as the couch will allow, their eyes fixed on the TV as Gideon snores softly.
This isn’t what I want. But it’s not even about what I want, is it? It’s about what they want and how I got in the middle of that.
“I can’t with you guys,” I say. “I can’t do this. Get up.” I look pointedly at them both. “Seriously.”
“What?” Zoe says.
“You’re going to go talk.” I grab Alex’s arm and pull him up.
“About what?”
“Feelings and stuff,” I say, pulling Zoe to her feet too. “All the gushy stuff deep down inside. Don’t hold back. Just never tell me about it.”
Neither of them move.
“Go upstairs,” I prompt. “Don’t come back until it’s all sorted out.”
Finally—finally—they look at each other. Zoe smiles, the slightest bit. Alex nods.
And then they go upstairs.
I sink down on the couch, rest the crook of my elbow over my eyes. The pressure feels good.
Footsteps shuffle back in after a couple minutes.
“Want some more pizza?”
I shake my head, uncovering my eyes and looking up at Noah.
We haven’t talked much since our conversation outside the theater at Danforth. Since you don’t know him at all.
He gestures to the spot next to me. “Can I?”
I nod.
He sits and then stretches out his legs on the coffee table in front of us. For a little while it’s quiet, save the TV and Gideon’s snores.
“Can I tell you something about me that not a lot of people know?” he says eventually.
I nod.
“When I was eight, I really wanted to be on America’s Got Talent. Like I had an act and everything.”
“What was your act?”
“Tap dancing.”
“You can tap dance?”
“No, I’m terrible. My mom took an audition video of me and told me she sent it in, but I’m pretty sure it never saw the light of day, thank God.”
I smile a little.
“Do you want to know something else?”
“Sure.”
“I have epilepsy.” A pause. “I wish I could blame it for my bad tap dancing, but you can have epilepsy and still be a great tap dancer; the two aren’t mutually exclusive. I just genuinely sucked at tap dancing.”
I look over at him. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, a small smile on his lips.
“It’s not like a secret or anything. It just … I don’t know, it doesn’t come up until it comes up, you know? I should’ve said something at Triple F—we must’ve seemed nuts—but that’s why Gideon…” He shrugs, his smile fading. “That’s why. I want to get my license, but my parents won’t let me try until I’ve been seizure-free for six months. And … I haven’t been. So.”
“Oh,” I say. It feels insufficient, but I’m not sure what else to say. I’m sorry comes to mind, but that doesn’t feel right. I get the impression Noah doesn’t want me to be sorry.
It’s quiet for a moment. And then he goes on.
“Do you remember that party? When he refused to go in because of the cups?”
“Yeah,” I say, and my eyes dart over to where Gideon is lying on the floor.
“Don’t worry, when he sleeps, he’s dead to the world,” Noah says, and then: “It wasn’t because of the cups. It was because they had a strobe, and he was afraid it would set me off. I don’t even … they’re called photosensitive seizures? I’ve never even had one triggered by that. But he’s so … paranoid.” He shook his head. “Maybe that’s mean. He’s cautious. He’s annoyingly cautious.”
“Why did he lie about the cups, then? Why wouldn’t he just say?”
“Because he’d rather look like an asshole than embarrass me in any way. Not that I’d even be embarrassed, but that’s just … how he is.” A pause. “Though that’s not to say that every time Gideon looks like an asshole, it’s because he thinks he’s keeping me from embarrassment. He picks those shirts himself, after all.”
“I like the shirts,” I say.
“Of course you do.”
It’s quiet.
“What triggers yours, then? If not lights and stuff.”
He shrugs. “Lots of things. If I don’t take my meds properly, or if I’m tired, or stressed. Alcohol can do it, too,” he adds with a little smile.
I look over at him. “The RumChata Incident?”
He meets my eyes, briefly, and grins. “Yeah. The first and only time we ever drank. Gideon didn’t know … he didn’t know it could cause it. I did. It was Christmas break freshman year and we stole a bottle of RumChata from my parents’ cabinet and got hammered in my room.… When I woke up, I had the worst grand mal I’ve ever had. I fell off the bed, hit my head pretty bad on the nightstand.” He pushes his hair back from his forehead with one hand, revealing a scar that disappears into his hairline. “It scared Gideon a lot,” he says, quieter, letting his hair flop back down. “He’s been annoyingly cautious ever since.”
“He cares a lot about you,” I say.
“I know. That’s why I’m telling you. Maybe he changes obsessions every week, you know, maybe he likes lots of different things, but the important stuff … the people he cares about … he cares so much.”
A pause. “After the RumChata Incident, when I got back home from the hospital, he came over and we were sitting outside—Ellie, my little sister, she still had this play set, we were sitting on the swings—and he looked at me and he said that he wished it was him.” He shakes his head. “I said, you know, it’s not gonna change anything, it’s not gonna hold me back at all. And he said he knew that, he knew that nothing could, but that he still wished he could do that for me. If we could switch … he’d switch in a second, no question. Because…”
“Why?”
“Because he loves me,” Noah says, and lets out a breath of laughter. “What a dick.” A small smile. “Sometimes I wish there were like a combination of a hug and a punch ’cause that’s what I would do to him. Like I want to punch-hug him, but also keep anything bad from ever happening to him. Because I … Like, that’s how I love him, too. If it were him, I’d wish it were me.”
I can’t imagine loving someone that much, but at the same time, I know exactly how it feels, because that’s how I feel about Zoe.
And fuck it, that’s how I feel about Iris, too.
“That’s why I got upset when you said that stuff about him. I didn’t mean to be a jerk about it. I just … I don’t like people thinking things about him that aren’t true. Not when he’s literally the best person I know.”
I shake my head. “I was being a jerk.”
A colossal jerk.
It’s quiet for a while after that. Finally I glance over at Noah again.
“If you could have a superpower, what would it be?”
“Super spit,” he replies without a moment’s hesitation.
“What—that’s not even a thing. Why do you guys think that’s a thing?”
He smiles.
fifty-two
We wake up Iris and Gideon eventually. It’s late, and a school night, and they’ve got to be ready for opening night tomorrow.
“I could stay here,” Gideon says, all sleep-soft, rubbing his eyes.
“It’s okay. Can you drive though?”
“You can’t get drunk off pizza.”
I smile. “But are you
too tired?”
He shakes his head.
They gather their coats and shoes. I thank them for the pizza. They make me promise to text as soon as I hear something. I say I will, even though I know I won’t text until the morning.
Noah pauses inside the door. “This was one of the weirder parties I’ve ever been to,” he says, and I manage a laugh.
I watch them go. Iris waves from the backseat as Gideon pulls away from the curb.
I go upstairs and get ready for bed, even though I’m not sure I’ll fall asleep. The door to Alex’s room is still closed.
I’m climbing into bed when there’s a light knock at my door.
“Yeah?”
Zoe sticks her head in.
“Can I sleep over?” she says.
I pause, the covers halfway drawn up. “Sure. I mean. You and Alex can do whatever you want.”
She makes a face. “I meant in here.”
“Of course.”
I find her some pajamas, and then we get in bed and lie awake.
“Did you fix it?” I say.
She looks over at me, nods. “I love him, Claude.”
I nod back. “I’m sorry I was a dick.”
She turns her gaze to the ceiling. “I should’ve told you before. I was scared. And not just of how you’d react, but … of things being different. Like, if you didn’t know, then I could pretend that everything could stay the way it is.”
It’s quiet.
“Do you remember that first night, right when we started volunteering?” she says.
“Yeah.”
“I always thought that maybe there was something a little wrong with me, because I didn’t feel it like you did. I felt sad, obviously, like I felt really sorry for the kids and their families and I wanted to help, but when we had that talk about it, I remember thinking … ‘Claudia feels it so much more than I do.’ You just care so much, you know? And sometimes I feel like I’m cut off from stuff because my first instinct is like, ‘okay, how can we fix this, what can we do to make it better.’ But your first instinct is just like, ‘how must the other person be feeling?’ It cuts so close with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good thing,” I murmur.
“No, it is. I think it is. I, like, admire it. And I think … You know, maybe we’re friends because you’re the way you are, and I’m the way I am, and I’m just … really fucking scared, Claude, of everything being different.” She lets out a breath. “I told myself that I didn’t say anything because I was worried about how you’d take it. But really I’m worried about me. About things changing so much and you not being around to feel things for me, you know? Like what am I gonna do then?”
“I’ll always be here.”
“But you won’t. You’re gonna go to school, and you’re gonna do great. I already know because you have … good friends,” she says. “You found really good ones.”
I did. I got lucky, somehow.
“I meant here for you,” I say. “Always.”
“Really?”
“How is it even a question?”
“Even if me and Alex break up?”
“Of course.”
“Even if we don’t?”
“I’m gonna get so drunk at your wedding.”
She laughs.
fifty-three
It’s late into the night, and I’ve actually almost drifted off to sleep when I hear footsteps in the hall and someone pushes my bedroom door open.
Alex pads across the room and hands the phone to me, the light glowing blue-white through the darkness. I can’t read his expression as I take it.
Zoe’s still asleep. I get up and go into the hall.
“Mama?”
“Yeah, honey. I’m here. I’m sorry it’s so late. We’re all here.”
She tells me that Julia delivered the baby. They’ve taken him to the NICU. He weighs three pounds, nine ounces, and his name is Jack.
I take a deep breath and let it out. And then another—breathing in sweet relief. “That’s a good name,” I say finally.
“Julia wants to talk to you.”
She hands the phone off.
“You’re okay? He’s okay?” I say instead of hello.
“He’s so little, Claude,” Julia replies.
“But he’s going to be okay?”
“He’s on oxygen, but he’s breathing okay; they said he doesn’t need a ventilator. They put him in an incubator, like he’s a … like a baby chick in an elementary school class. Do you remember that?”
I do remember that. We got eggs and waited for them to hatch in a plastic incubator with a lamp above it.
“How are you feeling? Are you okay?”
She doesn’t speak.
“Julia.”
“No,” she says finally.
“Did they give you painkillers and stuff?”
“Not that. I feel—guilty.” Her voice hitches on the word.
“What? Why?”
“I fucked up my first act as a mom,” she says. “I evicted him from my uterus ten weeks early.”
“That’ll teach him to pay his rent on time.”
Julia huffs wetly.
“He’s going to grow up big and strong,” I say. Like Gideon. “If he’s anything like you and Mark, he’s going to be so annoying.”
“Claude,” she says, but it’s with a hint of a laugh.
“Before you know it, he’s going to be twenty-five and you’re going to be evicting him from the apartment over your garage because he refuses to get a job and spends all his time on elaborate Claymation re-creations of his favorite scenes from fantasy novels.”
“Oh great, that’s what you envision for my son?” she says with a laugh—in earnest this time, but it shifts partway through. “My son,” she repeats. “My baby,” and she’s crying again.
“Jujube.”
Silence.
“It’s all going to be good,” I say. “It’s going to be so, so good.”
She doesn’t speak for a while.
“We’re gonna come up there tomorrow.”
“No, you can’t,” she says, her voice still hoarse. “Your play, Claude. You’ve worked so hard.”
“I really haven’t.”
“No, you have to go. You and Alex can drive on Saturday.”
“It’s fine, really—”
“I had to hear you talk about it all this time. You’re not missing that show. One day won’t make a difference.”
“Maybe he’ll be bigger by Saturday.”
“Maybe,” she says. I’m afraid she’ll cry again, so I go on.
“Say bye to Mom. I’ll call in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
* * *
I give Alex his phone back, and we both stand in the dimness of the hallway, quiet between us. And then I step forward and rest my forehead against his shoulder. He pats me on the back, a few bro thumps, before letting his hand rest there for a moment.
“It’s okay,” he says, and I nod even though I’m not sure what he means, whether it’s everything with Julia—she’s okay, the baby’s okay—or the whole thing between us (I would’ve picked you up). Maybe a little of both.
I step back and look at my brother, who really would’ve picked me up tonight. Who broke up with Zoe even though neither of them wanted to. Who risked death for me to fight the Lord of Wizard, even after everything I said to him.
I want to say I’m sorry. I want to say I know how terrible I was, how selfish. But in this moment all I can get out is, “Do you remember Spooky Tree?”
He looks surprised. “Yeah.”
“Thank you for kicking Spooky Tree.”
One corner of his mouth lifts up. “Claude, I would kick a thousand Spooky Trees for you.”
I nod. “Me too.” My throat feels tight. “I mean, maybe not Spooky Tree exactly, but, like, a different, similarly scary tree.”
“I might take you up on that on
e day,” he says with a smile.
“Good. I’ll be ready.”
fifty-four
I text everyone about Jack in the morning.
AUNT CLAUDIA REALNESS, Gideon texts back, almost instantaneously.
I say good-bye to Zoe, talk to my mom again before I go to school, and then the day passes by somehow.
Iris and I grab something to eat after school and take it back to campus before the call for the show. We eat in the hall outside the shop, and she tells me about the final dress rehearsal last night—a few dropped lines, a couple prop mishaps, but mostly okay. I’ve just seen bits and pieces so far, but I’m excited to see the whole show, even if I have to watch part of it from backstage, on donkey-head duty.
“Noah was great,” Iris says. “He’s so freaking funny. And Gideon…”
“What?”
“I don’t know, he’s really good, too.” She pulls on the straw in her drink, lifting it up and down a few times so it makes that obnoxious squeaking sound.
“Please don’t do that,” I say, just as she says:
“Are we ever going to talk about it?”
“What?”
“The whole Homecoming debacle.”
“Are we calling it a debacle?”
“I call ’em like I see ’em.”
I don’t speak.
“Why’d you really turn him down? You’re obviously obsessed with each other.”
“We are not ob—look, okay. I just. It won’t work out. I want it to, but I just know that it won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because.” The truth: “Because I’m the kind of person you feel regular about.”
Iris just looks at me. “How can you say that?”
And when I don’t respond, she says it again: “How can you say that? Seriously. Because some dickbag said it to you one time? Look at me. Look at my face, Claudia, and, like, listen closely to the words that are coming from it, okay?”
I look at Iris’s face.
“You have a best friend and siblings who love you. Gideon looks at you like you fucking hung the moon, and I—you have—” It doesn’t make sense, but Iris’s voice catches at that, her eyes shine all of a sudden. “I give a shit about you, too, you know. We all do. And so to say that … it’s like you’re saying we’re wrong. Do you think we’re all wrong? All of us? To care about you like that? To … value you, the way we do?”
