|photo by Sharon McCutcheon from Unsplash|
The refrigerator alarm goes off, reminding me to close the door, and No-No turns himself around in tail-chasing circles and barks. I consider changing his nickname to Dodo.
About the time I decide to pull out last night's take-out leftovers—which weren't very good the first time—Aunt Emily arrives with Chinese. "Be a darling and make me a vodka tonic?" she asks.
My parents drink but they don't keep alcohol in our house. They subscribe to the philosophy that it's best to keep temptation at a minimum when you're raising a teenager. Emily has an entire bar in her living room, fully stocked. On my first night here, she taught me how to make a vodka tonic and I've gotten pretty good at it—or so she says.
"I really don't like New York. Have I told you that?" she asks when I deliver her drink.
I just smile. She's told me this several times. I don't believe her.
"Don't wait on me," she says, waving a hand toward the bag of food as she takes an undignified gulp. "I had to eat with that dreadful Melanie Winslow."
How was your first day at school, Thea?
She leans back in her favorite chair, props her feet on the tufted ottoman and pats her lap to invite Antonio on board. He hops up, but then abandons her when he hears me prying the staples out of the take-out bag. "Did you meet our next door neighbor today?" she asks.
"He's in three of my classes."
"Oh, that's right. First day at Zachary. How was it?"
I line up four red and white boxes on the breakfast bar and get a fork out of the drawer. "I think the headmistress was disappointed that she didn't get to meet you."
Emily twists in her chair to look at me. "I sincerely doubt that," she says, smirking.
I want to ask her what strings she pulled to get me into Zachary but I decide to wait until she's in a better mood. "Have you ever met Ms. Ambroise?" I ask instead.
"No, and I don't intend to. Tell me what you think of Chase."
I am so not in the mood for this conversation. I take my time opening the boxes while I contemplate the most uncontroversial answer.
Fried rice. Sesame chicken. Beef with broccoli. Veggie stir-fry.
"He's nice," I say, stabbing a piece of the chicken and shoving it in my mouth.
Emily huffs out a sigh and stands. She scuffs into the kitchen, takes a plate out of the cabinet and sets it on the bar in front of me. "Nice is not a word I would use to describe young Chase. He's highly intelligent and extremely well-bred."
"Cool," I say. "Is he neutered?"
"His inheritance will be considerable," she adds, ignoring me. "And he's hot as Hades."
Cougar on, Aunt Emily.
"He was quite interested when I told him you were moving in."
Great. "Can I invite my boyfriend to come for a visit?" I ask.
She cocks an eyebrow. "If it's okay with your mother, it's okay with me."
And the point goes to Emily.
I slide my school handbook in front of her. "Would you sign this, please? I have to turn it in tomorrow."
She holds out her hand. I put a pen in it.
"The rules say my skirts are too short."
"And how many girls at Zachary follow that rule?" she asks. "Did you happen to notice?"
I did, actually. Fast-talking girl for one. "There were a couple," I say.
"Those girls are only at Zachary because people like me contribute to a scholarship fund to pay their way. They have no choice but to follow the rules. You, my darling, are above reproach."
We had scholarship students at Mason too, but the rules were the same for everyone.
"Don't look so sour," Emily says. "It's not like I campaign for social injustice. It's just the way it is; the way it's always been."
She's thinking about her days at Zachary. I can tell because the only time she and my mother sound anything alike is when they talk about—or rather, talk around the time they spent there.
"Who else did you meet today?" Emily asks.
"Conner Barlow."
"Barlow..." She shakes her head. "I don't know any Barlows."
"Paige Lyons," I say.
"You met the Lyons girl at school?"
"Yes."
She downs the rest of her vodka tonic. "Well, good for her," she says, heading for the bar. "I cried for days when Anne Marie died. I never saw it coming."
"Who was Anne Marie?" I ask.
Ice cubes clink into Emily's glass. "My friend. Paige's mother. She committed suicide four years ago."
* * *
Aunt Emily stops by my designated guest room on her way to bed. "I decorated this room for my ex-mother-in-law," she says, like the memory pains her. "She loved weddings—thus the white. I tried to do it tastefully..."
"It's pretty," I say but really, it's gorgeous. Everything is white: the Oriental rug, the drapes, the bedding. The only variation is in the textures of the fabrics and then there's the occasional blush of pale pink. "It's just not very practical," I add. "I could move into the smaller room..."
"No, no. A teenager needs space, and her own bathroom. I was thinking we could redo it. You and I. Together. It would be fun, right?"
No, no.
I smile and nod my lying head off.
"Any ideas?" she asks.
I don't really want to put anything of myself in this room. I'm not staying. I give her a shrug.
"Favorite color?"
I think of Glenn's eyes. "Brown."
She grimaces. "Favorite time period?"
"Colonial American."
"Well, I suppose I can work with that. I'll bring some magazines home. We'll figure something out. Goodnight, darling. Give my love to the little Lyon tomorrow."
Usually when my aunt calls you darling, she's doing it to patronize or to get something she wants. Tonight, there's a note of sincerity that reminds me of my mother. Or maybe I'm just being dramatic because I miss Mom and I hate the thought of something happening to her.
"Goodnight," I call after my aunt. Then I find Conner's text from this morning and type him a message: How long have you known Paige?
He replies within seconds: Forever.
My aunt was friends with her mom.
Didn't know that.
She told me what happened four years ago. So, is that the reason...?
Pretty much.
Wow.
Yep.
Paige would have been thirteen when her mother died. I type: Makes me want to hug my mom.
Hug your aunt.
She's not the hugging type.
Then meet me before school tomorrow morning and hug mine.
I think that might be the sweetest thing a boy has ever said to me. But I'm pretty sure he's joking. I type: What do you think about Chase Tinsley?
Hold on a minute...
I get his next message in less than a minute: Okay, I'm back. Had to put on my neck brace.
WTF?
You're giving me conversational whiplash.
I laugh out loud and type: LOL
C.T. is a decent guy but your boyfriend wouldn't like him. Why do you ask?
He lives next door to me. Wants to walk me to school tomorrow...
There are a few minutes of dead air and then another message: Are you asking for my approval?
Yes, I think I am.
More dead air and then: Tough question. Thinking...
While I wait, I go back to The Beast—also known as Fundamentals Of Trigonometry by Cecil M. Best, Ph.D. The phone rings moments later and I smile. Conner must have given up on the written word. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot," I say, in lieu of hello.
"Thea?"
"Glenn, hi!"
"Who did you put on the spot?" he asks, amused, and oh, I love the lift in his voice. I miss him so much.
"I made a friend today—two friends, actually—and I asked his advice."
"About your interesting day?"
"About my new next door neighbor. He thinks we should walk to school together."
"The friend thinks you should walk your new neighbor to school?"
"No, the new neighbor is the he that thinks we should walk together."
I'm loving the silence now because I'm thinking that Mr. You-should-date-other-people is having a jealous moment.
"What does the friend say?" Glenn asks.
"He doesn't think my boyfriend would like the neighbor."
"You don't have a boyfriend."
"I do. He's just going through this idiotic phase where he thinks he knows me better than I know myself. I'm sure it'll pass soon."
Glenn sighs in that heavy, I-want-you-to-hear-me-sigh way. "It's late," he says. "I have to get up before the sun tomorrow."
"That's all I get?"
"What do you want, Thea?"
"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured your face today? How much my heart literally aches?"
"I know."
"You know?" Smug bastard. "Well, that's just—"
"I know because I feel the same way. I miss you, Thea. I miss the shit out of you."
Tears fill my eyes—and my heart if that's possible. "Thank you."
"I love you."
"I know," I say and he laughs. "I love you too, Glenn Nash. Go to sleep. Dream about me."
"Pretty sure I'm going to dream about endless rows of peanut plants. But while I'm driving the combine tomorrow, I'll daydream about you."
After we hang up, I look at pictures of Glenn on my phone while I float along happily on my white fluffy cloud of a bed. Conner's text wakes me up: I don't approve. Can't really explain why.
Huh. I type: Can't or won't?
Another tough question...
Sleep on it.
Good idea. I really think you should come to school early tomorrow. My mom wants to meet you.
Aw. I'd love to meet Conner's mom. Plus leaving early means less chance of crossing paths with the boy next door. I type: Consider it done.