Part 24 (1/2)
”I'm sure it is. Does this boy have a name?”
”Leo Dietz.”
”So he has the same name as the boy you saw a movie with last week. Friday nights. Movies. If I weren't a confused old lady, I'd say it sounds like you're dating.”
”It's called hooking up, Mom,” CJ corrected her.
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”You are both wrong, and promise me you'll never say those words again, CJ. Especially if it ever involves you.”
”Then what is he?” Mom tried to hide a smile.
”I don't know. Why does it matter? We're not running away and getting married or anything.”
”That's called eloping,” CJ interjected.
”Have you been watching Lifetime or something?” I chided.
”He likes those movies where Tori Spelling gets stalked,” AJ pointed out.
”Shut up.” CJ punched AJ's chest.
”You shut up,” AJ retaliated, and in an instant they were on the kitchen fl oor, on top of each other.
”Is that a scene reenactment?” I asked over their screaming.
Twin boy legs fl ailed, and a clatter of Jenga tiles rained down on top of them. ”Enough!” my mom cried, and while she attempted to pry the gangly pair apart, I made my hasty exit, running upstairs to grab the Basket Case movies and calling ”Good- bye!” as I escaped out the front door.
When I got to Leo's, his parents were in the front hall getting ready to leave. I was early, and I hadn't antic.i.p.ated the dreaded meeting of the parents. I put on my most pleasant girl face, the one that says ”I'm just a friend and your son will not be impregnating me this eve ning.”
”So nice to meet you, Alex. Wish I could say we've heard a lot about you, but Leo doesn't talk to us much.” Leo's mom was tall and polished, with his same dark, coppery hair. She wasn't overly friendly, and I wasn't sure if I actually liked her. Not that it mattered. Friends'
-1- parents were always at the bottom of the list of people I needed to like.
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Or like me back. As long as it didn't get in the way of said friends.h.i.+p, neutral territory was fi ne.
Leo's dad didn't say anything, but he shook my hand when Leo introduced me. ”This is Alex,” was what Leo said. I was relieved he didn't precede it with ”my girlfriend.” They left soon after I arrived, and Leo and I did the awkward dance of what now in his front hall. I looked at the framed pictures his parents had along the wall. Gapped- tooth school pictures, family vacations on mountainsides, and military portraits of who I a.s.sumed was Leo's brother, Jason, covered the walls.
”He looks like you,” I noted about Jason.
”Yeah. Except the halo over his head.” Leo sounded peeved.
”What do you mean?” I asked.
”You know, every family has one kid who's perfect and one kid who's a f.u.c.kup. He's not the f.u.c.kup.”
”I don't think every family has to be that way. Like, what about families with more than two kids?”
”They're lucky. The perfection and f.u.c.ked- up- ness get distri- buted more evenly. Way less pressure.”
I mulled over this theory and chalked it up to baggage I wasn't in the mood to delve into.
”I brought the movies.” I held up the DVDs to change the subject.
Leo led me into the kitchen and opened the freezer. ”What kind of pizza do you want?”
”Just cheese, if you have it.”
As Leo cooked dinner, I moved into the family room. The house was very neat and looked designed, as though all of the knick- knacks were strategically placed instead of shoved onto available shelf s.p.a.ce like at my house. I loaded the fi rst movie into the player and sat down --1 -0 -+1 139.
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on a long, velvety gray couch. I kicked off my shoes and turned myself to lie down on the luxurious fabric. Leo entered the room, saw me, and took this as a cue to rest himself beside me. Instantly I felt my body heat up. This was my favorite position to be in with Leo: too close to read expressions, too tempted to have a conversation. We kissed and fumbled and groped and grabbed, but our clothes remained in tact because, as I reminded him, ”There's a pizza in the oven.”
About ten minutes in, I pulled my face away from Leo. ”You taste diff erent,” I said. ”And smell diff erent.”
He talked into my neck. ”I'm trying to quit smoking. Someone told me it tastes like a t.u.r.d.”
He quit smoking for me? That was a lot to put on a person. What would happen if we stopped what ever it was we were doing? Would he go back to smoking? Smoke more cigarettes just to spite me? Turn to crack?
The buzz of the oven put a pause on the couch session and my thoughts. So what if he quit smoking because of me? It was stupid to begin with, and he smelled a lot better without it. And if he started smoking again, not my problem. I didn't need another thing to feel guilty about.