Part 15 (1/2)
”It was okay,” I said, never breaking stride.
Dad brushed Mom away from his head. He loosened his blue- striped tie and undid his collar. ”We're going out to lunch with the Osbornes. Why don't you put on a dress and go with us?”
”Nah. I haven't had a shower. I stink. Besides, I've got studying to do.” I tried to slip on by, but Mom's bull c.r.a.p detector must have gone off the second I opened my mouth.
”Oh, come on. Your old folks aren't that bad to hang around with, are they?” Mom practically sang the words as she fell in step behind me.
”We're going to Dutch Boy. You used to love Dutch Boy.”
”It's okay, but I've got to finish my comp paper,” I replied, quickening my pace. I heard Dad ramble to the kitchen, his wingtips clunking on the tile, but Mom was on my heels, her steps nearly silent on the worn carpeting.
”Robert called last night,” she said.
”Really?”
”He wanted to talk to you.” Mom could be quick as a cheetah when she wanted to, and she made it to the doorway before I could escape.
She leaned against the frame and watched me kick off my shoes. Her gray dress matched the color of our eyes and revealed a modest amount of pale skin above her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
”Why did he want to talk to me?” I asked, avoiding her knowing gaze.
”He said he'd been thinking about you. He sounded worried.”
”Worried? Why?” A knot twisted up inside my stomach as I tossed my shoes in the closet.
Mom sat on the edge of my bed, tucked her skirt beneath her, and crossed her ankles. ”Is something bothering you, Claire? You haven't been yourself lately.”
I'd tried so hard not to be obvious, but no one knows you like your mother. She's the one who could identify your sick crying from your temper tantrum crying, who woke up in the middle of the night out of pure instinct when you had a fever, and who could tell you'd flunked an algebra quiz by the way you walked. I must've been nuts to think that I could have gone through a life alteration without Mom noticing.
”Nothing's bothering me.” I started to unb.u.t.ton my pants, but realized I was wearing Lora's panties. I stopped and left the chinos hanging on my hips.
”Honey, you've got your whole life to worry. Don't waste your youth on it.” Mom paused and pretended to adjust her belt, a nervous 91 habit she'd tried to break for years. ”If you need to talk to me, you can, Claire. I won't be a hysterical mother.”
Okay, Mom. I had s.e.x with my best friend last night. I think I'm a queer. How's that grab you? A swell of nausea rose in my stomach.
I turned and forced a smile, wis.h.i.+ng away the hurt I would eventually cause her. ”I'm fine, Mom, really. I guess I'm a little scared about going to college next year. You know, stuff like that.”
She smiled back, but the worry in her eyes deepened. I tried to put myself in her place as she sat on her child's bed, not sure what was wrong, not sure how to help. She must have been terrified.
Mom looked out the window. ”If it's a boy... if you're in some kind of trouble, any kind of trouble...”
I wished it were that simple. If I'd gone out and gotten myself knocked up, at least she'd have some idea how to deal with it. They'd be upset and disappointed. They'd shake their heads and wonder where they went wrong. They'd be ashamed by what the neighbors would think, but we'd sit down and discuss my options. The real problem was unknown territory, something so unthinkable that my parents would have no idea where to start.
I forced another smile. ”Honest. I'm okay.”
She looked at me, and I saw myself in her. As I'd matured, I'd developed more of Dad's featuresround cheeks and long, dark lashesbut I was still the spittin' image of Maureen Blevins, like Babbling Betty at the Woolworth's lunch counter had said more than ten years before. I ached with emptiness. I would never make her proud like Robert had, never give her the things a daughter should, but she still smiled. ”Sure you don't want to go to lunch?”
I nodded, unable to speak. The monstrosity of the family would remain hidden for at least another day.
She got up and left, and the phone rang. I jumped on my bed and picked up the receiver. ”h.e.l.lo?”
”Can you meet me in ten minutes?” Lora's voice lifted my spirits and dampened them at the same time.
”Where?”
”By the tennis courts.”
”Give me fifteen. My parents are going to lunch, and they haven't left yet.”
”Fifteen, okay.”
She didn't say goodbye.
CHAPTER 18.
The brittle night air is good for my head. It blows away the echoes of idle dinner conversation and allows me to compose myself for a moment alone with Rebecca. We stroll silently along the sidewalk and up the front steps.
”Feel like a nightcap?” I slip my key into the lock.
”Sure, but just one. I've got an early day tomorrow.” She follows me to the den and drops her purse beside the sofa.
”Make yourself at home.” I go to the kitchen and pull a bottle of chilled Chardonnay from the refrigerator and two gla.s.ses from the cabinet.
When I return with the wine, she's sitting square in the middle of the couch. Shucks. I have no choice but to sit close to hervery close.
”You have a nice home,” she says as I give her the drink.
”Thank you.” I'd like to say something else, something witty and charming, but the line between my brain and my voice has disconnected.
She goes on. ”I had a nice time at dinner. Jared and Elizabeth are good people.”
”I don't know where I'd be now if it weren't for them. Probably on the street selling pencils.”
”I'm glad you're here instead.” She sips her drink. ”I hope you don't think I'm being too forward, but I couldn't take my eyes off you tonight.”
”Did I have spinach in my teeth?” I take a long swallow, but this sissy wine couldn't tranquilize a sloth. Should've poured myself a nice tall scotch or shaken up a vodka martini.
”No, silly. You didn't have spinach in your teeth. I like looking at you, that's all.” Rebecca giggles and tentatively slides her hand onto my thigh. When I don't protest, she relaxes, leaving her hand near my knee.