Forever for a Year (15 page)

“Don't worry about us. We can take care of ourselves, Mom,” I said, which was supposed to help her feel less pressure, but it only made it worse.

“I'm going to make us dinner tonight,” she said, proclaimed actually. Like she was announcing she was running for president.

“Do you want me to stay home and help?” Lily asked. Most kids might have said that because they wanted to skip school. Lily said it because she knew our mom had never cooked a real dinner in her life.

“No, Lily. I know you think your mom can't do anything—”

“No, I don't!” Lily said. Yes, she did. And so did I.

“But I'm not a bad cook. Just an unmotivated one. But I'm motivated today.” She walked over, leaned down, and put her arms around Lily. It was awkward, but it was still almost a hug. My mom hadn't hugged us since she tried to kill herself, except when my dad was around and he basically ordered it. (In his nice “ordering” way.)

Then my mom looked at me. Crap. I think she wanted to hug me now. Not going to let that happen. So I looked down at my cereal bowl until she stood back up, walked away from the table, and turned on the coffee machine. My mom could maybe fool Lily, because Lily wanted to be fooled, into believing she was not a total failure of a parent. But no way could she fool me.

*   *   *

At lunch, Carolina and I sat together at her table with the soccer girls. I felt a little stupid sitting with only girls, but I'd rather feel a little stupid with Carolina than a total fraud with Henry and the rest of them. But maybe I should find new guy friends too.

*   *   *

I took the late bus home after practice to find Lily home alone. Yeah, she's super mature for seven, but she's still seven freaking years old and shouldn't be home alone. Ever. “Where's Mom?” I asked.

“She wasn't here when I got off the bus,” she said, sitting on the floor of her room, coloring. She always stayed inside the lines.

“You hungry?”

“Mom's making us dinner.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I'm going to wait for her to make dinner, Trevor! And so should you. We have to be supportive.” Yep. That's my sister. Thinking it's her job to be a cheerleader for her mom.

“It's five thirty now. At seven, we're both eating whether she's here or not.”

“Maybe,” she said, then refused to look up from her coloring book again.

When I called her cell, my mom didn't pick up. Goddamn. Worst mother in history.

*   *   *

At seven twenty-four, I poured Lily a bowl of Cheerios with a cut-up banana. Only thing she would consider eating. Said it would be a snack before our real dinner.

Three minutes later—exactly three minutes, actually—my mom walked into the house from the garage. She carried two big plates with tinfoil over them.

Lily cried out like it was stupid Christmas morning, “I knew it!” Dumped her cereal in the sink and jumped in the air next to my mom trying to see what she carried.

“Trevor,” my mom said, “there is one more plate in the car. Can you grab it for me?”

“Where were you?” I asked, as if my mom had stayed out after her curfew.

“I was cooking!” Mom raised the plates in the air before setting them down on the dining table.

“She was cooking, Trevor,” Lily said, pulling off the foil to reveal a plate of grilled chicken garnished with charcoaled cherry tomatoes and yellow peppers. The other plate held seasoned sweet potatoes. The food looked great. Too great.

I said, still pissed and still wanting Mom to pay for it, “Lily was here for two hours alone after school.”

“Lily, you were okay, weren't you?” my mom said, not looking at me.

“Yes! I'm always okay. Mom told me she wasn't going to be home.”

“Lily, don't lie!” I cried out. Frustrated. Like a baby. God, I hated how my mom made me like this. “Your seven-year-old daughter is lying for you, Mom!”

“Trevor, I want this to be a fun night. Can we please make this a fun night?”

“Apologize.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. Fast. Too fast. She didn't mean it. And I didn't want to let her off the hook so easily.

“No, Mom, this is not okay!”

“Trevor!” Lily screamed. She never screamed. So I shut up. “She said sorry and she made us dinner!”

“Did she? Did you, Mom? Did you make all of this? Why are you carrying it in? Shouldn't food you made ALREADY BE IN THE KITCHEN?”

Lily collapsed onto the floor, hit her palms over and over against the floor, retching out some animalistic cry. Never seen her do anything like it. And I had made her do it.

“Trevor,” my mom said once Lily's noises subsided enough for her to be heard. “I cooked at Grandma's. I wanted to do it with her. Is that okay or do you want to yell at me more?”

“But—” I started, because my mom still hadn't looked me in the eyes. I always knew she was lying when she couldn't look me in the eyes. Only Lily jacked up the volume of her first-ever temper tantrum. That made me stop talking. Lily was smart even when she was acting crazy. I turned toward the garage.

“Aren't you going to eat with us?” my mom asked.

“You said there was another plate in the car.” Flung open the door. Aaaaaaaaaah! But the scream was just in my head.

*   *   *

Found the last plate of my mom's “cooking” in the back of her Infiniti. Chocolate and peanut butter brownies. My grandma's specialty. What probably happened was my mom told Grandma that she needed to cook something for dinner, and Grandma volunteered to help. Then she probably ended up doing the whole thing. Mom went off and did who knows what all day.

And probably not alone.

Crap. Man. It was just that one phone call.… Maybe my mom didn't cheat. Crap. Forget it. Forget it all. Don't care about Mom, Trevor. Don't care about her at all. Care about Lily. And Lily wants to like Mom.

No! I won't let her!

I picked up the plate of brownies and walked back into the house, ready to tell her I knew Grandma had cooked everything, only I found Lily giggling with wonder at the table as she smelled the food. She acted like it was the greatest meal she had ever seen.

Screw it. I put the brownies down next to the other food.

“Brownies, Trevor!” Lily called out. “Your favorite! This is MY favorite dinner ever!”

Double screw it. I pretended to be a monster, with a deep, gargley voice, and said, “Food so good. Food so good,” and picked up a chicken thigh and gnawed at it, made a mess of my face and the table, but it made Lily laugh. Made my mom laugh too. I can act goofy for Lily, but not for anyone else.

See, life would be so simple and fun if I could pretend it wasn't bullshit.

*   *   *

Because later, after we ate the chicken and sweet potatoes and vegetables, for some idiotic reason, probably because the brownies made me weak, I decided to tell my mom about Carolina. She tried to be interested, but it was hard for her to really care about anything except her own problems. Then—because, I don't know why, maybe because I wanted her to pay attention for real—I told my mom that Carolina's dad knew her from high school. She asked his name.

And I said, “Scott Fisher,” and then this thing descended on my mom. A memory. I don't know. Whatever it was, it made me sick. I hated that memory of hers as much as she loved it. I hated that she knew Carolina's dad before I knew Carolina. She might have poisoned our thing thirty years ago and I couldn't do anything about it.

 

29

Carolina goes shopping

So Trevor had his first cross-country race Saturday morning. I asked about it one thousand times on Thursday so he would invite me to come watch, but he never did, which made me think he didn't like me as much as I liked him, but I tried not to really think that because everything else was so amazing.

Well, except Peggy. We sort of talked a little on Wednesday, but not about anything that made us hate each other. I didn't even hate her anymore, I just didn't love her. I mean, I did. I would forever. But I didn't really know what to say to her. How could I tell her about Trevor if she was going to be a poophead about it? I never say “poophead.” Gosh. Something's wrong with me. Anyway, Peggy and I were still best friends, but right then we weren't really
friends
friends.

On Thursday, I went to the bathroom during study hall because I didn't want to look at Peggy any more than I had to. It's always so bizarre going to the bathroom during class periods. I never usually do because I don't want to miss anything, but I wouldn't miss anything in study hall except Peggy's stupid face. WHY WAS I BEING SO MEAN? Anyway, the school feels like a deserted planet and any sign of life is very exotic, so I didn't see anyone walking to the bathroom but then when I got into the bathroom, there was Shannon Shunton. See, exotic. She was smoking. It was pot, I think, because of the smell, but it was the first time I had ever smelled it so I can't be one hundred percent sure.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I said.

“You—?” Shannon offered her cigarette. Or joint. Gosh.

“No, thank you.”

“Crazy end to the party, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard you stuck around, faced down the cops like a superhero or something.”

“Oh, not really. Peggy was sick.”

“Still super cool of you. First time I drank, I got sick too. I had no idea what I was doing. I must have been nine. I was such a crazy kid,” she said, talking like being a kid was something that happened fifty years ago. I wanted to hug her. Or maybe leave, but instead I went into the stall.

“Thanks for doing the shot for me,” I said after I flushed and started washing my hands.

“No problem. I respect you doing whatever you got to do.” Shannon was the hardest person to figure out on the planet. Seriously. I'm not exaggerating! Was she a bitch? Was she cool? Was she totally messed up? Was she the wisest freshman in history? So, so, so complicated. If I were to write a novel, I'd write one about her. It would be so interesting to know what goes through her brain.

“Maybe we should do homework together after school sometime.…” Why was I saying this? It felt like I was asking her out on a date. It's just … maybe she wanted a friend, and she had helped me with the dress and the shot and maybe—

“Aww, yeah, maybe, but I'm, like, an idiot. If I get a C, I throw myself a party. I bet if you got a C, you'd have a coronary.”

“You're not an idiot,” I said. “You're really smart.”

“That's cool of you to say … but what are you doing Saturday night? Me and Wanda were gonna chill at her place.”

“I have a date, but maybe—”

“A date? Yeah? With who?”

“Trevor Santos, he's new—”

“He's in history with us?” Shannon said. I nodded. “He looks like a good dude. So many dudes suck, like, fucking suck, so that's awesome. Happy for you.”

“Maybe we could all go out sometime?” I didn't even know what my mouth was saying.

“Yeah,” she said, laughed, then coughed, then continued, “sure.”

*   *   *

On Friday, I finally texted Trevor that I wanted to come see his race. I really just wanted to see him. I don't really understand cross-country. I mean, in soccer running is something we have to do as punishment. Why would you do it as the only thing? Anyway, I still wanted to see the race because I want him to know how much I love him without actually ever telling him I love him. Until after he tells me he loves me first. Then I'll tell him right away and every day. That will be amazing.

But Trevor texted back that cross-country races are boring and that he was not very good, which meant I couldn't come. I don't know how I felt about being a better athlete than my boyfriend (well, my future maybe boyfriend), but I guess there was always a good chance I would be a better athlete than any boy because I'm really, really good. I don't mean to brag. It's just that, you know, I worked really hard at it. Okay?

The only good part about not going to his race was that I could prepare for our date that night. I'm sort of kidding. I mean, what could I do for twelve hours? I did all my homework and I talked to Kendra, who kept saying, “He's going to kiss you, he's going to kiss you,” but she said it in this super-cute way that made me really excited, and nervous, but excited that I was nervous. Kendra was not as boring on the phone anymore. Which was weird. I thought I knew everything about her.

*   *   *

My dad had slept over at our house every night this week. It was amazing. I don't know what else to say. It's like we were suddenly this perfect family. Even more perfect than before he hurt my mom. He drove Kendra, Peggy, and me to practice on Labor Day morning. He did the dishes when my mom cooked and picked up bagels when she worked in the morning. Gosh. He was the best husband ever. And he was my best friend again. (Well, besides Peggy and Kendra and, I don't know, could Trevor be my best friend too?) My mom didn't know how to talk to me about boys. She would tell me all the boring stuff, like how I should get to know him “very, very well” before I got serious (she meant sex, which I wasn't having until college anyway), and that I shouldn't be alone with him in his house if his parents weren't home, and that I should never allow him to be mean to me. (I wanted to tell her that she let Dad be mean to her, but I wanted even more for her to forget that ever happened so we could be the perfect family forever.) My dad would ask me all the great questions, like what we talked about and what I liked about him, and if I was excited to have a first boyfriend. Gosh. I totally loved my dad again and I felt sooo lucky.

*   *   *

I texted Trevor when I knew his race would be over and asked him how it went, except he must have done poorly since he just responded, “Fine,” and then, “We can talk about it tonight.” It sounded so serious and sad, and I didn't want to talk about it at all. Except I did, because I wanted to be the best girlfriend ever. Gosh, I know, maybe the best not-his-girlfriend-yet ever.