If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Now (39 page)

“It’s his first sleepover,” I said apologetically.

“I think he’d be more comfortable sleeping in his own bed. Can you pick him up? I’d drive him home for you, but Paul’s out
of town and I can’t leave the kids.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m so sorry about this.”

“Are you kidding?” she said. “He did great. Someday I’ll
tell you the whole story of my daughter’s first sleepover, but for now let’s just say that the other girl’s parents still
aren’t speaking to us. See you soon.”

As I sat up and pulled on my jeans, I explained what was going on to Andrew, who instantly hopped out of bed and reached for
his boxers. “I’ll drive you over there and then drop you and Noah back at your house.”

“If it’s easier, you can just take me to my parents’ and I can grab my car and go on from there.” I scanned the room for my
clothing and spotted my bra lying on the floor near his dresser.

He turned, holding a sock in his hand. “I don’t like the idea of you driving around town by yourself at this time of night.”

“It’s not that late.”

He shook his head and went back to getting dressed. “I’m driving you.”

We both quickly finished putting on our clothes and were in the car in less than five minutes. I told Andrew where the Goldens
lived, and as he steered us along the quiet, empty, late-night streets, I thought about how I would have been doing this by
myself, all alone, if he hadn’t said he’d come with me. And then it occurred to me that if it hadn’t been for Andrew, I probably
wouldn’t
have been doing this by myself, because Noah might not ever have made friends with Joshua.

He glanced over and caught me looking at him. “What?” he said.

“Nothing. Just… thanks for coming with me. It means a lot.”

“I’m happy to. Hey,” he said, “I was thinking: should we just come back to my place so we don’t wake up your parents? Noah
could sleep on the sofa or the floor or wherever you think he’d be most comfortable.”

I thought about what it would be like to wake up in the morning next to Andrew, with Noah running in from the living room
to ask if he could crawl into bed with us and watch TV.

I settled back in my seat with a contented sigh and said, “You know what?”

“What?”

“I like the way you think.”

If I could send a letter back in time, there are a bunch of things I’d like to tell my fourteen-year-old self, things like
“Think about getting all those baby teeth pulled
now,
” because I’d just as soon not have to go off to college in braces again. Also, it would be nice to reassure myself that despite
all evidence to the contrary my love life actually
would
work out okay—better than okay—in the long run. But if I only had space to tell my stupid teenage self one thing, it would
be a simple “Just be nicer to Mom, okay?”

Like many teenagers, I had a tendency toward sullenness and a profound belief that the members of my family were just supporting
players in The Story of My Life. As I got older, and should have known better, I still considered my mother mostly in terms
of what she could do for me and didn’t concern myself too much with what her own thoughts and fears and hopes might have been.
My life seemed more important than hers, and I was often too busy for long phone conversations, took for granted her gifts
and visits, and rarely encouraged her to talk about herself.

Then she was diagnosed with Stage IV pancreatic cancer. It was scary and sad, but the sudden tragedy meant we could put
the rest of life on hold, and we actually had some amazing talks and shared moments in those ten weeks between her diagnosis
and death. The walls I’d spent my adolescence and teen years erecting crumbled pretty quickly under the weight of her illness.

But ten weeks isn’t a lot of time, and there were five other members of the family who craved attention and absolution as
much as I did. Plus, I had a family of my own to take care of. So plenty of things were left unsaid and a fair number didn’t
even get
thought
about until later. And some of them didn’t come up until I was working on this book.

There’s a moment at the end of this novel when Rickie’s mother explains to her that kids need someone “safe” to take out their
frustrations on, someone who won’t leave them no matter how unreasonable or unpleasant they get. “You give them that,” she
says, meaning that a mother will weather her child’s anger and never falter in her love.

I wrote those words thinking about my own kids, about how sometimes they’ll come home from a tough day of socializing and
academics and just lose it with me, because they
can.
I don’t enjoy it when my usually delightful kids scream at me or blame me for things that aren’t my fault, but I recognize
where that anger’s coming from and I understand it. So I took that feeling and put it in this book: both Rickie and Noah tend
to explode at their mothers when they’re feeling emotionally overwhelmed. But I also thought of my own mother as I wrote it,
and how I wasn’t always all that nice to her, and I found myself hoping that she understood that it was because I knew it
was safe, because I trusted her not to stop loving me no matter how selfish and pissy I was.

I wish I could just ask her if I’m right about that, and maybe also apologize at the same time. I can’t.

But she was a smart lady. I’m guessing she got it.

1. There are many mothers in this book—Rickie, obviously, and Melanie and Laurel and Sandra (Gabriel’s mother) and Melanie’s
   mother and all of the school mothers. Who does your own mother most resemble? If you’re a mother, which mother do you think
   is most like you? Is that also your favorite mother in the book? If not, why not?
   

2. At the beginning of the novel, Gabriel and Melanie have just separated because he’s been unfaithful. At the end, they’ve reunited.
   Do you think they’ll make it? Why or why not? Do you think she should have forgiven him sooner? Or maybe not at all? What’s
   unforgivable when it comes to marriage? Anything?
   

3. Do you know any kids like Noah—kids who just “march to the beat of a different drummer”? Do you think adults should try to
   make them fit in better or let them do their own thing?
   

4. If you had to describe Rickie, would you say she’s tough or vulnerable? Why? Is she a reliable narrator? Can you think of
   any point in the novel when Rickie is absolutely wrong about something and doesn’t realize it for a while?
   

5. Rickie notices how uncommon it is to have a male teacher in the Fenwick Prep elementary school. Have you noticed this to be
   the case in your community? Why do you think they tend to be rare?
   

6. In one scene, Rickie watches as Noah gets up to bat, wishing more than anything that he’ll get a base hit—or even make contact
   with the ball. Have you ever wanted something for someone else more than you wanted anything in the world for yourself?
   

7. What do you think of the way Rickie handles Noah’s questions about his father? If you were in her boat, would you demand financial
   or other kinds of support from him?
   

8. Rickie’s mother says toward the end of the novel that sometimes when things go wrong, kids need someone safe to get mad at
   and that a mother “gives” them that—lets them get mad at her and forgives them. Do you think that’s true? Has that ever played
   out in your life in some way?
   

Claire LaZebnik lives in Los Angeles with her TV writer husband and four children. She is the author of the novels
The Smart One and the Pretty One
(5 Spot, 2008),
Knitting Under the Influence
(5 Spot, 2006), and
Same as It Never Was
and co-author of
Overcoming Autism: Finding the Answers, Strategies, and Hope That Can Transform a Child’s Life
and
Growing Up on the Spectrum: A Guide to Life, Love, and Learning for Teens and Young Adults with Autism and Asperger’s.