Knitting Under the Influence (25 page)

V

K
athleen's mind wandered on the drive over to her sisters’ house, and she found herself thinking not about the people and the meal she had just left, but about cooking with Sam Kaplan that morning. He had taken it all so seriously that of course she had to rebel and fool around every way possible. He wouldn't let her off the hook, not even when she dropped an egg on the floor and it broke into a huge mess—just insisted that she clean it up, and then forced her to crack the other eggs correctly, his hand guiding hers, his arm against hers, his body close behind hers.

If he had been any other guy between the age of fifteen and sixty, Kathleen would have suspected him of using the cooking as an excuse to get physically close to her. But Sam seemed genuinely determined to teach her to cook and his expression was one of grim determination rather than flirtation. And yet…

She left the thought dangling. She didn't know why.

She had arrived at her sisters’. She rolled down her window and punched in the security code for the gate. The man who installed it had suggested they program in a new number every six months. They had never changed it from his original example. It was 1111 and would, Kathleen suspected, remain 1111 until someone else lived there.

Her mother was already opening the front door by the time Kathleen had parked her car and walked up the steps. “Where have you been?” Her mother threw her arms around her. “You're late.”

“Sorry,” Kathleen said. It felt good to be hugged by her mother, even if their height differences made it a little silly. Caro hadn't hugged Kevin, had just given him and Kathleen equally distant air kisses. “Kevin's father—”

Her mother was already pulling her toward the dining room. “We started without you. We're almost done.”

“Good. I already ate. I told you we'd go to Kevin's first.”

“Where
is
Kevin?” Her mother looked back over Kathleen's shoulder as if he might appear.

“He got tied up at his folks’, so I came without him.”

“Well, the good news is that that leaves us with an even number.”

“Why is that good?”

“It just
is,”
her mother said and steered her into the dining room. “Kathleen's here, everybody!”

Eyes turned toward her, and Kathleen's heart sank as she realized that in addition to the expected and welcome faces of her sisters and their publicist, Junie Peterson, and her boyfriend, Peter Munoz (whom the twins had dubbed Munchie—Kathleen had never known why), were the unexpected and unwelcome ones of Lloyd Winters and his pal Jordan Fisher.

Close upon that realization was a worse one: even as he bestowed upon her a cold smile that suggested nothing had been forgotten or forgiven, Jordan was lazily stroking the slender bare arm of her sister Christa, and he was doing it with the flagrancy of someone who has staked a claim.

They were already finishing up their turkey and sides, so, as soon as Kathleen had greeted everyone, she proposed that she and Kelly clear the table while the others wait for dessert in the living room. “We'll take care of cleaning up,” she said to her mother. “You relax and enjoy yourself.”

Her mother seemed to like the idea. She had cooked the meal herself, and it was one of only three meals she cooked a year. There was the Thanksgiving turkey, a ham on Christmas, and leg of lamb for Easter. The rest of the time, she and the girls ordered in or just ate some yogurt. She wasn't a natural or comfortable cook, so by the time any of those holiday meals were actually eaten, she was exhausted.

She led the others from the dining room into the living room, arm in arm with Junie. Peter—a nice guy who deserved better—was being subjected to a hard sell about Lloyd's current get-rich-quick scheme (something about access to water rights and how L.A. was really a desert, you know). Behind them all strolled Jordan Fisher and Christa. He had slung his arm around her narrow shoulders and he shot the other two girls a look of triumph as they left the room.

“In the kitchen,” Kathleen said to Kelly. “Now.”

The second the door had swung shut behind them, Kathleen hissed, “What the fuck is going on? Why is Lloyd here? And why is Jordan Fisher feeling up Christa in front of everybody?”

“Oh, God, Kathleen, it's such a mess, you can't believe it,” Kelly said. She pulled a long hank of her strawberry blond hair across her throat like she was trying to choke herself with it. “Lloyd came over one day with that Jordan guy, who kept going on and on about representing us—as if we'd leave CAA for
him.
And I thought he was, you know, totally sleazy—”

“He's disgusting,” Kathleen said. “I met him before. I mean, that greasy hair—”

“I know!” Kelly squealed. “I can hardly even bear to
look
at him. And he was like trying to
flirt
with us and then afterward Christa said she thought he was
cute
and I said the truth, which was that he totally made me want to throw up, and she got really mad and wouldn't talk to me, and it's basically been like that ever since.”

“He was all over her at the table,” Kathleen said. “Are they actually going out?”

Kelly opened her wide blue eyes even wider. “Are you kidding me? For like
weeks
now. That's why he and Lloyd are here. Christa invited Jordan without even asking and then she said we had to invite Lloyd, too, or he'd be hurt.”

“Since when is hurting Lloyd's feelings a problem?” Kathleen said.

“Well, we do have to be careful. Junie said people would think we were really horrible if we weren't nice to him since we're rich and he isn't. And he is our
father.”

“Who ran out on us when we were babies.”

“Yeah, he's a jerk,” Kelly said. “Don't you think its weird how much you look like him?” She put her hand on her hip. She was wearing a skimpy tank top and jeans that were cut so low you could see every inch of her hip bone, but she was so thin there was nothing either curvaceous or sexy about the revealed flesh. “Believe me, I wouldn't have invited him, but Christa's all like, ‘whatever Jordan thinks.’ She's even saying she's going to let him represent her. He says we'll do better with two different agents— that it'll give us twice the clout. Like he has any clout at
all.
“ She rolled her eyes.

“What do Junie and Mom think?”

“Junie said no way should we switch agents, and she and Christa got in a big fight about it. And then Mom and Christa had a fight because Mom told her she should listen to Junie, and then Christa and
I
had a fight because I was like ‘I can't believe you don't see what a sleazeball this guy is and everybody else does’ and by the way,
you
weren't around to back me up—”

“I know,” Kathleen said. “Sorry about that. I’ve been kind of busy, but I should have come over more.”

“It's not really your fault.” Kelly flipped the hair back over her shoulder. “If she can't see how disgusting he is, there's kind of nothing anyone can do, anyway. I mean, I’m her identical twin and I can't get her to see it, you know? And now she said they might even move in together. Can you believe it?”

“No,” Kathleen said. “I can't. But—and believe me, no one thinks the guy's more repulsive than I do—but I guess she does have a right to her own life. Everyone does.”

“Not us,” Kelly said. “Not Christa and me. We can't live our own lives. Not like other people.” She sighed so deeply you could see the exposed part of her stomach rise up and then relax back down. “People only want to see us together. If we separate—” She didn't bother to finish the sentence, just shrugged and waved her hand. Her fingernails were painted dark orange. “You know,” she said, “you're the lucky one. You only have to deal
with, you,
know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Kathleen said. “There's only ever been me.”

VI

E
loise wouldn't let Sari have any more time alone with Charlie for the rest of the evening. Sari went back into the family room after dinner, but her mother followed her in there and started a conversation about some distant cousins. At one point, during a commercial, Sari said, “Hey, Charlie, lets play a game or go for a walk or something,” and her mother immediately said, “If you're not really watching TV, then you can help me with the dishes,” and led Sari into the kitchen. Lucy followed close behind.

The phone rang while they were still washing up, and Sari's father called to them from the bedroom to say it was Cassie. Sari's mother lit up. “I knew she'd call! She wouldn't let Thanksgiving come and go without calling. Not
Thanksgiving.”

She pounced on the phone and said, “Cassie darling!” And then, “We're just fine! Wonderful! Sari came with her old chum Lucy and it's been just the loveliest time.”

“Just the loveliest,” Sari said to Lucy, who smothered a laugh.

Eloise held the phone out to Sari. “She wants to say hi to you.

Sari put it to her ear. “Hi,” she said warily.

“I can't believe you're there,” Cassie said. “You're even crazier than
they
are. Which I wouldn't have thought was possible.”

Sari couldn't really argue with any of that. “How's your Thanksgiving going?”

“Fine. Cold.”

“Where are you?”

“Vermont,” Cassie said. “Bet you're losing your mind there, huh?”

“You're not wrong,” Sari said.

“Still desperate to have children of your own?”

“I never said I was. I just said I couldn't promise
not
to.”

“Yeah, whatever. Tell Mom I had to go. I can't talk to her again. I don't even know why I called in the first place. There was some ad on TV that got to me and I felt guilty for a second. I’m already regretting it. Don't have kids, Sari. Just don't.”

“I’m not planning to at this moment.”

“You're such a fucking coward. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“You, too,” Sari said, but Cassie had already hung up. Eloise held out her hand expectantly.

“She's gone,” Sari said, turning the phone off. Her mother pouted. “I hardly got to talk to her. Why did you hang up so fast?”

“I didn't,” Sari said. “She did.”

“Oh.” Eloise took the phone from her hand and popped it back into its base. “Well, she's probably busy. You know Cassie.”

“Not really,” Sari said. “Do you?”

“Don't be silly.” Her mother left the room to get a few more things off the dining room table.

Lucy and Sari looked at each other. “Car?” Lucy said. “Now? Please?”

“Yeah, all right,” Sari said. “I don't know what I’m waiting for, anyway. Let's just go.”

“Sweetest words I’ve ever heard.” They dried their hands on a dish towel and went to say goodbye.

In the family room, Sari knelt in front of Charlie, getting between him and the TV, so he had to look at her. He smiled and leaned sideways so he could see around her. “Goodbye, Sari,” he said.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you,” he repeated.

“You see?” Sari's mother said. She had followed Sari in there. “You see? He loves like a child, pure and simple and with his whole heart. If everyone were like Charlie, there would be no wars, no cruelty, no fighting.”

“Just a whole lot of TV watching,” Sari said, rising back to her feet.

In the car, Lucy said, “When did she get so religious? I don't remember her going on and on about God when we were in high school.”

“It's been building up over the years,” Sari said. “It's not like she ever went to church when we were kids. Actually, I don't even think she goes to church now. She worships at the House of Denial.”

“She
lives
in the House of Denial,” Lucy said. “What's up with all that ‘God made him the way he is so we can't even try to help him’ shit?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that one out for years,” Sari said. “All I can guess is that if she let herself think for a second that Charlie could have been different, could have been
better
—maybe even have had a decent life—if she'd just done things differently, then she'd have to think that she messed up somehow.”

“But it was different back then, right?” Lucy said. “No one would blame her for not having known what to do when he was little. No one knew. But now I don't get why she doesn't let you—
you,
of all people, her own daughter who's an expert in the field—why she doesn't just let you help him.”

Sari stared out the windshield. “Believe me, I’ve asked myself the same question at least fourteen billion times. I’ve even asked her. All she ever says is that same shit about Charlie being what God made him. It's like she got her mind set into this place and she can't change it, because it's protected her too long from … I don't know. Guilt, I guess. Or maybe just reality.”

“Can't you
make
her do something? For Charlie's sake? I mean there's got to be some way to protect a kid from a mother like that.”

“She's not abusing him,” Sari said. “She's just not expanding his world. I asked Ellen once if there were any legal steps I could take as his sister, and she said that if my mother's healthy and Charlie isn't asking for help, then I was stuck. My mom's his legal guardian, not me.”

“What about your dad? Have you asked him about it?”

“All he does is shrug and say, ‘That's your mother's arena.’” She let her head fall back onto the headrest.

“There's got to be something we can do.”

“I wish.” Sari rolled her head to look at Lucy, whose brow was wrinkled in concentration. It made Sari love her friend— that she wanted to find a solution.

After a moment, Lucy said, “What if you offered to take Charlie out—just for a little while—like once a week? And we quickly did some work with him? Help him learn enough to know he wants to learn more?”

“She won't let us,” Sari said. “You don't understand.”

“She might.”

“She won't. She won't even let me be in the room alone with him for more than a minute.”

“We could say we're just taking him out for dinner or—”

“Lucy,” Sari said and sat up straight in her seat. “Believe me when I say I’ve tried and believe me when I say that she won't let me help him. I’ve spent my entire life wanting to make things better for Charlie, and she
won't let me.”

“That,” Lucy said, “sucks.”

“Beyond belief,” Sari said and slumped back down again.