Know Not Why: A Novel (44 page)

“I can’t hear much there besides noise,” he
says, adorably oblivious. “I know that there’s a lot of political
resonance in their lyrics, but – well, it’s hard to count that in
their favor when you can’t actually make out any of the lines.”

“Arthur,” my mom says very seriously, after
taking one steadying swig of her wine. “Thank you for bringing the
cobbler. You’ve been a lovely dinner guest. But surely you must be
shitting me.”

This is when I know that they’re gonna be all
right.

4.

At dessert, when we’ve been at the table long
enough that a sense of vaguely inebriated ease has settled over us,
Dennis says, “There’s some stuff I’d like to say, actually.”
Everybody looks at him, and there’s something about “some stuff”
plus me and Arthur plus Mom and Herrick that somehow makes me
nervous. It’s a kind of stomach-lurching that can’t quite be blamed
on the three pieces of cherry pie I polished off. But Dennis just
looks back at all of us, and then he smiles, and he holds up his
glass and says, “Merry Christmas.” Amber looks at him. Emily looks
down at her hands. We’re all real happy to pretend that that’s what
he’d meant to say in the first place.

5.

There’s a piano in our living room. Nobody in
our family has ever really played. It was Grandma and Grandpa
Jenkins’ wedding present to my mom and dad, and even though Mom had
Dennis and me take some lessons when we were kids (Dennis lasted a
year; I lasted three and a half sessions, and might have
accidentally pulled my piano teacher’s wig off), it was never a
thing that stuck. Over the years, it became a glorified stand for
all of our family pictures; I think that I may have actually
forgotten that it was capable of creating sound. After dinner,
though, the whole gang moves into the living room, and Arthur
starts ogling the piano.

“May I?” he asks my mom, gesturing to it.

“Oh,” she says, surprised. “Certainly.”

He sits down and starts playing Winter
Wonderland. He’s unobtrusive about it; it’s not like it’s suddenly
holiday concert time, more like background music. After a little
while, Mitch and Dennis strike up a conversation trying to
determine which Judd Apatow movie is the best, and that becomes
fodder for a surprisingly heated conversation. Emily, the only
non-Arthur person in the room who I’m guessing doesn’t have an
opinion on the subject, gravitates over to Arthur. They exchange a
few words, smiling at each other. Then all of a sudden, they’re
singing together. Arthur plays a jazzy little intro, and they
launch right into “Baby It’s Cold Outside.”

It is maybe the best thing I’ve ever witnessed
in my whole life. They remind me of something from an old movie,
Arthur at the piano and Emily standing beside it. They smile and
make faces at each other, totally milking the lyrics for all
they’re worth. All I can think, watching them, is how awesome they
both are, and how weird it is that it took me such a long time to
see it.

+

On Christmas morning, Mom, Dennis, Emily and I
go for a walk. There’s this little park ten minutes from our house:
it’s a nice, quiet spot, with lots of trees and a lake. It’s not
quite cold enough that the water’s frozen over, and there’s this
flock of ducks that hangs around all the time. If there’s one thing
the Jenkins household never has a shortage of, it’s food that’s
past its expiration date. And so Mom digs up a loaf of expired
wheat bread from the cupboard, and we get ready to go give our
feathered friends a Christmas treat. I put on my Emily socks and
bundle up, and we all set off. My instinct is to complain a whole
goddamn lot about it: pulled out of bed before the crack of noon to
go outside, sans breakfast, sans coffee – the indignity of it all!
But the Christmas walk was always a Dad thing, and we haven’t kept
up with it over the past couple of years. I like the idea of
starting again.

The cold air is kind of nice first thing, which
is one of those facts of life it’s really easy to forget. It makes
me feel more clear-headed than I’m used to being without the aid of
that dread mistress caffeination. It’s snowing lazily, thick flakes
that are big enough that they actually look like snowflakes – you
know, the stereotypical every-one’s-different-and-super-special
perception of snowflakes. I like the crunch of the snow underneath
my shoes. Most of the time, I tend to be of the Get Me The Hell Out
Of Here And Put Me Somewhere That’s Always Warm persuasion, but I
don’t hate the winter today. It makes everything seem bright and
crisp and clean.

Dennis and Emily walk arm in arm a few steps
behind Mom and me. Mom’s got her hair pulled back sloppy, and she
keeps closing her eyes for these long stretches of time – longer
than may be advisable when one’s traveling ‘cross the icy tundra,
but she seems to be doing okay so far. There’s a faint almost-smile
on her face.

“Last night went all right, didn’t it?” she says
after awhile.

“Yeah,” I say truthfully. “I think it was pretty
nice.”

“I was so worried beforehand. But really, all
things considered, it was something of a triumph. No tears. No
bloodshed.”

“Not to mention the tasty, immensely detailed
snowman cookies made by a dude with way too much time on his hands
and a natural finesse for icing.”

“Oh, be nice.” She opens her eyes to give me a
little admonitory glare.

“No, I mean it. Those were great. A feat of
cookieish wonder.”

“He’s a nice man, isn’t he?”

“He gets points for the cookies. And also for
that sweater. I didn’t know they still made those ones with the
elbow patches on them.”

“Shh. It’s his right as a professor.”

“Mmkay.” And then, because I figure she’s earned
herself some sincerity from me, I add, “He’s a cool guy. He’s won
my approval.”

Her smile widens. We walk in nice silence.

“I love Arthur,” she says then, looking over at
me.

“Jeez, Mom. Forward much? You can’t tell a guy
that right after the first date. You’ll spook him. He’ll flee.”

“No, I do. And I love you with Arthur.”

It’s weird to hear out loud. For some reason,
it’s made especially weird by the fact that it’s here: this
peaceful, Narnian landscape, with the faint blur of Dennis and
Emily’s conversation the only other noise around.

“Yeah?” I say. My voice sounds a little
croaky.

“Yeah. You seem happy around each other.”

“We are,” I say.

Mom doesn’t say anything. She reaches over and
tousles my hair, then pulls my hood back up.

“You’re not allowed to freeze your ears off. All
of the other mothers will make fun of me for having the bizarre
earless offspring, and I don’t know if I’m secure enough to endure
that.”

“In that case, I should probably let my ears
freeze off for the greater good. It sounds like you are in need of
some serious character growth, Mamacita.”

“Oh, hon. How did you become such a pain in the
ass. Surely that all must have come from Daddy’s side.”

“I dunno. I feel like you must have contributed
at least a little bit there. Or, you know, a whole lot of
extremely
.”

She fake-punches me in the arm, then loops her
arm through mine. I feel really glad to be her kid.

When we get to the lake, my mom offers a slice
of bread to Emily. Dennis hangs back and watches the two of them as
they start wooing ducks over. After a little while, he comes next
to me.

He doesn’t say anything. I’ve gotten pretty used
to awkward silence when it comes to Dennis and me. That doesn’t
make it any less uncomfortable.

“Mom’s dating David, isn’t she?” he says at long
last. It’s not where I expected the conversation to start.

“Yeah,” I say. I get the feeling that Mom should
be the one who’s telling him this, but she doesn’t seem eager to
get around to it. Besides, we’re brothers. She’s our mom. It makes
sense.

“For how long?”

“Not very, I don’t think. She only told me a
little while ago. The same weekend that I went to that concert
Arthur played at.”

“Oh.” Dennis goes quiet. I look over at him.
He’s watching Mom and Emily, who are both laughing as they toss
bread into the water. “I wonder why she didn’t tell me.”

I feel a flash of guilt. “I dunno, man, it
didn’t really seem like she was gonna tell me either. Some stuff …
just … happened, and it wound up coming up. I don’t think she
really wanted to.”

“I don’t know about that,” Dennis says, still
not looking at me. “The two of you have always been close.”

“We have?”

“Well, yeah. We used to divvy up like that. You
and her, and me and Dad.”

As soon as he says it, I realize that it’s true.
It’s just that I never really thought to look at it like that. The
way I saw it, it was always more that Dennis was Dad’s favorite,
his pride ‘n joy, but at least I had Mom’s weird-ass sense of
humor. I didn’t seem like the big winner in the situation at the
time.

“It’s hard with three,” he says. “Like … like
I’m not in the club, or whatever.”

“What?” I say. “You are so in the club! If there
is a club. I don’t even think there’s a club. Because, like, who
starts two-person mother-son clubs? Not a healthy situation—”

“I’m just saying. That’s how I’ve been feeling
for awhile. And I’m not always the best at saying what I really
mean. But … I guess here’s me trying. I’m sorry if this
conversation sucks.”

“You’re doing okay,” I tell him.

We both laugh the same awkward, trying-too-hard
laugh. It strikes me that he’s having just as difficult a time as I
am.

Something about that makes me like him more than
usual. “I’m sorry that Mom and I are ... keeping you out of the
club,” I say. “I didn’t think to look at it like that.”

“That’s okay.” I believe him. Then again, I
guess that’s his specialty.

In any case, the time seems right. About as
right as it’s ever going to be. “You know why Arthur came over last
night?”

“Because he didn’t have anywhere else to
go?”

“Well, yeah. And also – well, you know how he
broke up with his boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, well. He’s kinda … seeing somebody
new.”

Dennis only looks lost for a few seconds before
it dawns on him. He’s always been a quick one, my bro.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Telling Mitch is tricky business. I bring a
bucket of KFC chicken along with me, reasoning that if things go
really shitty, well, I can at least distract-slash-pacify him with
fast food.

As soon as I come in and we’re sitting down on
the couch (with a cushion’s worth of space and a bucket of chicken
between us, because the last thing I want to do is freak him out
with proximity), I attempt my explanation. A lot of really
confusing words come out of my mouth, stuff about Bert and Ernie
and were they really just roommates, and imagine Xena and Gabrielle
but with boy parts. Nope. He just stares at me. And then after
awhile, I guess he starts getting bored, because he stares at the
chicken instead.

“Here you go,” I say, prodding said bucket of
chicken in his direction. I’m feeling pretty disheartened.

“No thanks,” Mitch says.

Which is like: “Say what now?”

“Howie,” he says morosely, “do you think Amber’s
mad at me? For not kissing her? With the whole mistletoe
thing?”

“No,” I say, “I don’t think she’s mad at you. I
think she might be sort of mad at Dennis.”

“Oh,” Mitch says. I sense that we’re not quite
done with this yet, because he’s not smiling, and he has yet to pay
attention to the chicken. “I felt like … you know, it would have
been assholey for me to do it. ‘Cause she’s all super old to be
unkissed, and she’s waited this long, and it should be amazing.
Like that whole thing in The Princess Diaries, where she wants her
foot to, like, pop!” He demonstrates with his own foot and kicks a
bowl of old Spaghettios off the end table (that is actually a box)
in the process. “And there should be fountains, all like
whooshhhhh,
and she’s wearing one of those little sparkly
crowns—”

“Dude. No man should reference The Princess
Diaries with that much ease. The Princess Bride, sure. But The
Princess Diaries, nuh uh.”

“It’s a heartwarming family film,” Mitch says
stubbornly. “And Anne Hathaway’s cute like crazy, even with those
walrus eyebrows in the first half. I stand by it.”

I decide not to pursue the concept of walrus
eyebrows, and say instead, “You are a braver man than I.”

“But the thing is. Like, that’s how it’s
supposed to be, right? I bet it really matters to her. Not, like,
standing under some stupid little plant with me, and everybody
watching. I didn’t want to be the jerk who made her first kiss
that
. But then she seemed pissed.”

He looks so – so genuinely troubled
.
His
forehead’s scrunched up, and his eyes are sad. It strikes me all at
once that Amber deserves somebody who cares about her like that. I
don’t know what’s going on with the two of them, and I can’t say in
all honesty that I
like
it, and I have no clue whether Amber
could ever reconcile herself to love a non-Dennis man who not only
lacks a British accent, but watches The Princess Diaries without
shame and sometimes forgets to change his socks. But after so many
years of, after
forever
of watching Dennis not care, and
only pay enough attention to her to keep her stuck on him – well, I
like the idea of someone being all mad about her, all
the-sun-rises-and-sets with her. If nothing else, Mitch is a great
friend to her. That odd twitch of feeling in the depths of my soul,
I think it might be called approval.

“Again,” I say, “I think that’s about my
brother. Not you.” I hadn’t meant to share this part with Mitch,
but now I feel like he earned it. “He was kind of encouraging her
to keep things going with Blind Date Guy, even though she didn’t
like him.”