Notes on a Near-Life Experience (13 page)

W
HEN WE DRIVE HOME
, I
ASK
A
LLEN WHAT HE TALKS TO
Lisz about.

“None of your business. What do you talk to her about?”

“I talk to her about you, mostly,” I say.

He believes me for a split second. “You do?”

I try not to laugh.

“Whatever. You do not. Why do you care what I talk to her about, anyway?”

“Well, do you answer all her questions?” I watch his face, so I can see if he's lying.

“I think so. Why?”

“Do you always tell her the truth?”

“Why wouldn't I?” He makes eye contact with me briefly.

“Because she asks about personal stuff. And what if you don't want to tell her all of it?”

“I guess you just tell her you don't want to talk about it. But so what if you do tell her personal stuff? She's not going to tell anybody anyway. She can't. It's illegal.”

“It is? Then why does she always talk about the conversations she's had with you during our sessions?”

He turns up the radio and doesn't respond.

I wonder what would happen if I did tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

H
ALEY AND
I
HAVE THIS CLASS CALLED ETHICS, AND EVERY
Monday the teacher puts up an “ethical dilemma” that the kids in the class have to answer and write about. This week's dilemma:

A building is burning down. Two people are alive inside, and only one can be saved. One of the people is your ninety-year-old grandmother, who is immobile and has to use a respirator to help her breathe. The other is a nineteen-year-old man who was recently released from a juvenile detention center. Whom do you save and why?

Questions like these aren't very interesting to me, and as I try to come up with an answer, one thought repeats in my head: Me. I'd save myself.

H
ALEY'S FAMILY DOESN'T COOK
. O
KAY, THEY DO, BUT ONLY
once or twice a week, and they almost always make one of the following three meals:

(1) chicken pasta salad.

(2) stuffed shells (my personal favorite).

(3) chicken or vegetable stir-fry, depending on who cooks. Vegetable if Haley's sister Starr is cooking—she'll eat meat, but she won't touch it or cook it; chicken if Haley is cooking. Haley will touch and cook meat for the rest of her family, but she won't eat it, so she always makes a little for herself without chicken. I've asked her why she doesn't just make veggie stuff, and she says it's because she's cooking for her family, not just herself, so she likes to make them what they like. I told
my mom about this and she said, “Haley is an old soul, Mia. A good friend to have.”

Sometimes when Haley's brother Max comes home from college and visits, he makes fish sticks, because they're his favorite. No one really eats them but him.

There are seven kids in Haley's family and both of her parents work, so rather than Haley's mom cooking every night, what they usually do is put one of the kids who can drive “in charge of dinner.” This means that the person takes Haley's mom's ATM card, gets some money from the machine, and buys food. There's always a huge supply of cold cereal, Easy Cheese, Wheat Thins, and yogurt on hand at Haley's house, but for actual meals, you have to bring in supplies. Sometimes the person in charge of dinner feels ambitious and goes to the grocery store and makes one of the three standard meals, but usually the person buying the takeout will go to one of four restaurants:

(1) Fiesta Time.

(2) SuperSubs.

(3) King Phillip's Spaghetti Barn (where they always get pizza; the spaghetti is pretty gross).

(4) Chopstix (it's a Chinese place, of course).

Before my parents went AWOL, my mom always cooked for us, five days a week, without fail. We'd help her out once in a while, but Mom always planned the meals and just told us what to chop and when to add it. Lately, though, she's made a habit of thawing, warming, or microwaving rather than cooking, and that's only when she doesn't call from
work and tell us to get takeout or pizza, or give us directions for how to microwave, thaw, or warm our own meals.

Mom leaves a message on my cell phone during dance practice; I listen to it on the late bus home.

“Would you mind being in charge of dinner tonight, sweetie? I'll be home a little late, and I thought you could just throw together a salad and some spaghetti or something. If you need anything from the store, call Allen and ask him to bring it home when he gets off work. He's got a short shift today, he'll just be there until six. And could you pick up Keatie on your way home from practice? She's at Chewy's. I love you. You're a big help.” She makes a kissing sound. “Mmmmmwah. Thanks.”

Images of King Phillip's spaghetti and fish sticks flash through my mind. I can see where this is going.

Haley comes over to help me cook. We have all the ingredients we need to make stuffed shells except the shells and the ricotta cheese, which Allen brings home.

He drops a grocery bag onto the counter. “This should be good. You cooking. Do you want me to invite your lover to come over for dinner so that he can see your domestic side?” He must be in a really good mood. He's never encouraged me to hang out with Julian before.

“Shut up.”

Haley laughs.

Allen puts his arm around her. “Now that friends of siblings are no longer off limits, what do you say about you and me, Haley? Wanna give it a shot?”

“You remind me too much of my own brothers. Sorry.”

“Hey, I understand, but if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me, eh?”

“Checkstand three, right?”

“For now, but I may be promoted to produce soon, so look for me by the radishes if you don't see me there. Well, ladies, I'll leave you to your work,” he says as he walks out of the kitchen.

“Typical.” I call after him, “You're not even going to offer to help?”

“I brought home the cheese,” he yells back.

Haley fills a pot with water and puts it on the stove to boil while I mix herbs, ricotta, and mozzarella cheese in a bowl.

“This feels weird. I know it's normal and I've just been spoiled, having my mom cook all the time. But I still don't like this, you know?” I can say things to Haley that sound selfish and whiny without worrying that she'll think I'm selfish and whiny.

“Moms who cook are an endangered species these days,” she says absently.

Keatie walks into the kitchen. “My dad cooks with Paloma,” she tells us.

This is news to me. “I can't remember the last time he cooked with Mom. Does your dad ever help your mom cook?” I ask Haley.

“When Mom is in charge of dinner, Dad drives with her to Fiesta Time.”

“Close enough.”

“I hope so.”

“I like cracking eggs,” Keatie announces. “Mom showed me how. Can I crack some eggs for dinner?”

“Sure.” Haley looks at me and shrugs as if to say “Why not?” “Crack some into that mix of Mia's. It couldn't hurt.”

“Cool,” says Keatie. “How many can I do?”

“One,” I say at the same time Haley says, “Three, maybe?”

“You can do two, and that's it,” I tell her.

“All riiiiight!” Keatie gets two eggs out of the refrigerator and enthusiastically cracks them into the bowl.

While we are bobbing for eggshell, the doorbell rings three times in a row. This is Julian's way of signaling that he's coming in and that no one has to bother to answer the door. My heart starts to beat really fast and my fingers can no longer function at the level required to retrieve eggshell particles.

“Hello, domestic goddesses,” Julian says as he walks into the kitchen. “What culinary delight are you preparing this evening?”

“Pasta with eggs in it,” Keatie tells him.

“Sounds… interesting.” Julian comes up beside me and whispers, “I need to consult with you about the menu.”

“What?”

“Would you please follow me to the dining area?”

Haley rolls her eyes and shoves the two of us out of the kitchen.

Julian leads me to the hallway. “I'm here to see Al, but I wanted to say hi to you. So, um, hi.”

“Hi.”

At that moment, Allen emerges from the hallway. “Hi,” he says. “Well, now we've all said it. Come on, Julio, we've got work to do.”

Julian looks embarrassed and I feel stupid. I walk back into the kitchen, where Haley is finishing up with the shells. She looks at me and laughs. “What happened? You look like you got caught passing notes in class.”

“It was nothing… really.”

“You've got a lot of nothing going on lately, huh?” Haley sounds annoyed. She shoves the pan into the oven. “Well, if there's nothing to talk about, let's go catch up on some quality game-show time while the food's cooking.”

When the shells are done, we wait for Mom to get home and eat with us, but she calls and says we should eat without her. Keatie leaves a note for her on the table before she goes to bed.

Mommy,

We saved you some dinner. I cracked the eggs. Then I did my homework and beat Allen at ProSoccer twice.

Love,

Your daughter Keatie

Allen adds to the note.

I really beat Keatie. She is lying. And I bought the cheese. Your son, Allen

Keatie gets mad, writes:

Mom,

I really won. Allen should get in trouble for teasing.

She draws an eye, a heart, and the letter
U
and signs her name. Before Haley leaves, she adds to the note:

Allen really should get in trouble for teasing
.

Love,

Haley

Mom still isn't home by the time I go to bed. I add to the note,

Mom,

I love you. I miss your cooking. It would be nice to see you once in a while.

Mia

A
FTER SCHOOL
A
LLEN IS MISSING; HE DOESN'T HAVE SOCCER
practice, and his car isn't in the parking lot. I run into Julian while I'm looking for Haley.

“Have you seen my brother? Or Haley?”

“No and no. What's going on?”

“I need a ride home, and I can't find anyone.”

“You found me.”

Since Julian asked me to prom, things have been a little awkward between us. Especially when we're alone together. I think Julian may be worried about what Allen thinks of his asking me to prom. I don't want Julian to think that I think I'm his girlfriend or something just because he asked me. I can't just ask him for a ride home, like I would've before;
he might think I expect him to drive me all over just because he asked me.

“Hello?” Julian says, knocking gently on my head.

I've been standing there thinking, staring into space without realizing it.

“Yeah, um, I'm looking for a ride home.”

“Is my car not good enough for you? What's the deal?”

“I didn't realize you had offered me a ride.”

“Are you crazy? Since when do I need to issue a formal invitation to give you a ride home? Come on.”

Great. Now I've managed to make a huge deal out of nothing, out of a ride home.

Julian bows in front of me. “Mimoo. Meezer-Mia, my lady. I want to give you a ride. Home, I mean.” He grabs my hand, kisses it, and holds it for a moment while we walk to the car. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it's going to launch out of my chest. He opens the door for me, but he always does that.