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Sunny looks please and you try not to look relieved when she laughs. You laugh too.

Inside you are going, “WHEWWWWW!”

What if Sunny had asked you that (sorry to be sexist but so far you’ve never heard a guy ask this) GIRL QUESTION: “Do I look fat?”

No right answer to that one.

And what does it mean, anyway?

Fat compared to what?

Fat, how?

Fatheaded, if you’re a Cro Mag?

Define fat.

Fat in which places?

Fat according to what culture?

Sunny flutters her eyelashes at you, gives the rest of the wigs a quick look, then says thanks to the consultant.

We wander out of the wig store and loiter/saunter around the mall.

Sunny catches your hand and swings it gleefully.

“Isn’t this fun?” she says.

“It is,” you say back.

“Next time we go out to play, you get to choose the game.”

“Mall hunt is a pretty good one.”

“Quality time,” Sunny agrees. “You know, Ducky, you are SO not like other guys.”

Is this a good thing? A bad thing?

It’s not a thing you didn’t know already, thanks to the Cro Mags.

You wonder if this is Sunny’s way of saying, “You’re weird, Ducky, but it’s okay.

You say, “Yeah, but am I pretty?”

That sets Sunny off. She is still snorting with laughter as you pass the food court.

You are wondering if you are, well, ugly. You meant to be funny, but did Sunny have to laugh quite so hard?

You nod absently as Sunny finally stops laughing, sniffs, and pronounces the odor “Mystery Meat.”

“We’d have to give Dawn artificial resuscitation,” she remarks.

“It’s pretty rank,” you say. “A smell like that makes you understand Dawn’s eco-vegetarian ways.”

“True,” Sunny agrees.

You remember Dawn is in Connecticut for the summer with her mom and stepfather, etc. You ponder the fact that Dawn goes back and forth between two sets of parents while your parents just go away.

To places like Greece. Crete, to be specific.

Why Crete?

Why not Crete? It’s far away. Your parents seem to like that.

A toy store display catches Sunny’s eye. “Look,” she says. “Noah’s Ark. All the animals two by two going up into the boat.”

You squint through the dark glasses.

“Like everyone we know,” says Sunny. “Two by two.”

“On cruises?” you say.

She ignores your lame humor. “Amalia and Brendan, who’ve been together much since Brendan got back from camp. Tyler …”

“Maggie says he’s not her boyfriend — ” you begin.

“Maggie’s just talking. They are girlfriend-boyfriend. Look at how they’re acting. Togetherness Plus while Tyler’s in town between movies.”

“I guess,” you say. “I haven’t seen that much of them.”

“ ’Cause they’re seeing sooooo much of each other,” Sunny says triumphantly.

“I’m glad. For Maggie. And for Tyler.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Sunny sits on a bench, pats the seat beside her.

“Ah, nature,” you say, pushing aside the fronds of the tree above the bench. It’s one of those mall trees that need no light.

Originally from the jungle?

“What we need here are some artificial pigeons to feed,” you remark.

You turn to see Sunny staring. At you.

That look again.

Is something going on in Sunny’s life that she’s not telling you? Should you ask?

“Sunny?” you say.

She blinks. “Sorry. Spacing.”

She smiles at you.

You smile at her.

The tree rustles in … who knows what? The mall breeze? The fumes from the food court?

A real mall moment.

Aug. 20

Friday

Friends (a NOT-for-Television Story)

Ring, ring.

Ducky picks up the phone.

Mother of Ducky: Christopher. Darling, how are you?

D: Fine. Cooking dinner.

MDD: How nice! [Pause] Cooking? Dinner?

D: Yes. How are you? How’s Crete?

MDD: I guess it’s dinnertime, isn’t it?

D: Here. What time is it there?

MDD: Your father says hello. Do you want to talk to him?

D: Tell him hello. I’m making fruit salad. So we don’t get scurvy.

MDD: [Pause] Oh. Is Ted there?

D: Hold on. TED!

World-traveling parents do that. They call and ask questions and you answer and you have a conversation in which you talk about one thing and they talk about another. Maybe it’s the difference in time zones.

Maybe as long as they hear the voices of their sons, they figure everything is okay.

It’s okay. If you like having a Ted-sized family.

You might say you still have issues with them for NOT BEING HERE, especially for the basic family moments: Christmas, for example.

But you don’t really have issues, do you, Ducky? Hardly at all. You like your freedom. You are learning important life skills.

Housecleaning. Ordering takeout.

Cooking.

You wonder if you will be a chef. You’ve learned to cook in self-defense.

You cook because a man (even John “the Duck” Wayne) cannot live on cereal and take-out pizza alone.

Of course, your brother scarfs it up and says, “Decent,” and then LEAVES the dishes. You say,

“Ted, I cooked. You clean up.”

He says, “Sure. Later.”

“Later” in Ted-speak means “before the parents get home.”

Weeks. Months. Years.

Well, maybe not years.

So you sigh your long-suffering sigh, reject the thought of dumping the remainder of the fruit salad over your ungrateful slob of a brother’s head, remind yourself he’s the only bro you have, and clean up yourself.

In self-defense. Another course not offered in the local dojo: housework as self-defense.

Ah, domestic arts.

Maybe that’s why your parents travel. No housework.

They pack. They unpack. When they get to a big enough hotel, they call room service and have everything cleaned.

Your father is talking about going to Pompeii, in Italy.

You mention that you thought Pompeii was buried under ash or something.

“You know about Pompeii?” Your mother sounds surprised and pleased.

You almost tell her you watched a late-night TV movie about it, but you stop.

Both the words “late night” and “TV” make your parents go, well, parental.

You say, “Mmm.”

“Fascinating place,” she says. “An entire town buried in volcanic ash.”

You imagine your own house buried in volcanic ash. When they dug it up in the future, what would they think?

LATER

Busy week. Haven’t had much time.

Time flies. Doesn’t matter if you’re having fun or just cooking and cleaning and having nonconversations with your long-distance parents.

Big zero night ahead.

Phone.

Okay, back.

Just when you thought you could count on a quiet, boring evening at home.

Dawn is back. Sunny just called to tell you. Plus Tyler has returned to NYC. He’s in a play.

Being in a play on Broadway gives him more acting experience, Sunny says.

Sunny wants all the friends to get together for fun.

Tonight.

See you. Later.

Post Friends and Fun

Liked the movie. Liked the food. Liked the company.

But wouldn’t you know it, all is not perfect in Ducky Land.

Are you the only one who notices these things? The only one who feels the urge, the need to smooth it all over? The only one who wonders if he is imagining it all? Being hypersensitive?

In the course of friends’ night out you discover (or learn more about) Maggie’s Absent Without Leave status.

Your parents are AWOL physically.

So is Maggie’s father. (In Vancouver, working on a movie deal.)

Her mom, however, is home, but absent. She spends her time drinking.

Maggie has faced down an eating disorder. She sees a therapist. She is strong and getting stronger.

She is tough and brave and cool, and you admire her for it.

But you are taken aback at the diner post-flick when Maggie says, flatly, “My mom was loaded when I left. If I’m lucky, when I get home tonight she’ll be passed out and I won’t have to deal with her.”

This stops the conversation pretty much cold.

Maggie says, “She might as well not be there. If it weren’t for Pilar, the house would fall down around our tears.”

Amalia gives Maggie a sympathetic look and says, “Stay over at my house tonight, Maggie. You know you always can.”

Maggie ducks her head. “Enough. I’ve stayed over enough this week.”

Sunny offers her house too. Maggie says, “Thanks. I’ll keep you in mind if it’s too reeking at home. Plus, Zeke needs me.” Her voice is bitter. Defeated.

You decide to change the subject. You say, brilliantly, “So, what is everybody going to have to eat?”

But it works. You plunge into a deep discussion of the menu. You can’t help but be relieved that Maggie dives right into the subject too. You also hope, once more, that no one notices your relief. You don’t want Maggie to think you’re thinking about her recent eating problems.

Even if you are.

You all order massive amounts of food. You hold your straw under your nose and do reviews of the green salad, the burgers, the fries, even the soda. “Fizzy, but with a subtle bouquet suggestive of sporting events and movie theaters,” you say.

You are embarrassingly pleased when everyone laughs.

Sunny says, “I bet you have a lot more hidden talents, Ducky.” She is leaning against you.

You put on a fake French accent and say, “Yes. I speak zeveral languages too, including ze language of luv.”

Everyone cracks up.

Except Sunny. She usually laughs the hardest at your jokes, especially lately. But now she just looks at you.

Why do you suddenly wish you had those dark glasses again?

You think of Sunny as being on pretty much the same page as you, but at the moment, you feel like she’s reading from another book altogether. You don’t get what the look means.

You smile and glance away and see Dawn and Brendan looking at you too.

They look at Sunny. They look at you.

They exchange glances.

You become busy with the soda and decide to leave the jokes to other people for awhile [sic].

After all, you don’t have to entertain everyone else ALL the time, do you, Ducky?

It’s not your JOB.

Feeling self-conscious and stupid, you focus on making normal, low-key conversation.

Only now Sunny is laughing at everything you say. Or at least smiling.

How do you take this?

Is Sunny in ONE OF HER MOODS?

You decide to be cool. You concentrate on the others at the table, listening to them, not saying much.

You notice things.

One of the things you notice is when Brendan puts his hand over Amalia’s on the table, she slides her hand away.

When Brendan drapes his arm casually over the back of the booth (and her shoulders), she jumps up. “ ‘Scuse me,” she says.

Dawn, Maggie, and Sunny immediately jump up too.

They all go to the bathroom.

It’s a girl thing.

Brendan and you look at each other but you don’t comment on it. Instead, Brendan says

something about the A’s and you say something about the Dodgers.

Fortunately, the girls don’t stay away too long. You can only discuss so much baseball.

But Ted keeps you up to speed on it, since it’s what guys talk to each other about instead of about, well, the things girls talk about.

Don’t know why.

It’s a guy thing.

Late.

Later.

Aug. 21

Guy Things. Friends.

I’m not very good at guy things. And I just don’t get it. It’s like all the other guys have this book of rules that someone forgot to give me.

Or maybe I got the book, but some of the pages were left out.

Or maybe I got a different book? Is there more than one book of how to be a guy?

Like, guys are supposed to be cool. Not too emotional. Bored with girl things. Shopping is stopping on the street to admire a set of wheels. Or a retrofitted Harley, maybe. Cooking is what you do with a microwave and a frozen pizza.

Guys watch sports on television. They play sports. They talk about “chicks” and “babes.” The gross, loser Cro Mags can get pretty graphic about it, thinking (pathetically) they’re being superstuds.

Not all guys are like that, of course. But most sort of fit along the spectrum. At one end are Cro Mags and in the middle are ordinary guys and …

What am I?

Am I a failed guy? So young?

Wait a minute: Just because I’m not IN LOVE with Sunny doesn’t make me a failure. And there are plenty of guys who cook (aka RICH AND FAMOUS CHEFS) and like cool clothes (ROCK

STARS, MOVIE GUYS).

Still, if I understood this whole guy thing, would I feel so freaked out about Sunny?

I work in a bookstore. Where on the shelves is the book on how to be a GUY????

10:55 A.M.

Wherein You Learn that

You Can’t Tell a Book by Its Cover

You listen to a lame-o joke for the ONE THOUSANDTH time: Hi, read any good books lately?

You smile at the lame-o customer who looks like a walking sports-logo billboard (although you are not sure what the sports are, exactly — mountain biking and snowboarding, maybe?) and try to be glad that he is at least talking to you like a human being and not a robot only here to serve him.

You steer him to the …

Poetry section.

* * *

Him? It’s what he asked for.

Gotta shelve books.

Shelved. Boxed returns. Labeled boxes.

Whew.

Poetry guy STILL there.

Two books under his arm.

Head buried in a third.

You head in his direction to see who his poets of choice are.

It’s a mix. Whitman. Adrienne Rich. And Baudelaire.

Maybe I’ll have to check them out sometime.

MUCH LATER (As In, If Your Parents Were Around,

They’d Be Saying Subtle Parent Things Like “It’s