Perfect Fifths (16 page)

"Sure I did. But I played with my mother's or Bethany's hand-me-downs. It wasn't all corporatized and out of control. At least Bethany drew the line at letting crazy mothers pay for the removal of their prepubescent daughters' nonexistent pubic hair. But what she considers harmless fun is still... I don't know ... troubling to me. I mean, what six-to-nine-year-old needs lip plumpers and lowlights?"

"Plumpers? Lowlights? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Right! Exactly! You're a man, so your brain isn't cluttered with this superficial garbage. I didn't feel such intense pressure to pretty up and dumb down until I hit middle school. Today's girls start conforming to sexist stereotypes much, much earlier than that. Do you know what youth market analysts call this phenomenon? The HIM

Effect. The Hormones in the Milk Effect. Girls are growing up so much faster. It's depressing that girls Marin's age—and younger!—are already wasting so much brain space worrying about their looks when they could be doing something far more worthwhile with their time and energy. Do you think the boys in Marin's class are so preoccupied with their appearance? No way!"

"They're too busy beating the shit out of one another."

"You're right! Maybe when conspicuous consumption is back in style, Bethany can exploit male aggression and tap into the boys' six-to-nine starter market. 'Roids lR'

Us! Get Juiced! Try the Andro Stack Wacky Pack!"

"You've put a lot of thought into this."

"More than you know. Marin is so smart and sharp in a way that, quite frankly, kind of scares me, because I don't want to see her lose the spark that makes her special. She's one of the coolest people I know, by far the most levelheaded person in the family."

"She was always a bit of a sage, wasn't she?"

"Absolutely! She can just cut through all the bullshit and get right to the truth of the matter."

"I remember one time—she must have been around four years old—she was talking about wanting to invent a robot sister doll. And when I told her it had already been invented, she said, 'Darn. By the time I'm old, everything will be done already' And I could only agree with her, feeling exactly the same way in my twenties as she did at four."

"You're not serious."

"I am."

"Stop it. No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. What are you talking about?"

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[Coughing.]

"What is it, Jessica? Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. It's just..."

"What?"

"You weren't there for that conversation."

"What do you mean?"

"That was a conversation / had with Marin. Not you."

"You're wrong. I remember that conversation clearly."

"You remember reading about that conversation in my journal."

"What?!"

"I wrote about that conversation with Marin in my journal. One of the two notebooks I kept during your orientation week at Princeton, you know, the week before

we—"

"Whaaaaa—?"

"The notebooks I wanted you to read to help you understand why ... you know ..."

"I remember the notebooks. But I also remember having been there for that story—or at least I thought I was there for that story."

"You're confusing my history with your own."

"Are you... sure?"

"I'm positive."

"I ... I think you're right... I ..."

[Pause.]

"Don't worry about it, Marcus."

"That's just really ... unnerving. It makes me question how many of my memories might be stolen from someone else."

"You loom large in Marin's memory, so you must have had a few meaningful conversations that actually did occur."

"I ... ?"

"She still asks about you sometimes."

"Really? What does she ask?"

"Oh, uh. Just... how you're doing. That sort of thing."

"And what do you say?"

"I say I don't know how you're doing because we're not together anymore."

"And what does she respond to that?"

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"She ... uh ..."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that."

"You shouldn't have apologized. I will gladly take a dollar from you now."

"Fair's fair. Here you go."

"Thank you. It's a fair question, Marcus, and I'll answer it. Marin wants to know why we can't still be friends, even if we aren't boyfriend and girlfriend anymore, because her mom and dad got divorced but still talk to each other. And I tell her that sometimes it's just not possible to go back to being friends, but you appreciate the relationship for what it once was. That breakups are sad but part of growing up."

"You've always been so honest with her."

"I'm honest because I'm not a very good liar." [Cough.]

"I know that."

[Pause.]

"Are Bethany and G-Money involved in new relationships?"

"Uh, yeah. Why do you ask?"

"I imagine it would be easier to make the transition to friendship if you've already moved on to someone else."

"I imagine it would."

[Pause.]

"It's kind of funny, actually."

"What?"

"Well... Bethany got back together with a high school boyfriend."

"I-ROC Jerry? The one who only listened to Def Leppard?"

"Oh my God. I told you about l-ROC Jerry?"

"In the notebook. Either that or I'm coopting another one of your memories as my own."

"He's E-Car Jerry now, the most successful distributor of eco-friendly personal transport on the East Coast."

"No shit."

"Yes shit. In fact, I think he sold Leonardo DiCaprio a private jet that runs entirely on human waste."

"Ha."

"Thank you. So anyway, my sister was newly divorced, hadn't gone on a date since 1994, and started trawling the Internets for ex-lovers. One e-mail led to another e-mail, which led to a face-to-face reunion over coffee and ..."

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"The rest is romantic history."

"Uh, right."

[Extended pause.]

"I'll be happy to provide Marin with a status update."

"You can tell her I'm doing just great and that I think about her, too."

"You do?"

"Of course I do."

"Really?"

"Yes, Jessica; I think about it all."

four

(happy enough)

So ... How are your parents, Marcus? Your dad?"

'Thanks for asking. That's ... nice."

"I wasn't asking to be nice. I don't do things just to be nice."

"Right. Because Jessica Darling would never live up to her last name by doing anything just for the sake of being—bleurg!—nice."

"I asked because I want to know."

"I was joking, Jessica. My dad is fine. Although he seems to think that surviving prostate cancer gives him a license to ride his motorcycle like a reckless maniac. But what can I do? I'm just his son, right? I can tell him that he's a danger to himself and everyone else on the road, but he doesn't have to listen to me."

"Yikes."

"Yikes is right. But overall, my parents are happy, I guess. At least that's what they tell me on the phone.

I don't see much of them since they moved."

"My mom told me when their house was up for sale. She actually asked me whether it would be appropriate for her to offer her services as an accredited home-staging professional."

"Oh, man. At least she asked."

"'At a discount, Jessica! I or one of my associates would provide the Fluties the full Darling's Designs for Leaving experience at a fraction of the price.1"

"You sound exactly like your mother when you do that. I mean, I haven't heard her speak in years, but wow. Your impression. It's eerie."

"I've had years of practice."

"I'm sure your mother meant well."

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"I know she meant well. My mother always means well; she never intentionally tries to mortify me. In this case, I think she saw it as a way to help out your parents, to do them a favor to make up for..."

"For what?"

"For any [cough] stress our relationship might have caused you, and them [sniffle] by extension."

"Hmmmm."

"But they obviously sold the house without the benefit of the full Darling's Designs for Leaving experience, as my mother put it. Where are they now?"

"They spend summers at my brother's campground in Maine, swimming, fishing, spoiling their grandchildren. They spend winters in a stucco bungalow located in an over-fifty-five community in Key West. I can't believe I have parents old enough to retire to Florida.

What are yours up to?"

"My parents? After thirty-whatever years together, they've discovered the key to marital bliss."

"What's that?"

"Never spending enough time together to get on each other's nerves."

"Come on, Jessica."

"I'm not being judgmental here."

"It sounds like you are."

"I'm not. I'm not judging them. I mean, I used to, you know, think it was pretty dysfunctional that my parents got along better when they never saw each other. But...

uh ... until I've been married as long as they have, I'm in no position to say what's a healthy relationship and what's not. So big whoop, when my mom is at her office, my dad is at home. When my mom is at home, my dad is on his bike. Is it weird that when they do choose to spend time together, it's rarely at the condo but on a cruise ship thousands of miles away? Maybe. Maybe it is really, really weird. But it works for them, and they seem happy enough, so ..."

"Where do they go? Anywhere interesting?"

"Places that no one in their right mind would ever go to for a vacation."

"Like where? Iraq? Somalia?"

"Like Canada."

"Canada? What's so bad about Canada?"

"There's nothing, like, intrinsically bad abooot Canada. But it is cold. I don't know; it's just not the first place I think of when I think of a vacation. The country I considered fleeing to during the right-wing reign of terror? Yes. Vacation destination? Not so much."

"Norway used to be my top choice for expat escape fantasies. It consistently ranks number one in the world for overall quality of life."

"Have you been there?"

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"Of course not. That's what makes it the ideal escape fantasy. I don't know enough about it to be discouraged by the imperfections."

"Like how it's dark, like, half the year?"

"A quarter. Between November and January. But who minds staying inside in the dark for three months when all the women look like Britt Ekland and all the men look like Dolph Lundgren?"

"Wooooooow. College has done wonders for you, Marcus."

"How so?"

"You're far better equipped to drop inane pop culture references than you were three years ago. Nice work with the Ivan Drago reference."

"Hey, I figure lowbrow is my only way to go. How can I possibly compete with someone who oh-so-casually name-checks Jacques Lacan, Oliver Sacks, and Lord Byron?"

"Aha! So you do know what a Lacanian theorist is!"

"Er, yes."

"You don't need to be so modest, Marcus. And I'll bet you watched Rocky IV in a senior seminar at Princeton."

"How did you know? Popcorn Flicks and Hollywood's Promotion of Cold War Stereotypes in Reagan-Era America. I got an A."

"Oh, I'm sure you did. Ha. Unfortunately, any points gained for creativity are deducted for accuracy because Dolph Lundgren isn't Norwegian."

"What?"

"He's a Swede, Marcus. And for the record, so is Britt Ekland."

"They are?"

"Definitely. But it's okay. You can blame Byron for the error."

"I will, thank you. Damn you, Byron! And I suppose you know from Swedes from all those years living in the former bowling alley."

"I still live in the former bowling alley of the Swedish American Men's Athletic Club. And yes, it has made me an expert in Swedish trivia."

"I thought you had to move out after a year."

"We were supposed to leave when Manda's aunt returned from Europe with her family. She's on the lease but hasn't come back to the U.S., so we're still there."

"You still live with Manda?"

[Cough.] "Oh, no, no, no. I haven't talked to Manda in, uh, ages ... [Cough.] A very long time. I actually
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see more of Sara and Scotty—you know they got married,

right?"

"I didn't."

"Well, they did. After Destino and before the twins, Donatella and Dolce."

"Donatella and Dolce?"

"Named after the designers, of course."

"They've got three kids?"

"Oh yeah, and a long list of D-names for hypothetical fertilizations, divided by categories."

"Categories?"

"The actor D-names, like Demi and Denzel. The sports-page D-names, like Deion and Danica. The stripper D-names, like Diamond and Desire. The stripper D-names that are also cities, like Dallas and Dakota."

"Dakota isn't a city."

"Urn, / know that. But you try interrupting Sara when she's babbling about her brood. It's impossible.

And because her family is all she ever talks about, it makes it very easy to uphold my side of the conversation."

"So you see them a lot?"

"I've seen Scotty once or twice since their wedding. He works for Sara's dad in some capacity. I've been told what he does, but it's one of those job titles—junior vice president of marketing strategery—that goes in one ear and out the other. I always seem to run into Mrs. D'Abruzzi-Glazer when I'm doing errands for my parents.

The Mrs. must park her SUV in the Pineville Super Foodtown lot every morning, just waiting to descend upon unsuspecting members of the Pineville High Class of 2012

to tell them all how getting accidentally knocked up at twenty-two was the best thing that ever happened to them both."