The Lighter Side of Life and Death (5 page)

“Actually”—Andrea raises her finger—“there is decaf. Let me get you a cup. Sit down next to the guest of honor.”

Dad strokes Nina’s hair as he takes a seat next to her on the couch. The two of them are surrounded by a fresh set of boxes (partially wrapped this time) and Andrea and I head off to the kitchen together. “Looks like you guys had a good time,” I say.

Andrea motions back to the pile of presents on the coffee table. “Nina made a killing—wait till you see all the terrific stuff people gave her.”

Inside the kitchen there’s a ton of leftovers spread out on the table and counter. Two women are talking by the sink and I smile at them as I grab a purple paper plate and start piling on meatballs. “This is Thane’s son, Mason,” Andrea tells them. “Mason, this is Patricia and Colette.”

I exchange hellos with Patricia and Colette as Andrea heads for one of the coffee machines set up on the counter. “Try the chocolate cheesecake,” Colette advises me. “It’s
divine
.” She throws so much emphasis on that last word that I have to laugh. So okay,
looks like I’m trying the cheesecake. I lift a heaping piece onto my plate, right next to the mound of meatballs.

Patricia excuses herself, leaving Andrea, Colette and me in the kitchen. “So how do you know Nina?” I ask Colette, leaning back against the counter.

“Colette’s my best friend,” Andrea says, holding up Dad’s cup of decaf. “How does your dad take it?”

“Lots of cream,” I tell her.

“Best friend since fourth grade,” Colette elaborates, glancing over at Andrea. “It makes me feel ancient when I think of how long ago that was.” But Andrea’s too preoccupied with her cream search to agree. “How old are you, Mason?” Colette’s gaze settles back on me.

“Sixteen,” I say, popping a meatball into my mouth.

Andrea’s located the cream and pours it liberally into Dad’s decaf. “Voilà,” she says, smiling at us as she glides out of the kitchen.

“High school.” Colette groans. “Wouldn’t want to do that again.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Well, good for you then.” Colette steps towards the coffee machine and pours herself a cup. “It really depends on what kind of person you are, I think. I had no idea who I was in high school. It was utter confusion and chaos.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I guess sometimes it is.” Utter confusion’s a fair description of the past eight days.

Just then Brianna storms into the kitchen. Her hair’s piled on top of her head and she’s wearing stop-sign-red lipstick and frowning, as usual. “Any more Fruitopia?” she asks.

I shrug and glance at Colette, who moves swiftly over to the fridge and grabs a can from the bottom shelf.

“Thanks,” Brianna says unconvincingly.

“So’d you finish packing your stuff?” I ask her.

Brianna shrugs like she can’t imagine why I’d ask. “Almost,” she says finally.

“What about the bed? You bringing it?” This is what most of our conversations sound like. Sometimes I don’t know why I bother.

“No.” She stares at the cheesecake on my plate. “The futon’s better.”

“Double?” Colette ventures.

“Huh?” Brianna says blankly. One of her bottom teeth is dotted with red. I’m not sure if it’s her lipstick or something she ate.

Colette sips her coffee. “Is it a double futon?”

“Oh, yeah.” Brianna nods.

“It’s so much better having a double,” Colette continues. “You’ll never want to go back to a twin. And futons are great—so flexible.”

Brianna nods again, wrinkling her forehead. Then she turns, aims a quick goodbye over her shoulder and leaves us alone again.

“That’s not a happy girl,” Colette observes.

No comment
. With my meatballs finished I launch enthusiastically into the cheesecake. Colette’s right; it’s divine. You hardly ever hear that word but it’s a perfect description. “This is
really
good,” I say. And she’s pretty impressive herself—one of those people who can talk to you in a way that makes you feel like they already know you, even though you’ve just met. Good-looking too, with medium-long dark hair, brown eyes and tiny bones.

“Told you.” Colette smiles, giving me a peek at her front teeth. I’m not surprised that they don’t have any leftovers or smudged lipstick attached to them. “Homemade. One of Nina’s friends brought it. Can’t remember her name. I’m all right with faces but I’m terrible with names.”

“So who am I?” I ask, teasing her. In fact, I might even be flirting with her a little.

“Mason.” She smiles wider. “Of course I remember
now
. You’re standing right in front of me.” She blinks slowly, her eyes twinkling. Is it possible she’s flirting back? “But once I walk out that door later today, well, I’m afraid the odds drop dramatically.”

I take another bite of cake as I look at her. She has to be something like eight or nine years older than me but it doesn’t matter; we’re just kidding around.

“I should go mingle,” she says, stepping away from the counter in high heels that make her legs look longer than they probably are (but that’s okay, I’m enjoying the illusion).

“Why bother? You won’t remember anyone.”

“Well, maybe they’ll remember me,” she says lightly.

“I bet,” I tell her, the full force of my grin behind the words.

Colette shakes her head at me like she’s enjoying this. “I think I know why you don’t have a problem with high school, Mason.”

What a line to close on
. I smile as I watch her go. Then I tilt my head, set my fork down and feel my face heat up about a hundred degrees. I stand there alone in my kitchen, beaming like a madman.

Kat comes down
with a bad cold and misses two days of school. I hear the details from Jamie and Sondra and send her one of those cheesy animated get-well e-cards. Kat e-mails me back and says thanks and she’ll see me soon. It’s the first e-mail she’s sent me since the night of the party and I feel pretty good about it, but when I see her at school on Thursday it’s obvious we’re still at square one.

She stands at my locker in a long white sweater and says, “Can I get your history notes?” Her eyes are sort of glassy, like she’s still sick, and her voice sounds strained.

“Sure.” I reach into my locker to pull out my notebook. My history notes from the two days she was away are thoroughly intelligible—unlike Monday’s or last week’s—which is another thing I don’t want to spend much energy thinking about. “Are you feeling better?”

Our hands touch as I hand over the notebook and I could swear
that she jumps, not enough for anyone else to notice, not even enough for me to notice if it’d happened two weeks ago. “I’m feeling contagious,” she says, instantly looking worried that I may have taken that the wrong way, which, let’s face it, I have. “My parents didn’t want me to miss too much school,” she adds hastily. “They sort of turned on the pressure about coming back.”

Okay, so she’s not feeling better. I thought it was a simple question.

“I got your e-mail,” she says, taking one of her obligatory ten-second looks at me. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, I got yours too.” This is ridiculous. Three years of friendship and now the simplest conversation feels like hard labor. Sure, I miss the Saturday-night Kat Medina but I’m starting to miss the old Kat too, the one I could talk to.

“You know, I think you were right about Nina and the kids,” I tell her. “It’ll be pretty surreal when they move in this weekend. My dad’s office isn’t his office anymore. We started painting it last night and it looks completely different. Once Burke’s furniture is in there I won’t even be able to recognize it.” It’s this hideous dark green, for a start. It makes the room look half its size.

Kat holds my notes against her hip and I’m trying, I really am, but I can’t stop seeing the curve of that naked hip in my head. Also, I feel sorry for her, being back at school and all when she’s still sick. Normally I’d act more sympathetic and give her a hug after not seeing her for a few days but now I don’t think she’d want that.

“It’s a lot to get used to,” Kat confirms. “I guess you just have to expect that it’s going to feel weird for a while.” She flips her hair back, looking tired. “I should go,” she says, glancing at my feet. “I’ll see you in history?”

“Lunch,” I remind her. We don’t have history until last period today.

“There too,” she says. A smile catches on her lips for a second before disappearing. “See you later.”

But at lunch I end up sandwiched between Zoe and Jamie, and Kat barely acknowledges me. She spends the entire period talking to Michelle and Sondra, and I act like I’m cool with it. Hey, I’m cool with everything. She’s the one overreacting. I’m not the one who jumped when our hands touched, you know?

“So, Mason.” Yolanda leans towards me from across the table. “Any idea what movie we should review?”

Yolanda and I have to do this
At the Movies
style review for Presentation and Speaking Skills next week and we haven’t agreed on a movie yet. The class is such a cakewalk that I’ve been acing it with minimal effort but Yolanda’s more comfortable with behind-the-scenes stuff, which is why she’s worrying about this on a Thursday when our presentation is scheduled for next Tuesday. “What about something awful?” I suggest. “Something we can totally dis and tear to shreds.” Definitely more fun. More distracting for Yolanda too.

“I like it,” Yolanda says with a smile. “We can act all outraged.”

“Or we can disagree vehemently,” I add. “You can throw up your hands and I say
‘I can’t believe this—did we even see the same movie!’
”

I must be projecting my voice because next thing I know Kat’s glancing at me from down the table. She puts one hand to her forehead and looks swiftly away and I’d love to do something crazy like kiss her on the top of the head and stand behind her massaging her shoulders. Everybody would freak. She’d freak. But something about it would feel right.

We should be closer after what we’ve done together. We should be … something.

But the things you want the most aren’t always possible. And then again, there are other things I’d rather avoid but can’t. Like Burke’s dark green room. Maybe he was a slug in a past life. Who
else would want a green room? Anyway, I start on the second coat as soon as I get home from school. Dad calls and says he has an emergency, some kid that needs his tooth pulled, and by the time he gets home I’m already finished.

“Great job,” he says appreciatively, surveying the room. “Thanks, Mason.”

I have green under my fingernails and crusted paint in my hair and my stomach’s rumbling from hunger. “You like it?”

“Not my color,” Dad says honestly. “But I’m sure Burke will like it.” He reaches behind my ear and scrapes at a strand of my hair. “I was going to suggest going out for pizza but maybe we’re better off ordering in.”

“Good idea.”

“We can sit back and enjoy the calm before the storm.” Dad smiles, plants his hands on his waist and nods at the green room. “Entirely changes the atmosphere in here, doesn’t it?”

“Could be the paint fumes.” I feel for my crusty chunk of green hair as we step out of the room. “So what time are the movers going to be here on Saturday?”

“Early,” Dad says. “I don’t know where we’re going to put everything. We might be looking at a summer garage sale.”

“You should’ve suggested that to Nina before she brought all the boxes over.”

Dad rolls his head in some kind of nod. “We’ll sort it out somehow.”

At this point there’s not much choice. I shower as Dad calls for pizza but that one lump of hair stays green no matter how hard I scrub. I could dye the rest of it to match and get my tongue pierced. Maybe that would get Kat’s attention.

When the pizza arrives Dad and I eat it straight out of the box without bothering about plates. Something tells me that won’t be
happening again for a while, that Nina would rather dirty a few dishes. It’s one of those things that don’t really matter but I can’t help thinking it just the same.

On Friday night I head over to the local cineplex with Y, Z and Jamie to watch
Creep Forward
. It’s a psycho-stalker movie starring the latest Paris Hilton clone, and Yolanda says it’s been getting devastating reviews. She takes notes all through the movie, like a true professional, and every fifteen minutes or so I think of something to add and lean over and whisper it in her ear. By the time the movie’s finished we practically have our presentation written.

The movers show up around ten the next morning and I throw on my clothes and stumble into the kitchen for orange juice. Two sweaty guys in ball caps trudge by with Burke’s mattress. “Know where this goes?” one of them asks.

“Upstairs,” I tell them. “First door on your left.”

The guy nods thanks and I drink my orange juice fast, expecting Nina and the kids at any second. Besides, it’s impossible to sleep with movers banging around the place. A third one lumbers by with a pile of dresser drawers in his arms as I’m rinsing my glass. I’m not sure where the drawers belong but I’m about to direct him to Burke’s room with the others when I hear Dad’s voice. “Second door on the right upstairs,” he says.

Dad strides into the kitchen, a box nestled in his arms. “Morning, Mason.”

“Morning,” I mumble, still half-asleep. “Anything I can do?”

Dad shakes his head. “Let these guys handle it.” He sets his box down on the counter, next to the microwave. “Kitchen gadgets,” he explains. “She marked the box.”

So there’s nothing to do but play traffic controller and cart a
couple of ultralight plastic containers into the house. Nina and the kids show up while the movers are negotiating their way up the drive with Brianna’s desk. Nina looks tired but Burke smiles energetically as he leaps out of the car. He’s got crazy-round cheeks that could star in catalogs if Nina was anything like my mother. “Hi, Mason,” he calls, running up the driveway.

“Don’t run, Burke!” Nina shouts after him. “Be careful. Stay out of the men’s way.” Burke shoots a look at the moving guys and stops in his tracks. “Thank you,” Nina says nicely. “Just wait there for me.”

Burke’s good at this. He sways from side to side, keeping himself busy, as Nina opens the trunk. More boxes, of course. Dad tells her to let us take them, and just then Brianna climbs out of the car, holding her cat, Billy. The cat’s nearly as old as I am but moves and looks like a panther. Apparently he suffers from a serious attitude problem too. I’ve already been warned against petting him.