The Lighter Side of Life and Death (6 page)

“Maybe you should put him in the bathroom,” I advise. “So nobody trips over him.”

Brianna tosses me an impatient stare. “I know.”

Right. She knows everything.

Nina takes Burke’s hand and walks into the house with him. Brianna follows and Dad and I trail behind with the last of the boxes and a collection of plants. “Thanks, guys,” Nina says, swiveling to look at us. “I can’t believe this is it.”

“It’s not,” Brianna counters. “There’s still the
unpacking
.” She turns to march upstairs, black cat cradled in her arms.

“Can I look at my room?” Burke asks, hopping on one foot as he peers up at Nina.

“The movers are finished in there,” Dad says with a nod.

“Go ahead,” Nina says. She starts for the kitchen with Dad in tow and I guess I could go back to bed or battle Brianna’s cat for
space in the shower but instead I follow Burke up to Dad’s old office to catch his reaction.

“You like this color?” I ask.

“Green’s my favorite color,” he says, showing all his teeth. He darts into the middle of the room and tugs at the tape on the nearest box. It twists between his fingers, folding stubbornly into itself, resisting his efforts.

“It won’t open,” he complains.

I bend over, yank the tape off in one go and toss it aside.

“You have green in your hair,” Burke says, pointing. He begins pulling action figures out of the box and lobbing them onto his mattress.

“I know.” I automatically reach for it. “I can’t get it out.”

“Rub it with baby oil,” Brianna advises from behind me.

“That works?” I turn to look at her. She’s standing in the hall without her monster of a cat, arms folded in front of her.

“It worked for my friend,” she says flatly.

I swear, this is the most constructive conversation we’ve ever had.

“Mason, can you open some more boxes for me?” Burke asks.

“I’ll do it.” Brianna walks swiftly into the room, her eyes shrinking as she glances my way. “Don’t worry about it.” She’s wearing this sour expression on her face, like she just caught a whiff of fresh puke, and I laugh as I watch her tear open a second box.

“You’re gonna break a nail,” I say. I can’t help it. If the girl was any more uptight it’d be a medical condition.

Brianna doesn’t reply. She just keeps tearing at boxes like she’s on a mission. Meanwhile Burke’s yanking out anything remotely interesting, littering the floor with superheroes and racecars. It’s deep green chaos and I whistle as I back slowly out of the room. If this is what Saturday mornings are gonna be like from now on, I should sleep late.

Nina cooks this
beef and rice thing on Sunday night. We eat in the dining room because the kitchen table’s too small for five. The next night Dad’s late but Nina already knows to expect that; she puts his dinner in a Tupperware container in the fridge. Afterwards Nina says that she realizes Dad and I haven’t been eating scheduled meals like they have and that she knows sometimes I’ll have my own plans.

“I’ll let you know if I’m not going to be around,” I tell her. “How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” she says. “You could let me know some things you like too—or things you don’t, for that matter.”

Yeah, maybe I could jot some helpful hints down on cue cards. Seriously, though, I know she’s only trying to be accommodating. It’s just bizarre to imagine Nina making food for me on a regular basis. I mean, I’m not the one she’s in love with; I’m just part of the package deal. “Tomatoes,” I offer. “Can’t stand them except on
pizza.” Not a big issue really. I’m only saying it for the sake of saying
something
.

Later that night I go over to Yolanda’s to practice our movie review presentation. She makes her parents listen to us, and her mother laughs when we start into the bickering bit. I’m not in any hurry to get home so I hang out there awhile watching TV and listening to Y’s older brother (temporarily home from university) play drums in the background. I went through my own drumming phase a couple years ago, so I can hear that he’s good.

“Is your brother in a band?” I ask.

“Two. He’s trying to figure out which one he wants to stick with.” Yolanda stretches her legs out in front of her and stares at me thoughtfully. “So what’s with you and Kat lately? You two on the outs?”

“What makes you say that?” I run my fingers through my green-free hair (it’s true, baby oil works) as I peer back at her.

“Usually you guys talk all the time and lately I never see you together.”

“I didn’t know we were being monitored,” I say. Then, because there’s no reason to cop an attitude with Yolanda, I add, “Everything’s cool. Same as always.”

“If you say so.” Yolanda nods. “I’m not trying to get on your case.”

“I know, but is this something people are talking about now?” People talk like crazy at GS. Doesn’t matter if what they’re saying is true or not.

“I haven’t heard anything. It’s just something Zoe and I noticed while we were
monitoring
you.” She smiles at me and I smile back but I’m still a little concerned. Things are weird enough between Kat and me without everyone else noticing. For a second I consider telling Yolanda the truth, just to get it off my chest. I’m sure she’d
keep it to herself (or at least between her and Z) but what if just saying it out loud changes things for the worse?

So I don’t say anything. I go home, pass Dad and Nina lounging on the living room couch and call out good night. They’re both drinking coffee and reading the paper and it’s such a cozy little domestic scene that for a second I feel like I must’ve walked through someone else’s front door.

“Good night, Mason,” they chime. They sound happy and I’m happy for them. From what I remember Dad was good at being with someone.

Yolanda and I wow everyone with our presentation the next morning. People aren’t used to seeing Yolanda act so outgoing, and you can tell they get a kick out of it. They’re leaning forward in their seats, grinning and nodding. Some of them have obviously seen
Creep Forward
, and it looks like most of them didn’t like it any better than we did. Ms. Courier has this class applause policy—you have to clap whether you enjoyed the person’s presentation or not—so the grinning and nodding is a much better indication of what people think of your presentation.

Ms. Courier stops the video camera as we return to our seats. She records all the presentations so we can watch ourselves and become more aware of our body language, voice, etc. I’m pretty in tune with my body language from my modeling days anyway; I don’t need to see the video. In fact, it took me a couple years to get over thinking about how I looked all the time. Where I’m at right now is a happy medium. I’m conscious of what I’m doing but I don’t obsess about things like the angle I’m holding my right arm at or whether my eyebrows are perfectly neat. Mostly I concentrate on getting the emotion right.

If I weren’t so good at that, Kat would already suspect how I’m feeling. Or maybe she does. I don’t know and there’s no one I can ask.

I’m starting to think about picking up the phone to call her sometime soon. Not to talk about
it
, just to get our friendship back into the groove. Tiptoeing around each other isn’t working.

Anyway, I’m thinking about it but I haven’t decided yet. Suddenly I’m all kinds of Hamlet. I can’t make up my fucking mind.

Take today. I could walk up to Kat in the cafeteria and make a joke. I could lean into the aisle in history and ask her if she’ll be home tonight. Then, at the end of the period, I could casually mention that I might give her a call later. It wouldn’t be hard.

Unless she goes white, stares down at her desk and stays quiet for so long that there’s no need to spell out that she doesn’t want to hear from me later. That could happen. Or something worse that I’m even less prepared for. Then what?

This is exactly the kind of thinking that keeps me where I am. At least until after history. I’m two steps behind her in the hall when I surprise myself by reaching out to touch her shoulder. She swings around and looks up at me with suspicious eyes. “You busy after school today?” I ask. “I was thinking we could hang out or something.”

Kat’s lips disappear inside her mouth as she thinks it over. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” The fact that she’s even asking gets me but I don’t want to spook her.

“The changes at home.” Kat scratches her nose. “I don’t know. I just wondered.”

“No, I’m fine,” I tell her. “It’s just that we haven’t hung out in a while, you know?”

“I know.” She looks tense, like I’m going to jump her right there in the hallway, nine steps from the guidance office.

I’m about to tell her that I wish she would relax around me, that everything would be cool if she’d let it, but Christopher Cipolla cuts between us at that exact moment and says, “Anyone want to ditch last period? I can’t deal with French today.” He grimaces for effect, instantly sucking up the anxious energy between Kat and me and converting us into an audience. “It’s McKenzie’s personal mission to crush me—the bitter old bitch.”

“You upstage her all the time,” I advise. “You can’t do that with McKenzie.”

“Listen to Dr. Phil here,” Kat retorts, her voice biting. She’s frowning in disapproval and I don’t know what I’ve done wrong but suddenly I’m just sick to death of this shit with her.

“I’m in,” I say, talking over her. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m due at JB at five,” Christopher says slowly. He gives us this bewildered look like he’s sensed something rotten in the air but isn’t sure what it is. “But I’m open to suggestions.” JB is The Java Bean, where he started working just last weekend. It’s in the middle of downtown Glenashton, surrounded by trendy restaurants with names like Paradoxe and II Mondo. “Kat, you coming too?”

“Actually”—Kat cocks her head in my direction—“I was just telling Mason that Sondra’s coming over after class to work on a physics assignment.”

“Of course,” I say sarcastically. “That’s exactly what you were going to tell me.” There was never a remote possibility of us hanging out. She’s not even comfortable standing next to me.

Kat clenches her jaw as she looks away. I’m positive I could get her pretty crazy if I wanted to. I could crank up the attitude and make her scream at me right in front of Christopher and the guidance office. It’d be one way to get to her.

“Let’s go,” I tell Chris. “Before you run into McKenzie.”

Chris flashes Kat one last look. “Later, Kat.”

Kat nods goodbye to both of us and for a second I think I see something besides anger in her eyes. Regret, maybe. I don’t know. She’s an enigma. Maybe she’ll be an enigma from now on. Maybe we’re not even friends anymore. I don’t know a thing about it.

Christopher and I head downtown and shoot pool in The Windsor Arms. We eat fish-and-chips and then Chris flips through CDs at this jazz music store I’ve never been inside before. Round about then I remember that Nina will be expecting me home for dinner. I phone Brianna and tell her to let Nina know I’m skipping supper tonight.

“Anything else?” Brianna says wearily.

“Nope.”

“’Kay.” Brianna hangs up without a goodbye, and because I’m already in a mood I almost call her back and tell her to lighten up. Almost. But she’s not the one I’m mad at.

“I should get over to JB,” Christopher says, bounding towards me. “You coming for a coffee on the house?”

Sure I’m coming for coffee. I’m not in a frenzy to get home. I walk over to JB with Chris and let him fix me a cup of their coffee of the week: Cinnamania. It’s so sweet that two sips give me a colossal sugar rush and I sit at a booth on my own reading one of the house copies of the
Toronto Star
, my foot tapping in time to the Foo Fighters.

“Mason Rice,” a woman’s voice pronounces. “Looks like the name stuck after all.”

My gaze darts up and hangs on Colette standing across from me in a navy blazer and knee-length skirt, her thin fingers wound around a paper coffee cup. The clothes make her look like an official version of the woman I met at Nina’s shower. I liked her at the
time but Kat’s sunk me into a weird mood I can’t climb out of. I just want to sit here, sipping my sugar in easy silence.

“Hey,” I say evenly. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” She smiles like she’s pleased with herself. “How’re Nina and the kids settling in at the house?”

“Great.” I nod slowly, set down the newspaper and blink at her, searching for something to say. That’s not a problem I usually have, and the gap in conversation tips me further off balance.

“Are you all right?” Colette asks, concern in her eyes. “You seem a bit …” She makes a wavy motion with her hand.
Seasick?
“Is this a bad time?”

“No.” I shake my head and reach for my Cinnamania. “You know, you’re the second person that’s asked me that today.”

“Okay.” Colette nods. “That was nosy of me,” she says apologetically.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Somehow her sympathetic tone makes me feel better. At least I’m not in the wrong here. “So you work around here or something?”

“Four doors down. At the travel agency. It’s a temporary gig. I’m thinking about going back to school.” The fact that she refers to her job as a gig makes me smile. It sounds so laid-back, completely the opposite of how she looks.

“I thought you didn’t like school.” I smile harder, trusting that she remembers our last conversation.

“Just high school,” Colette clarifies. “The horror years.” She raises her cup like she’s toasting me and adds, “Well, I’m going to hit the road, Mason. Do you want a ride home?”

Do I want a ride? For sure. It’s the home part that I’m not big on. The house has seriously shrunk over the past few days. “Okay,” I reply reluctantly. “Thanks.” I stand up next to her, catch Christopher’s eye and tell him I’ll see him tomorrow.

“Ciao,” Chris sings, looking at the both of us.

Out on the street I gulp coffee and follow Colette’s lead. Her Toyota Echo’s parked in a lot around the corner and someone’s dented the passenger door pretty bad. Colette notices me eyeing it and says, “Condo parking lot scrape. Stupid SUV was hogging the ramp at my friend’s place.” She shakes her head wildly. “Don’t you hate those things? I can’t believe anyone’s still driving them—it’s like wearing a badge declaring yourself an asshole.”