The Moon and More (10 page)

I hadn’t seen my father since the previous September, when he, Benji, and Leah were down over Labor Day weekend. They’d stayed at Miss Ruth’s, although she’d already moved to an assisted living facility by then, and we’d had dinner together at this same restaurant. I was in the thick of my pre-application madness then, so my father and I spent much of the meal strategizing. So much so that I’d actually felt kind of bad for Leah and Benji, who, clearly not as enthused about the subject of power essays and early admissions as we were, left to take a walk on the pier when they’d had enough. I had to admit, though, I’d liked having his full attention, as well as this project in common. I was happy to share anything, actually, other than our weird, somewhat shameful origin story.

Fast-forward to April, and that last e-mail, followed by the long stretch of silence, and the memory took on a different tinge. As he parked a few rows over, I opened another stick of gum. But with my jaw already aching, one cheek protruding, for once I knew better than to make a bad situation worse. So I put the stick on the dash instead, then spit my wad of
gum into a tissue. Without it, my mouth suddenly felt light and huge, like I could say anything.

I’d just gotten out of my car when I saw Theo, the guy from Sand Dollars. Just my luck. He was climbing out of a white van a few spaces over, a cell phone pressed to his ear.

“Right,” I heard him say as I shut my door. “Two orders of the chicken satay, the big Caesar with no olives, one Margherita pizza. Got it. Anything else?”

If I started towards the restaurant now, he’d see me, and I had enough on my mind. So I stalled as he passed, checking my reflection in my fingerprint-smudged back window. Who had been touching the outside of my car like this? It was tempting to blame Morris, but I knew that was just reflex.

“Emaline?”

Crap
, I thought, even as I arranged a surprised look on my face and turned to face him. “Oh, hi,” I said. “Theo. Right?”

He nodded. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

It was a weird line, which—judging by the slight flush over his face—I was pretty sure he realized about the same time I did. It made him look kind of cute, though: like embarrassment worked for him. “So,” I said, “how’s the Clyde project going?”

“Good, really good,” he replied, stepping aside so a BMW searching for a space could pass on his right. “We’ve gotten some great interviews with locals this week. Up until now there’d been a lot of resistance, for whatever reason.”

“Really.”

He nodded. “Ivy says it’s often like that in rural areas
when you come in asking questions. There’s a sense of protectiveness of the subject, a need to keep away outsiders.”

“Or maybe,” I said, “it’s just that nobody has anything to say.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” He brushed a hand through his hair. “Clyde Conaway has a real story. Even if part of it is that no one wants to tell it. Actually, I was actually thinking that I needed to get in touch—”

“Emaline!”

I turned, and there was Benji, about a foot taller than the last time I saw him, running in that sloppy, ten-year-old way right towards me. He was grinning and his hair was too long, hanging in his face. When he was about an arm’s length away, he launched himself right at me, throwing his arms around my waist.

“Hey,” I said, surprised by this sudden show of affection. Benji had always been sweet, but we’d seen each other only a handful of times, each separated by multiple months. “How are you?”

“Good,” he said, still hugging me tight. I looked over his head, to the Subaru, where my father was standing watching us, his keys in one hand. As soon as our eyes met, he started walking, as if he had to be sure it was me first. “We’ve been in the car
forever
.”

“I bet.” I ruffled his hair, because that’s what you do with kids this age (I thought). Must be, because he loosened his grip, stepped back, then looked squarely at Theo. I had not been planning any introductions, but now they seemed unavoidable.

“Um,” I said, very much aware of my father coming ever closer, “this is my brother, Benji. Benji, this is Theo.”

They exchanged hellos, and then my father was joining us. Unlike Benji, he didn’t look all that different from the last time we were here. Same black-framed glasses, same kind of clothes: a white button-down shirt, jeans and loafers, no socks. “Hello,” he said to me, and then somehow we were hugging, quickly and awkwardly. “How are you?”

“Good,” I said, already stepping back. “How was the trip?”

“Great. The hardest part was getting out of the city. The GW was backed up for miles.”

Theo smiled. “It always is.”

My father looked at him for a moment, then extended his hand. “Luke, right?”

“Actually, no,” I said quickly. “This is Theo. He’s down for the summer.”

“From the city,” my father said, clarifying.

“I’m in school at NYU,” Theo told him.

“Studying what?”

“Filmmaking. I’m down here doing an internship with a documentary filmmaker.”

“Really.” My father looked surprised. And oddly, pleased. “I know a few of those. Who is it?”

“Ivy Mendelson.”

“
Cooper’s Way,”
my father said. Theo smiled, nodding. “I saw that a couple of years back at the Tribeca Film Festival. What brings her to Colby?”

“This artist, Clyde Conaway?” Theo replied. “He’s from here. So we’re doing background, interviews, getting footage.”

“Right, right.” My father looked at me and smiled. I was not sure what was going on here. Then he said, “So … are you joining us?”

Just then, I heard a beep, followed by an engine approaching. I didn’t even have to turn around to know it was Luke: his truck had had a loose tailpipe for months now, and I could hear it loud and clear as he pulled into a space somewhere behind me. There was a bang, and the sound of rattling keys. He was a jingler, too.

“I’m just picking up some food, actually,” Theo finished. “For the third night in a row. Ivy thinks this is the only place on the island where she can get anything other than a shrimp burger.”

“She’s right,” my father—who had not lived here since before my birth—told him.

“Did somebody say shrimp burger?”

Of course that was Luke, ambling up behind me. His hair was damp, his skin pink from a day in the sun. I couldn’t help but notice that he and I were the only adults not wearing designer eyewear. “Hey,” I said, as he wrapped one hand around mine.

For a beat we all just stood there, staring at each other. Then Luke, who was capable of being social in any situation, stuck out his free hand to Theo. “Luke,” he said.

“Theo.”

“You must be Emaline’s father,” Luke said next. They shook, formally, and then he pointed at Benji. “Little man. Benji, right?”

“Yup,” Benji said, already grinning. Dogs and children loved my boyfriend. It was a simple fact.

“How was the drive?” Luke asked my father.

“Too much traffic on the bridge,” Theo said.

“Oh, that always happens around quitting time,” Luke replied. “Everyone trying to get back home on the island at once.”

I bit my lip, not wanting to correct him. A bridge was a bridge. Right? “We should go in,” I said instead. “They fill up fast here.”

“They do,” Theo agreed.

“It’s the snobbier tourists,” Luke said. “They think this is the only place that makes anything for their refined palates.”

I didn’t look, but I was pretty sure my father and Theo exchanged a glance, hearing this. I said, “Well, my palate isn’t refined, but I love the olive bread.”

No reply from anyone. We all started walking to the restaurant, Benji falling in beside me and taking my other hand. I was not sure what this sudden burst of sibling affection was all about, but it was kind of sweet. Plus, there was safety in numbers.

The hostess, a high-school girl with visible tan lines, smiled at us as we came in. “Welcome to the Reef Room! Five for dinner?”

“I’m not eating, just getting takeout,” Theo told her, then turned to my father and Luke. “Nice meeting you both.”

“And you as well,” my father said. “I’ll keep an eye out for the finished doc.”

“Do that.”

Then Theo waved and was gone, going into the half-filled bar. As the hostess gathered menus, then led us to a large booth by the window, Luke leaned down to my ear. “What’s the story with Girl Jeans?”

Of course this was the first thing he noticed. “I met him doing vips the other day. He’s down working for some filmmaker.”

“Ivy Mendelson,” my father said from behind us. “She’s a very talented director.”

“Who likes the chicken satay here,” I added. The hostess smiled widely at me. Not for the first time since we got here, I wished I had more gum. “Let’s sit down.”

I slid in by the window, and before I knew it, Benji was beside me. Which left Luke to join my father on the other side. It was like the oddest of double dates.

“I want a shrimp burger,” Benji announced, without even opening his menu.

“That’s my boy,” Luke said, holding up his hand for a high five. They slapped. “They have good ones here. Not too bready, light on the cocktail sauce. Skip the onion rings, though. Too thin.”

Now my father looked at him, as if not sure exactly what kind of species he was. “Luke’s kind of an expert when it comes to shrimp burgers,” I explained.

“The key is the size of the shrimp, the amount of breading, and how much mayo is in the slaw,” Luke added. “You have to get all three right, and then …
perfection
.”

Benji laughed. “I like anything fried.”

“Agreed,” Luke said. “I had fried Oreos at the fair last year. They were great.”

My father looked over at the bar, apparently missing Theo already. “You had a burger at lunch,” he said to Benji. “I think you’d better go with salad and a lean protein now.”

“But I want a shrimp burger.”

“Benji.” There’s was the slightest edge to his voice. “Salad and protein. Get fish or chicken.
Not
fried.”

I felt a nudge in the middle of my shin, but didn’t look up to meet Luke’s eyes. I could imagine his expression without the visual. Between this and Girl Jeans, we were not off to a good start. Benji, for his part, looked on the verge of tears.

“The chicken satay
is
good,” I told him. “That’s what I always get.”

Luke was looking at me, I knew, as this was an outright lie. Thankfully, a beat later, he said, “She’s right. It’s pretty awesome.”

“So, Luke,” my father said suddenly, folding up his own menu. “Are you off to college this fall as well?”

“Yes, sir. To East U. Just like Emaline.”

Luke was the most-good natured person I knew, but even without that, it was clear from his tone and expression this was just an honest, polite answer to the question. From my father’s face, however, you would have thought he’d reached across the table and punched him. His face reddened, he coughed, then quickly looked down at his menu.
You brought it up,
I thought.
Don’t ask if you can’t handle being told.

For a minute we just sat there, in a silence that felt heavy like a blanket. On the one hand, I got some satisfaction that
the subject at least made him uncomfortable. But then the awkwardness became excruciating.
Please, God,
I thought,
let us talk about something else. Anything.

Apparently, God was listening, as right then I heard a cell phone trill, the melody oddly (and irritatingly) familiar. It was “The Mexican Hat Dance.”

I looked at Luke—who was known for terrible ringtone choices—but he shook his head. It couldn’t be my father’s. Could it? Then Benji pulled something from his pocket.

“Not at the table,” my father said automatically.

“It’s Mom, though.” For a moment they just looked at each other, Luke and I in the periphery. Then Benji answered. “Hello? Yeah, hi. No, we just sat down to dinner …”

My father turned around in his seat, scanning the room. “Do we have a waitress here?”

“I’ll find someone,” Luke said. “I need to hit the restroom anyway.”

With that, he was up and gone, and I wished more than anything I could go with him. Benji was still talking.

“—a shrimp burger, but Dad said I had to get chicken satay.” My father looked at him, now clearly annoyed. “What? Oh, Emaline and her boyfriend. Luke.”

“Benji.”

“He’s really cool. He—”

“Benji.”

This time, Benji stopped talking. “What?”

“We don’t use the phone in the restaurant. Take it outside. Or at least up front.”

Benji looked at me, as if needing confirmation of this. When I didn’t give it, though—not my place, not even really my family—he got up anyway.

My father watched him, his mouth a thin line, as he wove through the tables towards the hostess stand. “That phone. It drives me crazy.”

“I didn’t realize kids his age even had them these days.”

“It’s relatively recent. Since we decided to separate. We figured it would make it easier for Leah and me to stay close to him.”

Separate?

“Can I get you something to drink?” the waitress, finally appearing, asked from the end of the table.

“Water for me,” I blurted out, too quickly. My father, after consulting the beer list, asked for some microbrew I’d never heard of. As she went to the bar, we were both quiet for a moment. Then I swallowed and said, “I didn’t realize you and Leah had …”

He looked up from the beer menu, meeting my eyes. Suddenly the more tired expression, how he seemed older somehow, made sense. “We only decided a few months ago. Benji doesn’t know yet.”

I nodded, all the while doing the math in my head. A few months ago had been just after my acceptance to Columbia. This, then, was the Unforeseen Circumstance that had forced his own
We regret to inform you
.

“I’m sorry.”

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. Thanks.”

Our waitress, now working at warp speed, came back with our drinks. Once they were distributed, she said, “Are we waiting for two more?”

“They’re here,” I told her. “Just—”

“Give us five more minutes,” my father said. She nodded, retreating again, and I watched him glance at Benji, who was now sitting on a bench by the front entrance, picking at his shoe as he talked to Leah.