Waiting (19 page)

“It’s nice to see you, Mr. Castle,” Taylor says, then he clears his throat, and his fingers tighten on my shoulder.

He says, “London waited dinner for you.” He clears his throat again. “She waited an hour.”

I move away and look at him. He’s looking over his shoulder at Daddy, and Daddy hasn’t even had a chance to say hello, but guess what? Taylor’s right. I rest my hand on his arm. His skin is so warm I want to kiss the place

where I touch him, but that might seem weird, what with my daddy standing right there and all.

It takes a moment for Daddy to get his feet under himself. “London.” He speaks like he didn’t hear Taylor, and that embarrasses me. “You know I don’t like it when you have friends over who are the opposite sex.” And I say, “I know, Daddy. But we wanted to surprise you by making dinner. Plus, I’m cutting Taylor’s hair for him soon.”

Do you remember,
I want to say,
that I cut Zachy’s hair?

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Daddy says. “Your mother won’t like it.”

“My mother’s never here. She doesn’t give a damn what I do.”

Wait.

Who said that?

The room is so quiet it seems even the host of

America’s Funniest Videos
takes a breather to hear what was said.

And then I know. I did it! I said it!

The words are out.

They’re out—yes, in front of somebody—but they’re out, and I feel so good to have said them I can’t sit still.

“She’s not here now.” I hold my hands out for him to see.

Daddy waits, his own hands just hanging there, and I think of Jesus and the cross and the nails the Romans pounded into His palms, and I take Taylor’s hand in mine and say, “Let’s go trim your hair.”

Once, a long
time ago, when we were in Haiti, when I first started cutting Zach’s hair, I chopped a huge hunk out of the back. And when he saw it in a handheld mirror, he laughed and threatened to cut my hair too, but instead brushed it and braided it and patted my head.

For good measure, I think.

Taylor’s hair is
so soft, so fine, and there’s so much of it that when I’m done trimming, it’s all over my bathroom sink and floor. He looks at me in the mirror. He’s sitting on my desk chair that we dragged into the small room, staring at me.

“What?” I say.

“I shouldn’t have said that to your father, London,” Taylor says. His face turns a slow pink. “He’s a good guy and all.

And I only meant . . .”

I stand behind him, the scissors in one hand, an orange comb in the other. He dips his head, and I can see his neck. He doesn’t have the huge football player neck—and it’s not too skinny, either. For a second I see a rope around it, and I drop the comb. It makes a sharp sound on the tile. I bend over to pick the comb up, my hands shaking.

“I only meant, I can see you’re sad all the time, London.

And I know you have reason to be.” Taylor looks at me in the reflection. His eyes have gone glassy. Is he going to cry? “I’m sad too. He was my best friend. Not my brother. But I can’t stand that your dad and mom didn’t show up tonight.”

He doesn’t cry. I turn off the light, sit on his lap, and let him hold me in the darkness, my ankles curled around his.

I take Taylor
home, walk him to the front door. There’s a light on and we stand on the front porch and I kiss him good night.

I drive away, conking out the car only once, on a hill.

Mom’s still not home.

I clean the kitchen, go to bed, say my prayers on my knees, covered by the sheet and lightweight blanket.

I say the things I usually say to God: “Why? Why? Why?

Let my father see me again. Let my mother care. Please don’t let it hurt so much.” But I notice something. Where the pain is? I feel a little hope, too.

I’m almost asleep
when I hear my father in my doorway.

“Good night, London,” he says, his voice low, like he knows I’m asleep and there’s some unwritten rule that he’d better not break. “I love you.”

I love you.

“And I’m sorry.”

I open my eyes. “Daddy?”

But he’s gone, and to tell the truth, I’m not sure if he was a dream or not.

In this dream
I stand with Jesse.

His hair is long, past his shoulders, and when he looks at me, I can’t look him in the face.

When he kisses me, I feel so good inside, I think I’m healed.

All that time
with Taylor and I dream of Jesse.

In the morning,
even before I open my eyes, I can’t wait to get to school.

I want to see Jesse.

And I want to see Taylor.

And I want to see Lili.

I throw back the covers, hurry to the bathroom, and shower.

The water’s hot, and I’m so grateful for hot showers every time I take one, because believe you me, I know what it’s like to bathe in cold water and even what it’s like to take sponge baths, which are okay if the weather is warm. I suds up my hair, grateful for sweet-smelling soap, grateful for the new day and a tub.

Am I a freak? As I wash my body, I think,
It’s supposed
to be a year when people start to feel better and it hasn’t
been a year but I think I’m feeling okay
. A tentative okay feeling. I smile into the shower spray. Even with Mom being crazy—I’m used to that—I’m okay this morning.

As I step out onto the bath mat and dry off, I decide that
nothing
is going to ruin the day for me.

Mom sits at
the dining room table sipping coffee. She’s dressed up nice, but she doesn’t raise her eyes to me when I set my books down. How can she be so perfect in her ignoring me?

Something tough runs down my spine—makes me stand taller. I think,
To hell with this, because nothing is going to
ruin my happy-ish feeling. And I am sick of her game.
I think that, over and over, as I go into the kitchen, pour myself bran cereal, and make myself toast. Then I do something I haven’t done since before I quit begging her to talk to me. I take my food into the dining room and sit down in the chair next to hers. I’m so close I can smell her perfume.

“I missed you at dinner,” I say, and take a big bite of cereal. I’m shaking, and I think the bran is going to get caught in my throat and then maybe I will die too, like my brother, but it turns out I can swallow. Maybe all this bran and stress will just end up as diarrhea.

Mom proves she can swallow too. Keeps swallowing her coffee. Holds her cup in both hands. She looks off across the table, away from me. I can hear Daddy in the bathroom. Just up, I bet. Lately I am to school before he
leaves for work, but I’m not so sure my mother ever sleeps.

“It was pretty good,” I say. “Stroganoff. Your favorite.”

Nothing. Not even a slurp in my direction.

She won’t ruin this almost good beginning of a day. I won’t let her. Anger wants to bubble up, but I push it down.

“I’m thinking of maybe making curry tonight. Another one of your favorites.”

Still nothing.

“Unless you want something else. I could make hamburgers.” My hands tremble, and my eyes fill with tears. I fight to keep my voice steady. In the other room the shower goes on.

Mom picks up her saucer and walks away, into the kitchen. I hear her put the dishes in the sink. She has to walk past me again to get out of the house. I’m glad. She hesitates. I can hear her waiting.

So she knows I’m alive. She knows!

I keep talking. “Or a pizza. I can go with Taylor, you remember him. I can go with him to the store and get
what we need for that. Fresh basil and mozzarella.” My feet have gotten me up and walked me to the doorway, like they have a mind of their own. My mother stands at the sink. Looking into it. She’s so thin. But she’s dressed to perfection and her hair is done and . . . “What do you think of that?”

When she walks past, she shoves me aside, hard. But I pretend like that hasn’t happened. And that weird mouth of mine takes over.

“I’m here and you know it.”

Mom goes to her room, grabs a sweater from her bed.

Goes to her nightstand and gets her purse.

Outside I hear the horn beep. It’s Taylor, come to get me, the Living Girl. Mom slips off her house shoes and goes to her closet.

I feel so much pain watching her that I can’t hold it in.

Tears stream down my face. The horn sounds again.

“I have two boyfriends,” my mouth says. I wipe at my cheeks.

Her shoes are on. She shoves past me a second time.

She’s touched me! Twice!

“Neither guy knows about the other.” I want to sob, but I don’t.

She’s down the hall. I’m right behind her. I feel like I did when I was three years old, running after her for a hug and she was chasing Zach. Something burns in my throat.

“That’s one of them out there right now. And the other one brings me home to this empty house. With his sister.

She’s called before. You’ve spoken to her. Lili.”

Mom’s at the front door.

“Taylor’s pretty good-looking. Remember him? Zach’s best friend? Check him out when you leave.”

She opens the door and walks away from me to her car, and I feel like screaming I want to scream at her tackle her knock her to the ground make her love me again but instead I say, “I’m having sex with them both,” then turn around and walk back inside to get my school things, after throwing a wave and smile at Jesse!