We Are the Goldens (7 page)

I asked you flat out: “Are you having a party?”

“Are you insane? Just imagine one of Mom’s precious knickknacks getting bumped a few degrees in the wrong direction. She’d have my ass on a plate.”

“Layla,” I said. Giving you my best
I’m your sister, you can’t lie to me
look.

“I’m not, Nell, okay? Haven’t you noticed that I don’t like parties all that much? I just have heaps of work to do and the team is undefeated, and not to sound conceited or anything, but I take some responsibility for that, so I shouldn’t miss the game, and also, it’ll be really nice to just spend a weekend alone.”

Okay, so that stung a little.

Okay, maybe it stung a lot.

We packed up Mom’s car Friday afternoon. We didn’t need much; weekend attire is mostly the hotel bathrobe. You stood in the doorway in your bare feet and I wondered if you were thinking:
To hell with the team, to hell with homework
.

Mom gave you the neighbors’ contact information in case of emergency and went over her list of rules. Lock the doors. Set the alarm. Make sure you turn the stove burners all the way off so you don’t fill the house with gas.

It’s funny where our parents think the dangers lurk.

As we pulled out of the driveway Mom rolled down her window and called, “Oh, and, Layla, honey?”

“Yeah?”

“No friends over, okay? I wouldn’t feel right about that. Parents expect there to be a chaperone.”

You held up the book in your hand. “Homework, Mom. Remember?”

She blew you a kiss.

You blew one back.

I rarely got to sit in the front seat—you’d claimed it as your birthright—and my reign was brief, only until we arrived at the airport to collect Gramma flying in from
Chicago. When we pulled onto the 101, I turned to look back at the city. I loved this view. I loved it coming and I loved it going. It filled me with a sense of belonging—
this is my home
. But on this day the view filled me with
longing
, without the
be
. Longing for you. You were only twelve minutes in my rearview mirror and I was already missing you. I realize now that the longing and the missing started before that drive.

I must have sighed or something. Or maybe it showed on my face.

“You okay, kiddo?” Mom asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

She reached over and took my hand. It felt nice, but I was too old to hold Mom’s hand. I counted to three and then pulled away, pretending I needed to check my phone.

She let her forsaken hand rest on my knee. “How’re things?”

Mom was smarter than this, but maybe she’d had a long week. She knew these sorts of open-ended inquiries never got her anywhere.

“Fine.”

“Are you enjoying City Day?”

“Yes.”

“New friends?”

“Uh-huh.” This was pretty much a lie, but I didn’t feel like going into detail about how I mostly hung out with Felix, or girls from the soccer team who were more your friends than mine.

“Okay … who has the worst BO in the whole school?”

This was more like Mom. “Hands down, Coach Nolan.”

“Coach Nolan? I thought you had Coach Jarvis.”

“Coach Jarvis is the soccer coach. Coach Nolan teaches freshman PE.”

“And she stinks?”

“Totally. You’d think if you’re gonna choose a life in physical education, you might work out the deodorant thing first.”

“So, who’s the dumbest kid in school?”

“I don’t know … everyone seems pretty smart.”

“That’s not fair! Now you’re just making me look catty while you look magnanimous.”

“If the shoe fits.”

She laughed. “Who’s the cutest boy? And don’t say Felix. You know I love Felix and I think he’s adorable, but he doesn’t count.”

I made a show of thinking it over.

“I guess Sam Fitzpayne.”

“Sam Fitzpayne … I like the sound of that. Sam Fitzpayne … he could be a hard-boiled private eye. Or an MP in the House of Commons. Or maybe a late-night newscaster: ‘This is Sam Fitzpayne, signing off.’ ”

She’d lost me. I was staring out the window into the white lights of the oncoming traffic and thinking about Sam and his one-dimpled smile.

“Hey, kiddo,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry Layla didn’t come along too. I really am.”

“Yeah.”

“It was bound to happen. I guess we should consider ourselves lucky it lasted as long as it did.”

“What are you talking about?”

We were driving on the big, arced bridge that led to the arrivals terminal. It always felt to me a little like coming in for a landing.

“I mean it was only a matter of time before her private life became more important to her than what she does with her family. That’s part of growing up. It’ll happen to you too, it probably already is happening to you. And that’s okay. It really is, even though I’d much prefer for you to always be my baby.”

“She had homework, Mom. It’s not like she didn’t want to be with us.”

“Right,” Mom said distractedly. She’d spied Gramma standing out on the curb with a knit wool hat and her roller bag. She opened her window and waved excitedly. Gramma waved back.

“It’s okay,” Mom said as she pulled up to the curb. “Because someday you and your sister will do exactly this. You’ll come to an airport somewhere to pick me up and all you’ll want to do is be with me, with someone who knows and understands you, and we’ll spend the whole weekend talking.”

She jumped out and threw her arms around Gramma. They held on to each other. I felt I was watching a private moment. One in which I had no place.

“Nellie!” Gramma shouted. I ran to her and let her pull me into their embrace.

She took a look around. “Where’s Layla?”

I couldn’t believe Mom hadn’t warned her you were bailing. In that moment I saw that Mom is still Gramma’s kid, afraid of disappointing her or failing to meet her expectations.

“Well … she had a tremendous amount of homework and this is her junior year, so her grades are critical, and you know Layla, she’s so responsible, she just didn’t feel she could take the time.”

“Poppycock,” Gramma said.

“Mother,” Mom said as she hoisted Gramma’s bag into the trunk. “If you don’t want to seem ancient, you really shouldn’t say
poppycock
.”

This is why Mom didn’t tell Gramma in advance. Because Gramma knows things. She knows the truth from poppycock.

We managed to have a good time without you. I guess it’s hard not to enjoy yourself when your every need is catered to so extravagantly. Mom allowed me a glass of champagne at dinner and I didn’t like the way it tasted, but I drank it anyway.

We texted a few times. You described your weekend alone as
busy
and
boring
. Those seemed like contradictory descriptions, but I didn’t point that out.

Saturday after dinner and the champagne, I came back to my room, the one we were supposed to share. I imagined Parker and Duncan sprawled out on what should have been your bed, wearing white bathrobes.

Man, this place is nice
, Duncan said.

Parker nodded.
Yeah, you can just feel your worries melting away
.

I went into the bathroom to change into my pajamas, and when I came back out Parker asked,
Where’s your robe?

I didn’t need my robe. I was wearing pajamas.

C’mon
, Duncan prodded.
Get your robe on. That’s the tradition. You’re supposed to hang out in your robe
.

I grabbed it from the hook on the door and threw it on. I climbed into my bed.

Now what do we do?
Parker asked.
What would you be doing if Layla had come?

If you’d come, Layla, we’d sit around and talk. Or watch a movie. And we’d eat the chocolates from our pillows.

I picked up the gold, foil-wrapped chocolate from your bed.

See, now you get to eat both. That’s a bonus, right?

I swallowed it whole, barely tasting it.

We know you miss her. We know it’s more fun when you’re together
.

But you were busy. You had “heaps of homework.”

That’s what she said. Do you believe her?

I wanted to believe you.

But do you?

Did I?

Parker pointed to the remote control on the stand between us.
C’mon. Let’s watch a movie
.

I picked it up and switched on the flat-screen TV.

Let’s watch something fun. Something to take your mind off things. How about a romantic comedy?

I thought guys hated romantic comedies. I thought they only liked science fiction or sports or something where lots of stuff gets blown up.

Maybe most guys, but not us
.

They leaned back against their headboard, facing the screen. I was glad to not be alone, but something about the two of them in their matching robes in bed next to each other made me feel even lonelier than had I not conjured them at all.

Choose something that’ll make us laugh
, Duncan said.
Something with a happy ending
.

THE RUMORS STARTED ON MONDAY
.

So-and-so told so-and-so that someone had seen you downtown on Saturday night with Mr. Barr. One report had you coming out of the W Hotel. The other had you walking up 3rd Street with his arm around your waist.

I heard it first from Felix, who slipped me a note in Spanish class.

Es verdadero?

Is it true?
I didn’t know how to write
Is WHAT true?
So instead I just wrote:

Que?

What?

I slipped it back to him. He scribbled something and slid it over.

Su hermana y Señor Barr?

I looked at him across the desk of the girl who sat between us, and he flashed me a signature Felix devilish grin, which disappeared when he saw my shocked face.

He shrugged at me. A sort of body apology.

I so rarely got mad at Felix that I didn’t know how to handle it when I did. My strategy that day was to make a beeline for the door as soon as we were dismissed, but Felix caught up in the hallway.

“Hey.” He grabbed my wrist.

“What?”

“Why are your panties all in a knot?”

“Why are you spreading rumors about Layla?”

“How does writing a note to you classify as spreading rumors?”

“What have you heard?”

“Nell, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down. And you know how I hate the word
panties
.”

“Sorry. Geez.”

“What have you heard?”

Felix looked around. He lowered his voice. “Nothing. I mean, not nothing, but I just heard that there’s something up with Layla and Mr. B. You know there’s always a rumor about Mr. B. and somebody. They’re never true. Anyway, I just thought you’d think it was funny that it’s Layla. But I was wrong. And stupid. I’m sorry.”

He reached into his backpack, took out his sketch pad, and ripped out a page.

“Here.” He handed it to me.

A perfect drawing of a buffalo. “Why are you giving me this?”

“Penance.”

“Huh?”

“To show you that I’m truly sorry.”

It was hard to get mad at Felix, and even harder to stay mad.

“Thanks. I’ll treasure this.”

“Let’s blow off our next classes and go hang out and talk.”

“I can’t, Felix.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t cut classes. That’s not what I do.”

“Okay. How about blowing off play rehearsal? We have no scenes today.”

“That I think I can swing.”

We met out on the steps after school and walked over to the coffee shop we liked. Felix was obsessed with their cherry pie. As you know, I’ve never been a fan of pie, so I ordered a mocha latte.

I looked for you that afternoon but couldn’t find you. I worried about you, because I had no idea what the hell was going on. I wanted to hear from you that you were okay. That you weren’t freaking out.

I called you on our walk over to the coffee shop. You didn’t pick up, so I sent a text:

U OK?

I put my phone on the table between Felix and me. Willed it to vibrate with your answer.

I folded my arms and glared at him. “So tell me everything you know.”

“I don’t know anything. I just heard that someone saw them together. On like Saturday night. Or something.” Felix put his hands up in mock defense. “But obviously Layla wasn’t with Mr. B. on Saturday night, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean you don’t
think
so?”

“I mean I think she was home alone this weekend catching up on homework and stuff. And anyway, even if they were together, it doesn’t mean something is happening between them.”

“It doesn’t? Really? Do you know what I was doing Saturday night?”

“No.”

“I was at a baseball game with my dad. Do you know what I was
not
doing on Saturday night?”

“No.”

“I was
not
out with Ms. D’Amato, sharing a plate of spaghetti, each of us with a strand in our mouths like those freaking dogs from that Disney cartoon. And do you know why?”