He was tall and slender, with dirty blond hair like mine and Ivy’s, except his was thinning on top. He walked oddly, up on his toes, the rest of him tilting forward, so his head and shoulders arrived at a destination before his legs did.
He ate so slowly that the rest of us always finished before he did, and Mom would eventually say, “Oh, for God’s sake, Chris. It’ll be breakfast before you finish dinner.” He’d push his plate away then and say he was done, even if he wasn’t. I don’t think food mattered much to him.
But maybe I’m confusing the way he was at the end—?when he couldn’t eat at all—?with the way he was before. It’s so hard to keep it all separate. I try to picture him before he got sick, but it all blurs.
He was so tired during those last few months, and so were we—?tired of the idea of cancer, of its presence in our house. I wanted it to just go away.
And then it did, but it took him with it, which wasn’t what I’d meant at all.
Anyway, since the skeletal, defeated, exhausted guy he was for the last few months of his life keeps blotting out the happier, younger version of him in my mind, it hurts to think about Dad.
But I can’t get mad at Ivy for bringing him up a lot. She’s just figuring stuff out, the way she likes to, adding up bits of information to see where they lead. She wants to find patterns, to be able to predict things and find some sense in the chaos, but what sense can you find in a father who died too young and a mother who remarried too quickly?
“I’m going to be twenty-one in June,” Ivy says. At least she’s off the topic of wedding anniversaries. “And that’s why I can’t go to school anymore after this year. I’ll have to get a job. And I’ll live in my own apartment and pay for it myself.”
“Let’s take things one step at a time,” Mom says.
“When I turn twenty-one, I’ll be able to order alcohol at restaurants and bars,” Ivy says. “And also buy it at stores.”
“Oh, God,” Mom says.
“One step at a time,” I remind her.
Six
A LITTLE BEFORE SEVEN, James texts me to say he’s waiting out front.
I call out a goodbye to everyone in the kitchen, but before I make it through the front door, Ron appears in the hallway. He expands his chest and sets his feet far apart—?he’s like a peacock, trying to impress and intimidate by spreading out. “Hold on there, Chloe—?are you getting picked up?”
“Yeah. James is waiting.” My hand is twitching on the knob.
“Not cool,” Ron says, shaking his head. “He should come in and get you.”
“He would, but we’re running late.”
Ivy’s face appears behind Ron’s shoulder. “Are you leaving, Chloe?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I go too?”
“Sorry. James’s parents are taking us out.”
“Because you’re his girlfriend?”
Ron puts his arm around her waist. “Let Ms. Chloe go out to her fancy dinner,” he says jovially. “You and your mother and I will have fun here. Maybe we’ll play a board game.”
“I don’t want to play a board game.” She pulls away from him. “I want to go out too.”
“I can ask your mother if she’d be up for a movie—”
“Not with you guys. With Chloe.”
“Not tonight,” I say, and quickly slip out the door.
In James’s car, I lean over for a quick kiss and then he steps on the gas and his BMW roars off. His parents bought the car for him for his seventeenth birthday. It’s used but in perfect condition, and if I weren’t his girlfriend, I could easily hate him for all the stuff he has and the life he leads.
He totally blows apart Sarah’s theory that no one’s life is perfect, because his is.
He glances over at me. “You’re quiet. I’m not complaining or anything—?actually it’s kind of a relief—”
“You are so going to pay for that.”
He flashes a wicked grin. “But just to cover my ass, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” I smooth my parent-friendly demure skirt over my thighs and wonder if I should tell him how guilty I feel going out and having fun when Ivy’s stuck at home with Ron and Mom.
I turn my head and study him for a moment. He’s wearing a collared shirt under a blue crewneck sweater. His short, dark, wavy hair is still damp from the shower, and his sleeves are rolled up just enough to show his strong forearms. He looks sexy and handsome and carefree.
And I think, Don’t be the girl who can’t have fun, who drags everything down, who can’t ever leave her sister behind.
“Stop staring at me,” James says. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I have a brain.” Mock sigh. “But you never seem to notice that part of me.”
“I promise to only pay attention to your brain tonight. I’m going to ignore your body completely.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s going to work for me either.”
“Your choice,” I say. “I can love you for your mind or for your body. I can’t do both.”
He reaches over and finds my hand, which he puts on his leg. He presses it hard against his thigh. “If have to choose . . . I’d say that brains are overrated.”
“Mmmm,” I agree. “So after we have dinner with your parents, any chance of finding somewhere quiet and alone to be?”
“Not at my house.” James has a younger brother and sister, and his mother likes to send them in with messages for us when we’re alone in a room, to make sure we’re not having sex.
“We’ll figure something out,” I say.
We eat dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant where the appetizers cost ten dollars and the entrees thirty—?Ron would have a heart attack if our family ever tried to eat there. He’s either very cheap or just kind of poor, but I’m not sure which, since he and Mom are both secretive about finances.
After dinner, James and I hang out at his house for a while and then he takes me home and comes inside with me. It’s dark and quiet downstairs, which means everyone else has gone to bed.
We don’t turn on any lights, just creep quietly into the family room, where we feel our way to the sofa, kick off our shoes, and fall onto the cushions together.
“See?” James whispers in my ear. “All I am to you is a body you can use.”