“It’s Halloween,” I said. “Free Candy Night. They’d be happy if some crazy homeless guy took them trick-or-treating.” Mom gave me one of her looks and I knew she wanted me to back off—and I also knew she was kind of right, that Nicole and Cameron would love to spend Halloween with both their parents. But it still felt to me like she was bullying Melanie into doing something Mel didn’t want to do, and she’d done that to me too many times. “You should do what you want, Mel.”
“You’re right,” Mel said, and at first I was pleased because I thought she meant me—but she was talking to my mother. “Go ahead and invite them.”
“But I just think—” I was going to continue the argument when my mother cut me off.
“I believe your son is calling you, Rickie.”
I thought she was just saying that to make me shut up, but then I heard an unhappy distant voice calling, “Mom? Mom? Where are you? I’m scared.”
I went upstairs.
I let Noah climb into my bed and then I lay down next to him. He had had a bad dream and said he couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I tried to distract him by reminding him that it was almost Halloween and we still hadn’t decided on a costume. We considered various superheroes and characters from books and TV shows and then he bounced up and said excitedly, “I have an idea! I could go as a coach!”
“Lie down. A coach?”
He fell on his back. “Yeah, like Coach Andrew! I could wear my whistle. And a baseball cap. He always wears a baseball cap.”
“Sounds nice and easy.”
“I might need some new sneakers. Mine are the wrong type.”
“I think they’ll be okay for this.”
He pouted briefly. “And sunglasses. Coach Andrew always wears sunglasses outside.”
“Yeah, but it’ll be night, don’t forget. You’d be blind in sunglasses.” Then I said, “You like him now, huh?”
“Who?”
“Coach Andrew.”
“He’s okay. I still hate PE but I like when I’m his assistant coach. Hey, Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I call my dad tomorrow?”
I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. “Noah—”
“Please, Mom?”
“I don’t even have a current phone number for him.”
“You could get it online.”
“Says who?”
“You’re always getting numbers online.”
Whatever else you could say about Noah, he noticed things. Usually things you wished he hadn’t noticed. “It wouldn’t work,” I said slowly. “I’m sorry, Noah. I don’t know where he is.”
“He’s my dad,” he said. “He probably wants to talk to me.”
I was silent a moment. I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. This was a conversation we’d had before. The other kids at school had fathers who cared, even the ones who were divorced. Even the kid with two mommies had a biological father who showed up for his school performances and cheered loudly. Everyone had a father who cared except Noah. It broke my heart. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said, but we both knew it was an empty promise. “Now go to sleep, Noey. It’s late.”
“Don’t move me,” he said. “Don’t put me back in my bed, okay? I want to sleep here with you tonight.”
“Okay, but if you kick me, I’m going to be tired and mad tomorrow.”
“I won’t,” he said.
He did and I was.
The girls won their basketball game on Friday. It was a close game, and I was glad I got there in time to see the exciting last ten minutes. Whenever a substitute was about to go in, she’d quickly rub the top of Noah’s head and murmur something. I asked him later what the girls were saying, and he said, beaming, “ ‘Top of the head for good luck.’ Sophia came up with that. And it worked because we won!”
In the car, Noah said, “Oh, hey, Mom? Austin gave me an invitation to his birthday party. I’m not supposed to tell anyone because most of the boys in the class weren’t invited. But it’s probably okay for me to tell you.”
“That’s nice,” I said. “Do you want to go?”
“Yeah. Except—” He stopped.
“What?”
“It’s a sports party. You know how bad I am at that stuff.”
“You’ve got to stop saying that, Noah. You’re not that bad. But you also don’t have to go to the party if you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” he said. “But don’t leave, okay?”
“I promise.” So, even though I knew that it was a huge mistake, and that we’d both be miserable and isolated there, I e-mailed Maria Dellaventura later that day and said we’d come to Austin’s party.
Melanie arrived at our house on Monday afternoon—Halloween—soon after I’d brought Noah, Cameron, and Nicole all home from school. She was wearing a black sweater dress that was long and clingy.
“Wow,” I said admiringly. “That looks great, but it is so not like you.”
She blushed. “I know. My mother sent it to me. She thinks I need to ‘make more of an effort in the looks department.’ Direct quote. I wouldn’t normally wear it, but Nicole said it would be a good witch dress and the kids wanted me to wear a costume. I have a hat too.” She put the witch’s hat she had been holding on her head and struck a pose. “See?”
“Gabriel’s going to be very sorry he was such an idiot when he sees you in that dress.”
“That’s not why I wore it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure it isn’t.”
“Are you going to wear a costume?” Noah asked me. He was sitting at the kitchen table, eating some GF toast, swinging his legs and looking fairly adorable in a baseball cap that was way too big for him and kept falling down over his ears. I had sent him to school in one that fit, and he had come back wearing Coach Andrew’s UCLA cap. The other cap was gone, not in his backpack, although he insisted he had put it in there and that someone must have taken it out and stolen it, which was what he always said when he misplaced something.
“Nah,” I said.
“You always look the same,” Noah complained. “You never look pretty.”
“Noah!” Melanie exclaimed. “Don’t say that. Your mom’s very pretty.”
“But she doesn’t ever wear a dress or cut her hair or anything.”
“He’s got a point,” I said. “I mean, look at me.” At that moment, I was wearing jeans that were torn at the knees and a men’s size-large sweatshirt that my father had gotten for free at some conference. My hair was in its usual messy ponytail.
Melanie diplomatically chose to change the subject. “Do you know what we’re doing for dinner?”
“Mom’s ordering in pizza,” I said.
“What am I going to eat?” asked Noah.
“I’ll make you a GF pizza.”
“Don’t forget to make it so it’s ready when the other pizza comes.”
“Okay.” He was right to remind me: I often forgot to start his pizza on time, which meant poor Noah had to wait for it to cook while everyone else was scarfing down fresh, hot pizza.
“What’s for dessert?” he asked.
“It’s Halloween, Noah,” I said. “What do you think?”
“Oh. Candy, I guess.”
“He’s a genius,” I said to Mel.
“He is,” she said with a lot less sarcasm and smiled at him.
That was the last genuine smile I saw on her face that day. An hour or so later the doorbell rang, and Gabriel walked in with his mother and—surprise!—Ryan.
The greetings were awkward. Gabriel gave me one of his patented bear hugs but when he tried to embrace my mother, she stepped back and coldly extended her hand to him. She was still furious at him for cheating on Melanie.
Ryan came over and dropped a casual kiss on my cheek. “Been thinking about you,” he whispered. “What are you doing later tonight, when all this is over?”
“Probably talking Noah down from a sugar high.”
“And after that?”
&
nbsp; I glanced around to make sure no one could hear us. “Coming over to your place?”
“Sounds like a plan.” He moved on and shook my father’s hand.
As soon as Gabriel and Ryan’s mother had bestowed a hostile air-kiss a few inches from Melanie’s cheek, Mom took her firmly by the arm and propelled her over to the sofa. “You look younger every time I see you,” she said pulling Sandra down next to her on the sofa. “What’s your secret?” Sandra, who spent more annually on beauty treatments and plastic surgery than most large families in America spent on food, launched into some absurd speech about how lucky she was with her genes, and Melanie mouthed a heartfelt “Thank you” to my mom for rescuing her from any more interaction with her soon-to-be-ex-mother-in-law.
Gabriel’s father had died a long time ago from a heart attack. From the photos I’d seen, he had Gabriel’s physique plus another fifty pounds or so, which had made him arguably more grizzly bear than teddy bear. Anyway, since his death Sandra had apparently chosen to devote herself full time to fighting any signs of aging. Her skin was shiny and tight, her eyes tilted ever so slightly up toward her temples, her lips were unnaturally plump, and her forehead was smooth as Lucite. She wasn’t young and she wasn’t pretty. She was just… not wrinkled.
She had never been welcoming toward Melanie, and had made it clear that she considered her sons her sole property. She had cried at Gabriel and Mel’s wedding, and not for joy, although the births of her two grandchildren seemed to have reconciled her somewhat to the marriage. Still, you had to assume that the impending divorce gave her some pleasure. I wondered what her sons had actually told her about the separation and suspected that in their version Melanie had capriciously tossed Gabriel out on his ear for no real reason.
At any rate, it was nice of my mother, who couldn’t stand Sandra and had only endured her company in the past for Gabriel’s sake, to throw herself on the bomb and keep her occupied and away from Melanie.
The rest of us were still awkwardly standing around the living room, and then Melanie said, “I’ll get the kids—they’re in the family room,” and fled, like the coward she was.
I said, “I’ll get the wine.”
“I’ll help,” said Ryan.
In the kitchen, he leaned against the refrigerator and said dryly, “What a fun family we are tonight. Happy Halloween and god bless us everyone.”
“I love your mother’s zombie mask,” I said. “It’s terrifying.”
“Fuck you,” he said, fairly amicably, all things considered.
“Later.” I started pouring wine into glasses, carelessly sloshing a little over the side.
He shook his finger at me. “Keep making cracks about my mother and I may change my mind about letting you come over.”
“You love when I make cracks about your mother. You don’t have the guts to do it yourself.”
He watched me lick a drop of wine off my wrist. “You know, it would be nice if some of the wine actually went in the glasses.”
“Don’t be a backseat pourer.”
“I have an idea,” he said, coming up close behind me. “We could sneak upstairs for a few minutes—”
“We could.” I kept pouring, even though he was making it hard to concentrate. “But we won’t.”
“Why not?” His breath was warm against my ear.
“Noah might come looking for me.”
“I’ll be fast.” He pushed against me and I leaned back into him for a moment, then sighed and picked up two wineglasses.
“Take these into the other room, will you? And make sure Mel gets one right away. She needs it.”
“She looks really good tonight,” he said, stepping back and taking the glasses out of my hands. “Better than ever.”
“Doesn’t she? Your brother is a stupid idiot.”
“That’s two,” he said.
I carried two more filled glasses into the living room. The kids had come in, and Sandra was making a big fuss over how adorable Nicole and Cameron looked (she was a girl pirate; he was Harry Potter) and completely ignoring Noah, who was standing forlornly off by himself, fidgeting nervously. I saw Ryan pass by him on his way to giving Melanie her glass of wine. “Hey, Cameron,” he said with an absent nod. “How’s it going?”
“I’m not Cameron,” Noah said, but Ryan had already gone by and didn’t hear him.
Gabriel—bless his generous cheating heart—must have caught that because suddenly he swooped down on him. “My friend Noah!” he roared. “There you are!” He caught him up in his arms in a warm Gabriel-style hug.
That caught Sandra’s attention. She deigned to glance at Noah as Gabriel released him. “You should go put on your costume,” she said. “What are you waiting for?”
Noah’s face crumpled. I rushed over. “He’s already wearing it. I think he looks great.” I thrust the glasses of wine at my mother, who took them, and I put my arms around Noah’s shoulders and squeezed him tightly. “He’ll be the only kid out there who’s a coach,” I said.
“A coach! Of course!” Gabriel said enthusiastically. “It’s a fantastic costume, Noah!” Noah’s face relaxed. Crisis of self-confidence averted. For that moment.
“He has a whistle,” Nicole said, pointing to where it hung around his neck. “But he’s not allowed to blow it. He did, though,” she added to me in a lowered voice. “Earlier, when we were in the family room. I told him if he did it again, you’d take it away from him.”
“Thanks for handling the situation,” I whispered back.
The doorbell rang. “That’ll be the pizza,” my mother said. She handed the wineglasses back to me and hustled out of the room. I gave one of the wineglasses to Gabriel, and since Ryan had already given his two away to Mel and Sandra, I gave him my last one.
“I love this game,” Ryan said as he took it. “Musical wineglasses. Do I drink it or just pass it on?”
I smiled sweetly at him and murmured, “Would you like me to tell you where to put it?”
“That’s three,” he said. “Now you’re in trouble.”
My mother called from the hallway. “Come to the dining room! Pizza’s here!”
“Mom?” Noah said. “Is my pizza ready?”
I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand. “Shoot, Noah! I’m sorry!”
“Every time,” he said more with sorrow than resentment. “Every time you forget.”
“I’ll make it right now.” I ran into the kitchen. My mother was already in there, getting paper plates out of the closet.
“So much for being environmentally friendly,” she said with a nod of greeting. “I’m going to hell when I die.”
“They don’t use paper plates in hell.” I put down my glass and ran to the freezer. “They’d burn right up.”
“Plus one of the ways they torture people is probably by making them wash dishes for all eternity. An activity I’m well acquainted with.” She piled some napkins on top of the plates and glanced over at me. “What are you doing?”
“Making a pizza for Noah.”
“Oh, right. Bring a pitcher of water and some cups when you come in, will you?” She hustled out with the plates.
I turned on the toaster oven and was searching for a pitcher when the phone rang. “Hi,” said the male voice at the other end. “I’m looking for either Melanie or Rickie.”
“This is Rickie. Who’s this?”
“My name’s Matt Quinn. I’m Carol Lynn Donahue’s cousin—she said I could call you?”
“Oh, right.” I had totally forgotten about him. “Uh, hi. What’s up?”
“I think Carol Lynn told you I just moved to LA? She thought maybe you—or Melanie—that one of you could maybe show me around a little?”
You could tell the guy didn’t have kids: no one who did would have cold-called on Halloween night. I was about to ask him to call back another time when the voices from the other room gave me an idea. “Hold on a second,” I said into the phone. “Let me get Melanie. She’s really the one who”—W
ho what? I wondered frantically. I didn’t know how to end the sentence, so instead I said abruptly, “Just a sec” and put him on hold.
I entered the dining room, cradling the phone against my chest. “Hey, Mel?” I called over the noise of people sitting down and doling out pizza and talking.
She looked up from where she was getting Cameron settled at the table. “What?”
“Phone for you. It’s that guy.” There was a sudden silence in the room.
“What guy?”
“You know. That guy. The one who”—I shook the phone at her—“You know. He really wants to talk to you.” I sneaked a glance at Gabriel. He was watching the whole exchange, eyes slightly narrowed.
Melanie came around the table toward me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Shh.” I pulled her into the kitchen and closed the door. “It’s Carol Lynn’s cousin.”
“Oh. Just tell him I’ll call him back.” She turned.
“No, wait.” I grabbed her arm. “Talk to him. Make a date. Laugh loudly.”
“Why?”
“Because Gabriel’s in the next room,” I hissed. “And I saw the expression on his face when I said a guy was calling you. Make him suffer.”
“But I don’t really want to talk to this guy.”
“Come on,” I said. “This is perfect timing. Make a date with him then come into the other room and tell me about it—very loudly, and in front of everyone.”
“It’s childish, Rickie.”
“Do it for me,” I said, and forced the phone on her.
9.
Sandra tolerated about two blocks of trick-or-treating before saying she’d had enough and wanted to go home. Ryan came over to say good-bye to me and whispered that he had decided to “let” me come over later, despite the three strikes against me. I thanked him politely and reminded him to remove his mother’s mask before he tucked her into her crypt for the night.
“Shut up.” Then, lowering his voice even more, he said, “So who’s the guy who called Melanie?”
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