Look

by Zan Romanoff

  She tries to imagine joking with her mother that she can live off of some woman’s divorce settlement as well as any man’s, now that gay marriage is legal, and can’t.

  “She took me to get my abortion,” Naomi says. “And didn’t give me any shit about it. And I’m guessing, from the look on your face, she didn’t tell you.”

  Of course she didn’t. As far as Lulu knows, Naomi has never had a serious boyfriend. It’s nearly impossible to imagine her, straightlaced sister accidentally getting pregnant, and then asking their mother for help—much less getting it.

  Those must have been the bad nights Naomi was talking about.

  There must be some kind of look on Lulu’s face, because Naomi says, “I’m fine.”

  Lulu nods.

  Naomi laughs. “No, really. It wasn’t that big of a deal. It doesn’t have to be, you know. I didn’t want to be pregnant. And then I wasn’t.”

  “I know,” Lulu tells her.

  “It was a dumb mistake. Everyone makes them.”

  “I didn’t know you did.”

  “I told you.”

  “I believe you now.”

  “Good.”

  Naomi gets this funny, firm, that’s-enough-of-that look on her face, like she’s buttoning up the conversation, and herself. Impulsive, Lulu launches herself at her big sister and wraps her in a hug.

  After a moment, Naomi hugs Lulu back. “I will say that while she was driving me, Mom made an extremely upsetting remark about how I didn’t want to ruin my lady parts by giving birth this young anyway, so, like, she’s still very much Mom,” she adds, because Naomi is incapable of just having a moment. That’s fine. Lulu can live with that. “But she can be surprisingly all right about things when you need her to be. Way better than Dad is, anyway.”

  Lulu lets her sister go, dodging out of their embrace to snag a box of cereal Naomi was about to put in the cabinet. It’s been an emotional day; she deserves a bedtime snack.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says before she goes.

  * * *

  Talking to Naomi takes some of the air out of Lulu; it punctures the cloud that carried her from Cass’s house to her own, and she goes about the business of brushing her teeth and washing her face like any other night.

  But then, in the morning, in her terrible tiny bed in her mother’s dead-air apartment, there’s a Flash from Cass on Lulu’s phone. In the picture, Cass is lying in bed in a pool of white sunshine, the hollows of her throat cast in deep blue shadow. The imprint of Lulu’s teeth is the faintest possible lilac, just above her collarbone. You’re going to have to be a little more careful with me, the caption says.

  The way Lulu’s breath catches tells her everything she needs to know about how far gone she is already. She closes her eyes and presses her hands to her face, helpless and happy about it. You’re going to have to be much more careful with me, Cass, please, she thinks, but doesn’t send.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SO MUCH ABOUT this is unfamiliar, but certain things stay the same. When Cass texts Hotel today? the next morning, Lulu writes back:

  I think I’m gonna stay home today—got the apartment to myself

  You can come over if you want

  Okay, Cass says.

  They both know that Lulu means Come over and kiss me.

  Cass does.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  LULU WAKES UP on Christmas morning and sees that Bea has tagged Kiley in one of her Flash posts—some inside joke she doesn’t even get. Her stomach clenches and her toes curl. So she’s already in a bad mood when she sees she has a message from Cass that says, I’m worried about Ryan.

  Lulu’s immediate mental response is why, which makes her feel like an asshole. Maybe something really is wrong. So she writes back, What happened???

  Nothing is wrong, though, because of course it isn’t. Cass says:

  Nothing, technically I just haven’t talked to him in a few days

  Which I guess sounds psycho but we always talk

  And he hasn’t answered my texts

  Like I asked him a direct question and . . .

  silence

  Do you know his parents? Lulu asks. Could you call them?

  I don’t have their number

  His dad and privacy, you know

  Lulu does. She kicks her feet restlessly, irritated. A shopping bag that was sitting at the end of her bed tumbles to the floor. When she retrieves it, it has a card that reads SURPRISE! in her mother’s familiar loopy handwriting tied to one of the handles. She pulls out the bag’s contents and stifles a groan.

  She and her mother and Naomi have spent every Christmas for years now at a spa in Koreatown, their own personal version of Chinese food and a movie. They sit and soak; they get wrapped; they get pedicures. They come home and eat vegan ice cream and watch Love, Actually.

  It’s corny, but it’s fun too: It’s a good reminder that as stressful as her family is, it could be worse. They could have to celebrate Christmas, with its gift-buying demands, and nightmare travel scenarios. This idea that twenty-four straight hours can be sugar-sweet and picture perfect. What they have is wildly imperfect, but at least it’s theirs.

  It’s just that this year, her mother has given her a pair of sweatpants with SHAPIRO emblazoned across the ass, and Lulu is ninety-nine percent sure that she and Naomi are going to be expected to parade around the spa in matching outfits. With their mom.

  Lulu returns to her phone. Cass hasn’t said anything else. Lulu hates the idea of her having a shitty Christmas because Ryan’s in a mood. So she asks, Can I do anything?

  Cass replies:

  That’s why I texted, actually

  We have family Christmas stuff this morning & evening but I sort of want to go over to his house in between

  Just to check

  Again I know I’m being crazy

  I’ll come, Lulu texts, before she really considers whether this is possible or not. Her mom isn’t usually a huge stickler about family traditions, but then they only have this one, and Lulu’s never tried to get out of it before.

  On the other hand, she actually has a present to give Cass, so if it works out, it’s kind of perfect.

  Thank you so much, Lu.

  I’ll pick you up around 1?

  Lulu confirms with Cass and then goes to Naomi’s room.

  Naomi looks like a cat who’s been stuffed into a dress: a haunted and miserable creature. Her hair is pulled back into a low, tight ponytail, and its no-nonsense severity is especially ridiculous—almost pathetically inadequate—against the force of the word Shapiro written in hot pink across her butt.

  “This is a nightmare,” Naomi says. “This is my personal, private nightmare.”

  “If I spill coffee on you in the kitchen this morning, will you do me a favor in return?”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “A friend is worried about her friend,” Lulu says. “She wants me to go check on him with her this afternoon.”

  “A friend, huh?”

  “Yes, Naomi, a friend. Will you help me convince Mom to let me out of the spa? I’ll watch movies with you guys tonight, I promise. This is just—it’s important to Cass.”

  “Cass, huh?”

  “Yes. Cass.”

  “Is this Cass from—” Naomi makes a gesture. Lulu doesn’t know what it’s supposed to mean, but it’s fastest if she puts both of them out of their misery.

  “Yes,” she says. “Okay, Naomi?”

  “These sweatpants have to be unwearable. I cannot pull off this pink.” The color their mom chose for the lettering is a little Malibu Barbie, even for Lulu’s taste.

  “I think they look adorable on you,” Lulu says. “But on my honor, they will be fucking wrecked.”

  * * *

  Cass picks her up at one
p.m. sharp. There’s just as much chaos and crap in her Volvo as there has been every time she’s driven Lulu somewhere, and Lulu likes that she recognizes some of it now, that she knows to expect a couple of plastic army figurines tumbled over one another in the cup holder, so that an empty Starbucks cup has to be crammed into the side pocket next to her seat.

  “I’ve only been to his house twice before,” Cass says. “I don’t even know if they have Christmas plans. They might not even be home.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Lulu says. “You’re being nice. Slightly crazy. But mostly nice.”

  Her gift—small, neatly wrapped, not particularly extravagant, even—feels like it’s burning through her bag. She bought it before anything had happened between them, and it already felt crazy presumptuous. Now it’s borderline unacceptable.

  Whatever, she reminds herself. I can always return it. And it’s not like it’s unprecedented: Cass did buy Lulu a book for no reason at all.

  “No but, like, Ryan’s family has a whole thing about their house,” Cass says, distracting Lulu from worrying. “He’s barely allowed to have people over. His dad is super paranoid that someone will, like, leak details about the property or something. Compromise their security.”

  “Not to be the worst,” Lulu says. “But we all know a lot of rich people. I feel like we know how to be cool about nice houses.”

  “I don’t know a lot of rich people,” Cass says. “Or I didn’t, before Lowell.”

  Lulu tries to be delicate about her response. “Right, but you guys aren’t—I mean, it’s not like you’re broke, right?”

  Silver Lake isn’t Beverly Hills, but she’s pretty sure it’s not a cheap neighborhood. She’s pretty sure there are no cheap neighborhoods left in LA, or that’s what Naomi says, anyway.

  “You’re right,” Cass says. “We’re not broke. Probably we’re rich people now, actually. We weren’t always, and I’m just not used to it yet, somehow.”

  One of the most important rules of all: Don’t talk about money. It isn’t nice. Lulu says, “I didn’t mean to call you out or anything. We don’t have to talk about it.”

  “No,” Cass says. “I would like it, actually, if we could.”

  Lulu nods cautiously.

  “Things just changed really fast,” Cass explains. “Growing up, like, we were fine, we had a place to live, food, all that stuff—but then my dad got this new job and we moved to LA, and what had been just fine in Santa Cruz didn’t feel like as much out here. But then the company he was working for got bought, and all of a sudden, you know. There was all of this money. I’m just—”

  She shakes her head before repeating herself. “I’m still not used to it. The way people see me. I don’t know how to look at myself anymore. Because also, when we had less, we hung out with people who had less too. And now we have more, but everyone I go to school with has so much more than that. It’s almost like the more money we have, the more broke I feel, which is just . . . so dumb.”

  Lulu nods. “My first year at St. Amelia’s, I complained to my mom that we didn’t have anywhere to go for the summer, like a house or something. I think it was the angriest she’s ever been with me. I didn’t know. I thought maybe she just didn’t know that’s what we were supposed to do.”

  “She got mad about it?”

  “Yeah. Well.” Lulu watches the streets slip by as she tries to decide what to say. “I think in part she felt bad—like she was ashamed that we didn’t have a summer house, and that I had finally figured that out.”

  She’s never said these words out loud before. She’s never put the thought all the way together—that maybe part of her mother’s deal is that she’s embarrassed that she can’t give Lulu and Naomi everything their dad can give them, or that their friends’ parents can give them. Maybe she wonders if they’re embarrassed by her.

  Lulu wishes she could figure out how to tell her that money is not why she’s embarrassing.

  “What a fucking world,” Cass says. “You’ve always gone to private school, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “You know, I remember the first time I was with Ryan and he valeted a car.”

  Lulu doesn’t know where Cass is going with this, so she waits.

  “We were going to dinner or something, and he didn’t even look for parking. Just pulled up. Handed over the keys.”

  Cass drives quietly for a while.

  “I just kept thinking about the guy who opened the door for me. What I looked like to him. What he imagined or even just, you know, assumed about me. If he could tell I wasn’t rich like Ryan, or if he couldn’t. If I was blending in, and if I even wanted to.”

  Lulu has had plenty of these thoughts herself. “He probably didn’t think about you at all,” she says.

  “Probably not,” Cass agrees. “But it was still—I—it was the first time I understood that other people were going to see me and assume things about what I had, what I was like, that weren’t true. And there was nothing I could do about it. It’s obviously not the worst thing in the world. But it is weird.”

  “People tell me all the time my life’s not normal,” Lulu says. “But no one has ever told me what normal actually is.”

  “Well, off the top of my head, normal definitely isn’t knowing a half dozen people whose family names are on buildings,” Cass says. “And normal isn’t how everyone knows everyone, how you’re all always talking about how we met through JTD, The Center, Marlborough, Lowell, that summer program in Cambridge, and like, I don’t even know if you mean the Cambridge in Boston or the one in Europe. It’s like your entire childhood was a very successful networking enterprise.”

  “I guess what I wonder is: Isn’t it a type of normal? If it’s what’s normal for me?”

  Cass doesn’t answer. She pulls the car up to a curb. A lush stand of low palms and tall cacti form a hedge that hides the entrance to what must be Ryan’s house.

  Cass undoes her seat belt. She looks pale. “You don’t have to come in,” she says.

  “Don’t be dumb,” Lulu says. “Of course I’m coming.”

  * * *

  There’s no bell on the gate to Ryan’s house—not even a keypad. Over their heads, an orb regards them with dark, glassy silence.

  Lulu looks up at it. “Hello?” she says.

  “I think it alerts someone when there’s movement,” Cass says. She fidgets. Lulu wants to put an arm around her, but she doesn’t. Who knows who’s watching.

  An intercom buzzes to life. Lulu can’t even see where the sound is coming from.

  “Yes?” a woman’s voice says.

  Cass says, “Hi, I’m—we’re—um—we’re here to see Ryan?”

  “What’s your name, please?”

  “Cass. Cassandra Velloro.”

  Cass nudges Lulu.

  “Lulu Shapiro,” Lulu says.

  Silence.

  There’s another long pause, and then a faint clicking sound. Cass reaches out and pushes the gate, and it swings open. Involuntarily, Lulu takes a step back.

  Then she makes herself step forward again. She can’t wimp out on Cass now.

  A tiny Central American woman opens the front door and stands aside to let Lulu and Cass pass.

  “Hi,” Cass says to her. “I’m here—”

  “Arsema, I’ve got it,” Ryan calls.

  The woman slips away, dismissed.

  Ryan stands in front of them in the hallway. He’s wearing jeans and a button-down and a watch Lulu’s never seen on him before. It looks heavy and expensive. His face is impassive.

  “Cass, what?” he asks.

  “Cass what,” she repeats. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Are you interrupting Christmas lunch?” Ryan gestures behind him, and Lulu sees: the front foyer opens onto a palatial living room that, in turn, spills onto the back deck, th
e lawn glowing green and the pool shimmering aqua behind it.

  The Riggs family is sitting at a long table on the deck. A Christmas tree is stationed at either end—Lulu would bet money they’re honest-to-god firs—dripping in crystal ornaments that catch and refract light, dappling everyone in rainbows. There’s wine in every cup and a delicate salad on their plates. It looks like a lifestyle shoot for someone’s Instagram. Lulu doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything less cozy or intimate, or more icily, professionally beautiful.

  “Ryan,” Roman Sr. calls from the table. “Who’s there?”

  Lulu looks at Cass. Cass is still looking at Ryan.

  “We can leave,” Cass says, quiet, to Ryan. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and look. You’re fine.”

  She turns, but Ryan reaches out and grabs her arm. “Don’t go,” he says. “We can talk. Upstairs.”

  Cass looks down at his hand on her wrist. “Okay,” she says.

  Ryan lets her go. He steps in close and wraps her in a hug.

  It’s Lulu’s turn to look away.

  Someone gets up from the table and makes his way to Lulu. As soon as he’s close enough, she recognizes him: Flash makes good use of Roman Jr.’s looks in their ads. He has Ryan’s handsome, striking features, but they’re harder: He looks cut from stone instead of made of skin. “You want to sit for a minute?” he asks.

  “I’m okay,” Lulu says.

  “Come on.”

  Lulu does as she’s commanded: She goes to sit.

  “I’m Roman,” he says.

  “Lulu.”

  “I figured. Ryan told me about you. I hear you’re one of our premiere users on the Flash platform.”