But when she came over on that Monday in April to celebrate his new social life, Grandma walked in with her hands full of pool toys instead. Bright-colored floating noodles flopped around in the air above her, bumping into the walls as she started showing off each gift to Solomon and his parents.
“For diving,” she said excitedly, letting five yellow plastic rings slide down one arm and onto the floor. “Goggles. Even some floaties, you know, in case you forgot how to swim!”
Solomon stepped forward and started helping her—finding more diving rings, three more pairs of goggles, some swim trunks, and even a Speedo. He held the bright orange bikini up and gave his grandmother a puzzled look.
“You never know,” she said. “You could train for the Olympics with all the time you have.”
Solomon took the Speedo and rubber band–style shot it at his dad, who caught it midair and then held it up to his waist.
“Oh yeah, I’m going to look good in this puppy.”
“Grandma, cancel the pool,” Solomon said.
“Fine,” she said. “You all make fun, but in Europe, that’s what they wear. A little culture wouldn’t hurt anyone around here.”
“Noted,” said Solomon’s dad, grabbing one of the pool noodles and hitting his son on top of the head with it.
“Thanks, Grandma,” Solomon said, putting a pair of goggles on. “How do I look?”
“Perfect.”
And since it looked like maybe she’d cry, he pretended he was swimming through the air toward her and gave her a quick hug.
Later, Solomon inflated a large bright green inner tube on the living room floor while his parents and grandma chatted over coffee and dessert on the sofa. When he was done, he stood up and fell backward right into the center of it.
“Looks comfortable,” Grandma said. “Your father broke his tailbone in middle school and had to sit on something very similar. Only smaller, of course. You remember that, Jason?”
“I broke my ass, Mom. Of course I remember.”
“I felt like the worst mother in the world,” she said, laughing so hard tears were coming out of her eyes. “I lost it every time I saw that little cushion. I couldn’t help it.”
“You see, Sol?” his dad said. “This is why we never let you stay at Grandma’s when you were younger.”
“That’s not true,” she said. “I kept you all the time. You were my little sidekick.”
“She used you to sell houses,” his dad added. “Dressed you in a little suit and tie and took you with her to show properties.”
“Resourcefulness is not something I’ll apologize for,” she defended. “That’s how you build a business.”
“Joan Reed Realty,” Solomon’s dad said. “We’ll take you home . . . after you give us your life’s savings.”
“I miss grounding you,” Grandma said, scowling at her son. “Sol, tell me all about this Lisa girl.”
“She’s nice,” he said.
“Nice?” she asked, looking over toward her son and daughter-in-law. “This kid of yours, he’s so . . . expressive, you know?”
“We’ve worked very hard on him,” Solomon’s dad joked.
“C’mon, spill it, kid,” Grandma said.
“Okay, umm . . . she’s funny, too. And, I don’t know, laid back, I guess. It just wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.”
“That’s good to hear,” she said, looking around to each person in the room and nodding her head.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “She came over Saturday night, too.”
“And yesterday,” his dad added.
“Really?” Grandma asked. “Solomon, do you have a girlfriend?”
“No. It’s not like that,” he said.
“Okay, so what did you and your friend do then, with all that time together?”
“We watched movies and played chess mostly.”
“Speaking of,” Grandma said. “Let’s you and me go play a game so I can get the real gossip, okay?”
“Sure.”
Once they were in the den, he set up a little folding table and they both started shuffling without a word. Skip-Bo was no joke to Solomon and his grandmother and since he’d been on a winning streak lately, he knew she’d be out for blood. But as soon as the cards were dealt and they started playing, all she wanted to do was talk about Lisa.
“Wow,” she said. “You’re really doing it, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“You’ve made a new friend. You say you’re going in the backyard soon. You’re getting better, kiddo.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t we celebrate it?”
“Because it’s just too much, okay? It’s not that big a deal.”
“It’s big enough,” she said. “Who knows, in a few years, you could be ready to face the world again.”
“Trust me,” he said. “It’s not a switch I can turn on and off, Grandma.”
“Slow and steady wins the race,” she said.
“I’m not sure that applies here.”
“Even so,” she said, “don’t shut out the possibility of getting better, okay?”
“I’ll try not to,” he said.
When she went to leave that night, his grandma hugged him a little tighter than usual and he knew why. She was proud of him. And that was something very new. He knew how to be pitied and misunderstood, but being admired wasn’t in his wheelhouse quite yet. Though, it was certainly something he could get used to.
• • •
He got his schoolwork done super early the next day so he could relax a little bit before Lisa came over. He didn’t really know what they were going to do, but he’d thought about teaching her to play Munchkin, which was this strategy card game his parents had bought him, but didn’t really like playing. He couldn’t even get past explaining the rules to his grandma before she said, “This sounds too hard for someone my age.” It’s funny how she only ever mentioned her age when she didn’t feel like doing something.
But he knew Lisa would catch on quick, especially after seeing her play chess. He wanted a rematch but decided to challenge her to something she wasn’t so familiar with first. You know, remind her whose house it was and all. This was his territory. His fortress of solitude, impenetrable to the outside world.
Only, that wasn’t so true anymore, was it? Something new was here, in the form of this surprisingly familiar seventeen-year-old girl. And as soon as Solomon opened the front door that afternoon, Lisa walked in with a casualness outmatched only by his grandmother’s the previous day. She gave him a wave and a smile and moseyed over to the living room to sit down on the sofa.
“Pool’s coming along,” she said, gesturing toward the sliding glass door and out into the backyard.
“I hope it’s not a trap,” he said, sitting down.
“Not a bad trap to be in,” she said. “I’m sure your parents will use it either way.”
“Sure they will,” he said. “But I am going out there.”
“Good,” she said. “Can I come to all your wild pool parties?”
“Oh no,” he said jokingly. “Co-ed fraternization is strictly prohibited.”
“Well,” she said, picking up the Speedo from the cushion beside her. “It looks like boys wearing Speedos isn’t.”
“My grandma. She bought out a sporting goods store or something.”
“Your grandmother bought you a Speedo?”
“Yeah . . . I didn’t try to defend it, okay?”
“Hey, I’m more than used to Speedos.”
“I don’t have a response for that,” he said.
“Clark,” she said. “Water polo.”
“Oh, right. That can’t be comfortable.”
“He loves it,” she said. “I think he’s an exhibitionist.”
“Solomon Reed! Did you just make a sexy joke about my boyfriend?”
“Maybe. How does water polo work again?”
“Okay . . . so, think hockey but in a pool with way less clothing.”
“Awesome,” he said. “Is he any good?”
“When he wants to be. He’s got motivation issues. I was sort of hoping he’d try for a scholarship, but I can’t really figure out what his plan is.”
“There’s plenty of time left, right?”
“Not really. Applications are due to most schools by December.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“I can’t wait,” she said. “I fear I’ve outgrown my peers.”
“I’m your peer,” he said with a blank face.
“My other peers,” she corrected.
“Even Clark?”
“Especially Clark.”
“Oh,” he said, following it with nothing because that’s how much he knew about relationships.
“Sorry. I just wish he’d take things more seriously sometimes. Having a plan is sort of my thing.”
“No surprises,” he said. “You’ve clearly come to the right place.”
“So far, you’ve been all surprises.”
“Right. Well, I’ve reached my quota then.”
“The Land of Solomon,” she said. “Come for the holodeck, stay for the pasty kid in the Speedo.”
“I’m not wearing that thing. And you do realize I spend ninety-eight percent of my time reading and watching TV alone, right?”
“I realize you used to,” she said with confidence.
• • •
Lisa came over every day that week. She’d only stay two or three hours, just long enough to play a couple of games or watch a movie, and by the time the weekend rolled around, Solomon knew to expect her around three thirty or four every afternoon. And he could feel himself relaxing a little more with each visit.
On Saturday, Solomon’s mom insisted on cooking them lunch. He knew it would happen eventually—a mostly silent meal where he’d be forced to look on in horror as his parents took turns interviewing her between bites of food. Up to that point, they’d pretty much stayed out of the way, so well that he suspected they were making sure she’d be sticking around before getting too attached.
“I hope you like enchiladas, Lisa,” his mom said as they all sat down to eat.
“I do. The cheesier the better.”
“These are vegan,” Solomon said with a serious expression.
“Oh . . . well, vegan sounds great, too. Vegan all around.”
“He’s kidding,” his dad said.
“But you’ve passed an important test,” his mom added.
“Very important,” Solomon echoed. “Always love whatever the cook cooks, isn’t that right, Dad?”
“That’s right. Unless it’s tofurkey.”
“I try it one time and now I’ll never hear the end of it,” his mom said. “Who wants to say grace?”
“Is it Christmas?” Solomon asked, looking at her like she’d offered to sacrifice a lamb on the dining room table.
“Do you say grace at your house?” she asked Lisa.
“Mom . . . seriously? The only two rules of a dinner party are no discussing religion or politics.”
“Lisa, you a big fan of democracy?” his dad asked with a grin on his face.
“I’m an agnostic fiscal conservative, actually,” Lisa said. “But I think you should make Sol say grace anyway.”
“Fine,” he said, bowing his head. “Thank you for the world so sweet. Thank you for the food we eat. Thank you for the birds that sing. Thank you, God, for everything. Amen.”
“Amen,” his parents and Lisa said in unison.
“Also, praise Xenu,” he added.
“Praise Xenu,” they echoed.
“That was adorable,” Lisa said.
The rest of the meal went better than Solomon had expected. They did interview her, but it was innocent enough, and by dessert, he just sat back and watched as they all shared stories and laughed at one another’s little jokes. It was as familiar as when his grandma was over, but more exciting. She was new, after all, and as he watched his parents hanging on her every word, he thought maybe they’d needed a Lisa Praytor just as badly as he had.
Over the next three weeks and into May, Lisa spent most of her free time at the Reeds’. She’d stay for dinner most nights, helping Solomon set the table and do the dishes afterward, like they were siblings sharing chores. And he could quickly feel the rhythm in his house changing—the day would be quiet as ever and then Lisa would show up and they’d all fight over her attention. But, she seemed to love it, always down for an in-depth conversation about film history with Solomon’s dad or a baking lesson with his mom.
“No one here cares about cake, Lisa. It’s my living nightmare,” Valerie Reed said to her one evening as they poured batter into a cupcake mold.
“I didn’t peg you for a baker,” Lisa told her. “I didn’t think you’d have time, I guess.”
“I used to make birthday cakes to help pay for college. My aunt had a cake shop. Taught me everything she knew. Plus, you can’t do root canals at home. I get bored.”
One day, Lisa and Solomon were putting together a puzzle that had been taking up one end of the dining room table for going on two weeks. They listened to the radio, silently scanning for the right pieces and bobbing their heads to the music. Having a friend was no longer new to him, but he was still Solomon—and that meant he’d sometimes overthink every little thing they said to each other, letting their conversations hang in the air around him for hours after she’d leave, hoping he hadn’t said anything stupid or offensive or too immature. Before her, he had nothing to lose except the safety of his home. But now, since she was part of that, too, he couldn’t risk losing her.
“You’re telling me you’ve never chatted with anyone online?” Lisa asked.
“Do Star Trek forums count?”
“Sure,” she said. “But you never Skype with anyone?”
“Strangers looking at me through my computer screen? No thanks.”
“Agreed,” she said. “You know . . . there are sex ones, too. Like video chat rooms.”
“I know. What’s wrong with people?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “But I put a little piece of tape over my webcam a long time ago. I don’t trust any of my electronics anymore. My phone probably just sent our whole conversation to Wal-Mart or something.”
“Yep. We’ll get coupons in the mail for condoms and webcams tomorrow.”
“America the beautiful,” she said.
“Even on the forums, I don’t post too much,” he said. “It’s just never really been my thing.”
“I like that. A true loner.”
“The world’s too big,” he said. “And the Internet is way too big. I don’t hate everybody. I hope you don’t think that. I just have to protect myself—and I can’t deal with talking to a bunch of strangers who could be anybody from anywhere. It just never feels real.”
“I get that.”
“Lisa?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you miss Clark?”
“Say what?” she asked, finally looking up at him.
“Well, you’re over here, like, every day and, I don’t know, I guess I’m starting to feel like I’m stealing you or something.”
“Are you getting tired of me? Is that what this is?” she asked, trying to stop her widening smile.
“Shut up. I just . . . I think maybe I’m ready to meet him.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I mean, it’s been over a month now. The guy’s going to hate me if I don’t start sharing you a littl
e.”
“He has his video games,” she said, slapping Solomon’s words away in the air.
“I’m serious, though,” he said. “You think he’ll like me?”
“Why’s it matter what I think?”
“He’s your boyfriend,” he said. “Maybe we won’t get along.”
“That would be unfortunate,” she said. “However, impossible.”
“You don’t think the gay thing will bother him?”
“Bother him? Oh my God, he’ll probably volunteer to drive you to a pride parade on day one.”
“He can’t be that good.”
“I have this theory that he wears a Superman costume under his clothes at all times,” she said.
“His name is Clark.”
And then, like a sign from Jor-El of Krypton himself, Lisa’s phone started lighting up and vibrating on the table.
“Speak of the devil,” she said, picking it up. “Can you give me one second?”
“Sure.”
“Lisa Praytor, Girlfriend of Your Dreams,” she answered, shooting Solomon a big smile. “Uh-huh. Right. Well . . . okay. Can you do me a favor? Exactly. Thank you. Love you too. Okay. Bye.”
“How’s he doing?” Solomon asked, looking down at the puzzle.
“Super,” she said. “I’ll talk to him later, okay? About coming over.”
“Now I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be. I’m jazzed about this, Sol. Do you believe in destiny?”
“Not really. But I like the idea of you believing in it.”
“Then we’re all set, aren’t we? And you’ll see.”
“Lisa,” he said, knowing she could hear his quickened breathing.
Solomon had never had a panic attack in front of her, but there’d been a few close calls for sure—a couple of times he’d even pretended to go to the bathroom just so he could calm down and breathe like normal. He was sure she’d noticed, though, and just hadn’t said anything. Maybe it made her uncomfortable. Or maybe she was like everyone else and just didn’t know what to say or do. Most people would rather do nothing than risk doing the wrong thing—that’s something Solomon learned a long time before shutting them all out.
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