“And I mean that in the shallowest possible way,” I said. “You’ve got a lovely personality, but I’m talking about your face and your body.”
She pulled me in and gave me a warm, wet kiss, her soft tongue and lips pushing gently against mine. I tasted something sweet and dark in her saliva, a denser layer of excitement rising from her depths.
“That’s a fucking turn-on. You wanting me is a turn-on. Even though you’re just lying to get in my knickers.” She pulled me onto her lap and pushed my hand under her skirt. “Now get in my fucking knickers.”
* * *
I fought to stay awake, reading on the couch as she made endless phone calls. Maybe we’d have sex one more time.
I was sound asleep when she tapped my forehead. “Guess what?”
“Whoa. Hi.”
The slight panic of waking was offset by seeing Meili. Waking up to Meili—is there anything better?
“Guess what I’m the proud owner of,” she said.
“Uh, don’t know.” I sat up.
“Come on, guess.” She sat down sideways, put her legs in my lap.
“New calling card?”
“Bigger.”
“Manny’s car?” I wedged my fingers between her calves. So nice.
“You’ll never guess cause it’s completely ludicrous. I own a building.”
“A building.”
“Large one.”
“What exactly is your building?”
“Ooh, that feels nice, doesn’t it? My building. Thank you for that. Not sure—I’m picturing offices, apartments, little shops on the first floor.”
“You own a building but you don’t know what it is.”
“It quite slipped my mind. Don’t recall buying it, but apparently I did a couple years ago. This lawyer found it, a friend of Jia’s mum.” She smelled the contents of a glass, approved, and took a sip.
“How did you not know about it?”
“Someone’s not allowed on the internet, is she? Interesting, right?” She squeezed my hand with her legs.
“Who bought it? Your dad?”
“I assume. Anyway, I’ll find out soon. I’m about to assert my ownership.”
Something was boiling in the kitchen.
“It’s water for tea,” she said, not looking up, somehow reading my thoughts.
“But you don’t know what’s going on,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t just jump in, you have to be careful.”
“Quite the opposite. I have to stop being careful. I don’t know what’s going on, you’re right, and that’s why I’m stirring things up.”
“But there are reasons for all this.”
“Reasons?”
“Reasons your dad bought it and didn’t tell you,” I said.
“I’d love to sit down with my dad and hear his explanation. But since he hasn’t spoken to me in a year, I’ll find out another way.”
“You’re stepping into a crazy situation you don’t understand.”
“I live in a crazy situation I don’t understand. That’s my life. This will get me out.”
“I’m just saying there are reasons, and we don’t know them yet.”
“I can’t believe you of all people would say that.” She pulled her legs out, sat up straight. “You really think the adults have it all sorted, and we just need to fit into their elegant little plan? There’s no plan, Jason. They’re making it up, and not very well, either.”
“What if you make things worse?”
“Worse than hiding out forever in some crap town? Can’t imagine. Look, I’ve had nothing for a year, and now I have something. I’m going to use it.” She squished a moth on the coffee table and scraped the corpse into the ashtray. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re thinking something,” she said.
“I’m comparing our crappy parents. My mom’s a mess, obviously. But I have this image of your dad; he knows what he’s doing.”
She rubbed her moth finger on the couch. She was getting used to the Wilder house.
“My dad’s amazing. Seriously. He’s completely brilliant. He’s also ten thousand miles away and not talking to me. His trial fucking ended, and he doesn’t tell me? I can’t…” She leaned her head back, closed her eyes. “Your mum may have an especially brutal way of it, but they’re all lost, Jason. They’re all lost.”
THIRTEEN
Meili was crushing me at rummy. Turns out, there’s strategy beyond “Hey, I got three jacks.” Rummy was the perfect time-wasting activity for her: competitive, not depressing like TV, and, most important, she could smoke, drink tea, and talk. We started after lunch and were still playing two hours later.
“What about this?” I said. I couldn’t stop thinking about Meili’s building. “What if the building is your inheritance, and your dad didn’t tell you yet?”
“When do I get to ask questions?” Meili said, waiting for me to play.
“About what?”
“You ask me all these questions about my situation. I want a turn.”
She laid down four tens. Ouch.
“There’s not a big mystery in my life,” I said.
“You’re quite mysterious, actually. And casual about it, which only adds to it. Your mum, for example.”
“My mom.”
“She raises a son, and the son turns out to be a completely unusual man. How did she do it?”
“How did she raise me?”
“Yeah, and your father, too, if he was part of it.”
“My real father?” Jesus. “He’s not around. I mean, he’s around, but not for me.”
“So your mum, then, how did she raise such a special man?”
“Wow. Thank you. I guess. Gotta think about that.”
I picked up and discarded. My turns were much faster than hers.
Meili poked my shoulder. “Answer the question.” She laid a five-card straight. Five.
“Right, my mom. God.” I had to put down my cards. Playing rummy badly was taxing. Now I had to think about my mom, too? “If I put aside all the craziness she’s been through and put us through … I mean, is that even possible?”
“Is it?”
“I guess. If I put all that aside, she’s really, uh, full. She always has a million projects and ideas and trips.” I looked around for an example, but she had taken or I had put away all traces of her. “We used to collect posters for fairs and stuff. We’d take them off telephone poles. Anytime we were driving, I’d look out for cool posters, and no matter what, even if we were late or it was raining, she’d pull over and grab them.” What happened to those posters? “She’s got a lot in her, maybe too much.”
“Too much for what?”
“Too much for her, too much for the world. Like with the drinking.”
“She drinks too much?”
“No. I mean, yeah, she does. But some people drink to make themselves more interesting, right, cause they’re boring sober. My mom drinks to make herself less interesting. And just … less.”
“All that drinking must have been weird.”
“Everything’s normal to a kid. You adjust.”
“How d’you do that?”
“You know, you adapt. Maybe your mom sleeps in the bathroom sometimes. OK. So, in the morning, you pee in the backyard, put a blanket over her, brush your teeth in the kitchen.”
“Ohmygod, that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Boys like peeing outside.”
“No, little Jason putting a blanket on his mum cause she’s passed out in the bathroom.”
“Don’t get all teary.”
“It’s heartbreaking.”
“Pity is aggression. You know that.”
“Ooh, so good. I’m going to use that.” She drew a card she didn’t like. “You’re quite smart, Bug. Is it true you skipped a grade? Someone said that.”
“Ha. Not exactly. My mom dropped me off first day of school, and they were like: ‘See you at noon
.’ Cause it was half-day kindergarten. She freaked out. An hour later, they moved me to first grade cause she convinced them I was brilliant. But really she needed childcare. Sucked cause all my friends were in kindergarten.”
“You did have friends, though, right? You weren’t always on your own.”
“Yeah, but it changed. Lots of kids stopped playing with me in middle school when my mom got caught driving drunk. And it’s different when you’re older. A seven-year-old from a messed-up family is sad. A fourteen-year-old from a messed-up family is dangerous.”
“Dangerous.”
“Bad influence. Lie down with dogs, you get fleas.”
“God, is that a saying?”
“I’ve heard it to my face.”
“People are shit.”
“Yup. That’s why I ignore them. The list of people I listen to gets shorter every year.”
I watched the Maroneys’ elderly mutt pee on our scraggly grass. He had a thing about marking our lawn, and Al, preposterously, used to rage about it.
“Who’s on your list now?” Meili said.
“You.”
“And?”
“Melissa.”
“Haven’t seen that one around.”
“She disappeared when I started dating this gorgeous girl,” I said.
“Are we dating? Have we been on a single date?”
“Does this count?”
“Seems to me we got drunk at a party—I did anyway—then moved in together.”
“That’s dating in Unionville.”
She was cross-legged on the couch. Did I mention she was wearing underpants and a T-shirt? She looked at her cards, I looked at her thighs.
I giggled. “Actually it is.”
“What?”
“That’s how my mom dated,” I said. “Come home from the bar with a guy, he lives with us till she kicks him out.”
“You just wake up and he’s there.”
“No, in the morning, they sleep. You meet him when you come home from school and he’s watching your TV, eating your food. Asking you: ‘Why doesn’t the remote work?’”
“Why doesn’t the remote work? I press the buttons so hard.”
“You have to stand right next to the TV.”
“Then you may as well use the buttons on the TV. What’s the point?”
“Exactly what the boyfriends said.”
“God, I really am like them.”
“You smoke more.”
“And, in my defense, while I do eat your food and watch your TV, I’m not like: ‘This is all fine.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean, it’s a mess, isn’t it? Your mum’s drinking, you living alone. I see all that, I think: we should get you help, get your mum some help.”
“We?”
“People. Me.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“I’m just saying I can’t believe no one stepped in.” She took a sip of yesterday’s cold tea. “What’s so funny?”
“You have no idea.”
“I’m being pretentious.”
“You’re being rich.”
“Same thing.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Pretentious people think the way they see the world is the only way. Anybody who sees it differently is crazy.”
“I do think people are crazy.”
“You also think you’re crazy.”
“Certainly true.”
“So you’re not pretentious.”
She stretched a leg. I watched the cut of her calf.
“But everyone here considers me this posh, pretentious—what d’you call it?—preppy.”
“Well, growing up here, you meet a lot of obnoxious preppies who think they know everything.” I didn’t say: like Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. “But poor people can be just as pretentious. Locals, rednecks, we love talking about how people from outside don’t know shit. It’s our favorite topic: ‘What did the rich preppy do this time? Doesn’t that prove we’re better?’ That’s pretentious, cause it’s narrow-minded and arrogant. But you’re not like that, Meili. You”—I played three queens—“are just rich.”
She drew a card but didn’t play. “Which means what?”
“You see a person in a messed-up situation, and you think: they just need someone to fix it, someone like me. That’s a rich-person thought.”
She was quiet.
“What are you doing, Jason?”
“Come on, I’m just giving you a hard time.”
“No, what are you doing in the Rubber Room and all that?”
“Um, staring at the new girl. Are you gonna play?” I only needed one card to go out. I’d still lose, but less badly.
“I’m serious. You’ve got this crazy intelligence. You say things I’ve never heard.”
“Yeah, we’re from different worlds, we know about different things. Come on, play.”
“I don’t mean you know about things. I mean insights, fucking truths.”
“OK, thanks. Now play a card.”
“Don’t say thanks. My point is: What are you doing? What’s wrong with you? Why are you throwing it all away?”
God, that question. What’s wrong with you, Jason? Everybody asked that.
Ignore it. Wait for her to play.
“Come on,” she said. “Why?”
You won’t like my answer, Meili. Swear to god.
“Hello?” she said.
“Jesus, Meili. What’s wrong with me? Really? I have no fucking idea. And maybe it’s not just me that’s messed up, maybe there’s other problems.” Somehow I was standing, my cards on the floor.
“No, I didn’t—”
“And could you please just … just not say that? Could you please be the one person who doesn’t go: ‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Jason?’ Can you imagine what it’s like to hear that from you?”
“I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t done. “Things weren’t going along great till I screwed them up. It’s not like that. Shit was never gonna be good for me.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
Still wasn’t done. In fact, I was getting hotter. “I ask you questions cause I want to know you. You ask me questions so you can figure out what’s wrong with me? Seriously? That is so fucked up.”
“That’s not why.”
A car pulled into the driveway, jolted me out of my tirade. Stop yelling at Meili; protect Meili.
“Whatever. It’s OK,” I said. And then I had a Meili moment: make a joke when things are heaviest. “It’s obviously not a touchy subject.”
I wasn’t as good at it, but that’s an unbelievable move. Massive. To swerve, laugh about how dramatic I am, and still feel dramatic? Maybe the biggest thing Meili ever gave me. Anyone ever gave me.
“No,” she said. “I’m not sitting here going: ‘What’s wrong with you?’ I meant the opposite. You’re brilliant. You’re a genius. You know that, right?”
“No. I don’t.” I went to the window.
“You are.”
“You say that cause you like me.” I recognized the car.
“I do like you, Bug, which means I don’t fucking lie to you.”
“Great. And OK, wow, Stephen’s here.”
“Ooh, little Stevie, what a sweetheart. And look at me with no pants on.” She headed to my room, presumably to hide.
I watched her knickers—I was angry, but it was Meili in underpants—till she was out of sight. Before Stephen knocked, I opened the door. “Hey, Stephen.”
“Hi, Jason, what’s up?”
I blocked the doorway, definitely not inviting him in. “Nothing. What are you up to?”
“Is Melissa here?” he said, holding a stuffed white trash bag, its red straps stretched thin.
“Melissa?” I said, trying to sound genuinely confused. “No. Haven’t seen her in a couple days.”
“Hm.” Stephen tried to read my expression. “She asked me to bring her some stuff.”
“Hey, Stevie! Come on in
, darlin’,” Meili called out, back in the living room wearing my sweatpants and flannel shirt.
Huh?
Stephen looked at me scoldingly. I shrugged and let him in. They did kisses on each cheek. Was that a Meili thing? I never got cheek kisses. Maybe it was a Stephen thing.
He handed her the trash bag.
“You’re a doll, Stevie. Seriously. Bug, I forgot to tell you, Stevie got me some clothes. Girl clothes.” She gestured at her current, ungirly outfit. “D’you want some tea or a snack or something? Sit, sit.” She went in the kitchen to put water on.
“No, I’m good,” Stephen said, not sitting. “I probably shouldn’t stay long.” He was trying to figure out the two very different welcomes he’d received. I was, too.
“Don’t worry about Jason,” Meili said from the kitchen doorway. “He’s a bit overprotective.” She looked at me. “A girl can have a friend over, yes?”
“Sure, whatever,” I said, closing the front door. “It’s your life.”
“Ooh, that’s dramatic,” Meili said, sitting on the couch and pulling Stephen down next to her. “The unspoken thing there is: or your death. I do worry about this one sometimes. If anything happens to me, Stephen, get an autopsy, know what I mean?”
BRAAAAAAAAANNNNNG.
Meili startled. “Shit, I will never get used to that. You gonna get that, Bug? I doubt it’s for me.” She looked at the clock, which she had set to Hong Kong time. 3:22 a.m.
“Hello?”
“Jason, it’s Manny. How are you?”
“Hi, Manny,” I said loudly, stretching the cord so I could see Meili. “I’m OK, how are you?”
Meili shook her head and mouthed “not here,” which wasn’t helpful since nothing would freak Manny out more than hearing that Meili was gone.
“I’m alright,” he said. “Is Melissa there?” Still with the name.
“Yeah, she’s sleeping. Didn’t get much sleep last night. She conked out.”
“I tried calling last night, but no one answered,” Manny said.
“Oh yeah. Sorry.”
“No one answered for four hours,” he said.
Shit. “Yeah, my mom called, and she was acting pretty crazy, so after that, we just didn’t pick up. I have to do that sometimes. Sorry.” Like Meili said: lies, lies, and more lies.
He didn’t love my explanation. “Don’t do that again. I need to be able to reach Melissa.”
“Alright,” I said.
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