by Kat Colmer
Jason. Because my humiliation isn’t quite complete, eh, Mother?
It would be rude to cancel already organised plans with him, she said. It’s about time she met my science assignment partner, she said. She wants to judge for herself if Jason is cut from the high quality intellectual cloth I’ve been wrapping all my stories about him in, she didn’t say, but that’s exactly why she broke her own family-only rule about this dinner.
At least I know Jason won’t disappoint. After all, one of his main attractions is the high probability he’ll get my mother’s stamp of approval. So I should be sitting back and enjoying the intellectual banter while my mother and hopefully-future-boyfriend bond over their impressive cranial capacities—except my stomach is cramping like I’ve swallowed a glass of drain cleaner. Fear of humiliation will do that to a body.
My one consolation is that she’s stopped asking why Jason and I haven’t been notified of our science assignment grade yet. The results were meant to be up on the online portal yesterday. Jason and I have been sneaking peeks at our phones all night. Like this dinner isn’t already stressful enough.
‘What exactly did you get on that physics paper?’ Jason dips a chunk of bread in oil and turns to me with his serious face. It’s all a little too suck-up for my liking.
‘Ninety-two per cent.’ One per cent short of a straight A.
My mother’s smile is tight. ‘In other words, three to four hours is not enough.’
I wish Sandy was here. I’m dying for some of her quick-with-a-clever-comeback wit and ability to out stare my mother in an eyeball standoff.
I, on the other hand, don’t argue. There’s no point. As long as there’s room for improvement it’ll never be good enough. The familiar slow boil of resentment roils in my stomach alongside my humiliation. Under the table, my hands brush the edge of the tablecloth. I grab hold of the fabric and silently tug at the stiff cotton, but unlike my feeling of self-worth the bleached fabric stays intact.
Suddenly a warm hand squeezes one of mine. I turn to find Dad smiling at me, the lines around his eyes deepening with pride.
‘That’s still an A, Meike.’ Dad’s voice holds a note of reprimand, one my mother chooses to ignore.
‘An A minus, Benjamin. You didn’t become partner in one of the country’s top architectural firms by settling for A minuses. Our daughter can do better. She will do better.’
Dad’s jaw tightens at the same time he gives my hand another squeeze, but he doesn’t say anything else. In that way we’ve always been alike. I wish we weren’t. I wish he’d stand up to her for once, maybe then I’d find the strength to do the same.
Beside me, Jason’s stealing another peek at his mobile under the cover of the table. ‘Maybe you should think about giving up that tutoring student.’
Crap, crap, crap. I fling Jason a thanks-for-nothing glare. He doesn’t notice, too busy checking his phone. My eyes press shut while I swallow a groan.
‘What tutoring student, Mackenzie Jane?’
How does she do that? How does she load an innocent question with so much warning?
I force my eyes open and straighten my spine. ‘It’s nothing. Just a couple of hours a week. Theo’s roommate is having some trouble with chemistry.’
My mother’s eyes narrow. ‘That’s a couple of hours you could have used to improve your physics grade.’
With the amount of time I slaved over that paper, two hours wouldn’t have made much difference. I open my mouth to tell her as much then shut it without saying a word. Not because there’s no point—even though there isn’t—but because she’s right; not spending those couple of hours tutoring Luke would have made a huge difference—to my friendship with him. A friendship that doesn’t expect perfection from me. A friendship that makes me feel good about myself. A friendship I’ve grown to value, maybe even more than turning an A minus into an A.
The realisation dries up my mouth so fast I gulp down my entire glass of water.
Dad eyes me with suspicious worry as he refills my glass. Despite my inner turmoil, I track his every movement, watching for changes in his coordination, for the involuntary spasms that might signal the beginning of the disease.
‘Speaking of Theo, where is your brother?’ My mother glances at her watch.
Yes, where is my brother? A look at my phone confirms he’s almost half an hour late. Not that I blame him; the way things are between him and Mum, I’m surprised he agreed to come at all. But I’d love nothing better than to see his freakish blond head fill the restaurant door, because I’m dying out here.
‘You did tell him 6.30, didn’t you?’
I nod.
Mum’s sigh is understated, almost inaudible. ‘Unsurprising, really. That boy thinks only about himself.’
My lips part, a defence for my brother ready on my tongue, but I catch myself. All a retort will achieve is more of her displeasure and a tighter vigilance on how I spend my time.
So I swallow my would-be-snipe, sending it down to join the shame pooling beside the anger and humiliation in my stomach. My only comfort is Dad’s clenched jaw; I’m not the only one wanting to defend Theo, and not the only one aware of the consequence such a defence will unleash. But where Dad has an excuse—he has to live with the woman twenty-four-seven—I don’t. Not really. Not when I’ve been spending as many weekends as I can at the boarding house.
I reach for my water glass with an unsteady hand and almost choke on the first mouthful; Theo’s blond spikes finally appear in the restaurant’s doorway … along with a pair of parakeet green eyes.
Luke
The Viking Ice Queen
The moment we step into the flash Italian place, I see them at a table towards the back. MJ’s parents are hard to miss. Sitting at one end of the table, her mum is strikingly Nordic; so blond my first thought is peroxide, but no way is her hair bleached. Her regal posture and the proud nature it hints at wouldn’t allow it. MJ’s father is the yin to her mother’s yang. Ink black hair framing a quiet, almost resigned, expression, he sits at the other end of the table, listening to his wife talk with a dark-haired guy whose angular face is way too serious for someone who looks like he started shaving yesterday. Jason. I dislike the guy on sight. Okay, maybe I disliked him before I ever laid eyes on the douche, because, well … MJ. She sits beside him, face paler than an albino ghost. Her panicked eyes dart from me to her mother. I slow my step, no longer sure my being here is such a great idea.
Theo doesn’t agree.
‘Yo, quit dragging your backside.’ He reaches behind him and pulls on my arm until I’m walking by his side. ‘We’re here. You can’t bail on me now.’
There’s something weird in his tone. I check his expression and find a replica of MJ’s panic clawing at his face. He glances over his shoulder to where his mother is busy gabbing with Jason The Brain. ‘Don’t bail on me, okay?’
The desperation in his eyes, man, talk about unnerving. ‘Don’t sweat it. I’m staying.’
He takes a breath, and we pick our way between the last of the tables separating us and his not all that happy family.
Mr Wang sees us first. Some of the tension pulling at Theo’s shoulders eases when a smile spreads across his father’s face. The man stands and steps forward like he’s about to embrace his son, but a glance at his wife makes him pull back at the last moment and clap a hand to Theo’s shoulder instead. ‘You made it.’
Theo forces a smile. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
The tense lines around Mrs Olsen-Wang’s lips shout that she doesn’t miss the sarcasm in that comment.
‘You’re late,’ she says. ‘And who is this?’ Eyes the colour of a watered-down sky look me up and down. It takes some serious willpower not to step back from the woman’s sub-zero gaze.
‘Mother meet Luke, my roommate.’
I hold out a hand. And drop it a
gain when it’s met with a dismissive glance.
‘This is a family function.’ The words are directed at Theo, but they’re meant for me. If it wasn’t for Theo’s crazy desperate look earlier, I’d be heading back to the door at Olympic walker speed. I throw a glance across the table at Jason’s smug mug and my fists clench at the idea that he’s considered family.
‘That’s swell then, since Luke’s like the brother I never had.’ Theo crosses his arms.
Brittle silence hangs in the air as mother and son play eyeball standoff. The woman doesn’t want me here. I can’t help it; I take a small step back. It’s that or gnaw on what’s left of the skin around my thumbnail after stressing over MJ’s reaction at me showing up tonight.
I risk a glance her way and want to kick myself. Her fingers are wrapped around her cloth napkin so tightly they’re going to leave prints on the fabric, and here I am worrying over my own stupid discomfort.
Finally, Mr Wang’s voice breaks the tension. ‘Well, it’s good to finally meet you, Luke.’ He motions for me to sit. ‘Please join us.’
On instinct, my eyes find MJ’s across the table. As much as I promised Theo I’d stay, I need to make sure she’s okay with this. Even though it’s clear she doesn’t want to be here, it’s her birthday dinner, and I’d rather have Theo than her pissed off with me.
When she answers my unspoken question with a tentative smile, air whooshes out of my lungs. I pull out the chair opposite her and sit. Which leaves Theo with the chair opposite Jason—and next to his mother. He looks at me expectantly, but no way am I sitting that close to the Viking Ice Queen. Besides, I’m also here for MJ and sitting diagonally opposite her would mean I can’t do double wingman duty. That and I’d have Jason in my face the whole night. Yeah, no thanks. Time to give the menu my undivided attention.
‘Thanks a lot,’ Theo mutters as he sits. I’m saved from replying by the appearance of the waiter. He takes orders, starting with the Viking Ice Queen and working his way around the table. By the time he gets to me I’ve been staring at the menu for a good five minutes but still have no idea what I want. Everyone’s waiting, so I choose a random dish, something with veal, I think. Not that it matters; I’m too wired to enjoy the food. When everyone has ordered, the brittle silence descends again.
Mr Wang clears his throat. ‘So, Luke, I can’t remember if Theo said: What are you studying?’ His smile seems genuine, as does his interest. Sure, I can do small talk.
‘Education with a music major.’
Mr Wang’s brows lift. It’s hard to tell if it’s in disbelief or respect. ‘No small feat, moulding the minds of the young.’
There’s a scoff from the Viking Ice Queen. ‘It’s not exactly taxing. Not in today’s age where one can learn from experts via the internet. If Mackenzie had relied solely on the knowledge of her teachers she would not be where she is today.’
My stomach sinks. It’s going to take a lot more than a Distinction in a chemistry test to impress this woman.
‘When is the last time you’ve had to engage and inspire a room full of hormonal adolescents, Meike? There’s more to teaching than raw knowledge. Knowing how to impart that knowledge and make it relevant is just as important if not more so.’
I like this man. I like him a lot, although by the unimpressed look on his wife’s face, he’s just earned himself a case of frostbite. But Mr Wang doesn’t seem fazed as he turns to me with another question.
‘What instrument do you play?’
Here we go. The Ice Queen’ll love this one. ‘Percussion.’ I brace myself for a cutting comment from the Viking end of the table, but MJ beats her mother to it.
‘Luke runs a drum therapy group for special needs kids at his sister’s school. He’s very good. He’s thinking about doing a Masters in Special Education.’
Whoa! I don’t want this info out, but when MJ’s eyes meet mine warmth floods my chest at her proud smile.
‘So percussion, that includes the xylophone, right?’ One corner of Jason’s mouth lifts just short of a smirk.
Two can play this game. ‘Yes, the xylophone’s percussion. You want to learn how to play?’
He baulks at the idea. ‘No!’
‘That’s good, cause my tutoring slots are all taken.’
Across from me, MJ’s face goes up in flames. Ah hell. How can I be so stupid? Thankfully no one else seems to notice her face flare up. Least of all Jason, whose eyes—now narrowed—are still on lucky me.
‘Speaking of tutoring, if you’re a music major, why are you studying chemistry?’
I’ve been waiting for this question. ‘The science minor opens up more employment opportunities.’ Not as many as medicine but whatever.
‘No one wants to starve for their art,’ Theo pipes in.
‘And yet, you choose to do exactly that.’
We all turn to the Viking end of the table. The air between Theo and his mother grows icicles. It may have been a mistake forcing him to sit so close to her.
‘There was never any choice.’ Theo’s voice is dangerously quiet. ‘You made that clear from the start.’
‘There is always a choice, Theodore.’ The woman’s gaze flicks down to Theo’s lip ring. She swallows like she’s downed a mouthful of rusted metal. ‘You just happened to choose badly. Now you must live with the consequences.’
‘Meike, don’t.’ Mr Wang’s eyes plead with his wife. ‘This isn’t the time or place.’
She ignores him, eyes still turned on Theo. Waiting. Baiting …
Theo’s sneer sends his lip ring glinting in the carefully dimmed overhead light. ‘No, let’s do this. Which part disappoints you more, Mother? That I’m gay or that I won’t be forced into a profession I can’t bloody well stand?’
‘Theo!’ No one takes any notice of Mr Wang’s warning. We’re all waiting for the Ice Queen’s reply.
‘What disappoints me is that you wasted a valuable opportunity. You were accepted to some of the best pre-med university programs in the country.’ She slaps her hands on the table and leans forward, tension straining the cords in her neck. ‘And you threw it all away, so you could play with your pathetic paints!’
Theo jerks back like his mother slapped him. For a moment his expression shatters, but like a dog used to being kicked, he recovers quickly.
‘You really don’t get it, do you? Or maybe you just don’t care that your idea of choice means a lifetime of misery for both your children.’ He turns to MJ. ‘I’m sorry, Macca. I can’t do this.’ With that he pushes away from the table and storms past the confused waiter holding the first of our dinner orders.
‘What does he mean “both my children”, Mackenzie?’
Come on, MJ. Tell her. Tell her you’ve got your own dream.
But MJ doesn’t meet her mother’s gaze.
‘I better go check on him.’ She squeezes past Jason and heads for the door. The guy watches her rigid back weave between tables but doesn’t move. I don’t give him a chance to change his mind. I grab MJ’s coat and follow her out.
MJ
Uncomfortable Conversation
When I burst through the door after him, Theo is almost at the next intersection.
‘Theo, wait!’
Head bowed and hands thrust into the pockets of his ratty old jeans, he ignores me.
‘Theo, please!’ I break into a jog.
Finally, he slows and when he turns he looks broken. Something inside my gut stabs. My feet falter, but I keep moving until I’m standing in from of him.
‘I thought I could do it, Macca.’ He drags a shaky hand through his blond-tipped hair. The nearby street light is just bright enough for me to make out the ever-present traces of paint on his skin—a reminder of the oh-so shameful stain he’s supposedly left on our family. ‘I thought I could face her but she’s—’
‘Don’t. It’s not
your fault.’ And it’s not. I know it isn’t. He has every right to be who he wants to be. It’s just …
‘Have you ever thought you might regret it? Later, when … I don’t know.’ When the novelty of slumming wears thin? When Mum finds out about Dad’s secret deposits into Theo’s bank account and makes them stop? When I gather enough courage to tell him I wish he’d follow the path Mum mapped out for him, because I’m no longer sure I’m strong enough to do it for the both of us?
Theo’s gaze skims my features like he’s searching for the sister I once was. The sister who’d never think to ask him that very question.
‘Have you?’ He bends his knees so we’re eye to eye. ‘I saw all the pamphlets, Macca. The ones you printed before Mum dumped a mountain of med course applications on your desk. The ones for science degrees with pathways to genetic research. Not medicine. Genetics.’ His hands land on my shoulders and he shakes me; one quick jolt. ‘You can’t live a life that’s not yours. You’re not responsible for her dreams. I can’t watch her do this to you. Don’t let her do this to you.’
A band ropes around my chest at his words. Or maybe it’s at the frustrated plea in his eyes. I suck in air to curb the sting of tears pressing at the back of my mine.
‘I can’t.’ The words are more breath than sound.
He jolts me again, slower this time. ‘Why?’
‘Because what if she’s right? What if this—’ I point a stiff finger at my temple, ‘—is the sum total of my worth? I can’t live knowing she thinks I’m a failure.’ Despite hating the control she has over my life, she’s my mother, and I crave her approval in my own twisted version of Stockholm syndrome.
His hands slide from my shoulders, and I can’t shake the sensation I’m losing much more than his touch.
He shakes his head. ‘Can’t you see? Failure’s exactly what she’s setting you up for. You’ve got to stop believing Mum’s is the only opinion that matters when it comes to your brain cells. There’s so much more to you, MJ. You need to follow your dream. Your dream, Macca.’ He presses a finger to my chest. ‘Your life. There comes a point where you have to cut the apron strings, even if it means spilling blood on her precious family carpet.’