Now That You Mention It: A Novel

by Kristan Higgins

  “I’m here to spend time with my niece, Luke. That’s all.”

  “I fucked your sister. Did you know that?”

  The words hit me like a baseball bat in the chest. I didn’t say anything.

  “Then again, most guys did,” he added. “She was hot. Not like you.”

  I swallowed. “Are you done reliving high school? Because last I checked, we graduated seventeen years ago.” A good line, but he knew he’d hurt me.

  “Some things never change,” he said.

  “And some things do. Well, I have work to do. You should try it. Might be good for you.”

  “See you around, neighbor,” he said.

  “You probably will.” My voice was casual, almost bored.

  I went around him, walking back toward my little car, wishing now I’d rented a huge Range Rover or Escalade. My legs were shaking, but hopefully he couldn’t see that.

  I’d dealt with far, far worse than Luke Fletcher.

  But my legs shook just the same.

  * * *

  When I got back to the cove, I unloaded my things, brought the plants up to the deck and told Boomer not to eat the mint.

  Then I sat there for a few minutes, practicing my yoga breaths.

  Luke was all talk. A classic story—the golden boy turned bitter man.

  Jim the Realtor had assured me the houseboat was as secure as any regular building, but it sure didn’t feel that way now. But I had a big dog who worshipped me and a pistol.

  I killed the rest of the afternoon by cleaning, which always made me feel better. After dinner and a few chapters of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, I went up to the deck. The plants and flowers had been just what I needed. It was heaven up here. Also, I had a great view in case anyone approached.

  Time to read my mail. I wasn’t going to let Luke Fletcher ruin my night. He’d ruined too many already.

  Roseline had sent me a card of two old women obscenely eating sausages with a cute note just to say she was thinking of me and wanted to ditch her husband of four months and come live with me on the houseboat, so I should stock up on good vodka. I knew it was all for my sake—she and Amir were crazy happy—but I appreciated it.

  Next envelope—Bobby’s or Lily’s?

  I chose Lily’s.

  Inside the thick envelope was a single piece of notepaper, the words written in pencil, the handwriting heartbreakingly familiar even after all these years.

  Don’t write to me anymore.

  The words razored through my heart like a knife through an overripe plum. For a second I couldn’t breathe, then I sucked in a ratcheting lungful of the piney air. My lips trembled with the effort of keeping in the...the curse words. Or the sob.

  I guess she didn’t like my notes about the cormorant or the rain.

  Nothing about how she was doing. Nothing about how I was doing. No questions about Poe or Mom or anything.

  “Boomer!” I called, my voice cracking, and my dog came running, his ears flopping, his big goofy face smiling. He leaped the ten feet from dock to boat, then scrabbled up the narrow stairs onto the top deck, right into my arms.

  I didn’t know what I’d do without my dog, and I didn’t want to know. I couldn’t handle the thought right now. I hugged his furry neck and let my tears drip into his ruff while he panted in my ear, his big tail wagging.

  I wasn’t sure I could ever accept the fact that my sister didn’t love me anymore. That she hadn’t for years. Decades.

  I had Roseline, who was more like a sister than Lily had been in two decades. I had other friends back home, back in Boston, that crooked, twisted little city. I had Bobby, even if we weren’t together anymore. And here on Scupper, I had...well, Gloria and Xiaowen, new but full of potential. I had my mother, sort of. I had Poe—

  Best to stop while I was ahead.

  I let go of my dog and opened the envelope from Bobby, not as uplifted by his attention as I’d been before. The stationery had been a gift from his mother—Crane’s, embossed with his initials, RKB. Robert Kennedy Byrne. If you were Irish and lived in Boston, at least one family member was named after the Kennedys.

  Hey, Nora, the note said. Hope you’re on the mend. I wanted to let you know that Jabrielle and I aren’t together. It was stupid and impulsive and a mistake, too.

  Besides, she isn’t you.

  I’ll see you next week. Let me know if you need anything.

  Bobby.

  Well. That was something to mull over.

  She isn’t you.

  It sure was nice to hear, especially after my sister, alone in prison a continent away from her family, had no room in her cell—or her heart—for me.

  12

  Something shocking happened.

  My mother came to visit me and asked for advice.

  One of the nice things about the houseboat was that I could see a person approaching, since they had to walk down the dock to get to me. And sure enough, Wednesday evening, as I was slicing vegetables for a stir-fry, my mother pulled off the road and came striding briskly down the dock to my door and into my kitchen. No knock.

  “I’m worried about Poe,” she announced. Boomer hauled his bulk from the rug and went over to greet her, wagging his tail and knocking a coaster off the coffee table.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said. “Have a seat. Do you want some wine or a beer or anything?”

  “Water,” she said. “Thanks.” She eyed my new digs. “Pretty fancy, aren’t you?” There it was, the little stab of disapproval.

  “It’s a special place,” I said calmly. I got her a glass of water (God forbid she take something that was more than just life sustaining). “So what’s going on with Poe?”

  My mother sat at the counter, stiffly, as if she’d never sat on a stool before. “Welp, her grades are abominable, and though she was a little more talkative before you got here—” pause so the guilt could sink in “—she’s clammed up. Gawt no friends that I can see. Sits there with that phone glued to the end of her nose and barely leaves her room.”

  “Sounds like a typical teenager,” I said.

  “Well, her mother’s in jail, Nora, in case you forgot. Hahdly typical.”

  I hadn’t told my mother about Lily’s note. Nor would I.

  “So maybe Poe can sleep over here Friday night,” I suggested.

  “What good would that do?”

  Talking to my mother was like being pecked to death by chickens.

  “Change of scenery, maybe we could watch a movie, talk, eat something chocolate, do things that usually bond women.”

  My mother frowned. “If you think that would help, go ahead and try. Though I don’t see how it would.”

  “Is Lily still scheduled to get out in August?” I asked.

  “Ayuh.”

  “Then I guess the best we can do is make Poe feel loved and safe until then. Even if she doesn’t react to it, it matters, hearing someone say they love you or they’re glad to see you or that they want to spend time with you.”

  “Is that what they taught you in college?”

  “Yes. And in medical school and residency. I did a psych rotation. I am a doctor, let’s not forget. So how about if we practice? I’ll say something nice to you, and you can tell me if it makes you feel better.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Fine.” She took a slurp of water and rolled her eyes.

  “Mom,” I said, “I have always admired how calm and capable you are.”

  “Well, how else am I supposed to be? Like a chicken with its head cut off?”

  “Great job, Mom. And now you say something nice to me.” Sneaky of me, I know. Fishing for maternal approval.

  She sighed. “Well, I think you looked better with a little meat on your bones, frankly.”

 
“Nope, you’ve got it wrong, Mom. Something nice.”

  “That was nice.”

  “So you’re saying I look too thin.”

  “I’m sayin’ you were always a decent-looking girl and you didn’t have to lose weight and wear fancy clothes for a person to see it.”

  She gaveth with one hand, tooketh away with the other. “Thank you, Mom. That’s very sweet of you. Now, for Poe, maybe you could say something like ‘Even though these aren’t the best circumstances, I’m so glad we get to spend this time together.’”

  “Well, I’m nawt glad, Nora! My daughter’s in jail!”

  “We’re lying here, Mom. Okay? Personally, I’m dead inside, but I’m faking it till I make it. See this smile? See me going through the motions of making a nutritious, pleasant dinner for one? See me enjoying life through one glass of wine per day? This is what humans do.”

  She frowned. “Why are you dead inside?”

  “I’m not. I’m just exaggerating.” I resumed cutting carrots. Collier Rhodes had fantastic knives, and I had to watch carefully that I didn’t slice off the tip of my finger, because I was still nervous around knives.

  “You’ve been different this past year.”

  “Really, Mom? How would you know?” I took a hostile drink of wine, if one could do that. “I’ll text Poe, and you make sure she gets here. Okay? Great. Thanks for stopping by.”

  “You ought to be eating more meat,” my mother said. “You look pale.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  It was only when she was off the dock and in her car that I chugged the rest of my wine. “I’m a gastroenterologist, Mom. How many colons have you cleaned out, huh? You think I might know a little bit more about healthy eating than you do, huh? That maybe med school wasn’t just to kill time?”

  There was a knock on the door. Whoopsy. Must keep the rants to myself.

  It was Audrey Fletcher, Sullivan’s daughter.

  “Hi, Audrey!” I said.

  “Is it okay if I come in?” she asked shyly.

  “Sure! I’d love that. I’m just making dinner. Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Do you have any Coke?”

  “I don’t, honey. How about seltzer water with a slice of... Let’s see here...” I opened the fridge. “How about with a few blackberries thrown in for flavor?”

  “That’d be great. Hi, Boomer! Hi, buddy!” She knelt down on the floor and loved up the dog.

  “Do you have a dog?” I asked, getting her drink.

  “No. A cat. He’s nice. Sooty. He’s pretty old, and a dog would be kind of hard for him to deal with.”

  “Sure. So what’s new? How’s school going?”

  “It’s fine.” She smiled uncertainly, and I felt a rush of kinship with her.

  “I hated high school,” I said, handing her the drink, which looked sophisticated and fun, the berries bobbing around with the ice, dancing on the bubbles.

  “Why did you hate it?” she asked.

  I put a few carrot sticks in a bowl, sprinkled them with pepper and put them on the counter between us, taking one to chomp on. Then I resumed my chopping, moving on to the cilantro, the clean, fresh smell filling the air. “Well, I wasn’t real popular. Too smart, too much of an oddball, too clumsy. And my sister was ridiculously beautiful, so self-esteem was kind of hard to come by.”

  “My mom’s really pretty,” she said wistfully. She took a sip of her water. “And my dad is super handsome.”

  “That’s true,” I said, though Luke’s face was the one that flashed before me—not in the best way. “Your dad was really nice in high school.”

  She brightened. “I bet. He’s the greatest.”

  “Are you an only child?”

  “I have a half brother. Rocco. He’s seven.” She paused. “My parents got divorced when I was three.”

  “Would I know your mom?”

  “Amy Beckman? She was in your class, too, I guess.”

  I looked up sharply. “Huh. So they stayed together.”

  “Not for very long. They were twenty when I was born, twenty-three when they divorced.”

  I felt the bite of satisfaction. I’d always thought Sullivan could’ve done better than the clichéd Amy.

  Then again, I also remembered seeing her skip up to the Clam Shack with a bouquet of lupines for Sully one summer afternoon, all smiles and sweetness, and I pretended not to look as he kissed her.

  Everyone had two sides. Or three. Or seven.

  “Do you get along with your brother?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I love him. I mean, he lives with my mom, and I live with my dad, so he doesn’t mess up my stuff or anything. But he’s great. A real cutie.” She beamed, and I smiled back. “I make him shirts once in a while, and I stencil dinosaurs on them and stuff.”

  “Wow, you can sew?”

  “I’m in the fashion club in school. We make clothes and stuff, and at the end of the year, we have a show. Like on Project Runway.”

  “I love that show! Do you make your own clothes, too?”

  She looked down at her T-shirt and too-tight, unflattering jeans. “No. Call me Michael Kors. I create better than I dress.”

  I laughed. “Poe loves fashion, too,” I said. At least, I thought she did. She looked at magazines a lot, and many of those magazines showed celebrities on the red carpet. And Poe certainly had her own look going on with the blue hair and all.

  “I thought she might join the club, but...” Audrey shrugged, her cheeks coloring. Poe had turned her down, clearly.

  My niece could use a nice girl as a friend. And maybe Audrey could use a badass as a friend.

  “Hey, Audrey, any chance you want to sleep over on Friday? Poe is coming, and it’d be great to have you here, too.”

  “Really?” Her face brightened so fast that I knew she didn’t get many invitations. Crap, it was like looking at a version of my teenage self.

  Except her father was here and loved her. And her brother. And hopefully, Amy did, too.

  “Yeah. Only if you’re interested, though. And obviously, I’d have to ask your parents.”

  “I’ll call my dad right now!” she said, whipping out her phone. “Dad? Hi! I’m at Nora’s...Uh-huh!...No, I rode my bike here...I don’t know, I didn’t see him. Listen, can I sleep over here on Friday? Poe’s gonna be here...Her niece...Okay, hold on.”

  She passed the phone to me. “Hi, Sullivan,” I said.

  “Nora?”

  “The one and only.” I winced. “How are you?” I tried to speak clearly without overdoing it.

  “Good. I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Great. Uh, my niece is sleeping over, and I thought it would be fun if Audrey was here, too. Would that be okay?”

  There was a pause, and in it, all my insecurities opened their eyes and stretched. Why would I let my kid come to your house, Troll? Why would I want her being friends with your mean-ass little niece? Are you some kind of sexual predator, asking my daughter to sleep over?

  “Sure,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Great! She can come over before dinner, how’s that?”

  “That’s great. Can she bring anything?”

  “No, but thank you.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll drop her off around five, then.”

  I handed the phone back to Audrey, who said she’d be home soon. She hung up and beamed at me.

  “Listen,” I said, “Poe isn’t the... Well, she’s having a hard time these days. I really appreciate you saying yes to this.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m never invited anywhere.” She cringed, then clamped her mouth shut, her face going red.

  “I was the same way, Audrey. So let’s be outcasts together, us three,” I said, smiling, and relief blossomed over her face. Someday, though she’d never believ
e me now, Audrey Fletcher was going to be striking. Not pretty—she looked too much like her dad for pretty—but the kind of looks that lasted for decades, not just senior year of high school.

  * * *

  On Friday night, I was ready. I had a marathon of Project Runway on the DVR, some healthy food, some not terribly unhealthy food, four shades of nail polish and a mud mask allegedly made with products from the Dead Sea (or La Mer Morte, as the package said). I’d taken the ferry to Portland and hit Target to stock up, bought the latest teen apocalypse movie and a few board games (old-school, I knew, but it was going to be hard to get Poe to engage in actual conversation).

  I’d also gone to some effort to make her room welcoming. I picked flowers and put them in the bathroom and on her night table along with my own copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (read so many times I couldn’t count).

  Audrey would sleep in the loft under the peaked roof. I put flowers up there, too.

  At five o’clock, my niece came through the door.

  “Hey, honey!” I said, going to hug her. She turned her shoulder away.

  “Why am I here? Am I being punished?” she asked.

  “Rewarded, actually, by spending time with your fun and adoring aunt,” I said.

  “I’d rather be home.”

  “With Gran?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  I was twenty years older than Poe, I reminded myself, but the urge to ask “Why are you so mean to me?” and burst into tears was strong.

  “Why are you so mean to me?” I asked (not bursting into tears, yay for me).

  “Why are you pretending to care?” she said. “I know you’re only here for the summer.”

  “So should I ignore you for the entire summer, then?”

  “Yeah.” She made it into a three-syllable rejection, and I sighed. Boomer, blissfully ignorant to teenagers and their leaden moods, nudged Poe’s skinny thigh with his nose.

  “Well,” I said, “just another thought...maybe we could hang out, do things together, get to know each other, act like relatives.” I shrugged, eyes wide.

  “From what I’ve heard, our relatives just up and leave and you never see them again,” she said. “Dog, get away from me.”