Your Own Worst Enemy
Page 20
Jenny did her best to match the rhythms of the song to some of Beyoncé’s signature moves.
At five o’clock, Jenny’s mom—a woman still gorgeous after an eight-hour shift at the hospital—sent the girls home for dinner. Julia hid the DNA testing kit in her backpack, hopped on her bike, and pedaled home.
She tried working on her campaign speech in the living room while her aunt prepared dinner, but couldn’t concentrate. Uncle Donald hid behind a newspaper with a front-page story of a congressman facing ethics charges. Every so often, his hand would reach out from behind the fold to hoist a glass of sauvignon blanc to his lips. The twins lay on the carpet, coloring a picture of a house engulfed in yellow and orange flames.
Julia closed her laptop and joined her aunt in the kitchen. “Can I help?” she asked. When she first moved in with her aunt’s family, she saw this room as a sweatbox, where Gloria slaved over a stove to prepare a hot meal every night. Now, she felt drawn to the warmth and smells of the place. She actually preferred eating something she had helped prepare, rather than having all her meals come from take-out boxes.
Her aunt handed her a brick of cheese and asked her to grate it into a bowl. Julia ran the wedge against the serrated metal while Gloria stirred seasoning into the ground beef cooking on the stove.
“How’s the speech coming?” Gloria asked.
“I’m nervous,” Julia said, taking some of her stress out on the block of cheese. She liked shredding its rubbery uniformity into thin slivers.
“You’ll do fine,” Gloria said. “I’m so proud of you, Julia. It takes a lot of guts to stand up in front of everyone and tell them what you believe in.”
“Thanks,” Julia said.
When Julia finished with the cheese, Gloria handed her a head of lettuce and asked her to cut it into shreds.
“Your mom would kill me if she saw you right now,” Gloria said, laughing. “She always said the kitchen was a woman’s prison.”
“What was she like when she was my age?” Julia asked.
Gloria sighed. “She always did the opposite of what was expected of her. Even as a little girl, she rebelled against the kinds of things I liked to do. If I wanted a dress, your mom wanted army fatigues. If I wanted to take ballet, your mom wanted to box. If I wanted to attend the princess ball in a jeweled tiara, your mom wanted to ‘reoccupy’ Parliament Hill to draw attention to indigenous people’s struggle for justice.”
“That doesn’t sound very twin-like,” Julia said.
“It wasn’t. I think in some ways, it was because we were twins that your mom worked so hard to distinguish herself from me. We’re not like Madison and Olivia over there.”
Julia looked over the counter at the two girls, now talking in their made-up language, a hybrid of English, French, and what sounded like Bantu.
“Do you know anything about my dad?” Julia asked. “Sorry, donor.”
“Just what your mom told me,” Gloria asked.
“It’s frustrating not knowing where part of me comes from.”
“I can imagine,” Gloria said. “You know, that’s another thing your mom and I don’t agree on.”
“What’s that?” Julia said.
“Keeping your ancestry a secret. You deserve to have that information.”
“Wait, what?” Julia dropped the knife on the cutting board, where it bounced and fell to the floor, missing Julia’s foot by inches. “My mom knows who my donor is?”
Gloria bent down and retrieved the knife and placed it gently into the sink. Then she turned down the heat on the stove and pulled Julia away from the counter. Clearly, she didn’t want to discuss this in front of the twins or Donald, although Julia didn’t know why. It’s not like her parentage was a secret in this household.
“She doesn’t know who your donor is,” Gloria whispered. “She just has your DNA analysis. The clinic paid for her to get the test done as part of the settlement.”
“And she’s been keeping it secret from me this whole time?” Julia had to stop herself from slamming her fist into the refrigerator door.
“Oh dear, I’m afraid I’ve said too much,” Gloria said. “Your mother loves you more than anything. You know that, right? But I think she’s always felt a little insecure about your, uhm, conception.”
“My mother? Insecure?” Julia would never use that word to describe her mom. “Headstrong,” “bitchy,” “selfish,” maybe. But not “insecure.”
“Don’t get me wrong. Your mom is the most opinionated person I know. She’s driven everyone around her away with her inflexibility. You’re the only person she wants to pull closer.”
“And yet she sent me here.”
“You know how hard that was for her? It just about killed her. But she knew it was the best thing for you, so she gave you up to keep you safe.”
Julia felt her rage subside a bit. She no longer felt the urge to pick up the knife and stab that head of lettuce in any case.
“Your mom is terrified of losing you,” Gloria said. “I think she thinks that if she shares your DNA results, you’ll go running off to find your father.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know. It’s not rational. And believe me, she will be the first person to tell you that I’m crazy. She’ll say she wants you to be able to create your future, untethered to your past. But deep down, I think she’s just afraid you’ll reject her in favor of some anonymous donor, and that would definitely kill her.”
Julia leaned against the refrigerator, trying to absorb some of its coolness. “Do you mind if I go to my room?” Julia asked. “I need to be alone for a bit.”
“Take all the time you need, honey,” Gloria said, pulling her in for a hug. “I’ll keep your dinner warm for you.”
Julia trudged back to her room and fell onto her bed. In her heart, she knew her aunt was right about her mom, which made it difficult to be angry with her. Still, the fact that she would keep her DNA test results a secret for this long was hard to forgive. She knew how important this was to Julia, and yet, she strung her along with excuses for why they couldn’t unlock the secret that lay in Julia’s chromosomes. Well, no more, Julia decided.
Julia got off the bed and walked over to her desk to retrieve her backpack. Before leaving her room, she listened at the door to make sure the family had sat down for dinner. Once she heard them talking around the kitchen table, she tiptoed down the hallway and went into the bathroom. “I’m taking a bath,” she yelled from the door.
“Okay,” Gloria called out.
Julia locked the door and turned on the bath faucets. As the tub filled with water, she removed the DNA testing kit from her backpack and followed the instructions for where to spit into the plastic tube.
30
KYLE AND BRIAN’S mom and dad always made a big production of Sunday dinners. These were the only evenings of the week when everyone was home and not exhausted from school or work. Dinner prep was supposed to be a family activity, but the boys more often than not botched whatever sous-chef task they had been given and were sent to the table with some menial task like filling water glasses or salt shakers.
This Sunday, Brian seemed more engaged with his phone than in creating his signature pinwheel napkins. Kyle watched him out of the corner of his eye and noted every time he smiled in response to something he read.
His parents brought over the plates, loaded with slices of steak that Dad had grilled and an avocado salad Mom made with corn, tomatoes, and onions. After a quick grace, in which Mom thanked the Lord for all His blessings, the family tore into their meal.
Halfway through dinner, Kyle saw Brian smile in response to something in his lap.
“Mom, Brian’s texting at the dinner table,” he said.
“Hand it over, Brian,” Mom said, holding out her open palm.
Brian passed her his phone and muttered “snitch” to Kyle.
Mom placed Brian’s phone on the kitchen counter, where the family ate their meals Monday through Friday.r />
“Look who’s talking,” Kyle said.
“Boys,” Dad warned. “Honey, this salad is delicious.”
“Brian got my candidate banned from the cafeteria,” Kyle said, ignoring Dad’s cue to change the subject. He was still furious with his brother for stooping so low. If Priya hadn’t posted that photo of Tony smoking a bowl, the campaign would be dead in the water.
“Your candidate broke the law,” Brian said.
“What did he do?” Dad asked.
“He was giving kids chocolate milk,” Kyle said.
“Which is against California’s ed code,” Brian said.
“Doesn’t seem like that big a deal,” Dad said.
“Thank you, Dad,” Kyle said.
Kyle’s Mom shot his dad a glare across the table that said, Stay out of this. After a moment, Dad went back to complimenting Mom’s cooking. “This avocado is really incredible.”
“I bought it at the farmers’ market,” Mom said. “It goes well with the pickled onion, doesn’t it?”
“You just squealed to Principal Buckley because Tony was pulling ahead of Stacey.”
“That’s not true,” Brian said.
“Fun fact about avocados,” Mom said. “Some people call them ‘alligator pears.’”
“Interesting,” Dad said.
“That’s also why you had Priya post that photo of Tony smoking,” Kyle said. “How’d that work out for you, huh? You just handed him the stoner vote, which is, like, half the school.”
“Tony’s a joke. Everyone will see it when he makes his speech tomorrow.”
“Not if Stacey bores them to sleep first.”
“Boys!” Dad said. “That’s enough politics. Can we talk about something more pleasant?”
Kyle couldn’t think of anything to say so he stuck a slab of meat into his mouth and chewed it as if it were glass. The fact was, he was worried about the speech. Public speaking was not Tony’s strength; he could wax eloquent on the subject of chocolate milk, but not much else. And that was if he was sober, which wasn’t a guarantee. Rather than turn Tony into a grand orator, he had to bring the girls down to Tony’s level, especially Stacey, who had been training for this event for years. Now that she was finally at the Olympics, she wasn’t going to blow it unless something threw her off her game.
“How’s the book goin’, honey?” Dad asked.
“It’s taken a dark turn,” Mom said. “I keep trying to keep things light, but this character wants to do despicable things.”
“Speaking of despicable things,” Brian said. “You should have Kyle tell you about turning the cafeteria into a Lord of the Flies base camp. He’s encouraging freshmen to blackmail their older siblings into voting for Tony.”
“That’s a horrible misrepresentation of our ‘Get Out the Vote’ campaign,” Kyle said earnestly. “Brian’s just upset because I’ve mobilized an army of disaffected voters who feel shut out of the political process.”
“Bullshit,” Brian muttered.
“Brian! Language!” Mom said, throwing down her silverware and glaring in Brian’s direction. Brian pushed back his chair and went to drop a dollar into the swear jar. The container was nearly full with crumpled bills at this point, mostly from Brian, who couldn’t hide his anger the way Kyle could.
Brain sat back down and shoved a forkful of salad into his mouth. Kyle saw that his brother was at the tipping point. Just a few more digs would get him banished from the table. The four of them sat in silence, listening to the clatter of silverware.
“Brian’s like Cain trying to kill Abel,” Kyle said, knowing his mom would appreciate the biblical allusion. “‘Woe unto them! For they have gone the way of Cain!’ Isn’t that what the pastor said in this morning’s sermon?”
“Actually, honey, I think the point of the sermon was about the corrupting influence of jealousy,” Mom said.
“Exactly,” Kyle said. “Brian’s jealous because I’m winning.”
“No, Kyle’s jealous because I have friends.”
“Friend,” Kyle corrected. “You’ve got one. And she’s a girl.”
“How many friends do you have, Kyle?” Brian asked. “When was the last time you hung out with someone? Invited someone over? Isn’t that why you’re in therapy? Because you can’t relate to people?”
“Brian!” Dad shouted. “Go to your room right now.”
Brian shoved his chair away from the table and went for his phone on the counter.
“Leave that,” Mom said. She was so angry she couldn’t even look at him; she just stared at her plate like it was a bowl of slop she had to finish before she’d get to leave the table.
“Don’t let him touch it,” Brian said to his parents before storming off to his room.
The three of them sat quietly, waiting for stability to return. Mom and Dad both reached over and placed their hands on Kyle’s shoulders.
“He didn’t mean that, Kyle,” Mom said.
“Sure he did,” Kyle said, pushing the avocado chunks around his plate. “He’s right, too. People don’t like me.”
“I’m sure they would if you gave them a chance,” Dad said. He leaned over, and Kyle could smell the mixture of red wine and steak sauce on his breath. “You have to lighten up a bit, son. Let people get close to you.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Kyle said, milking his parents’ sympathy. The more he played the victim, the looser Mom and Dad were with their rules and punishments.
“You want to talk to the doctor about starting medication?” Mom said. “It might help ease some of this anxiety.”
“I don’t want to be sedated,” Kyle said. Kyle had seen too many overmedicated kids at his school; he didn’t want to be another pharmaceutical zombie.
“It’s not sedation,” Mom said. “It’s medication to correct whatever chemical imbalance is affecting your mood.”
“You just want me to be more like Brian,” Kyle said. “Your perfect son with good grades and extracurriculars.”
“That’s not true,” Mom said, grabbing Brian’s plate and standing up from the table. “I just want you to be happy.”
“Happiness is overrated,” Kyle said.
“Happy people don’t say that,” Dad said, reaching over the table again and patting Kyle’s hand.
“Can I be excused now?” Kyle asked.
“Finish your salad,” Mom said, from the sink. Dad replenished both their wineglasses. Generously.
Kyle stabbed an avocado chunk with a fork and shoved it into his mouth. He tried to step outside his feelings, like his therapist recommended, and observe the situation objectively. He really was pretty lucky. His parents not only loved each other, but they loved him. They had never abused him, verbally or physically. They provided all the basic necessities—a roof over his head, regular meals, a cell phone. Even Brian wasn’t so bad, most of the time. Why did he resent them so much? Was it because they made normal look so easy?
Kyle finished his salad and brought his plate over to the sink and handed it to his mom. Before leaving, he leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Love you,” he said. “You too, Dad.”
“We love you, baby,” Mom said, wrapping him in a tight hug. “So much.”
On his way to his room, Kyle picked his mom’s phone off the counter and snuck it into his pocket. He had maybe five minutes before she finished cleaning and started looking for it. Typing quickly, he logged in and opened My Mobile Watchdog app, the one that allowed her to monitor the activities on both Kyle’s and Brian’s phones. It was the only stipulation she made when she got them their devices. She wasn’t a helicopter mom, exactly. More like a satellite mom—someone who didn’t want to see anything up close, but wanted access to information if she needed it. As far as Kyle could tell, she hardly ever checked it. Kyle, on the other hand, checked it often to see what Brian was up to. Brian was pretty good about deleting any data that might incriminate him, but tonight, he didn’t have his phone to do that.
Kyle
entered the password his mom used on all her devices (Brian’s and Kyle’s birthdays) and went to the screen showing Brian’s text messages. There were a bunch of texts from Stacey asking him to come over tonight for more speech prep. Those weren’t as interesting as the text that came from Julia an hour before they sat down for dinner. It was a picture of her dressed in what looked like a pink wedding gown and doing a duck face for the camera. “Your Latina princess,” the caption read. Brian had responded with a row of heart emojis. Kyle took a screenshot of the exchange and sent it to his secret Gmail account. Then he logged off and went to the living room to place his mom’s phone on the coffee table.
When Kyle was safely back in his room, he logged on to his computer and stared at the text exchange in disbelief. This was better than a smoking gun. It’s was a nuclear mushroom cloud. It would incinerate Stacey and ruin Brian’s relationship with her forever.
He quickly composed a text to accompany the photo. “This is who Brian’s been seeing behind your back.” He typed in Stacey’s number and was just about to send when he paused. This wasn’t the time to show her evidence of Brian’s treachery. Kyle needed Stacey to see this when it would have maximum impact. He sent the image to himself instead so that it would be easily accessible when he needed it most.
Campaign Speeches
31
“LET’S HEAR IT one more time,” Brian said. It was Sunday night and he was sitting on Stacey’s bed with a bowl of chips in his lap, being careful not to spill any crumbs onto her peach, down comforter. “This time, try to smile more.”
Stacey flipped him off and then shook her hands to loosen up. She looked good in her sleeveless wrinkle-resistant top, Brian thought. It showed off her toned body. Brian envied her muscles and wished his flabby arms had her definition.
After doing her anxiety dance, Stacey closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You are an incredible person, and people love you,” she whispered.
“I can hear you,” Brian said. “Keep that mantra inside your head.”
Stacey took another deep breath and began. Was she wearing makeup? Stacey never painted her face with blush and eye shadow. Her features looked bolder somehow. Like someone went over them with a thicker Sharpie.