27
FRANK’S PARENTS’ HOUSE WAS IN A DIFFERENT SUBURB AND IN a different direction from our old house, but it turned out Bergen County looked pretty similar to Westchester County. You could take a train there, and you could get picked up at the station the same way you could at home. In this case it was Frank’s father, Stu, who was waiting for us.
Stu was solidly built, like a piece of granite with a chiseled face, a nose that was too long for his chin, a simple-to-sketch cartoon character. He didn’t look anything like Frank.
When he saw us, he gave Frank a firm handshake and me a sort of half hug.
“Very nice to meet you,” he said.
He had a good poker face; I couldn’t tell what he really thought.
“Trip in okay?” he said to Frank.
“It was fine,” Frank said.
“Good,” Stu said.
That was all he said until we got to the house. The rest of the ride we listened to the radio in what seemed like a routine kind of hush.
Their home looked something like the one I’d known: two floors, a backyard. Except theirs was updated and maintained—the walkway, the flowers, the driveway—all of the things that began crumbling for us after Mom’s funeral.
When we arrived, Frank’s mom, Myrna, was in the kitchen. From the back, she resembled a Bartlett pear in dark pants, but we didn’t see her from the front until later because she was humming along to the stereo and hadn’t heard us over the music and the grind of the disposal. So Frank decided we’d say hi to her later.
We went to his room, which appeared preserved from boyhood—blue plastic bookshelves stocked with airplane-
modeling kits, a miniature microscope, Operation, a railroad track still assembled to run along the perimeter of his room. I realized then that Frank would never see my childhood room, which was a good thing, probably, except that it was sort of strange to think that I didn’t have a room left to visit. Some other family had probably transformed it into a nursery or home office. I envisioned a treadmill in place of my bed. I hoped Dad’s ghost wasn’t stuck there.
“You want to see the train run?” Frank said.
I did, actually. He said some things about saving up enough money for it for years, how it was a perfect replica of something or other, and there were only so many produced in the world. I wasn’t really listening to that part. I just wanted to see it go.
He fiddled with some controls until he got the track working, and as soon as he did, I was transfixed. I thought about how much Harry would have liked it as we watched the train chug around the toy chest and chest of drawers, under the twin bed, extra-long.
“When I was little, the pediatrician told my mom there was room in my bones,” Frank said. “That’s why it’s extra-long. I had the potential to be tall. What if I ended up that way?”
I imagined him stretched out, wondered if that would change his posture, demeanor, level of confidence. But he would still have the same skin, same face, same brain.
“You’d still be you,” I said.
“You’re here!” Frank’s mother made her entrance by stopping the train with her toe. The sound of the railroad had apparently beckoned her.
His mother had a rosy, round face, with soft, appealing features, and she squeezed Frank in a way that seemed like it could break him. Dad had a hug like that, as though it were meant to leave an imprint.
“We were about to say hi,” Frank said.
“Welcome, welcome!” Myrna said to me, granting me the same embrace. “Come. Let me look at you!”
She brushed a stray hair behind my ear. I realized it was probably a mess, but she didn’t say anything about that. She didn’t say anything for a minute as she took me in, as though she were assessing a raw space to weigh the possibilities.
“Well,” she said finally. “I’ll show you to the guest room. You’re staying the night, I’m assuming?”
Frank had warned me she would make it so that there was no alternative.
“No funny business, Frankie.”
“Mom.”
“Frankie says you get headaches sometimes. This room is the darkest in the house, so if you need to lie down—whenever. We don’t judge. You know, I used to get migraines myself. But then one day—” She sprung her hands open and let them stay that way, framing her face. “Poof. Just like that. It should only happen to you.”
She locked my arm and led me into the living room, which was decorated with more of her amateur paintings. There was a flowerpot, a bowl of fruit, a piano in the sunset. These were worse than the ones in the shop. I had to look away.
“Sit,” she said. “We’ll get you something cold to drink. Sparkling cider? Perrier? Oh no, we don’t have any more Perrier. I’m so embarrassed. What must you think of me?”
What must she have thought of me? When was the last time I’d showered? I touched my head and thought of all the days without enough sleep, too much stress, my mind roving into space.
“Water?” I said.
“That’s it? Just water? How about juice? Pomegranate.”
She brought me a glass before I could answer and moved to the bottom of the staircase.
“Stu!” she yelled.
“Just a minute,” I could hear Frank’s father say.
She shrugged when she returned to the sitting room. “Oh well. True love is acceptance.”
She winked then, as though I had any idea what she was talking about. “The best marriages aren’t built on true love anyway.”
There was something in the way she beamed, how her eyes beamed too—same eyes as Frank—how she held her hand over mine for the extra second, that put me at ease. If she noticed how ridiculous I looked, she wasn’t going to talk about it. She was going to treat me like I was in the right place.
OVER DINNER, spaghetti with “wheat balls,” Frank’s favorite recipe modified for my benefit, Myrna discussed her ailments: acid reflux, arthritis, kidney stones, chronic sinus infections.
“Oh, and remember that time, Stu, when you had to rush me to the emergency room because I was so sick? Turned out the IUD was infected!”
“Myrna,” he said, without much heart. He had been ensconced in his study in the hour before dinner, working, I guessed, or maybe hiding. “Our guest doesn’t have to hear about everything all at once.”
Myrna seemed like the type who treasured the days when dire things happened. The more unfortunate incidents that could pile up, the more opportunity she’d have to share her woe, the better the chance for her to save the day. More drama meant more fodder for stories. You could tell she lived for the stories.
“I apologize for the rantings,” Myrna said. “I’m cursed with a vivid memory and a big mouth.”
“I don’t mind,” I said.
The more she talked, the less I had to, the slighter the opportunity for probing about my intentions, my past, my plans, my own medical history. The more stories about her issues, or Stu’s, or Frank’s, the more accepted I felt. They weren’t talking about me, weren’t scoffing or exchanging looks of disapproval, at least in plain sight, and that felt like an accomplishment.
“Oh, Frankie was just miserable at baseball,” she said, giggling. “We had to spare him the pain. ‘Don’t you want to try something else, sweetheart?’ we told him.”
Frank’s face was as pink as I’d seen it, bordering on cherry. “Mom.”
“What?” Myrna said. “It’s not for everyone. That’s what we said. But then you joined that robot club, and ooh, you got so involved, and after you were sick for so long, to see you were so interested in that was such a blessing. I was proud of you, so much pride. Who cared about the dyslexia then, or the other learning disabilities? The hyperactivity seemed to melt away as soon as you got some focus. And look at you now.”
“You think he was compensating?” I said.
Myrna seemed to have forgotten I was there. “What?”
“For being deficient. I mean in a good way. Like he had a gap in one are
a and made up for it in another? I guess we all kind of do that, right?”
“Yes,” Myrna said, examining me closely. “I suppose we do.”
She got up to wrap her arms around Frank’s neck.
“But he doesn’t have to compensate for much these days,” she said. “He’s perfect. So accomplished and handsome and put together, don’t you think?”
I cleared my throat. “Definitely.”
“You want to know what he always said when we asked him what he wanted for birthdays? Well, first he wanted a little brother, and then there was a snake phase, but when he gave up on that, he always said, ‘I want to meet a girl.’”
She stared at me.
“Huh,” I said.
“It’s true, every year he said it: ‘I want to find love.’ And I always said, ‘You will, Frankie. You will.’ When he told us about you, I told him, ‘If it’s meant to be, it will be.’ He said, ‘It is meant to be.’ He said, ‘She was in the group! We’re the same!’”
“I don’t think I said it like that,” Frank said.
“Sure you did, Frankie,” Myrna said. “And he was right too. When I look at you two together, I think there really is someone for everyone. You’re like peas in a pod.”
“Well, maybe not the same pod,” I said. “Since I didn’t have surgery directly on my brain. Maybe more like an adjacent pod?”
She wiped her mouth and took a slow sip of water. Then she looked at me, as though she were sizing me up, perhaps noticing all of the hair out of place for the first time, the food in my teeth, the spots on my shirt.
I took my own sip of water.
“I’m glad you’re not exactly the same,” she said. “How boring would that be? I mean, let’s be real here: Frankie has a job, Frankie lives by himself, Frankie has a supportive family with lots of resources. You’re completely different! But at your core, you are two people in this world who are not meant to be apart. That’s what Frankie says, isn’t it, Frankie?”
He nodded, still pink in his cheeks.
My heartbeat was quickening. Did I need to defend myself? It was hard to tell. Her tone was so friendly, and yet—did she think he was too good for me, that I was lucky to have him, that I was using him for his resources? Was that true? I didn’t think so. But how could I say that? Should I say that? I didn’t want to make things worse. Things were going fine when I wasn’t saying anything.
“When he asked for help with the ring, I was hesitant, of course,” she said. “‘It’s only been a month,’ I said.”
“Five and a half weeks,” Frank said.
“But he said, ‘Trust me.’ He said, ‘I know.’ He said, ‘I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.’ ‘Okay,’ I said. What else could I say? He’s never asked for anything. Except for this! He’s such a good boy. So, ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘We’ll help however we can. We’ll make sure you can be a good provider.’ And he is a provider. You better believe that. He cares so deeply, such love in his heart. A boy like that deserves love, I always said. We all do.”
She looked at me. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
I nodded, but I could tell she was waiting for more.
I pointed at my plate. “This wheat is delicious,” I added, though all I could taste was the tomato sauce, which was pretty bland.
“Don’t you just love that ring?” she said.
“Yes!” I reached for it, relieved to feel the stone. I hadn’t lost it yet, probably because it was too tight.
“When he told me he met you, I nearly had a conniption,” she said. “A girl, I said. I would have accepted a man, as long as he was happy. A monkey, for all I cared. His happiness is the most important thing.”
“Mom.”
“What? I’ve always told you that, haven’t I? You’re a wonderful boy. I just didn’t know if you were ever going to—”
“Dad, can you—say something?” he said.
I didn’t think Stu was listening. He was chomping away, focused on his food, but he raised his head and took the cue.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” he said, clearing our plates. “I met with a cake man today. Can I interest you in a piece of the coffee crumble, Lucy? Best served with a cappuccino.”
It was the most he’d said all night, but he’d come through when we needed him. He could take care of people. They all could. I could let them.
THAT NIGHT I found a glass of water with a cucumber slice by the bed, and lavender hand lotion in the bathroom. The cucumber was dried up, and the purple bottle was crusted at the end, but the thought of creating a comforting environment was touching. If only I could have let my mind rest.
I couldn’t. I needed to get back. Harry would think I’d abandoned him, and what if Nate decided to show?
In the morning, I took a quick shower, got dressed, and made my way into the kitchen before I realized it wasn’t light yet. It was only five. I sat at the table and waited, and I fell asleep until Myrna came in to make coffee.
“Well,” she said, beginning to grind the beans. “You’re up early.”
“Is it early?” I said.
Frank came in soon after.
“Do you always get up this early?” I said.
“Do you?” he said.
“She must be excited about the wedding, Frankie,” Myrna said. “Isn’t that right?”
“Sure,” I said.
“It’s a big day for you two, the day after your engagement. Are you staying for lunch?”
Frank looked at me.
“I can’t,” I said. “I mean you could, if you want. But I have a cat, Harry, and he needs me. And I’m kind of waiting for my brother, too.”
“Of course. Nate,” Myrna said, examining me for a few extra moments. “I’m sure that’s taken a toll on you.”
I realized then that there wouldn’t be any secrets.
“Do you have enough money for the train?” she said.
“I think so,” I said.
“You think?”
“No, I do. Definitely,” I said, though I wasn’t sure that was true. I hoped I had stuffed a bill in my tote. “I just need to get back.”
“I think I’ll go back too,” Frank said. “With my fiancée.”
It took me a second to realize that the word referred to me.
“Are you sure, Frankie?” Myrna said, glancing at me.
“Yes,” he said.
He reached for my arm, but I wasn’t expecting it, so I flinched, and he only grazed the side of it.
ON THE TRAIN back to the city, it was so crowded that almost as soon as we started moving, I felt sick. I hadn’t thought to bring my pills. Now my stomach was flipping and my head was pounding.
“Do you want to get off?” Frank said.
“No,” I said. “I just need to shut my eyes until we get there.”
“We should talk about the wedding,” Frank said, placing his hand on my head. “We need to start planning.”
I turned my head away from him. “I thought your mom was going to take care of that.”
“She is, but she wants us to have a say in picking a date. And a place. And the food, the venue, the guest list—”
“I can’t talk about this now, Frank.” I bumped my head against the window. “I don’t feel well, and I don’t have any guests anyway. Nate I guess. If he comes. Robby, if I could track him down. Marty. Nate would know how to get to him. Enid. I’d invite her, though I don’t have her address. But we could tell her. She probably has a dress. I’ll need a dress.”
I didn’t want to squeeze into a fancy gown, or get my hair and makeup done, or be the center of attention in a group of people who didn’t know me, with no parents and no brother.
“Maybe we could elope,” I said.
He took a minute. “Mom would hate that.”
“Why?”
“She wants to help you find a dress.”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want her in my dressing room. What was all this for again?
I looked at him. His button nose wa
s cute, those gold-rimmed glasses that were always so clean. But why was it so hard to find a comfortable spot to lay on him? He needed to let his body relax.
“We should also plan a move-in day,” he said.
I hadn’t considered that before, the after-the-wedding part. I tried to imagine Frank’s train running through the living room.
“What’s wrong with Nate’s place?” I said.
He looked at me. “It’s not very big.”
“You think we need more space?”
My head began to pound.
“I feel sick,” I said.
“You should rest now,” he said.
“Now I can’t. I have too much to think about.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” I willfully shut my eyes, but I could sense he was still looking at me.
“I’m glad you met my parents,” he said.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Me too.”
I could have given him more than that, maybe, something about the day we’d have a home like theirs. But I couldn’t see past the end of the day, us sitting before the clearing sky, looking out, wondering about things.
“Are you okay?” he said.
“I will be.”
I slid farther down the seat, slouching my way toward the floor, and the more I slunk down, the more I imagined sinking further into myself, bending backward and over until I became small, smaller than Frank and Enid and Harry, until I folded into the gap between the seats and found a spot to sleep.
28
HARRY WAS WAITING FOR ME AT THE DOOR WHEN I OPENED THE apartment, clingier than usual, then vocal. He mewed at me once, and when I didn’t respond, he did it again, louder.
“I know,” I said. “I come and go as I please, manipulate your environment, play God—feast or famine, heat or A/C, light or dark.”
First I’d told him he would have to live inside for the rest of his life, then to grow accustomed to a dirty room in a big house, then to adjust to a clean apartment, and now he was stuck with something in between. Once, he was free to sprawl out in his kingdom, then he had to make room for one more—until he grew used to an extra body, until that body left. Until he was left with me.
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