Anyone but You

by Lara M. Zeises

  Infatuation

  I was fairly relieved when Sea took off on her own. She was wearing some two-sizes-too-small T-shirt, practically forcing my eyes to home in on “the girls,” and all I could think was I’m going to turn into a pillar of salt.

  But then I realized that everyone else was at work, and that the only other summer-school loser I knew had just abandoned me. Boredom wasted no time setting in.

  It was the perfect time to call Sarah. Except, of course, she was probably at work, too. Or was she? I picked up the cordless and dialed her number. She answered after three rings.

  “Hold on a second,” she said, instead of hello. Then there was a long period of silence, followed by “Okay, I’m back. Who is this?”

  “It’s Critter,” I said. “Are you busy?”

  “Hey! Not really—I was just testing the water.”

  “Water?”

  “Duh. I’m at work. You called my cell?”

  “Right, right.” More silence. “If this is a bad time, I could call you later.”

  “No,” she said, “it’s the perfect time. I’m so totally bored right now.”

  “Yeah? Me too.”

  “Too bad you’re not here. We could, you know, entertain each other.”

  Alrighty then. “So when are we hanging out?”

  “Hanging out, or going out? Because I thought we already had this discussion.”

  Her voice was playful, so I pressed on. “I’m just talking about food and a film. But you can call it whatever you want.”

  She laughed. “You’re not going to stop until I say yes, right?”

  “Would you want it any other way?”

  When she didn’t respond immediately, I thought I’d overplayed my hand. Then she said, “I get off at five tomorrow. You want to meet me here?”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “Then it’s settled,” she said. “Look, I’ve got to get going. But I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why do they call you Critter?”

  “Jesse had some speech problems when he was little,” I explained. “For some reason, it stuck. My real name’s Christopher, but now no one ever calls me that.”

  “Okay, then, Christopher,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  People Get Ready

  I’d barely hung up the phone when Layla walked through the door.

  “Hello, my darling mother,” I said, and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “Hey, Boo.” Her voice was flat and she sounded more tired than usual.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “I thought you were working until six.”

  She didn’t answer right away, and the longer the pause got, the more I worried about what she was about to say. Her eyes looked weary, but that wasn’t anything new. I was more concerned about the way she was frowning. She pulled her hair up into her hands, ponytail-style, and then knotted it so it was off her face. Finally, she sighed and said, “You might want to sit down.”

  I sat.

  “Frank called.”

  “Huh?”

  “Frank,” she repeated.

  It took me a couple of shakes before it sunk in. “Frank Aiken?” I said. “Your ex-asshole?”

  She nodded.

  “When?”

  “A couple of weeks ago. You kids were still in school.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “You’re just telling me now?”

  “He called again today,” she explained. “At the hospital.”

  “What the hell does he want? Money?”

  “He’s here,” she said. “Well, he’s in Dover. Been back a month, actually.”

  “How did he even get our number?”

  “He’s always had it,” she said. “I thought he should . . . in case he needed to get in touch with Sea.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Like he ever would.”

  “Well, now, he just did.”

  When Sea’s dad walked out on us six years ago, we weren’t sure if he’d ever return. Jesse was convinced that Frank would come back eventually and want to take Sea away from us. He was like eight or nine at the time and started having body-snatcher nightmares that got so bad, Layla hauled him in to a shrink.

  But when the shrink heard about our situation, she suggested that Layla bring all of us for a few sessions, to “cope with the loss of a parental unit.” So Layla did, but in the first session, the shrink started leaning into Seattle, wanting her to talk about what it was like never knowing her biological mom, how she felt about her dad being gone. The woman had black hair streaked with silver, and the meanest eyes this side of a Marvel comic, and her questions made Sea squirm so bad she peed herself, right there in the shrink’s office. She was so traumatized by the experience that Layla pulled us all out of therapy right quick, figuring she could deal with the situation better herself. No surprise that none of us were big fans of head-shrinking. Especially not Sea, who hadn’t mentioned her real mom since.

  Eventually it became abundantly clear that the bastard wasn’t coming back for anything, not even his daughter. I thought that was the best possible thing for all of us. Frank had had his moments at the beginning. But mostly what I remembered were those last few months, when he started spending all of his time—and Layla’s money—at the track. That and how, after he left, we lost the house and Layla lost her spark.

  She had to work a lot to keep us afloat, and we never did have a shitload of money (thank you, Frank!). But she was a damn fine mother, and she never treated Seattle as anything less than her very own flesh. We had a lot of love for each other, and that was more than I could say for some families who supposedly had it made.

  “He wants to see her, Boo.”

  Layla’s voice sliced through me, and I felt the makings of another headache. “Tell him he can’t,” I said, my voice flat as cardboard.

  “No can do,” she replied. “He’s her daddy; he’s got rights.”

  “He gave up those rights when he abandoned her six years ago, didn’t he? Screw that—screw him!”

  “Look, I’m not saying I’m happy about this, but technically, I don’t even have custody of Sea. If Frank wants to see her as badly as he says he does and I try to stop him, he could always haul my ass into court. So, we’re going to have to play the game by his rules. At least for now.”

  Suddenly I felt the same fear I had when Jesse was having the body-snatching nightmares. Sea had been ours for so long I forgot she officially belonged to someone else—someone who could take her away from us, if he really wanted. A sick feeling snuck into my anger, and I slumped down into the cushions of the couch.

  “Critter, baby,” Layla cooed. “You’re forgetting what kind of man Frank is. Odds are he wants to see Seattle to get rid of some guilt, and then he’ll be on his way. This is nothing. This is a dog and pony show.”

  “Yeah, well, that dog and pony show’s gonna mess with Sea’s head good.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about it,” she said. “When Sea gets home, I’ll have a talk with her. Maybe I can convince her that grabbing a meal with him’s the best thing she could do right now.”

  “Best for who, Mom?” I asked. “Because you can’t tell me it’s the best thing for her.”

  Layla patted the side of my face. “In the long run, it is. When Frank sees how well she’s doing without him, he’ll let her stay. But if we lock her up in the tower, he’s going to storm the castle until he breaks through the doors. Nothing makes people want something more than being told they can’t have it.” She paused. “He is still her father, Boo. I don’t know . . . maybe he really does want to do right by her.”

  I looked up at her. “Who are you trying to convince here, me or you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Try a Little Tenderness

  Layla had cleared her schedule for the whole day and night. Her plan was that we’d all go out to dinner together—a rare treat—and then afterward she’d sit Seattle down and tell her a
bout Frank. In the meantime, she asked me not to say a word to anyone.

  There had only been a handful of times that Sea had talked about Frank in the years since he’d left, and then it was mostly to say things like “If I never see that loser again, it’ll be too soon.” Even so, the look on her face always said something different. I kind of knew how she felt. I barely remembered my own dad, an auto mechanic/wannabe rocker who took off for L.A. long before Jesse’s first birthday. As a kid, I couldn’t help hoping that one day he’d get his shit together and come back. The dream died nearly a decade ago, when Layla heard from one of his former bandmates that Dad had OD’d. He’d been a loser right up until the end.

  Layla headed up for a nap; not five minutes later I heard the front door squeak open slowly, like someone was trying to sneak in. Sea. She stopped dead when she saw me. The whole left side of her body was pitted by dark red gaping wounds, some of which had crusted over with blood.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  Sea shrugged. “I told you I was going skating.”

  “So where’s your board?” I asked.

  “I left it with Scott.”

  “Scott?”

  “You know,” she said. “That guy that you . . . ran into. Yesterday.”

  Ah. “Who is he, anyway?”

  “Russ Louten’s cousin.”

  “Russ Louten has a cousin?”

  “He’s not from here,” she explained. “He’s visiting for the summer. From . . . Seattle.” She looked almost embarrassed.

  “Aw,” I said. “Isn’t that cute? Your new boyfriend lives in the city you were named after.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said hotly.

  “No? Then what is he?”

  “He’s a skater,” she said, like I’d just asked the most ridiculous question. “He builds his own boards. Said he’d take a look at mine.”

  “I’m sure that’s not all he wants to get a look at,” I muttered, sitting up.

  “We’re friends,” she said. “Just because you want to get into your Penn Acres princess’s panties doesn’t mean that all guys are pigs.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I sprung off the couch. “I saw you, remember? Getting dressed afterwards?”

  Seattle rolled her eyes. “Nothing happened. You made quite sure of that.”

  “Did you honestly want something to happen?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she said, her voice high and almost shrill. “Believe me, you’ve done way worse things with Shelli—and in public, no less.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “It’s not real,” I said. But even I knew that was lame.

  “Drop the dad routine, okay? That’s Jesse’s job.”

  The word “dad” echoed in my ears. So when Sea tried to stomp upstairs, I stopped her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “Then stop acting like an ass.”

  “If you stop acting like a . . .” I wanted to say slut, but I didn’t. “Fine. Just . . .”

  “Just what?”

  “Watch yourself,” I said, touching her non-scabby arm. “Guys really are pigs.”

  She shook my hand off and said, “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

  I stood frozen at the bottom of the steps until I heard her bedroom door slam shut. Then, focusing all of my frustration on my fist, I slammed it into the wall. The wall remained intact, but my knuckles popped under the pressure. I swore under my breath, rubbing the pain and praying there’d be no bruising. No matter how intense the drama got at home, nothing would keep me from seeing Sarah the next night.

  Nothing.

  I’m Gonna Move to the Outskirts of Town

  Layla resurfaced from her nap around six and told us we had twenty minutes to clean up for dinner. So of course it wasn’t until forty minutes later that we all piled into the Cougar. I took shotgun, partially because of my extra-long legs and partially because I didn’t want to have to deal with Sea. Things were going to be awkward enough once Layla told her about Frank—not to mention what might happen when she found out about me and Sarah’s date-type thing.

  “I’m craving Italian,” Layla declared. “How does the Olive Garden sound?”

  “Ooh, fancy,” Jesse joked.

  So we drove up to the one on Concord Pike, which was pretty packed for a Thursday night. It was so crowded that we not only had to wait an hour to be seated, we had to do the waiting outside in the hot, sticky air. Jesse had convinced me to trade my cutoffs for a pair of carpenter pants before we left, and the extra fabric felt itchy against my skin. Seattle, looking incredibly sour, took off for the bathroom. Layla sat down on an empty wrought iron bench and motioned for me and Jess to sit beside her, which we did. She stretched her arms around our shoulders. “My boys,” she said, smiling. “How’d I get so lucky to have you?”

  Jesse’s eyebrows were all scrunched up. “Are you going to tell us you have some sort of disease or something?”

  “No, why?”

  “You’re being all touchy-feely. What’s the occasion?” Layla withdrew her arms and pressed her hands to her chest in mock shock. “Do I need a reason to take my family out to a nice dinner? When did it become against the law to show a little love?”

  But when Jess wasn’t looking, Layla and I exchanged glances; it would make sense to Jesse soon enough.

  It took Sea more than twenty minutes to return. “Did you fall in?” Jesse said. Old-man humor was his specialty. I expected her to tell him to shut up, but instead she laughed—a plastic laugh that sounded really weird coming from her mouth. “Can I talk to you for a sec? Alone,” she said, glaring at me.

  “Sure,” Jesse said. “What’s up?”

  How childish. At least I had the decency to keep Jess out of Sea’s and my business. The two of them wandered toward Red Lobster, which sat at the far right end of Restaurant Row. “What’s with the secret meeting?” Layla asked.

  “Got me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You said something, didn’t you?”

  I shook my head. “I gave you my word, remember?”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m a little on edge.”

  “Understandable.”

  Another ten minutes went by before Jess and Sea returned, and then she wore a beaming smile. She even had her non-scabby arm linked through Jesse’s. I made eyes at him, trying to ask questions without saying anything, but Jesse just shrugged. Whatever she had wanted to talk to him about must not have been that big a deal—at least not to him. Still, the not-knowing ate at me. Sea and I never kept secrets from each other. Except—

  Between Sarah and Frank—not to mention my shower incident—I suddenly had several of them.

  Two hours, four all-you-can-eat pasta dinners, and an infinite amount of tension later, we toddled out of the restaurant, stuffed to near explosion. I felt sick, but I doubted it had much to do with overeating. Layla still hadn’t told Seattle about Frank, and the waiting was making me feel pukey.

  On the way home, Layla pulled into the Charcoal Pit’s parking lot. “Who’s up for ice cream?”

  “Funny, Mom,” Jesse said.

  “No,” she said. “I’m serious. Let’s get a Kitchen Sink and we’ll all split it.”

  Even if I hadn’t just ingested ten pounds of fettuccini, the last thing I’d want was to order the Kitchen Sink. I guess you could call it a sundae, except it arrived in a bowl big enough to hold a twenty-pound turkey— mounds upon mounds of ice cream, chocolate, crushed fruit, wet nuts, whipped cream, and maraschino cherries. Eight people couldn’t finish the whole thing, let alone four.

  But I knew what Layla was doing. Postponing the conversation she needed to have with Seattle. So I did the good-son bit and said, “Sounds great, Mom!” I unbuckled my seat belt and practically skipped to the front of the restaurant.

  There was another wait, almost as long as the one at the Olive Garden. Sea kep
t saying, “I’m not even hungry. Can’t we just go home?” But clearly home was the last place Layla wanted to be, so I put my arm around my mother’s shoulder and kept my mouth shut.

  Eventually a skinny blonde named Jennifer seated us at a teeny tiny booth. She laughed heartily when Layla placed our order. “You guys are brave,” she said. “Coming right up.”

  In the entire history of the Charcoal Pit, there had never been four people less enthusiastic about eating ice cream than we were that night. All together, we managed to choke down about three and a half scoops and maybe two tablespoons’ worth of topping. Jennifer kept buzzing by our table, asking if everything was okay. After forty minutes, the sundae was a melted mishmash and Layla raised the white flag. “Our eyes were bigger than our stomachs.”

  When we finally pulled up to the house, it was going on eleven. “Who left the light on in the living room?” Layla asked. We all denied responsibility. “I guess we have ghosts,” she muttered. “Maybe I should ask them to pay the electric bill once in a while.”

  All I wanted was to go inside and crawl into bed. I grabbed the keys from Layla, jogged up the front step, and opened the door. I’d made it maybe four steps in when I saw him. He was seated—no, sprawled— on our couch, his feet up on the end cushion, like this was an everyday occurrence. Like you could find him there any day of the week.

  “Frank,” I said, my voice oddly steady.

  He stood up from the couch and gave a half wave. I turned to Layla, unsure if this was part of her master plan, but she was a whiter shade of pale if I ever saw one.

  “How?” she said to Frank.

  “Spare key,” he replied. “You still keep one in a plastic frog out front.”

  The next few seconds were a blur; Jesse and Seattle had trailed us to the door, so they were the last inside. Jesse registered Frank’s presence right away, but Sea just stood there like a statue. Then she shook her head, like she was unwilling to accept what she was seeing. “Missy,” Layla said, reaching out to her, but Sea jerked away. She whipped her head around wildly, seemingly scanning the entranceway, and I realized she was looking for her skateboard.