by Justin Sayre
“I used to come out here with Jock, you know,” says Nanny. “Yes, especially when we’d had a fight, which was not often but always serious enough when we did. And I would sit here with him, not talking much, like we are today, or aren’t today, and look at the ocean. And it would calm me.”
“Why?” I ask her.
“Because the water does nothing but change. It can’t help it. And that’s what we have to do too. It’s easier always to just wave the change to you, then stop.”
“I don’t want to change anymore.”
“You! You’ve just begun. There’s only more of it ahead of you.”
“I’m afraid.”
“Who isn’t? You think I’m not? You think your mother isn’t? But we wave it toward us, and we get on with it. Do you know why? Because we love each other. That’s the only bit that never changes. You can try all the rest. You can stomp around about a party, and be mad because the pants don’t fit you right, or tie the television to the refrigerator for the love of Pete, but the truth is, it all goes. Only the love stays. Unless you break it.”
“Did I? With Mom?”
“No.”
“With you?”
“No, Ducks, you’re stuck with me.”
And I sit down on the bench with her finally. I want to be close to her. I need it, I guess. And she puts out her hand and I take it.
“It’s a nice thing to remember there’re seagulls in Brooklyn, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER 20
Nanny’s new TV costs $158.86. Which means I won’t have a phone for a while. As the lady at the store rings it up, she keeps looking at me and trying to read why my face is so sad as I hand over all my money. I’m buying this great TV, shouldn’t I be happy? I count the money really slowly, sort of waiting to see if Nanny will finally relent and let me off the hook. But she doesn’t, she barely moves. And she says nothing. At all. It makes the whole thing a lot scarier than I imagined.
The whole way home on the subway, neither of us says much, but we sit very close together, with the TV resting on both of our laps. Nanny doesn’t look at it. It’s not like a new present to get excited about. It’s something to take the place of something else that can’t be replaced. It will never be as good or work as well or even look the right way as the last one. Because the last one was Jock’s, and now both he and it are gone.
We get off at the 7th Avenue stop, which is great because I have to carry the TV. Nanny walks the few blocks to home far ahead of me. She doesn’t even look back once. She knows I’m there, I guess. She’s not running from me or anything like before, it’s just a fast walk to get back home and have it done with. The whole day. Maybe even the good part. When I turn the corner, she’s almost at the gate, but as she steps through, she stops and turns to look at me. And for almost the first time today, she smiles at me.
“Come on, now. You haven’t much farther,” Nanny yells. I try to hurry up the street and get to the door as she holds it open for me. “Is it heavy now, love?”
“Not too bad,” I huff back at her.
“Well, bring it and let it rest down there, now. That’s a good boy,” Nanny says, rushing to the kitchen to drop her pocketbook and everything off at the table. I carry the TV to the doorway and leave it on the floor.
“You don’t think it’s too big for up there, do you?” Nanny says, not looking at me but washing her hands in the sink.
“No, I think it’ll be fine. Do you want me to set it up for you?” I ask.
And Nanny stops. “No. Not just yet. Let’s wait a minute. Maybe it’ll be nice for the quiet.” Nanny doesn’t turn around as she says any of this to me. I’m beginning to think she still doesn’t want to look over at it.
Still looking at the sink, she says, “You’ve done a good thing, today, you have. You’ve acted the man, and I’m proud of you.” I start to say thank you, or I love you, or I don’t know what when she says, “But you’re not through yet. You’ve got to go make amends to your mother. And you’ve got to go now.”
“All right, Nanny,” I say in a small voice.
“Go on with you, then. She’s down at the bakery,” Nanny says.
I turn around and leave Nanny facing the sink in the kitchen. She’s not washing her hands anymore, and the whole house is quiet like there’s nobody home. When I get to the door, I yell back to her, “I love you.”
And Nanny screams back, “And I, you, Ducky. And I, you.”
Maybe it will be all right.
Sweet Jane is still open when I get there, but Paolo is outside. He’s sweaty again and drinking a big bottle of water. He stops when he sees me coming. And I get sort of afraid, I mean, is he going to hit me? Or yell at me? What? He must be mad. Could I fight him off if I have to? What if he starts throwing those fake punches for real? But when he puts down the water bottle, all he does is smile.
“Hey, little man, how’re you today?”
“Fine. I guess,” I answer back. I still keep a little farther off just in case he tries to attack me.
“Your mom is inside.” Paolo smiles.
“Thanks,” I say, thinking that’s it and I just need to get inside and get away from him. But I stop again and turn to look at him. Paolo’s nice. He’s sweaty and hairy and he has the worst nicknames, like little man, and he’s always trying to tell me how to get girls, but he’s nice. And he makes Mom laugh, a laugh I have never heard up until now, but maybe it’s a laugh she needs. I don’t want to hate him. I don’t really have any reason to. And I want to tell him that, I want to say I’m sorry, and that it’s okay that he’s dating my mom. But I can’t. Just not yet. So I smile and go inside. The rest will have to wait.
There are a few customers, so Jules is pretty distracted and doesn’t really pay that much attention to me. This is a good thing, because I need all the courage I can grab at before I get back to Mom, and Jules always makes me feel really dumb. I know it’s just the voice, like she’s annoyed at having to make all those syllables at a single person that isn’t sweating or showing a nipple. But I can’t deal with that either today. I just need to get back to Mom.
I walk all the way to the way back, thinking about what I’m going to say, how sorry I need to be and how sorry I am. But before I get to Mom’s office, I stop at the Blunder Wall. I want to put a big picture of myself up there. But I’m far from Blunderful. It’s looking at this wall of mistakes that makes me think about how much I must have hurt Mom—by saying those things and ruining her night, a night she was already super nervous about and got dressed up for and prepared all this food for and probably prepped Nanny for hours about, just so she wouldn’t say the wrong thing, when really it would be me. I would be the mistake. But I don’t belong on the wall, because you can’t laugh about what I did. You just have to throw it out and start over.
Mom is sitting in her office, watching me look up at the wall. She’s been watching me the whole time and not saying anything. Just letting me have a moment, just seeing me alone and how I am, and I guess wondering at me, like I did at her. When I catch her, I smile. I don’t know what else to do.
And, the happiest moment of this whole day is when she smiles back.
“I’m sorry,” I say, looking at her.
“I know,” she says.
“I just get so . . .” I try to say more.
“I know. I get it,” Mom says, almost turning around. But I stop her. I walk over and I pull at her arm, not in a mean way but just in a way to grab hold of her and make her look at me. I press my forehead right to hers, trying to get the thoughts from one head to the other, and I speak in a voice so quiet that only the two of us can hear it.
“I’m just scared, all the time.”
“Why?” Mom whispers back.
“Because nothing stays the same, and the other things never change.”
“I know, buddy.”
“I want y
ou to be happy.”
“I am happy with you.” Mom smiles, touching my face.
“But it doesn’t have to be just me. Okay?” I say, looking at her eyes so close to mine.
“Okay,” Mom says, and kisses me on the forehead.
There’s lots more to say, there always is, but not tonight. For tonight, okay is perfect.
“Well, I wanted you to help me frost Sophie’s cake before I run it up to them,” Mom says, getting up from her desk.
“Do you mind if I just watch?” I ask.
“Sure thing.” Mom smiles as she walks to the front. She turns around and looks at me, expecting me to follow her. But I need a minute and I tell her so. When Mom goes up, I stay behind and look up at the Blunder Wall again. There, up in the corner, is Jock smiling and holding a burned pie. The smile is so big in the picture that I can almost hear the big laugh that must have followed right after.
And I want to tell everything to Jock, all the whys and the whats of everything that I did. But he’s just smiling at me, making me laugh at the mess. Because it’s funny. It’s a silly thing to cry about, Davey boy. Start over and this time get it right. There’s a place for everything, it’s up to you to find it.
Bread is a process.
I walk up to the front.
CHAPTER 21
For most of the walk up to Sophie’s, Mom and I talk. Easy. It’s crazy how I can forget how easy it is to talk to her. How much she understands without my even saying it, or how right she is about all sorts of stuff. I also forget that sometimes we make the same faces. It makes us both laugh when we catch the other one doing it.
I tell her about the seagull and the ride out to Coney Island with Nanny. And she laughs, sort of surprised that Nanny took me all the way out there, and more surprised that she and Jock used to go there to make up. She didn’t even know that. But she’s happy about it. It’s at times like this, when I think Mom and I are just friends, like Ellen and me, that I could and would tell her anything and she would laugh or feel the same way about it that I do. She usually does. Almost always. But then sometimes she creeps back to being a mom.
“Are you nervous for school tomorrow?” she asks.
This is a Mom question. A good one, but a Mom one. I think it’s a Mom question because it’s about school, which is the most boring subject ever. It’s just like a job and one that you didn’t even want but have to go to every day. I think she’s asking about classes and homework and getting good grades, which no one ever really thinks about or worries about. At least I don’t. The stuff I worry about isn’t history or English, it’s what happened to my friends and what will my adjective be. Mom won’t know about that, and it’s even too hard to explain.
Mom says, “These are the tough years. I remember. It’s all about who’s with who and what to wear. Oh, I just hated every minute of it.”
“Yeah?” I answer back.
“Sure. And maybe it’s all part of what you have to get through, but it’s a tough part.” Mom laughs at how tough. “But the thing to remember is, you decide on the time you want to have. You can worry and gossip and play into all that stuff, or you can just be your own person.”
“Is that what you did?” I ask.
“Oh, no. I was a cheerleader and I hated every minute of it,” Mom says, laughing out loud. “I thought I had to be one, because they were the pretty and popular girls, but I just wanted to stay home and make pies. Which is just what I’m doing now. So I guess it all works out.”
“I guess.” I smile back. She’s so close, I want to tell her all about Allegra and Sophie and the boys with their armpits and Ellen and the adjectives. It sounds like she knows it, but maybe she just needs the update. She could tell me exactly what to do. But we’re already on our block, and coming up to our house. I stop.
“Should we grab Nanny?” I ask.
But Mom keeps walking and says over her shoulder, “Let’s let her have the night. C’mon, it’s Sophie’s birthday.”
Mom walks right in the front door of Sophie’s house without knocking, and I hear the happy screams of Sophie’s mom as soon as they see each other. It’s this huge excitement that makes me want to be a part of it all right away. Even though I know what’s in there. I hurry in right behind her.
Sophie’s mom rushes at me, right after Mom, and squeezes me tight. “Now, this is how we do a birthday!” she yells, squeezing me to her chest so tightly I can feel the words against my face. “Sophie, they’re here!”
Sophie’s mom lets me go so I can see Sophie running down the stairs to see me. And she smiles. The big smile Sophie and I always give each other when we’ve missed each other. When it’s been too long or we’ve had a fight for a stupid reason and all we want is each other. That’s the smile. And it’s right at me. She doesn’t look made over. She looks the same and that makes me really happy.
I’m so happy about the smile, I don’t even look at Allegra, who says hi as she runs down the stairs behind Sophie.
“Where’s Ellen?” I ask as Sophie hugs me hard.
“She’s in my room. She said she’d be ‘down soon.’” Sophie laughs.
“Hi, Allegra,” I say, smiling at her.
“Hey. Glad you’re here, this is going to be the Best Evah.” Allegra smirks.
“Good,” I say.
Sophie grabs my hand to take me to the kitchen following after our moms preparing to light the cake, but Allegra stops her and grabs my hand instead. Both of us stop, because no one in the world knows what is happening right now. Especially not me.
“Can I, like, talk to you for a minute?” Allegra asks.
“Me?” I sort of squeak, pointing to myself, just to make sure that she is actually talking to me, Davis, Ducks, the boy she didn’t invite to the makeover. And yes, she is. Sophie stops too. None of us really know what to do.
“Well, hurry up, I guess. I want to cut the cake,” Sophie says as she walks into the kitchen with the rest. Leaving me alone with Allegra.
Me. And. Allegra.
So now what?
“Listen, I just wanted to say to you that what Ryan and Brian called you the other day was totally not okay. Like, absolutely not, and I told them that and they said they were, like, crazy sorry,” Allegra says, looking right at me. In the eyes. I think this is the first time I have ever even seen her whole face.
“It’s okay. Seriously, it’s fine,” I say, trying to get away.
“No, it’s, like, absolutely not. They can’t use that word. And not toward you.”
“Fag?” I shrug. Why is she making such a big deal about this, when I’m clearly giving her It’sfineleaveitalone face? She probably doesn’t get it because we’ve never looked at each other for so long.
“Ugh, it’s the worst. My uncle is gay and I love him so I don’t like that word,” Allegra says, getting really angry. “I just want you to know that that word will never bother you again. And if you, like, need to talk, or whatever, I’m here. My uncle says it’s, like, a tough time and, like, teen suicide and whatever, but, like, you’re great just the way you are. Okay?”
Allegra stops. Just stops and stares at me, waiting for me to say something so she can mouth along and already know the answer. But I can’t because I think I just got my adjective and it’s not Husky or even Fat, it’s Gay. And I have nothing to say. I’m shocked. She’s decided. Right there in front of me, and anything I say will just back the point. I’m stuck, and now I’m gay on top of it.
This is the worst. The Worst Evah.
I start to say, “Hold on a minute . . .” But as I start, Ellen stomps down the steps with Charlie right behind her. She looks at Allegra’s hand on my shoulder and her eyes get really big. She’s almost as shocked as me and she hasn’t even heard what Allegra just said. Charlie just smiles.
“Cake?” says Ellen, and moves right through the middle of us to the kitchen.
Charlie dips his big neck down and follows her, and so do I. What else am I supposed to do?
In the kitchen, we all huddle around the island as Mom lights the candles. Sophie still gets so excited about this stuff. It’s funny. I have been to every one of her birthdays and she’s always the same. That never changes. And Ellen makes a big gnashing face at the cake, like she does every year. And Allegra gets on her phone to take a picture, which is new, but I guess a nice thing. And Charlie smiles at me and puts his hand on my shoulder to lean in and get a look at the cake. And we all sing “Happy Birthday” to Sophie and mean it, each of us. You can really hear that in the music we’re making together. It’s small, but it’s there.
But just before she blows out the candles, Sophie says, “Now everybody make a wish. Close your eyes and do it.”
I wait a minute, just to look at all these people standing around with their eyes closed, wishing for something amazing and fun or lovely to happen and how I hope each of them gets it.
It all reminds me of La Boheme, another opera, which is crazy to think about now. But it does. When the two lovers meet, it’s by candlelight just like this, so that makes sense. And they sing the most beautiful duet in the whole opera. So beautiful, it overpowers all their friends shouting outside for them to hurry up and come down and start all the rest of the misery and stuff that happens in the opera. It’s an opera, so there’s a lot of that. But they don’t pay any attention. For that moment, it’s only the two of them, and they’re lost in the music. Like I get lost in the music. And I wish, right now, I had all that bigness to get rid of all the rest of the world outside of here.
But, really, I don’t need it. Because I’m part of this. I am part of here.
And here is filled with Sophie, smiling in the yellow light from the candles on her cake that my mom made. She’s nudging Ellen to get her excited to help blow out the candles. Ellen smiles back because that is her thing now, or showing off her new perfect teeth is her thing now, but either way is good. Allegra is standing really close and sort of quietly next to Sophie, trying to fit in to this loud, crazy bunch of people she’s never really even met before. I almost feel sorry for her. But only sort of. Mom squeezes my shoulders and looks down at me, wanting me to smile bigger and brighter than anyone else in the room. So for her, I do. Because I owe her. But also because, why not? I’m here, and here with all these people is pretty good.