I looked down at my nightgown. “I need to change.”
“Half hour?”
“Okay.” Then: “Wait, where?”
“Pemberwick and Holly. Off Route One?”
I parked, pulled the emergency break, and got out of the car. “Hi,” I said, waving. He wore a tweed coat (I’d seen it before, on Adina), a burgundy scarf, and a pair of beaten, black Converse. I wore my big, ugly parka.
“Nice coat.”
“Shut up.”
We both smiled. He twirled his keys around one finger. “You ready?”
I nodded.
“This way,” he said, tugging me past an iron gate, along a stone walkway that circled the perimeter of an educational center, and down an icy slope. We emptied out into proper Connecticut forest: skinny trees; soupy patches of old snow; dead, matted grass. I grabbed the back of Fred’s coat, suddenly freaked. Darkness. Woods.
He laughed. “You scared?”
I let go of his coat, stiffening. “I’m not scared.”
“Adina and I used to come here a lot.”
Why was I alone in the woods with a boy I barely knew? Was this how stuff happened? Was this how Ben Ackerman and Evie happened?
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look a little peaked.”
“Do I?”
We walked on, ducking beneath low branches and sliding between bare brush. Crossing rocky streams and stone walls. “Are you cold?” he asked, grabbing my hands. “You are, you’re freezing.”
I pulled back. “My teeth are chattering. Listen.” I relaxed my mouth and let my teeth clank together.
“Shit, Katonah. Let’s go back.”
“No, it’s okay.” I hugged myself. “I’ll be all right.”
“You’re sure?”
This was my idea. I wanted friends. “Positive.” I kept walking. “Tell me something.”
“Like what?”
“Something you know that I don’t.”
He was two steps ahead. “The mountain laurel.”
“What’s that?”
“State flower.”
I picked a branch off the ground and wedged it between my pointer and middle fingers like a cigarette.
“Hey, can I ask . . . ?” He grabbed on to a tree trunk, propelling himself forward.
“What?”
“You’re here because . . . Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you started mid-term.”
He wanted specifics. The juicy details. “I came with my Mom.”
“I know that part.”
I stepped onto a rock and hopped off. “My dad had an affair,” I said.
“Oh.” He picked a twig off the ground. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Dad. Affair. “So that’s why I’m here. Mid-year.”
The path split. “Which way?” he asked.
“You don’t know?”
“I mean, it’s been a while.” He looked at me. “Right or left?”
“Left?”
We kept on. Fred pulled a flashlight and tobacco pack from his coat pocket. “Will you kill me if I smoke?”
“Seriously? On our nature walk?”
“Is that a yes?”
“Don’t.” I ran two steps ahead. “It looks wrong on you.”
“Oh yeah?”
I faced him. “You’re way too sweet to smoke.”
“Too sweet?”
“Yeah, dude. You’ve got freckles! And such nice skin! The cigarettes—they don’t go.”
He shook his head and kept walking. “Too sweet . . .”
I grabbed on to the arm of his tweed coat. “You’re mad?”
“I mean, you just completely emasculated me, but no. Not exactly mad . . .”
I laughed. “Sorry.”
“No sweat.”
“No, seriously, stop walking.”
He stopped.
“I shouldn’t have said that. You want to smoke, go ahead.”
“No, I mean, you’re right. It’s a shitty habit.” He met my gaze and held it.
I looked away, feeling woozy and embarrassed. “Where are we, anyways?”
“I don’t really know.”
Lost. Frozen solid.
“Should we go back?”
We turned back. Fred’s hand brushed my hand and my head got hot. “How much farther?” I asked. Evie’s face was darting around my brain like a trapped black fly.
“Fifteen minutes, maybe?”
“Can I get the flashlight?” I asked, suddenly keen for an activity or task.
“Here,” Fred said, pitching the light my way. “Knock yourself out.”
10.
Thursday night.
I was watching a movie in bed with Mom when my cell rang.
“Hello?”
“Can you talk?”
Evie, I mouthed to my mother, standing up. “Yeah, I can talk.”
We hadn’t spoken since Sunday. Record breaking. We’d never gone that long before.
“Is stuff still weird?”
I tiptoed out the door, down the hall, to my room. “What stuff?”
“With us, I mean.”
“Oh.” I tensed up. “I don’t know. Is it?” I lay down, covering up with an afghan.
“I mean, no, right?”
“Right,” I said, my voice faltering. “We’re fine.”
“Good.” She exhaled. “Because I need to tell you something.”
I braced myself.
“It’s about Ben.”
Awesome. “What about him?”
She let go a hysterical squeal. “He loves me.”
I felt an instant angry surge.
“Did you hear what I said?”
He loved her? How could he possibly love her? “Yeah.” I sat up. “He actually said that? I mean, you’ve barely been together a month.”
“I know, I know, right? But he said it and now . . . I dunno, it just feels right.” She was gleeful; her voice high and happy.
“But what does that mean? It ‘feels right’? You hardly know each other.”
“We know each other.”
“No, you don’t. He doesn’t know you.”
“Alex,” she snapped.
“What?” I pressed on. “Well did you say it back?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Why would you do that?”
“Because I meant it, Alex.” A beat and then, “Wow, I gotta go.”
“Wait, why?”
“I thought I could talk to you.”
“You can.”
“I can’t!” she shrieked. “Listen to you. ‘He doesn’t know you,’” she mimicked. “He knows me. He loves me.”
My chest tightened. “Okay. He loves you.” I took a breath. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe you.”
But I was, instantly regretful and sorry. “No, I mean it. I’m sorry, Eves.”
“You said that last time. In the car. You said you were sorry and now it’s the same shit all over again.”
I clutched the afghan to my chest. “I’ll make it up to you.”
She took an exasperated breath. “Al, I gotta go.”
“But why? Don’t go yet.”
“I have to. Judith needs me downstairs.”
“But we’re okay, right? You’re not really mad, are you?”
“I gotta go, Al.” She hung up the phone.
11.
Nighttime. Bishop pool.
Adina was on her side, picking at the runs in her tights and singing the chorus to a song I’d never heard. Fred was to my left, and every now and then he’d throw a cookie or a cracker crumb at my face. He’d say, “Chin up, Katonah,” and I’d smile. I’d been like this for days. Missing Evie. Really blue.
“Eat one,” Adina instructed, thrusting a cookie tin under my nose. I took a cookie and ate half. “Good?” she asked.
“Really good.” They were gritty and sweet.
“Cornmeal,” she said, sitti
ng back. “My favorite.”
“So have one,” said Fred. He’d grabbed the tin from Adina and was rattling it around.
“I ate a bunch earlier.”
“Sure you did.”
They glared at each other. Adina broke the moment by doing a coy little dance—shaking her shoulders and hiding behind her hair.
“You think you’re cute?”
“I do.”
“Come on, eat one.”
“Why?”
“For me.”
“For you?” She was laughing.
“Why is that funny?”
“Fred. It’s a cookie. Relax.”
“Well if it’s just a cookie then what’s the big deal?” He pulled one from the tin. “Stick it in your mouth and eat it.”
She swatted the air. “Get that shit away from me.”
“Hey, guys—” They ignored my interjection.
Fred shoved the tin and stood up.
“Wow.” She waited till he’d gone, then said, “Boys.”
Boys and their moody, food-phobic twin sisters. “You guys fight a lot?”
“A lot?” She cocked her head. “I don’t know, I guess.” Then, smiling: “We compete.”
“Oh yeah?”
“For attention. Affection. You know.” She glanced up. “You have brothers?”
“No. Just me.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It’s all right. I have a best friend. That I grew up with.”
She looked perplexed. “How is that the same?"
I flinched. “No, it’s just—we’re close. And we fight. Like you guys.”
“About?”
I leaned against the side of the pool. “I dunno. Her boyfriend.”
“What about him?”
“I don’t like him.”
“Well maybe they won’t stay together.”
“Yeah, well, they love each other.” I rolled my eyes.
Adina put a hand on my head, patting me. “There, there, Katonah. I’ll be your friend.”
“Will you?” Had Adina ever had a friend?
“Sure.” She uncorked a bottle of wine—“Why not?”—and took a swig.
“Can I have some of that?”
She passed the bottle.“Hey, Katonah.”
“Mm?” I took a slow sip, tilting my head back.
“You like my brother?”
I froze, mouth full, and righted myself.
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
I swallowed. “I mean, of course, yeah. We’re friends.”
“No, I don’t mean, like, are you pals. I mean, do you like Fred?”
Did I like Fred? I wasn’t sure. Did Fred like me? “I mean, I don’t think—it’s not like that with me and him.”
She relaxed. “Good. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with liking him, it’s just—he’s a bad boyfriend. You’d be miserable.”
I nodded like I understood whatever it was she was hinting at. Then, after a moment or two: “Well, wait, what do you mean?”
“I mean, that girl he was with? Audrey Glick?”
“Yeah.”
“He wasn’t faithful.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, he tried, he’s just—he can be kind of compulsive.”
“Compulsive?”
“He has, like, a problem.” She was gesturing a ton with her hands. “He sleeps around. And then, like, lies about it.”
“Oh.” It took me a few seconds to process. “Wait, he lies?” Fred seemed so earnest and true.
“Don’t tell him I told you.”
“No, I won’t, it’s just—” I tried picturing Fred with a multitude of girls: preppies, sluts, brainiacs. Fred on top. Fred down below. Fred with a whip and a cigarette. I stifled a laugh. “Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not kidding.” Adina leaned forward. So close I could smell the Merlot on her breath. “You’re too nice for him, Katonah.”
I pulled back, stung.
Fred was jogging toward us now, carrying two huge jugs of water. “Okay, fuck the cookies—I don’t care about the cookies. Water, anyone?” He was breathless, jovial.
“Alex and I finished the wine. Look.” She flipped the empty bottle upside down, pouting.
“That’s fine,” he shrugged, sitting down. “Why would I care if you finished the wine?”
“I dunno,” she said. “You’re funny about things.” She looked at me conspiratorially. “He’s very territorial,” she insisted. “He hates when I take his stuff.”
12.
Morning.
I was jittery, nauseated, and eating spoonfuls of dry Grape Nuts straight from the box. Mom was next to me. We were watching PBS.
“So what did you guys do all night?”
“Nothing. Slept.”
“That’s it? Why couldn’t you sleep at home?”
“We did other stuff too. Built a fort. Ate cookies.”
“All night?”
I dropped my spoon. “I dunno, Mommy. Yes, all night.”
“Al, hey.”
“What?”
She made her eyes wide. “Watch it.”
“Watch what?” I was hungover. Short on patience.
“The attitude,” my mother snapped.
“Oh, okay,” I said. “What, three seconds of sobriety and you think you get to reprimand me for a coed sleepover?”
She slapped me hard across the face.
I watched the floor, stunned.
“Oh God, oh God, Al, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Now she was clutching me, hugging me, tearing up. “You didn’t deserve that, I’m so sorry.”
I touched my cheek, reeling, letting her sob and grab at me. “It’s fine,” I said, pulling back, dazed, shaken. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. I’d never been slapped before.
“Honey. It’s not you. You’re a good girl.”
She wept. She put her head in her hands and she cried.
“Mommy, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”
“I’m just a little sad this morning, baby. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
“It’s fine,” I said, rubbing her back, feeling a mix of resentment and pity. “Really,” I insisted. My mind flashed to Fred. “I’m okay.”
13.
I was in line for hard-shell tacos. The kind with ground beef, shredded lettuce, and plastic cheese. The lunch lady passed me a plate over the Plexiglas divider. I got in the cashier line behind Charlotte Kincaid.
“Hi,” I said.
Charlotte smiled stiffly, then turned toward the register. Icy. Aloof. But understandable. I was her fair-weather friend.
“Can I sit with you guys today?”
She pulled four crumpled bucks from her pocket and looked at me over her shoulder. “Are you talking to me?”
Charlotte had what seemed like a limitless reserve of Bishop information. “Yeah, of course.” I’d been chasing her around all morning long.
“Well, what about your bosom friends?”
“I mean, they’re around.” I angled my head and caught sight of Fred hovering intently over his cereal bowl. “I just—I actually wanted to ask you about them.” I thought about what Adina had said: Fred was a liar, lothario, cheat. But really? The guy with the freckles and cereal obsession?
“Pay for your taco, please?” She waved me forward. “Libby’s waiting.”
I handed a ten to the cashier. “Adina just—she said something—” Fred: XXX, “perplexing.”
“Big surprise.”
“Something about Fred, being, like, a womanizer.” I collected my change. “Is that true?”
Charlotte looked at me blankly. “How should I know?”
We were walking now. Across the cafeteria, toward Libby.
“Well, you said you knew stuff about him and that girl—”
“Audrey Glick?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, a little. But I don’t know anyone else he’s been with. I mean, look at the guy.” She tossed a h
and toward Fred. “Who would hook up with him?”
I blinked.
“There’s Libby.” She upped her pace. “Wait, so, why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you care who Fred Bishop’s been with?”
“I don’t.”
“You just said you did.”
“No. I was telling you what Adina said. That he’d been with, like, multiple girls.”
She stopped. Faced me. “You like him.”
“No.”
She paused, pressing her lips together. “I think you do.”
I looked at Libby, who was waving.
“Kincaid!”
Charlotte turned. “Hold on.” Then: “Alex.”
“What?”
She shifted impatiently from leg to leg. “I mean, have your little crush, whatever, but, Fred Bishop?”
“What? What’s wrong with Fred?”
“He couldn’t even dump his own girlfriend. He had Adina do it for him.” She lifted an eyebrow and wagged her finger in my face. “You’re like, Audrey Two. . . .” She said, slinking away. “Can’t wait to watch the insanity unfold.”
14.
“This is weird, right?”
Dad. Dad said this. We were at a restaurant right outside Meadow Marsh, eating palak paneer, papadums, and naan. “It’s weird, yes.” I had refused to go home for the weekend. Evie and I hadn’t spoken for a week and Dad—Dad was, at best, a shitty stand-in for my drunk mother.
“Al.” He reached for the chutney, accidentally knocking my hand. “What do you think about spending one weekend away with me next month? We could ski. Stowe? Black Mountain?”
I ignored the invite. No weekends away. No rewards for bad behavior. “You and Mom should go somewhere. Or even just, like, out. On a date.”
Dad shifted in his chair. “Oh, Al.”
“Well why not? She’d like that.”
“Al, honey, come on.”
“You were married nineteen years, now what, you can’t spend three seconds in the same room together?”
“Honey—”
“What?” He didn’t say anything else so I pushed on. “How’s Caroline?”
“Good.”
“Awesome. You know, Mom’s still pret-ty messy.”
He dropped his fork. “You’re mad, and you have a right to be mad, but Mom and I had issues way before Caroline came along—”
“Okay.”
Her and Me and You Page 3