“I’ll check, but in the meantime, let’s plan on something this weekend. Maybe Saturday?”
“That works for us,” Amy said.
“Ask Ethan’s mommy—she’s right there!” Jake cried.
They turned around and saw Grace walking through the glass doors to the school. She’d changed since that morning and was now dressed in wide-legged linen pants and a loose tank top. Her long, almost black hair was tied into a low side ponytail.
“Hey . . .” Grace said cautiously. Amy realized they were all staring at her.
“We were just talking about you,” Amy said, by way of explanation. As soon as the words came out, though, she realized they only made the situation more awkward.
“Uh-oh,” Grace said. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“No—nothing bad. It’s just . . . we were talking—”
“Can Ethan play Saturday with me and Noah?” Jake cut in. Amy was relieved to have him do the explaining for her.
“This Saturday?”
“It’s totally fine if you guys are busy,” said Emily. “I know it’s short notice. I’m sure you have a zillion things going on.”
The way Emily said it made it sound as if she almost hoped they wouldn’t come.
“We can’t do Saturday. Sorry. But thanks for the invitation.”
“Speaking of invitations, we got ours for the fund-raiser,” Amy said. “They look great.”
Amy assumed both Emily and Grace would appreciate the topic change, but their expressions indicated otherwise.
“Are you and Julian throwing a party?” Emily asked. She tried to sound friendly and curious, but a hint of resentment bubbled below the surface.
“It’s Food Fight’s Fall Fund-raiser.”
“Well, that’s a mouthful.”
“That’s what I keep telling Julian. Anyway, Amy’s husband, Rob, helped Julian bring on MediaCom as a sponsor, so we added them to the guest list. If you and Brent are interested, I can add you, too.”
“I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“It isn’t trouble.” The tone in Grace’s voice made it sound like it actually was. “It’s a fund-raiser. The more people the better.”
“Okay, well, go ahead and add us to the mailing list. I can’t make any promises—you know how weird Brent can be about making plans—but it’s always nice to be invited.”
Amy wasn’t sure why the conversation had gotten so uncomfortable and confrontational, and she also wasn’t sure why Grace and Julian hadn’t invited everyone in the whole school, or at least the parents they vaguely knew. If it was a situation where more people meant more money, then why hadn’t they invited everyone they’d ever met? And who had they invited, other than Rob and Amy?
“My friends are actually flying in from Seattle to come. They’re super excited.”
“Wow, even people from across the country got an invitation?” The unspoken postscript being, And I didn’t?
“They’re my ‘plus twos’—my best friend from college and her husband. I haven’t seen her in years, and we figured this would be a fun thing to do together when they come out to visit.”
“The more the merrier, right, Grace?”
Amy hated being in the middle of whatever was going on between the two of them, so instead of digging herself deeper in a hole, she decided to leave.
“Ah, Noah, there you are!” she said, grabbing his lunchbox and backpack. “Come on, time to go home.”
“Can I play on the playground for a little bit?”
“Not today, sweetie.”
“Why not?” he whined.
Because I’ve walked into an awkward situation and want to eject myself from it as soon as possible?
“Because we have stuff to do,” she said.
“Stuff? What stuff?”
It was times like this when Amy wished her curious, inquisitive son would mind his own business. What did it matter what stuff? She was the mom. She was in charge! Why couldn’t he just go along for the ride?
“Well, first of all, I still have to pick up stuff for dinner.”
“Let’s get pizza.”
Amy wanted to explode. Can you not see the ferocity in my eyes, child? Are you blind? Do you not see that I need you to SHUT YOUR MOUTH?
“Mommy is trying to be a little healthier lately,” she lied. She’d had Nutella on toast as a snack an hour earlier. “I’d rather not do pizza tonight.”
“Please?”
“We’re actually going straight home today, too,” Grace said. Amy wasn’t sure if this was true, or if Grace had just decided that on the spot, but either way, Amy was relieved and grateful.
“Awwww.” Noah crossed his arms and sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”
She walked with him down the hallway, and as she looked over her shoulder, she caught Grace’s eye and mouthed, “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Grace mouthed back, and as they gave each other a quick smile, Amy noticed the only one who wasn’t smiling was Emily, who’d been watching them the entire time.
* * *
That Saturday, the doorbell rang while Amy was in the powder room.
“Coming!” she shouted. It had to be Emily, and if it was, she was early.
She dried her hands quickly and hurried down the hallway to the front door. Through the panes of glass lining the sides, she could see Jake, his eyes cast at the ground. He didn’t look particularly eager to meet up with Noah. The word “sullen” came to mind.
“I hope it’s okay that we’re a few minutes early,” Emily said as Amy opened the door.
“It’s fine! We’re just hanging out. Hey, Noah?” She called toward the family room, where she’d left Noah before popping into the bathroom. “I think he’s watching TV. Come on in.”
She ushered them into the house and down the hallway, the audio from the TV becoming louder as they approached the family room.
“Hey, Noah—Jake is here.”
Noah tore his eyes from the screen and waved shyly. “Hi.”
“What are you watching?” Emily asked, in an overly friendly tone that worried Amy. Something told her Jake had done little to encourage this playdate.
“Ready Jet Go!”
“Oooh, that’s a new one for us.”
“I don’t like that show,” Jake said.
“What? Don’t be ridiculous—you’ve never even seen it!”
“Yes, I have, and I don’t like it.”
Emily’s cheeks flushed. “Jake, you’re being silly. Just—”
“The kids don’t need to watch TV. Frankly they probably shouldn’t. Noah, sweetie, why don’t you turn that off and show Jake some of the toys in your room.”
“But it isn’t over yet,” he whined.
“I know, but Jake doesn’t really like it. We can always record it so you can finish watching it later.”
“But I want to watch it now.”
“Noah.”
“I’m really sorry,” Emily said, wringing her hands. She looked at her watch. “Jake, there are only about five minutes left anyway. Just watch it until it’s over and then you can play something else.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Jake.”
He sighed loudly and stomped over to the opposite side of the couch from where Noah was sitting. “Fine.”
He collapsed onto the cushion, his arms folded across his chest. Amy wasn’t sure who was being a bigger pain, but they were both acting like little jerks.
“Oh, thank God,” Emily said as she and Amy left the boys and made for the kitchen. “I have no idea what’s gotten into him, but ever since he woke up this morning, it’s like something crawled up his ass and died.”
“Been there.”
“It makes you want to sell them on the street, right? I mean, seriously.” She pulled a box from her bag. “Mind if I stick these in your freezer? I bought some yogurt pops for the boys.”
“Sure—that sounds great.”
Emily nestled the pops between a bag
of frozen peas and a box of chicken nuggets. “The house looks great,” she said as she looked around. “A lot more traditional than the Durants had done it up, but then it’s a traditional house. You’ve done a really nice job.”
It hadn’t even occurred to Amy that Emily would have already spent time at 120 Sycamore—on numerous occasions, most likely. She knew she shouldn’t feel self-conscious about how her style compared (or didn’t) to Grace’s, but she did, as was always the case when it came to Grace. Why did she care? And why couldn’t she just accept that Grace was more stylish and design-savvy than she was without allowing it to translate into her own character flaw? Different people were good at different things. She didn’t look at Stephen Hawking and feel like a failure because she hadn’t contributed to the theory of relativity. Why couldn’t she just acknowledge that Grace was better at decorating and leave it at that?
She knew why: Because as progressive as she was, there was still some unspoken understanding that styling one’s home was something that middle-class women were supposed to be good at. This wasn’t some idea spun by conservative bloggers in a particular corner of the Internet. It was something promoted—wordlessly, but consistently—by women she knew from all different phases of her life, from all different backgrounds. Having a messy or unfashionable home still reflected on the woman of the house, even if she was just as overworked and uninterested in the domestic arts as her husband. No one expected Rob to know how to decorate a living room, but somehow she was supposed to know, and more than know, she was supposed to be interested. Well, she wasn’t. Not really. She wanted things to look nice, and she hated clutter, but she didn’t really care, not the way Grace obviously did. But then when faced with a direct comparison—120 Sycamore under Grace vs. 120 Sycamore under Amy, Grace’s outfit vs. Amy’s outfit—she suddenly did care, not so much about the style itself, but more about the gaping character flaw that put her in last place. It was bullshit, and she knew it, but somehow she couldn’t overcome her feelings of domestic inadequacy.
“Thanks,” Amy said, suppressing the insecurities of her interior monologue. “We haven’t changed all that much, structure-wise. They did a great job of keeping up the house.”
“Yeah, well, that’s Grace and Julian for you. Anything house-related? Grace loves it. Pinterest was invented for her, I swear.”
Amy laughed. “So it sounds like you two spent a lot of time together. . . ?”
She didn’t want to pry—okay, she did. Frankly the tension between them was killing her. It had become obvious that something had gone down between Grace and Emily, and Amy was dying to know what it was.
“We did,” Emily said. “Like I said, two years ago the kids were inseparable, so we hung out a lot.”
“Did the kids fall out or something?”
“The kids? Oh my God, not at all. Jake adored Ethan. It was more . . . well, I don’t really know how to explain it. The Durants just stopped . . . being available. Like, I’d ask if Ethan could come play, and he never could. And Brent and I used to go out with Grace and Julian all the time, but all of a sudden they were never free. After hearing ‘no’ a dozen or so times, I stopped asking. And that was sort of that—until the other weekend when you guys came over.”
“Did she ever explain why?”
“Nope, that’s what kills me. I keep thinking . . . did I do something? Say something? I racked my brain for weeks. I even e-mailed her to see what was going on because I missed her. Nothing. So in end I said, fuck her.” She craned her neck to make sure the boys hadn’t heard, but they were still in the family room, out of earshot. “Sorry. Potty mouth. Anyway, that’s as much as I know. So you can see why I was a little hesitant to throw her and Ethan into the mix again. There’s something up with her. I mean, who just ghosts a friend like that?”
Amy knew why, and she desperately wanted to say something to Emily. It wasn’t you! It was Julian’s addiction! She was embarrassed! She’d seen her mother and brother do the same thing over the years. Embarrassment and shame were the ugly stepsisters of addiction, and they had pushed away dozens of friends over the years, too humiliated and blinkered to realize they needed those people most of all.
“Mommy?” Jake tugged on Emily’s shirt.
“Hey, sweetie, what’s up? Is the show over?”
“Yeah. Can we go home now?”
“Home? We just got here!”
“I know, but I want to go.”
“Jake, you’re being silly.”
“I liked this house better when it was Ethan’s,” he snapped back.
Amy felt as if she’d been smacked in the face. Emily’s eyes went wild.
“Jacob Benjamin.”
Jake scowled. “Sorry. Can we just go?”
“We haven’t even had our yogurt pops yet.”
“Can we go after yogurt pops then?”
Emily’s cheeks were pink. She tightened her jaw. “Let’s just have the yogurt pops, okay? We can talk about going later.”
She went for the freezer, and though part of Amy felt deeply wounded that Jake so obviously didn’t want to play with her son today, she was also a little relieved that Emily might leave sooner rather than later. It wasn’t her place to say anything about the Durants and the reason behind their aloofness, but the longer Emily lingered, the harder it would be not to tell her the truth, and Amy didn’t trust herself to keep her mouth shut.
Chapter 15
To Amy’s surprise, Noah didn’t show any hesitation when he awoke for school the following Monday. It was his first day back following the Emily and Jake debacle, which had ended with Jake stomping off with arms crossed after they had been playing T-ball outside. Emily had cajoled him into staying after the boys finished their yogurt pops, but the rest of the afternoon was an emotional roller coaster. One minute the boys were playing nicely; the next, Jake was crying or demanding to go home. Amy was much older than Noah when her social life went pear shaped, but if it were her, she’d be uneasy about going to school the Monday after such a rocky get-together. But Noah bounced out of bed that morning as enthusiastic and cheerful as ever.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Amy said as he hummed his way through his Cheerios.
“Today is bounce day.”
“Oh. Right.” She’d forgotten. The school had rented a bounce house for the day, and each class would have a chance to use it at recess. “Do you need to wear something special?”
“No, I need socks, but that’s it.” He scarfed down the rest of his cereal and ran for his shoes, which were by the door. He had so much more resilience than she ever had. She felt proud and also grateful.
They arrived at Beth Israel ten minutes early, but Noah assured her it was fine. She suspected he thought he’d be able to use the bounce house early if he was the first to get there, and she also suspected this was a false assumption. But given that she had work to do, she was just as happy to go with it.
When they reached the front door, they heard a squeal behind them. “Noah!”
Ethan charged at Noah, as Grace tried to keep up. “Ethan, slow down!”
“It’s bounce day!” he cried.
They jumped up and down. Grace rolled her eyes. “Looks like someone was as eager to be first as we were.”
Amy swiped her key fob and let them all in. “Do we tell them they haven’t even blown up the bounce house yet?”
“Nah, let them figure it out. Life lessons and all of that.” She shoved Ethan’s backpack in his cubby. “So how’d it go with Emily and Jake?”
“Honestly? It was kind of a disaster.”
“Really? What happened?”
“I don’t think Jake wanted to be there. After about fifteen minutes he said he wanted to go home. He stayed longer, but he must have asked to leave at least ten times before he actually did.”
“Typical. Jake pulls that all the time.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. Well, I mean, it’s been a long time since we’ve had a one-on-one playdate
with him, but he was famous for wanting to go home as soon as something didn’t go his way.”
“Even with Ethan? I thought they were best buds.”
“They were. But even best friends have disagreements.”
“That’s such a relief. I thought we’d done something wrong. He obviously doesn’t like that we’re the ones living in that house.”
“As opposed to . . . us?”
“Yeah.”
The faint tension that arose anytime they discussed 120 Sycamore reared its head. “Well, that’s no reason to act like a little asshole. Which, between you and me, is exactly what Jake is.”
Amy stifled a laugh. “Kids are kids. Noah has his moments, too.”
“Noah seems like an angel pretty much anytime I see him.”
“False advertising, I assure you.”
There was a slight lull in the conversation, and Amy was tempted to bring up what she’d learned about Emily Saturday—that she was hurt at having been cut out of Grace’s life and didn’t know why it had happened. Amy knew it wasn’t her place, but now that she’d heard both sides of the story, she wanted to encourage Grace to reach out again. But before she could even pave the way to such a suggestion, Emily appeared beside them.
“You too?”
They all laughed. Amy continually marveled at the way being a mother of kids the same age in the same class could smooth over any potential friction or awkwardness.
“Should we tell Miss Ruth and Miss Karen that next time they decide to do something special for the kids, they should surprise them? Honest to God, I’ve been up since six o’clock. I nearly had to tie Jake to a chair to keep him from trying to walk to school.”
“I don’t think they’ve even inflated anything yet.”
“Oh, great. Meltdown coming in five . . . four . . . three . . .”
Just then, Jake burst out of the classroom. “Mommy! Where is the bouncy house?”
“I don’t know. Ask Miss Karen.”
He disappeared back into the classroom.
“That kid. I’m telling you. Did Amy tell you what he did on Saturday?”
The Last House on Sycamore Street Page 18