by Abbi Waxman
“Hey, Harvey,” I said, scratching his head. His milky eyes gazed up at me, and his tail waved gently back and forth. Everything about Harvey was mellow.
“He can’t see a thing anymore,” Amanda said, clunking her wooden spoon on the side of the pot, then licking it and sticking it back in. She reached for the salt. “We try not to move the furniture, but sometimes he still walks into it.”
“Oh no, poor baby,” I said, scratching his head some more.
“I don’t think he cares,” said Amanda. “He pauses, possibly mumbles an apology, and moves on.”
“How old is he now?”
“Fifteen.”
“Jeez.”
“Right? In dog years he’s, like, eighty-three. I found a chart online.”
Harvey walked over to his dog bed and spun around three times before lying down and huffing his head onto his paws.
Amanda looked at him. “Every morning I steel myself to find his dead body, and every morning he’s standing by the refrigerator door, waiting patiently for it to open.” Amanda pretends to be tough, but she isn’t fooling anyone. “I thought he was waiting for Chloe to leave for college, but she’ll graduate next year and he’s still around.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for you to die first, out of politeness,” I suggested, getting up from my stool. “Can I make myself some coffee?”
“Of course, we have one of those pod thingies now, the kids got it for me last Mother’s Day.”
I dug around in the cupboard and made myself some coffee. “Do you want some?”
Amanda shook her head. “I’m getting too old for coffee in the evenings, it’s pathetic.” She frowned at me. “Emily’s here, right? She doesn’t say hello anymore?”
I made a face. “She and Chloe disappeared upstairs immediately. They’re probably high as kites already.”
Amanda smiled. “As long as they smoke their own stuff, I’m good.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You still smoke pot?”
She nodded. “You don’t?”
“I’m a lawyer, remember?”
“Isn’t it legal in California? I would have thought you would be mildly stoned 24-7.”
I shook my head. “Clients like counsel to be fully present and on top of their game. Waving a sheaf of papers at the judge and saying, Dude, whatever works for you works for me, would not cut it.”
“Yawn,” said Amanda, finally stepping away from her cooking and coming over to give me a hug. “Rob will be home soon.”
“Where is he?” Robert usually worked from home; he was a freelance journalist. He had been a less freelance journalist earlier in his career, back when the internet hadn’t disrupted the media landscape. He’d had an actual wooden desk, complete with piles of papers and coffee cups, at the New York Times, when they decided to cut their workforce and modernize. He said that meant anyone with a journalism degree and a reasonable salary was fired, and anyone younger than thirty with more than a passing familiarity with grammar was hired.
“Is he . . . feeling better?” I trod carefully. Every time I’d seen Robert in the last ten years he was a little more bitter than the time before.
“Much better,” Amanda said, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge. She poured herself a glass and offered one to me. I shook my head. “He’s working on a new thing, but I’ll let him tell you all about it.”
EMILY
It was so incredibly good to see Chloe. It’s not like we grew up together, but we saw each other quite a bit, and emailed and stuff. She’s like my older sister, or cousin or something. Somehow the kids you’ve known all your life are less anxiety provoking. They’ve already seen you cry, even if only over broken Legos.
We headed up to her room, which had changed a lot since the last time I saw it. Then the walls had been covered with photos of her friends, printouts from Pinterest, postcards from everywhere . . . Now the walls were clear, freshly painted in a pale creamy yellow, and featured actual framed pictures.
“Wow,” I said. “This looks like a regular grown-up’s room.” I was making fun of her, and she got it right away.
“Oh please,” she said, throwing herself on the bed. “My mom did it while I was away. She said she thought it would be nicer for me to bring friends home to, but I think she was dying to get all the Justin Bieber shit off the walls.”
“Who can blame her?” I said. “I think it looks great.”
“Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “I feel like I got erased.”
“That’s heavy,” I said, laughing at her.
She tipped her head to one side. “What’s up with you? Boy trouble?” She paused. “Girl trouble? Nonbinary trouble?”
I shook my head. “Not really. Well, yes, a bit, but mostly the trouble is all mine.” I lay on my tummy on her rug, as I had done so many times before, bending my legs at the knee and putting my head on my folded arms.
“Nice high-tops,” she said. “Spill it.”
I told her about everything. The cheating. The snitching. Mom quitting. The tour. Alice and her mom. Will. Even the aerodrome part.
“Huh,” she said. “For what it’s worth, you totally did the right thing.”
“You think?”
She nodded. “Totally. Trust me, if they’d gotten caught actually cheating, you would have felt like crap you didn’t say something. Nothing lamer than regret.”
“How about social suicide? How lame is that?”
Chloe laughed. “Not super lame. The boy will come around, he’s being a jerk. If he doesn’t get over it, you’re better off without him.” She looked at me. “Why didn’t you agree to help the FBI?”
I shrugged. “It seemed one step too far.”
“Do you think there’s someone on the tour who’s involved?”
“Maybe. Alice’s mom was offering bribes. At least, it seems that way.” I told her what Casper and Will had relayed to me about dinner the night before.
Chloe was thoughtful. “It’s weird, right, how parents get about college? I thought my mom and dad were pretty laid-back, but they turned into complete monsters when college apps rolled around. And I was the third kid, they’d had two before me and they were even worse with them. Poor Jake, I thought he was going to have a nervous breakdown checking college websites.”
“Where did he end up?”
“He got into Brown, went for a semester, then transferred to NYU because he missed his mommy.” She laughed. “I’m only semi-joking.”
“And now? Is he here?” I’d always had kind of a crush on her older brother, not that I’d ever let on.
“Please don’t tell me you still have a crush on him, he’s such a loser.” Chloe slapped the bed. “You do!” She rolled back, laughing.
I felt myself blushing.
She stopped laughing. “He’s still here, he’s working at the same start-up as Dad.”
“Your dad works at a start-up?” I wrinkled my nose. “I thought he was a journalist.”
She nodded. “He is, it’s kind of a journalism start-up. I think. He does tell me about it, he’s actually adorably excited about it, but I kind of tune out.” She smiled at me. “So, apart from turning government informant, what else have you been up to?”
26
JESSICA
“Wait, so it’s a start-up? But there are old people like us there?”
Rob laughed, and passed the salad. “Yes, a few of us. It’s a start-up because it’s new, but it’s also kind of a nonprofit. We’re funded by the state, the city, grants from philanthropists and such. We generate some income, by running and teaching courses, but largely we’re there to help young people.” He took the salad back from Chloe and piled it onto his plate.
I glanced at Emily. “And young people listen to you? That’s not been my experience.” She tossed a piece of bread at me, but I dodged, and Harvey caught i
t. I turned to Amanda. “How does he catch bread he can’t even see?”
“We think he’s developed food-specific echolocation.”
Rob looked better than I’d seen him in years. His color was good, he’d lost weight, he was wearing a really cool pair of sneakers I secretly coveted. Now he said, “You should quit your job and come work with us. We could definitely use a lawyer.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh my god, everyone wants me to quit my job. How could I possibly afford to live in New York on a start-up salary?”
“You could live here,” said Amanda. “We’re going to turn the basement into an apartment and rent it out. We’ll rent it to you. We won’t gouge you too badly, although you will have to pay extra for laundry.”
Chloe coughed, and put down her glass. “You are? Since when?”
“Since ages. You guys are all out of the house, it’s pretty big for two of us. We’ll sell it eventually, but in the meantime we’re going to Airbnb or get a tenant or something.” Amanda topped up her wineglass. “We’re going to rent it to your godmother.”
Emily turned to me, her eyes gleaming. “Let’s do it! Let’s move to New York, it would be so cool.”
“You have to finish high school,” I said firmly. “Rob, I’m still not getting it. What do you do exactly?”
“Well, lots of things. It was started by a couple of friends of ours, whose kids had grown up and left home, but who were forever calling back with questions, right?”
“I guess,” I said. “I thought they all looked things up on the internet.”
“Well, sure. But sometimes they had specific questions, or situations they hadn’t experienced before, and they called home.” He shrugged. “We did that too, right? We didn’t even have the internet so much.”
I thought about it. “Uh . . . I remember calling my mom in a panic because the toilet was overflowing and she told me how to turn off the water.”
“Exactly. And the younger generation is used to being able to get answers to everything, but the internet isn’t always enough. The founders started getting calls from their kids’ friends, and emails, too. They realized there’s lots of practical information young people miss out on or need help with. They had some money, so they started a website and called it AskRabbit, kind of as a joke. You know, like TaskRabbit, but for questions.” He shrugged. “It took off, not in a stratospheric, internet unicorn way, but in a steady, meaningful way. They were fielding dozens and then hundreds of questions a day.”
“What kinds of questions?” Emily was interested.
Amanda laughed. “Bizarre questions, easy questions, hard questions, everything.”
Rob nodded. “But mostly practical questions. How do I settle a dispute with my landlord? How do I quit my job without burning bridges? How do I choose a credit card? How do I get a visa for another country when I don’t know my social security number?” He chewed and talked. “They can find this information online, probably, but they want to talk to an actual person.”
“And then they also get weird questions . . .” Chloe warned. “Like, how do I get this Malibu Barbie out of my butt?”
“We have never had that question, Chloe.” Her father frowned at her, then smiled. “But we do get personal questions, like how do I tell my girlfriend I’m gay, or how do I tell my parents I got arrested . . .” His expression was serious. “Last week we worked with a thirty-one-year-old man who’d found out he had maybe a year to live. We sat down with him and planned out everything he needed to do, legally, personally . . . It was hard. But it was easier for him to do it with us than with his parents, or his wife, all of whom were too devastated to think straight.”
“Wow,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “That sounds intense.”
Rob nodded. “But most days are filled with simple questions and general advice. We also have specialists, like me, who help with work-type questions. It’s rewarding. Last week I ran a workshop on developing relationships with whistleblowers, or confidential sources, for young journalists. Most of them had journalism degrees, but this is the kind of practical help you’d normally get on the job.”
“And they don’t get it there . . . ?”
“No, because there aren’t newsrooms in the same way there used to be. Everyone’s freelancing, or working remotely, and many bureaus fired a lot of senior people . . .” He looked at Amanda, and then at me. “And here’s the thing. The internet is great, and contains billions of bits of information, about pretty much every subject under the sun. But sometimes people want to look at someone, or hear their voice, when they’re worried about something. And not everyone has family, sadly.” He shook his head. “It’s been eye-opening.”
Amanda got up from the table. “Who wants dessert?”
EMILY
It would be awesome to live in New York, but I don’t think Mom’s going for it. Despite this morning’s sudden ditching of the tour, she’s not usually a quick-change artist. She’s . . . methodical. Predictable. Which I actually appreciate, even though sometimes her immovability feels like walls rather than foundations. (Sidenote: Is it a simile or metaphor if you say like in one case but not in the other? Ask Mr. Libicki.) To be fair, I’d probably think moving anywhere would be good, because I really want to run away. I’m dreading going back to school next week, because there is no doubt in my mind everyone is going to know who snitched and why. Information is like a bad smell; a little bit is enough to start pointing fingers.
After dinner we all went for a walk along the river, through Riverbank State Park. Chloe was beside me.
I said, “Do you realize how awesome it is, growing up in Manhattan? Living in a brownstone next to the park, going to museums and galleries and being so cool it’s almost against the laws of thermodynamics?”
She laughed. Chloe always makes me feel like a more interesting person than I am. That reminds me of Will, because he does that, too. They bring out the smart in me, I guess. In the same way people like Alice bring out the dumb and my mom brings out the . . . I don’t know. The confused.
Chloe replied, “I do appreciate it, but at the same time it’s what you’re used to. I think it must be great growing up in LA, seeing movie stars everywhere and beautiful weather and great food.” We paused and let the adults get ahead of us. Chloe leaned on the railing and surveyed the river, the enormous George Washington Bridge to our right. “What do you want to do about college? Why don’t you come here? I’m 100 percent confident you could live with us once you’re done with dorms.”
I sighed. “Everyone’s obsessed with college.”
She nodded. “I know. I promise you it isn’t as vital as people think. I mean, it’s great, I’m really enjoying it, but once you’re there, it’s as good and bad as anything else.” She turned her back to the view and leaned on the railing. “You should definitely go, though, it’s fun.”
“So everyone says.” I shrugged. “I’m not good at school. I try, I do okay, but it’s such a slog.”
“Do something else. Go to art school, or cooking school, or some other thing. Learn what you want to learn.” The adults had turned the corner ahead and disappeared. “What are you going to do about Will?”
“Nothing,” I said sadly. “There’s nothing to be done.” My phone buzzed. “Oh my god, it’s actually him.”
Chloe laughed. “He could feel a disturbance in the force. What’s he saying?”
I gazed at my screen in horror, then reached out to grab Chloe’s arm.
“Alice has disappeared.”
* * *
• • •
Will and Casper met us outside Lincoln Center, near the hotel. They were polite to Chloe, but they were clearly concerned.
“What happened?” I asked.
Casper shrugged. “She and her mom had that huge fight on the bus, right? I saw her mom with her bags getting into a cab outside the hotel, before dinner,
then Alice texted me she wasn’t going to come to dinner after all.”
I shrugged. “I’m sure she has loads of friends here. She comes here quite a bit, I think.”
Casper nodded. “She said that. But after dinner she and Will and I were going to get together to talk about something, but she never showed up.”
I frowned. What on earth could Alice have to discuss with Casper and Will? Will was pretty cool, but Casper was the kind of kid Alice made fun of. I decided to let that question pass for now.
I took a big breath. “I have to tell you guys something, but you must promise not to tell anyone else.”
They nodded.
“When I met with the FBI, they said someone on the tour was going to pick up AP papers to take back to LA.”
They stared at me.
“You know,” I added, “in order to cheat . . .”
They kept staring at me.
“And maybe Alice . . .”
Will spoke. “Went to get the papers and got arrested by the FBI?”
I shrugged.
Casper shook his head firmly. “Alice wouldn’t cheat. She was furious with her mom, that’s what they were fighting about. She said she’d rather fail on her own than succeed with her parents’ help.” He paused. “It was a whole different side of her.” He blushed. “She was amazing.”
My turn to stare. I flicked a glance at Will, but he wasn’t giving anything away.
“Well,” said Chloe, “we still need to find her. I assume you tried texting?”
Casper nodded.
“Did you check her social media?”
Casper frowned. “No.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dude, she posts everything.”
“Even criminal conspiracy?” Will was scornful. “Hey, bitches, check me out, getting arrested by the po-po?”