by Sarah Dessen
‘So, Defriese,’ he said as he compared brands of microwave popcorn. ‘Isn’t that where Maggie’s going?’
‘I think so,’ I said as he pulled down a box, examining it.
‘Must be a really good school, then. That girl’s brilliant.’ I didn’t say anything, and a moment later he added, ‘So I guess that makes you brilliant, too, huh?’
‘Yep,’ I said. ‘Pretty much.’
He raised an eyebrow at me, sticking the popcorn in our cart. ‘If you’re such a brain, though,’ he said, ‘how come you didn’t know not to flirt with another girl’s boyfriend in her own kitchen?’
‘I’m book smart,’ I said. ‘Not street smart.’
Eli made a face. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call Belissa street. She gets her jeans dry-cleaned.’
‘Really?’
He nodded.
‘Wow.’
‘I know.’
We walked down the aisle a bit. He didn’t seem to have a list and yet still knew exactly what he wanted. ‘Seriously, though,’ I said. ‘You’re right. I was kind of…’
I trailed off, and he didn’t jump in, pushing me to finish. I was finding that I liked that.
‘I guess,’ I said, ‘that I just missed a lot in high school. Like, socially.’
‘I doubt it,’ he replied, stopping to throw a roll of paper towels in the cart. ‘A lot of that stuff is overrated.’
‘You can say that because you were popular, though.’
He glanced at me as we turned the corner, to the soup aisle. Halfway down, a guy in a long coat was muttering to himself. That was the one thing about being out so late, or early. The crazies were, too. Watching Eli, I saw he had the same attitude about it that I did, which was three pronged: don’t stare, keep a wide berth, and act normal. ‘What makes you think I was popular?’
‘Oh, come on,’ I said. ‘You were a bike pro. You had to be.’
‘For all you know,’ he replied, ‘I was a nerdy bike pro.’
I just looked at him.
‘Okay, fine. I wasn’t exactly a wallflower.’ He grabbed a can of tomato rice soup off the shelf, then another. ‘But big deal. It’s not like it makes a difference in the long run.’
‘I think maybe it does.’ I leaned over the cart, looking down into it. ‘I mean, I did all the academic stuff. But I never had that many friends. So there’s a lot I don’t know.’
‘Like…’
‘Like not to talk to a girl’s boyfriend in her own kitchen.’
We moved out of the aisle away from the guy in the coat, who was still muttering, and headed to the dairy section, passing a sleepy-looking employee restocking cold cuts along the way. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘nothing like almost getting your ass kicked to hammer a lesson home. You’re not likely to forget it now.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘But what about everything else?’
‘Such as?’
I shrugged, leaning over the cart as he pulled out some milk, checking the expiration date. Watching him, I thought, not for the first time that night, that maybe it should have felt strange to be with him, here, now. And yet it didn’t, at all. That was one of the things about the night. Stuff that would be weird in the bright light of day just wasn’t so much once you passed a certain hour. It was like the dark just evened it all out somehow. I said, ‘I just think that it’s too late, maybe. All the things I should have been doing over the last eighteen years, like going to slumber parties, or breaking curfew on Friday night, or –’
‘Riding a bike,’ he said.
I stopped pushing the cart. ‘What is it,’ I said, ‘with you and the whole bike thing?’
‘Well, I am in the business. Plus, it’s a big part of growing up,’ he replied, moving down to the cheese display. ‘And it’s not too late.’
I didn’t say anything as we headed toward the registers, where one girl was standing by the only one that was open, examining her split ends.
‘Of course,’ Eli said as he began unloading the cart onto the belt, ‘it’s not too late for slumber parties or any of that other stuff either. But breaking curfew I think you can go ahead and knock off your list.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s past four A.M. and you’re at the Park Mart,’ he said as the girl began to scan the groceries. ‘It counts, I think.’
I considered this as I watched some apples roll down the belt. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe you’re right, and all that stuff I think I missed is overrated. Why should I even bother? What’s the point, really?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Who says there has to be a point?’ he asked. ‘Or a reason. Maybe it’s just something you have to do.’
He moved down to start bagging while I just stood there, letting this sink in. Just something you have to do. No excuse or rationale necessary. I kind of liked that.
From Park Mart, we headed over to Lumber and Stone, the home improvement superstore, which Eli informed me opened early for contractors. Which we were not, but they didn’t seem to care, letting us walk right in. I tagged along as Eli stocked up on a new wrench set, a box of nails, and a value pack of lightbulbs: while he checked out, I sat on a bench by the front door, watching the sun begin to rise over the parking lot. By the time we left, it was almost six, and the rest of the world was finally waking up to join us.
‘I saw that,’ he said as I stifled a yawn while sliding into the front seat of his car.
‘This,’ I said, ‘is about the time I usually crash.’
‘One last stop,’ he replied.
It was, of course, the Gas/Gro, where the same older woman, now reading the newspaper, was behind the counter, a cell phone pressed to her ear.
‘You need anything?’ Eli asked, and I shook my head, sliding down in the seat a bit as he got out and went in. Just as he walked up to the door, a little blue Honda pulled in a few spaces down. I was in the midst of another yawn when I saw someone get out, shutting the driver’s-side door and also leaving a passenger to wait. He was tall, wearing rumpled khakis, a plaid shirt, and black-framed glasses.
I leaned closer, taking in his profile as he went in. Then I turned slowly to look down at the Honda, where, sure enough, I saw my mother sitting in the passenger seat. She had her hair piled up on her head, her favorite black sweater tied over her shoulders, and she looked tired. Inside, her grad student was pouring himself a coffee. I watched him grab a pack of gum, and then an apple pie, as he headed up to the register, where Eli was chatting with the woman working as she rang him up. What do you know, I thought. My mother was dating a store-goer.
When Eli came out, a bottled water and bag of Doritos in hand, I watched her study him as he passed, eyes narrowed as she took in his too-long dark hair, the worn T-shirt, the way he jangled his keys in his hand. I knew she was cataloging him instantly: high school education, not college bound or even interested, working class. The same things, if I was honest, that I would have thought, once. But I was one night, and many hours, further away from my mother now. Even with this short distance between us.
She might have still been watching when Eli got in the truck, shutting the door behind him. I didn’t know, because by then I’d already turned to face him, my back to her, unrecognizable. Just any girl, nodding in reply as he asked if I was ready, finally, to go home.
Chapter
NINE
‘It’s done!’
I opened my eyes, blinked, then shut them again. Maybe I was dreaming. A moment later, though, I heard it again.
‘Done! Finished!’ A door opened and shut, followed by footsteps, coming closer. ‘Hello? Where is everybody?’
I sat up, then glanced at my watch. It was four fifteen, and I’d been up until six A.M. the morning before. Or that morning, actually. These days, it was kind of hard to draw a distinction.
I slid off my bed, then walked to my bedroom door, easing it open just in time to see my dad approaching Thisbe’s room, one hand already outstretched to the knob. ‘Hey,’ he said to me, ‘Gu
ess what! I –’
Lightning quick, I reached out, intercepting his fingers just as they made contact and pulling them back. ‘Wait,’ I whispered. ‘Don’t.’
‘What?’ he said.
I wrapped my hand around his, pulling him into my room and shutting the door gently behind us. Then I motioned for him to follow me across the short distance to the window, the farthest spot from the wall between the baby’s room and mine.
‘Auden,’ he said, his voice still loud. ‘What are you doing?’
‘The baby was really colicky last night,’ I whispered. ‘And this morning. But she’s finally sleeping, so I bet Heidi is, too.’
He glanced at his watch, then at my closed door. ‘How do you know she’s sleeping?’
‘Who?’
‘The baby. Or Heidi, for that matter,’ he said.
‘Do you hear crying?’ I asked him.
We both listened. All that was audible was the noise machine. ‘Well, this is anticlimactic,’ he said after a moment. ‘I finally finish my book and nobody cares.’
‘You finished your book?’ I asked. ‘That’s great.’
Now, he smiled. ‘Just wrote the last paragraph. Want to hear it?’
‘Are you kidding?’ I replied. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Come on, then.’
He opened the door, and I followed him – quietly – down the hallway, back to his office, where he’d pretty much been living for the last couple of weeks. This was obvious by the collection of mugs, empty water bottles, and broken apple cores in various states of decomposition that I spied as soon as I stepped inside.
‘Okay,’ my dad said, sitting down in front of his laptop and punching a few keys. A document appeared, and he rubbed his hands together, then moved the page down so only a couple of lines were showing. ‘Ready?’
I nodded. ‘Ready.’
He cleared his throat. ‘“The path was more narrow now, the lacy boughs of the trees bending to meet each other as I walked beneath them. Somewhere, ahead, was the sea.”’
When he finished, we just stood there, letting the words settle around us. It was a big moment, although I was somewhat distracted as distantly, I was pretty sure I heard a yelp. ‘Wow,’ I said, hoping I was wrong. ‘That’s great.’
‘It’s been a long haul, that’s for sure,’ he said, leaning back in his chair, which creaked beneath him. ‘Ten years, all leading up to those twenty-seven words. I can’t really believe it’s finally done.’
‘Congratulations,’ I said.
Thisbe was definitely crying now, the sound growing louder from down the hall. My dad sat up straighter, hearing it, then said, ‘Sounds like they’re up! Let’s go share the good news, shall we?’
And with that, he was out of his chair, a bounce in his step as he walked back down to Thisbe’s room, pushing the door open. Instantly, the crying went from low level to full on. ‘Honey, guess what?’ he was saying as I caught up with him. ‘I finished my book!’
All it took was one look at Heidi to know that, frankly, she probably couldn’t have cared less. She was still in her pajamas from the night before, a pair of yoga pants and a rumpled T-shirt with some kind of damp stain on the front. Her hair was flat and stringy, her eyes red as she looked at both of us, as if we looked familiar, but she wasn’t quite sure why.
‘Oh, Robert,’ she managed as Thisbe squirmed in her arms, her own face red and twisted, ‘that’s just wonderful.’
‘I think a celebration is in order, don’t you?’ he asked, then turned to look at me for confirmation. I was still trying to decide whether I should nod or not when he added, ‘I was thinking we’d do a nice dinner. Just the two of us. What do you think?’
It was hard to ignore Thisbe when she was screaming. I knew, because I had been trying since, oh, the day I’d arrived. And yet my dad could somehow do it. Apparently.
‘I don’t know,’ Heidi said slowly, looking down at the baby, who was clearly in a state. ‘I don’t think I can take her out like this…’
‘Of course not,’ my dad said. ‘We’ll find a sitter. Didn’t Isabel say she’d love to come help you out one night?’
Heidi blinked at him. She honestly looked like pictures of prisoners of war I’d seen in history books, that out of it and shell-shocked. ‘She did,’ she said. ‘But…’
‘Let’s call her, then,’ my dad said. ‘Get her earning those godmother stripes. I’ll do it, if you like. What’s her number?’
‘She’s out of town,’ Heidi said.
‘Oh.’ My dad considered this. And then, slowly, he turned to me. ‘Well… Auden? Think you can help us out here?’
Heidi looked at me, then shook her head. ‘Oh, no, that’s not fair. We can’t put you on the spot like that.’
‘I’m sure Auden doesn’t mind,’ my dad said. To me he added, ‘Do you? It would only be for a couple of hours.’
I probably should have been annoyed by this easy assumption, but honestly, looking at Heidi, agreeing felt more like an intervention than a favor. I said, ‘Sure. No problem.’
‘But you’ve got to go to work,’ Heidi said, shifting Thisbe to her other arm, which did not stop or even slow down the crying. ‘The books… payroll is tomorrow.’
‘Well,’ my dad said, glancing at me again. ‘Maybe…’
I was noticing that he did this a lot, the half-sentence-trailing-off thing, leaving you (or me, in this case) to finish his thought for him. ‘I’ll just take her with me,’ I said to Heidi. ‘Then you can pick her up when you’re done.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, jiggling Thisbe. ‘She’s not exactly in good shape for an outing.’
‘The sea air will do her good!’ my dad said, reaching over to take the baby from her. He smiled down at her screaming face, then sat down in the nearby rocking chair, cradling her in one arm. Heidi followed the baby’s movement with her eyes, her expression unchanging. ‘And you, too, honey. Go jump in the shower, and take your time. We’ve got it from here.’
Heidi glanced at me, and I nodded. A moment later, she started moving toward the door. Out in the hall, she looked back at my dad, who was still rocking Thisbe, seemingly unaffected by her continued fussing, as if she wasn’t quite sure who he was. Truth be told, at that moment, I wasn’t either.
With Heidi gone, I half expected my dad to hand the baby right over to me. But he didn’t. He sat there, rocking her and patting her back with one hand. I wasn’t even sure he was aware I was in the doorway, watching him, even as I lingered there, wondering if he’d done this same thing with Hollis and me. If my mother was to be believed, probably not. I certainly wouldn’t have thought so even ten minutes earlier. But maybe people can change, or at least try to. I was beginning to see evidence of it everywhere, even though I knew enough to not be convinced, just yet.
It had been about a week since my long night out, and since then, my knowledge of Colby nightlife only continued to expand. All those nights by myself, driving to the Wheelhouse, and then through the neighborhoods and streets, stopping now and then at the Gas/Gro: they’d been as boring as treading water. It was only now, with Eli, that I was finding the real night.
It was at the Laundromat, sharing pie and coffee with Clyde as he detailed his latest culinary adventures. Dodging the crazies at Park Mart while on the hunt for dental floss, wind chimes, and whatever else was on the list Eli carried in his head. Going to the boardwalk after last call, when a guy named Mohammed set up a pizza cart outside the most popular clubs to sell the best slice of cheese – at a dollar fifty a pop – I’d ever had in my life. Fishing on the pier and watching the phosphorescence lighting up the water below. I’d leave Clementine’s after closing, spend some time shooting the breeze with the girls, and then make my excuses and head off by myself. Fifteen minutes, half an hour, an hour later, at the Gas/Gro, or Beach Beans, I’d cross paths with Eli, and the adventures would begin.
‘How does anyone get to the age of eighteen,’ he’d said to me the night before, ‘witho
ut bowling?’
We were at the Ten Pin, a bowling alley open late a couple of towns over from Colby. The lanes were narrow, the benches sticky, and I didn’t even want to know what the story was with the shoes I’d had to rent. But Eli had insisted we come, once he’d heard that this was one of the many things my childhood had excluded.
‘I told you,’ I said as he sat down at the head of the lane, sliding our score sheet beneath a rusty clip, ‘my parents were not sports oriented.’
‘You bowl indoors, though,’ he said. ‘So you should be, like, a pro at this.’
I made a face at him. ‘You know, when I told you I’d missed out on a lot of things, I didn’t mean that I was necessarily sorry about all of them.’
‘You would be very sorry if you never bowled,’ he told me, holding out the ball he’d picked out for me. ‘Here.’ I took the ball, putting my fingers in the holes the way he showed me. Then he gestured for me to follow him to the top of the lane. ‘Now, when I was a kid,’ he said, ‘we learned by squatting down and just pushing the ball forward with both hands.’
I looked down the lanes on either side of us, which were empty, as it was two A.M. The only people around were sitting up at the bar behind us, which was barely visible due to a fog of cigarette smoke. ‘I’m not squatting down,’ I said firmly.
‘Fine. Then you have to learn the proper release.’ He lifted his hands, holding an imaginary ball, then stepped forward, lowering it to his side, and then ahead of him, opening his fingers. ‘Like that. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
I lifted up the ball. He didn’t move, still standing right beside me. I shot him a look and he shrugged, retreating back to the sticky bench.
Since our first night out together a week earlier, this was pretty much how it had been. A constant back-and-forth, sometimes serious, more often not, stretched out across the hours between when everyone else went home and the sun came up. I knew if I’d spent the same amount of time with Eli during the day, or even early evening, I probably would have gotten to know him, too. But not like this. The night changed things, widening out the scope. What we said to each other, the things we did, they all took on a bigger meaning in the dark. Like time was sped up and slowed down, all at once.