by Zoe Fishman
Teddy went back to eating, his appetite restored. He knew why the pills were bad; he’d done lots of research online. Over time, if you kept taking them and taking them, your brain forgot how to be happy on its own. And then you became an addict. And then your liver exploded and you died.
“Whatever happened with David’s tables and chairs?” his dad asked. “Are we using them here for the brunch?”
His mother began to cough.
“Hands up,” Teddy and his dad said at exactly the same time. It was the family’s verbal Heimlich and always seemed to work. His mom complied, reaching for the ceiling.
“Yes,” she answered, when her coughs had stopped. “He’s bringing them by sometime this week.”
“So they’re nice?” asked his dad.
“Who’s nice?”
“The tables and chairs?”
“Oh yes. Very nice.”
“Great,” said his dad.
Teddy kept shoveling food into his mouth despite the fact that he was no longer hungry. David Conway. With the tables and chairs. And the pill bottle that had now taken up residence in his mother’s red purse.
“Hey, speaking of tables and chairs, your senior friends are coming,” his mom said to Teddy.
“Senior friends?”
“Yes, the ones you asked me to invite? From Twilight Manor: Manny, Bonnie, Janet. They’re coming to the synagogue and the brunch.”
“Who?”
“Your friends?”
“Mom! It’s Morty, Beverly and Jackie. What is it with you and names?”
Teddy was pleased to know they were coming, even if the idea of standing on the bimah in front of them chanting Hebrew and then schmoozing them over lox and bagels made him itch all over.
“I don’t screw up every name. Like Krystal, for example. She’s coming. And her mother. I’m excited to meet her. What’s her name again, just so I get it right?”
“Patty,” mumbled Teddy.
Patty and his mother were night and day. He did not envision that going well. And his Bubbe was definitely going to have something to say about Patty Platt’s hair. Teddy realized, swiping the remaining syrup off his plate with his last square of pancake, that he had never seen Patty Platt in anything but scrubs.
Tonight he was going to their house, however, his first time. Patty and Krystal were making him a birthday dinner. Maybe tonight he would see her without scrubs. He blushed involuntarily. Out of context, that was a very strange thought. In regular clothes, of course is what he meant.
But he did not want to do any of this. He did not want to read from the Torah; he did not want to make a speech to that cavernous room of pew after pew, all the expectant faces he knew and didn’t know lined up in rows, all staring at him or, worse, their watches. He did not want to come home and watch his parents stumble through the social graces of hosting, which was something he had seen them do maybe three times in his life. He did not want to speak up about David Conway’s pills in his mother’s purse. He did not want to ask his father about that string of texts from T.B., which bothered him still. He did not want to do any of it.
“So you’ll be getting a lot of presents at your Bar Mitzvah,” said his mom. “And of course there was the phone. But I just wanted to get you a little something extra.” She got up from the table and walked to the pantry.
“We,” said his dad.
“What?” she asked, returning with a box wrapped in blue and white stars.
“We wanted to get you something,” he repeated. “You said I.”
His mother paused. Teddy wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole.
“Did I? I’m sorry,” she said, regaining her composure. “We. Of course.” She handed Teddy the present.
“Thanks,” he replied, the pancakes settling in his stomach like lead.
He ripped off the paper to reveal a long white box, and then he ripped off its top to reveal a sea of white tissue paper and then dug through the paper to find two very unsatisfying somethings: a light-blue button-down shirt and a navy tie.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“For your Bar Mitzvah,” his dad explained.
“You have to look nice,” his mother added. “You know that. I thought these were nice. Not flashy or stiff, you know? Just nice.”
“A tie?” asked Teddy. “Really?”
“Really,” said his mother. “It’s a big day.”
“I’m wearing a tie too,” said his dad. “It’s kind of fun sometimes, getting all dressed up.”
Teddy sighed and set the box on the bench next to him. He did not understand why tying a virtual noose around his neck qualified as dressing up.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“You’re welcome,” his parents said in unison, causing both of them to laugh. A laugh! His birthday had been saved by the Gap.
“I’ll teach you how to tie it,” his dad offered. “Later.”
“Okay.” Teddy realized this was the perfect segue into something he needed to ask him.
“Hey, Dad, do we still have that tent?”
His mother dropped her fork, and it clanged against the side of her plate and then fell back against her lavender shirt, smearing syrup and scrambled egg particles in its wake as it came to a stop in her lap.
“Shit,” she mumbled.
“Uh, yeah, we should. In the garage. Unless, Sylvie, you—”
“I haven’t thrown it out,” she said, examining the stain, not making eye contact with either of them. “I don’t even go in that garage anymore; no one can move, it’s so filled with your crap.”
“I told you, I’m in the process of selling it,” said Paul. “David sent me a text; he’s already sold the rowing machine and two of my bikes.”
“That’s great,” said his mother, chugging her water.
This David sure was around a lot, Teddy thought. Maybe his dad knew about the pills all along. Which was even more screwed up. Teddy wanted to go back to being eight, now more than ever. He knew too much. It was enough already.
“I was thinking I want to camp out one night, in the backyard,” said Teddy. He was not a good liar, so he kept his eyes on his plate as he stood up to clear the table. He knew from movies that this was a good tactic, to keep moving as a means of distraction.
“Oh, okay.”
Teddy knew his father was exchanging a look with his mother behind his back as he carried dishes to the sink, but that was a good thing because that meant they were buying it. Teddy was as outdoorsy as an ice cube. It was a hard sell.
“Can you show me how to set it up?” he asked, coming back to the table to retrieve the empty glasses.
“Sure, no problem. It’s not hard. At least I don’t think it is. We never actually used it.” His dad handed Teddy the now-empty plate where the turkey bacon had been.
“Can we do it now?” asked Teddy.
“Uh, sure. Sylvie, is that okay with you?”
“Sure,” she answered. “It’s fine. I’ll get the rest.” She smiled weakly.
“Thanks, Mom,” said Teddy, giving her a reluctant hug, just because she looked like she needed it, not because he wanted to.
“You’re welcome, honey. Happy birthday. I can’t believe you’re thirteen. A teenager.” She hugged him tightly. “I love you,” she said.
“I love you too, Mom.” He did love her. He was mad at her, for taking those stupid pills, but he still loved her.
He followed his dad out to the garage. His father pushed a button and the door slid up, the sound of metal scraping metal ominous.
“Sorry for the mess,” said his father. “But I’m fixing it. I’m selling most of this stuff.”
“Why’d you buy it in the first place?”
“Because I could, I guess.”
“Oh.”
Teddy thought that anybody with a credit card could technically buy anything they wanted, right? But to buy things just to buy them, and then to never use them, well, that was weird. That was a problem. And even though he had heard
his mother yelling at his dad about the money, Teddy thought that was just the tip of the iceberg.
“Anyway, the good news is that I think I know where the tent is,” said his dad, pointing to the back left corner.
He and Teddy squeezed their way over to it, facing the cobalt-blue nylon backpack in which it was stored.
“Man, it’s been a long time,” said his dad. He put his hand on Teddy’s shoulder as he sighed. “All right. See, the great thing about this tent is that it’s all crammed in here, poles and all. Modern efficiency at its best.”
They continued to stare.
“Well, go on,” his dad said finally. “If you want to use it, you have to get it out of the garage first.”
Teddy grabbed it forcefully, expecting it to be heavy. But it was not, and he lost his footing, almost falling.
“How much did this thing cost?” he asked, straightening himself. “It’s as light as air.”
“Too much. I thought we would use it more than we did. Or we have. So it’s good that you’re interested in it. Means it was an investment rather than me being impetuous. For once.”
They walked out of the dark and cool garage and into the glaring sun, both wincing in exactly the same way at exactly the same moment of reentry.
“God, it’s hot,” said his dad. “Let’s go over by the side of the house, where it’s shaded, or else we’ll both be baked potatoes by the time we finish.
“Here, drink some water,” said his dad, producing a bottle from somewhere as he lay the bag down in the grass. Teddy hadn’t even seen him bring it outside with them, but of course he had. His dad was never without water.
Teddy took a long swig, relishing its chill as his father knelt on the ground and began to empty the backpack. He pulled his notebook from his pocket, flipping quickly to the empty page on which he planned to notate the ins and outs of tent construction. TENT, he scrawled across the top. And then: WATER!!!! He couldn’t forget it.
Teddy looked down at the ground, at the pieces of the tent, and decided right then and there that he would not be using it after all. No way. Spread out before him was what may as well have been the components of a brain surgeon’s operating room tray.
“Oh God, Dad, never mind,” said Teddy.
“No, no, it looks worse than it is, I promise.”
His dad sat back on his haunches and searched for the bottle of water. Grabbing it, he drank. It was just one night under the stars, Teddy thought. A sleeping bag was fine.
“Did we— Was Mom in trouble while we were camping?” Teddy asked quietly.
His father looked up at him.
“I can’t remember,” Teddy explained. “Like, did you have to take this whole thing apart while she was in labor with Delilah?”
“Oh God, no,” said his dad. “Here, sit.” He patted the grass next to him.
Teddy hadn’t expected to say anything about Delilah, but her name had begged to be spoken, he felt. And so he had.
“We were about to set up, but then your mom didn’t feel well. We got the last ferry back.”
“I remember now,” said Teddy.
An image of his mom’s face, twisted slightly in worry and discomfort from behind the glass as he and his father stood outside on the stern of the ferry, the water spraying them as the boat sliced through the waves back to land, came to him. He could sense, even as his mom smiled at him when she realized he was watching her instead of the water, that something was wrong.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Did the trip make her sick?”
His father turned to face him. He looked right into Teddy’s eyes.
“The doctor said no,” he answered, dodging the questions.
“But what do you think?” Teddy asked.
“I don’t know, T, to be honest. I don’t think one day walking in the heat can cause a miscarriage, but on the other hand, if we had been able to get to a doctor sooner, maybe we could have saved her?”
“What does Mom think?” asked Teddy.
“She doesn’t know either.”
“Why’d we even go on that trip?”
“I wanted to do something nice, just the three of us,” said his dad. “That’s all. Before the baby came. I just wanted us to have a memory of us as three that would make us all smile.” His dad’s breath caught, and Teddy looked over at him. He was crying. It had been a long time since Teddy had seen him cry.
“I get it, Dad,” said Teddy. He patted his father’s sweaty forearm. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“I don’t, and I do,” he said. He wiped his eyes and put his arm around Teddy’s shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.”
Teddy thought of Morty, about the way his wife had died. Death came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. It didn’t care who you were or what your circumstances were; it had no interest in fair or unfair. And its repercussions, they stretched into infinity.
“You know, I realize we’ve never really talked about Delilah like this,” his dad said. “I’m sorry about that. In the therapy I did with Mom, right after, the psychologist advised us to not put any thoughts in your head, to let you bring up questions on your own, but maybe that was bad advice.”
“It wasn’t bad advice,” said Teddy. “I mean, you talked about it with me when it happened. I remember that.”
He did remember sitting in the hospital waiting room with his father, whose eyes were red, whose voice was shaky.
“Your sister died,” he had told Teddy, and the words had rung in his ears. “I’m so sorry.”
And he had pulled Teddy close; he could still remember how his father had smelled of sweat and sadness. You wouldn’t think that sadness had a smell, but it did. Dank, like the garage, actually, now that Teddy thought about it.
“Maybe we could have talked about it more, you know, since, but I understand.”
“Would you like to see somebody now, to talk about things?” his dad asked.
“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
They stared at the disassembled tent in the shaded grass. A white butterfly fluttered by, landing on one of the poles.
“Forget about the tent, Dad,” said Teddy. “It’s more work than I was banking on.”
“Are you sure? Really, it just takes some practice. Or I can just set it up for you here, if you want to have Krystal over.”
“What?”
“Have Krystal over? In the tent?” His dad cleared his throat. “I assume that’s what this is about?”
“Dad! No!” Teddy dug his heel into the ground, dislodging a patch of dark soil underneath. The butterfly flew off.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, T. You’re growing up. It’s normal. Listen, I want to give you this.” His father dug in the pocket of his shorts and came out with a square box.
“What the hell is that?” asked Teddy, despite knowing exactly what it was.
“Condoms,” his father explained. “Do you know about condoms?”
“Dad, Jesus!”
“Well, do you?”
“Of course I know about condoms.”
“Do you know how to use one?”
“Yes.” Teddy had a notion—it wasn’t rocket science—but he didn’t know for sure. But he wasn’t going to ask his father to show him, for God’s sake.
“Okay. So here. If you’re going to have sex, you have to use them. And it’s not only pregnancy you should be worried about; it’s your own health too. Do you know about STDs?”
“Dad! Enough.”
Teddy took the box and shoved it into his own pocket, even though he felt ridiculous. It’s not that he hadn’t thought about sex with Krystal, he had, but he didn’t need his parents involved. Although he did wonder how exactly it worked. Like, he knew, but he also didn’t know.
Teddy stood up. “Dad?”
“Yes?” His father looked up at him from his seated position on the grass.
“Who’s T.B.?”
“T.B.?” His father’s face turned just the slightest
bit pink, and Teddy’s stomach dropped.
“She’s no one. Well, not no one. She’s a human being. From my triathlete training group. Why do you ask?”
“Why is she texting you?” Teddy demanded. He was scared of the answer.
“How do you know she texts me?”
“That’s not the point, Dad.”
His father sighed. “She texts me because she likes me, I guess. But nothing has ever happened, and nothing ever will happen, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not interested.”
“Does Mom know about her?”
“No. But only because it’s nothing, T. Truly. You have to believe me. I—I suppose if you want to know the truth, and I have no idea why I’m telling my twelve-year-old son—”
“Thirteen, as of today,” Teddy reminded him.
“Right, sorry. Thirteen-year-old son, excuse me. The truth is that for a moment, I liked the attention. It’s silly, really, but it’s the truth.”
Teddy eyed him warily, not really believing him.
“I’ve deleted her from my phone, you know,” his dad said. “Want to see?”
“Okay.” His father pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolled through his contacts, and sure enough, T.B. had disappeared, just as every disease should.
“Okay,” Teddy said again. “Good.”
God, how he wanted to tell his father about his mom at that moment, to unload the rest of their baggage, but he could not. Not now. This was enough, to know that his father was his father and not some gross, cheating father like Martin’s, who now lived in a chrome-encrusted condo in Buckhead and had hair implants.
“Do we still have a sleeping bag?” he asked, remembering why they were out in the yard in the first place.
“We have three,” said his father. “In the garage, right next to where the tent was.”
Teddy looked at his father, still sitting on the grass.
“Do you need help putting it back?” he asked. “The tent, I mean?”
“No, I’ve got it. It’s your birthday.”
“Thanks,” said Teddy. “Sorry I got so mad, about the condoms. I wasn’t prepared for, you know, the big talk.”
“It’s all right. And I’m sorry you’ve been worried about those texts. I’m glad you came to me. Please, always. Come to me. Okay?”