The People We Keep

by Allison Larkin

  “Possibly,” he says, but shakes his head.

  “You know what?” I tell him, taking the lead, twirling him around. “Being here makes my whole life better.”

  “Look at us lucky ducks,” he says.

  We dance and talk and get more ice cream from the freezer. He tells me about Rodney and the little girl who never got to be theirs. I don’t tell him I already know. I’m not sure if Robert would want me to. He shows me pictures from the adoption agency. She had the sweetest apple cheeks. Her name is Luz, and Ethan says that means light. The agency promised him they found her a good home. He says it’s amazing how much you can miss someone you’ve never even met.

  I tell him about me and Little River and Margo and my dad. I tell him about squatting in vacation homes in Florida, and Ray, Justin, and how Matty doesn’t love me anymore. I tell him about Adam and Carly and pancake-shaped pancakes, Rosemary and why I had to leave Ithaca. I say that it’s amazing how much you can miss people you only got to be with for one tiny little perfect bit of time; how a place where you barely got to live can be the closest thing you’ve ever had to home. Ethan listens to all of it and he still likes me when I’m done talking. He’s the only person I’ve ever told everything to.

  — Chapter 50 —

  “So, just because you and Robert are all lovey dovey and whatnot doesn’t mean you can’t be my date for the Pride costume ball, right?” Ethan says.

  He’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom while I get ready for a shift waiting tables at the restaurant. Robert is short-staffed for lunch and I promised I’d fill in.

  “Of course not,” I say, leaning into the mirror to put mascara on. I didn’t realize he knew about me and Robert. It’s not that I specifically wanted to hide it from Ethan, it’s just that no one wants to feel like the odd man out, and he’s still sad about Ivan. He puts on this brave face and thinks I don’t notice, but he’s working on a new painting and it’s all dark mean blues and crashes of red. Even though it’s abstract, I know what it’s about. Plus, I have no idea if Robert feels the same way I do.

  “Of course not, you can’t be my date?” Ethan asks. “Or of course it doesn’t mean you can’t be my date?”

  This, I know from experience, could go on forever. It’s a game we play, talking ourselves in circles. Normally I love to twist words with him, but I’m in a hurry. I fell back to sleep with wet hair after my shower this morning and now it’s sticking out in weird directions. I stop the game by saying, “Ethan Turner, my dearest darling, there is nothing in the world I would love more than to be your date. In fact, being your date would make me the happiest girl in the whole wide world.”

  “Good,” he says. “Me too.”

  “You’re the happiest girl in the whole wide world?” I say, grinning.

  “Yes,” Ethan says. “It’s a date.”

  “Deal. But only if you buy me a corsage.” I quit trying to make my hair look right and just pull it all up in a ponytail. “Hey, who says Robert and I are all lovey dovey?”

  “Robert,” Ethan says, smiling big.

  My face flushes and I know Ethan can see me turning red.

  “Yeah,” he says, tugging my ponytail. “He’s got it bad for you.”

  * * *

  When I get home from my shift, there’s a blond wig and a silver beaded dress with tags from the vintage store artfully arranged on my bed, even though the ball is still two weeks away. I try the dress on. It hangs tight at my waist; the skirt swishes and twirls. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever worn. It fits perfectly.

  — Chapter 51 —

  Robert makes me dinner at his place. I think Ethan is a little miffed he’s not invited, but he’s trying hard not to let it show. He says it’s good that I’m going to Robert’s, because he can use the time to paint. He likes to work on his canvases at different times of day so he can get all the layers just right. I think he burned the blue and red one. I came home one day and there were ashes in the fireplace and the house stunk of burnt plastic. He didn’t say anything about it, so I didn’t ask, in case it was something he needed to keep private.

  The new painting he’s working on is abstract too. Full of brown curves and squiggles. It doesn’t really look like anything, so I don’t get how he’ll know when he’s done. I don’t ask, because I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I like it, even if I don’t understand what it’s supposed to be. Something about it is soft and sweet.

  When I get to Robert’s, he opens the door before I even knock, hands me a plate loaded with lasagna, and says, “Do me a favor. Run this to Ethan. He never remembers to stop painting to feed himself.” I bring the plate back to Ethan and we swoon over Robert and how kind he is.

  Ethan plasters a kiss on my cheek. “Go on your date already, silly girl! I won’t wait up.” He sits down with his plate of lasagna to study his painting while he eats.

  * * *

  Robert has a stillness to him. Even when he’s moving around the kitchen, chopping cucumbers for the salad, or pouring wine in my glass, there’s nothing frantic about it. Everything is purposeful, like what he’s doing at that moment is the only thing he could possibly want to be doing.

  I feel like I can tell Ethan every little bit of myself. Every inch of my brain, even the stupid stuff, and he always wants to hear it and he always understands. But with Robert, I don’t talk much. My words feel heavy when I do. Gestures have more meaning. His fingertips grazing the back of my hand. A look. It’s calming. It leaves me with room for my own quiet.

  When Robert sits at the table with me, he smiles, and I smile back, and it’s comfortable and exciting at the same time. The lasagna is gooey, with layers of mushrooms and smoked sausage.

  “So,” I say softly, “I heard this rumor that you like me.”

  “Do you think it’s true?” he asks. I like the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

  “Yeah,” I say. I kick at his boot under the table. He grabs my ankle with both his legs. We eat dinner with our feet entwined.

  We eat until our plates are clean, soaking up sauce with big chunks of rosemary bread Robert made from scratch. I don’t drink my wine. It stays on the table, mocking me. Ethan doesn’t drink anymore either. We can’t.

  “Is the wine too dry?” Robert asks when he pours himself a second glass.

  “No,” I say, “it’s perfect. I just—I was nursing a headache today.”

  “You know what the best cure for a headache is?”

  I expect him to say sex, because I’ve heard that line before. Too many times. I feel disappointed about it, that he’s actually the kind of guy to use a line like that. But then he says, “This,” and stands behind me. He rubs my shoulders with his strong, strong hands, which, of course, leads to sex, on the kitchen floor, on the stairs, in his bed, but nothing about it is disappointing in the least.

  * * *

  I sleep at Robert’s house. All night. I don’t leave before he wakes up. Sex is one thing—just putting parts together. It’s another thing entirely to exist together. Robert is someone I want to exist with.

  — Chapter 52 —

  Ethan is so excited about the dance that he’s been in his top hat and tails since before I even got home from waiting tables.

  He helps me get ready. We twist small sections of my hair and pin them as flat as we can against my scalp.

  “You know,” Ethan says when we finally get the wig on my head, “I like you as a blond.”

  “Personally,” I tell him, “I think you should wear a top hat all the time.”

  I get the makeup perfect, copying a picture Ethan found for me: big red lips, eyeliner only on the top lash line.

  When I go to my room to put my dress on, the zipper won’t pull up. It was fine before, but now, once I get it past my hips it starts to stick.

  “Almost ready?” Ethan calls from the hallway.

  “Almost,” I yell. I empty out every last little bit of air I have in my lungs and suck my stomach in as far as I can. I pull on
the zipper hard and it finally slides all the way up. I have this fleeting thought that makes my heart stop and my insides flip-flop around, but I push it to the far corners of my mind. I’ve been eating three meals a day like a normal person since I got here. It’s catching up to me. The seams are straining, but I’m in the dress and I’m hoping that with all the beads and shine no one will notice it’s too tight. I bought a lacy shawl at a thrift store last week. I wrap it around myself before I go out in the hallway so Ethan won’t notice. He desperately wants everything about tonight to be perfect. I’ll just try to keep my shawl on as much as possible.

  “Smashing, my darling. Positively smashing,” Ethan says when I meet him in the living room. He’s holding a plastic clamshell box with a huge wrist corsage of pale pink roses and sprigs of rosemary. It’s the first time anyone has given me roses. Matty never brought me flowers when he took me to homecoming.

  Ethan opens the box and slips the corsage on my wrist. “As promised.”

  * * *

  We stop in to see Robert at the bar to show him our costumes and bring him a microwave lasagna.

  Robert laughs. “You guys do realize we serve food here.”

  “It’s what we do, right?” I say. “Bring lasagna to the person who doesn’t have a date?”

  “We didn’t want you to feel left out,” Ethan says.

  Robert kisses me and ends up with a mouth full of red lipstick.

  * * *

  Ethan takes me to a club on Grove Street that’s decked out like an old-time dance hall. Punch in big bowls. Streamers hanging from the ceiling. We dance like Fred and Ginger all night long, even though the music is wrong and everyone else is swing dancing. We almost win the best costume contest, until someone realizes I’m not a drag queen.

  “Next year, I’ll be Ginger. Then we’ll win,” Ethan says, laughing so hard at the whole misunderstanding that he looks like he might wet his pants.

  On the way home, we dance down the sidewalk in front of his house. Ethan sings Top Hat, White Tie and Tails at the top of his lungs while he twirls me around. When he tries to dip me, we stumble to the ground. We lie on the sidewalk laughing, and stare at the stars. It feels like a movie. I didn’t get to go to my prom, but I’m sure this is so much better.

  “See that one?” Ethan says, pointing at a strip of stars that may or may not be a constellation. “That’s Cassiopeia, and that one is Orion, and that one’s Steve.”

  I giggle, and it eggs Ethan on.

  “That one is Phyllis, and there’s Charlie. Over there, Esmerelda.”

  “And that one…” I point up, tracing my finger in the shape of a top hat, even though there aren’t necessarily stars to back it up. “That one is Ethan.”

  Ethan tips his head to the side and looks at me. “Oh, I love you, Angel. This is the best night I’ve had in such a long time.”

  “I love you, E.T.,” I say. “This is the best night I’ve ever had,”

  He grabs my hand. “Well, sure,” he says, smiling. “One up me.”

  — Chapter 53 —

  Robert is cooking breakfast again. It’s a Thursday morning. I just played the restaurant last night and the bar over the weekend. Robert can’t find reliable bands. I draw crowds. I sell CDs. So it’s not like I’m complaining, but I’m tired. Every morning when I wake up, I feel like a bag of bones.

  Ethan is drinking coffee and pushing scrambled eggs around his plate. “Why don’t you ever make pancakes?” he says.

  “April doesn’t like pancakes. Hey, honey.” Robert kisses my cheek when I walk in the room. “I need a favor. That Celtic band canceled.”

  Tightness creeps up from my belly and into my throat. I burst into tears and run to the bathroom.

  I hear Robert talk, but I can’t hear what he says. Ethan’s response is clear. “She’s pregnant, you dope.” I don’t know how he knows. It wasn’t even something I let myself think.

  Robert opens the bathroom door without knocking. He sits on the side of the tub next to me. His eyes are full and shiny. He hugs me, kisses my head. “She’s going to be beautiful,” he says.

  — Chapter 54 —

  Ethan has job offers to teach at Oberlin, DePaul, and Ithaca, but he swears he’s right where he wants to be. He loves the baby too much. He loves me too much and I need him, so he can’t possibly go. He says he needs to be needed. It’s this heartbreaking thing, because we all know it would be best for him to take one of those jobs, and then the thought of being here without him is too hard to even think about. It’s so selfish for me to need him the way I do, but I can’t help it.

  Ethan ran into Ivan last week. At the grocery store. He hid in the stock room and they thought he was shoplifting. Even though he didn’t have anything on him, they couldn’t get creative and think of any other reason a person would ever be hiding in a stock room all sweaty and shaking. It’s not like he had a grapefruit shoved down his pants. Robert had to go get him from the store security office and vouch for him, whatever that means.

  If anyone ever deserved a fresh start, it’s Ethan. I wish we could all go with him. Me, Robert, and the baby. But Robert can’t leave the bar and restaurant and I can’t leave Robert, and Ethan doesn’t want to break up our weird, wonderful little family. If I were a better person and a better friend, I would tell him to go. I think about how I would do it. Plan it out in my head. I would sit him down and make him coffee and have cookies from that place he likes on Biltmore and tell him we’d call and visit and write and send so many pictures. I would tell him there will be new people for him to love. But I can’t. I know it’s wrong that I want to keep him. But I do.

  — Chapter 55 —

  Robert books a doctor’s appointment for me. There’s talk of a wedding. Of health insurance. Of things that leave me gasping for air if I think about them too much. But this first appointment he’s just paying for. We want to hear the heartbeat without having to wait for all the paperwork.

  I heard once that before you drown, you get euphoric. That’s what this feels like. Happy drowning. I have a family now. I have a home. I am terrified.

  Robert waits outside the exam room while I undress and put on that paper gown and drape like the nurse told me to. It’s funny how there’s sex-naked and doctor’s-office-naked and they’re not at all the same thing.

  When Robert comes back in, it’s awkward. He holds my hand and makes a very concentrated effort to look at my face and not at the paper I’m wrapped in like a cut of beef from the meat market.

  “So,” Dr. Katim says, looking at her clipboard when she walks into the room, “April and Robert. Looks like we’re having a baby!”

  She’s young. Like medical student young. She has perfect straight hair and black-framed glasses that I think maybe she’s only wearing to make her look smart. Women like her are too perfect for glasses.

  I don’t like the way she says we. We’re having a baby. There are already enough people on this baby’s team. And it’s not like she’ll be changing diapers.

  “Have you confirmed that you’re pregnant?” she asks, flipping through my forms.

  “Yeah,” I say, and Robert smiles. Ethan bought every kind of pee stick the drugstore had. He and Robert stood outside the bathroom cheering every time I slipped another positive one through the huge gap under the door. They were all positive.

  She pulls my gown up and the drape down. “So, how far along are we?”

  “About a month?” I say.

  She grabs a calendar off the desk and shows it to us. Robert points to the day. The bar. Our first time. “I think it had to be then,” he says.

  “When was your last period?” she asks, and I turn beet red.

  I never keep track. “I don’t know,” I say, and feel like an idiot. I look far off and pretend I’m counting out days, but I can’t remember anything. I shake my head.

  “Okay,” she says, “well, we’ll take a look and see what your baby can tell us today.” She grabs a bottle that looks like the kind you put ketch
up or mustard in, but it’s white, not red or yellow. She holds it over my belly, smacks the bottom of it, and squirts cold blue jelly all over. It’s gross. I don’t like the way that being pregnant seems to make everything about you fair game—your pee, your belly, your period.

  “It might be too early for a heartbeat. Don’t worry if we don’t hear one,” she says.

  She holds this flat wand thing against my stomach. It doesn’t hurt, but when she presses harder and pushes it around, it makes me queasy.

  Then we hear it. The heartbeat. Loud, thumping static. Alien communications. Like our baby is saying hello to us. And then I’m crying. Robert is too. Like that thumping is the most beautiful sound we’ve ever heard.

  We look at the screen, where she’s pointing, “See, that’s your baby!” she says, but it looks like TV reception in a snowstorm. So we focus on the sound. Robert’s hand squeezes mine ever so slightly in time with the beat. I don’t even think he knows he’s doing it. I don’t want it to stop, but then Dr. Katim takes the wand off my stomach and says, “Alright, Daddy, I’m going to have you step out to the waiting room now, while Mom and I do some girl stuff.”

  Robert looks panicked. And it takes me longer than it should to realize that I’m the mom. I don’t want him to leave, but Dr. Katim says, “Nothing to worry about.” She grabs a tissue and wipes my belly. She doesn’t get all the goo. There’s a clump of it right by my belly button that she can’t seem to see. She pushes some buttons on the machine. “Just a few simple tests, but it’s all a little unflattering. We’ll try to keep some sense of mystery in your relationship, right?”

  She looks down at her clipboard and makes notes while Robert gets up and kisses me goodbye. He walks slow and rubs his forehead as he leaves, like he can’t quite believe the static he saw. I wipe my belly with the palm of my hand and wipe my hand on the corner of my paper gown.