Chapter Four #2
pounds of weights, you don't want to be stuck with a
talker.
I know Tuck won't be up
for a while still, so I go for a run outside first. Spring has
really arrived, and it's already pretty warm despite the early
hour. I've barely run a mile by the time my shirt is soaked through
with sweat, so I pull it off and stuff it into the waistband of my
running shorts, letting it dangle.
The neighborhood is
usually quiet, but at this time on a Sunday, it's completely
deserted. Our house is off enough from main roads and there are no
sidewalks. It's almost rural for a suburb, but it is a facade.
Every house is no more than three blocks from a four-lane street,
and five from town. Port Woodmere is a standard upscale suburban
town, as far as I know. High-end boutiques and big brand stores,
nail salons on each street, and elegant restaurants. Even the diner
we often eat lunch at is more of a cafe than an actual diner. It's
actually called The Diner.
It's not even meant to be ironic.
It's not that I don't
appreciate my hometown. I realize I'm lucky to have grown up here
in Port Woodmere, with its celebrated school district and every
amenity imaginable. It's just not the real world. Not by a
long-shot, and I've just been feeling more and more like it's time
to get out. To meet new people, and experience new things. And
there's no place better to do that than Manhattan, and although it
isn't exactly far, that's part of the beauty of it.
I pick up speed as I
approach my sprinting mile. August can't get here fast enough.
Honestly, though I'm a bit reluctant to leave Mom and Bits at home
just the two of them, I can't fucking wait to move into the city.
I'll be able to get home weekends, and they come into the city
plenty anyway. But I like knowing it's barely a forty-five minute
drive back home, less on the Long Island Rail Road. That if they
need me I can be here in under an hour.
But I need a change of
scenery.
And fine, I have enough
self-awareness to know that if Rory wasn't going to be a short
subway ride away, I might not be so eager. But she is.
I'm going with Thea in a
couple of weeks to go see where we'll be sharing an apartment.
Thea's mom is my mom's sister, and they've always been close. Last
year, when my aunt and uncle had considered getting divorced—they
called it a trial
separation—my Uncle Kelly bought an
apartment on the Upper West Side.
The separation didn't
take. Of course, no one ever thought it would. No one ever
intentionally spoke about it in front of me and I didn't ask, but I
think Uncle Kelly might have been suspected of some
impropriety—something about texts from a co-worker—and my Aunt
Nikki wanted to teach him a lesson. She never really wanted to lose
him, and he didn't want to leave her either. They're one of those
couples that really loves each other, even through their
issues.
It sucked to watch it
happen, and Thea had been fucking devastated. She even came to stay
with us for a couple of weeks last summer when it had all first
gone down. But I'm glad they're reconciled now. They seem to have
really moved past it, which works out pretty well for Thea and me,
because now there's that sweet two bedroom apartment sitting empty
on West 65th and Columbus.
It's a little closer to
Columbia than NYU, but a reasonable commute to each, and it sure as
hell beats freshman dorms.
After we see the place I'm
going to meet with my father at his office. He agreed to look into
Rory's case. To speak to some people. But he wanted me to agree to
meet him in his office once he does, to go through everything. I
don't know if he really needs me there as a client, or if he's
using it as an excuse to see me.
If he is, it's surprising
as fuck to me. He's certainly never made a modicum of effort to see
me for the past five years. But he's paid every cent in alimony and
child support, and my mother has never had to worry about money.
And I thought that he felt that was sufficient a contribution to
his children.
Not that I disagree. He's
made contribution enough. His drunken fucking abuse has seeped into
my psyche, mixing with his contribution to my genetic code. Who
could blame me for having anger
issues?
Either way, I agreed to be
there. So the Thursday before Senior Sleep-In, I will meet with my
estranged father and, if I fucking have to, beg him to help me save
my girl... who's not my girl.
I arrive back home to find
Tucker's car in my driveway. I find him seated at the kitchen
island having coffee with my mom and sister. Not that there's
anything strange about the scene. It's a fairly common one. Tuck
spent practically half his childhood in this house, and the other
half was spent with me at his house.
Tuck follows me down to
the basement and I lay back on the bench press. Neither of us speak
for the first couple of reps. That's the main thing I like about
having a private gym. I realize it's an extreme luxury, and I'm
grateful for it. I dislike gyms full of people talking about their
strength, and regimens, and routines. Guys competing with each
other about exercise? I don't know, it's weird to me.
Eventually Tuck says
something about something cute that Carl did. It was funny. He's
smitten. And I'm fucking ecstatic for him. I am. I'm just also
jealous as shit. And I can admit it to myself. I feel guilty for
it, too, but it doesn't change the fact that I wish things could
have been that easy for Rory and me.
I do enjoy seeing my best
friend like this, though. If he were a girl, I would almost call
him giddy. Tucker's always been one to put on the charm to avoid
talking about real shit and giving away his feelings. I'm one of
the only people he really talks to, that he's really open with. And
the same is true in reverse.
I wonder how close he and
Carl really are. Considering how in love they seem, I bet she
really knows him. Perhaps better than I do. I think about how well
Rory knows me, how much I confided in her so quickly. And how I
know her—her fears, her desires, and fuck, how she looks when she's
coming apart at the seams.
Of course
Carl knows Tuck better than I do by now. And
that's fine with me. I just hope that she never changes her mind or
moves on. I'm not sure I could stomach seeing Tucker, the
jock-clown, as fucking desolate as I feel.
I ask him if Rory's coming
before I realize that I just asked him like twenty minutes
ago.
I can't see his face but I
can sense him roll his eyes. Fucking
Tucker.
"Yes, Cap." The sarcasm
drips from his words. "Carl is driving her at eleven," he
repeats.
"Right," I grunt as I push
the dumbbell up and set it on its stand. "Let me spot you and then
I'm going to shower," I say.
"Yup."
****
Thea and her older brother, my cousin Daniel, arrive with my
Aunt Nikki around ten, and we all help my mom set up for brunch. It
takes less than ten minutes, and then we're all sitting out on the
patio, drinking coffee. Danny tells some story about how he got way
too drunk, the night before his humanities final and almost didn't
make it. My mom rolls her eyes and Thea elbows him, but he just
gives her his trademark "what'd I say?" look that's so common for
him. He's always been one of those people incapable of identifying
his audience, who says whatever it is he's thinking regardless of
who's around.
In some ways it's
admirable. You certainly get what you see with Danny. But on the
other hand… let's just say his mouth is very familiar with the
taste of his own foot, figuratively, I mean. He's Thea's opposite
in everything but their looks. He's only a year and a half older
than us, but he could be Thea's twin. They both have vibrant red
hair, though his is cropped close to his scalp now while Thea's
wild curls are as untamed as ever. These days her freckles are
mostly camouflaged by what I assume is some kind of makeup powder,
and while Danny's have faded somewhat since he was a kid, they
still reign free in a pattern I used to play silent
connect-the-dots with at boring family brunches and dinners as a
child.
They grew up in Greenwich,
Connecticut, which isn't more than an hour from here without
traffic, though it could be a lifetime with, and our moms made sure
we spent plenty of time together growing up. In fact, it was with
their family that we used to rent the East Hampton house each
summer before my parents' divorce.
Thea rolls her eyes again
and I know Danny's just made another ridiculous comment, though
I've all but completely stopped paying attention. Last night's
dream is really messing with me. It's been so long that I've even
thought about that house—the family meals, the beach bonfires,
fishing with our dads…
Thea, who's seated between
Danny and me, whispers something to me, ripping my attention from
memories of summers past.
"Hmm?" I ask, and she
smiles her warm Thea smile. She's like another sister, just one
closer to my age, and she has a way of reading me that's almost
annoying, in a sisterly way.
"I asked if you were
okay," she repeats.
I nod, but I doubt she's
convinced by the thin smile that wouldn't even fool Danny. She
doesn't press me, though, and when the doorbell rings and I
practically fall out of my chair, she barely stifles her giggle. I
"accidentally" kick one of the legs of her chair in retaliation as
I walk back through the house to the main foyer. I'm looking
forward to introducing Rory and Thea. I think they'll get along.
They both have that realness that I think they'll each appreciate
in the other. And since they'll be going to NYU together and Rory
doesn't know anyone else there, it's important to me that they get
to know one another.
Bits is already answering
the door, but it's only Chelsea and her mom. I quicken my pace to
the door. Bits is not Chelsea's biggest fan, nor is she especially
adept at hiding her feelings.
They each air kiss Bits