Chapter Eighteen December 31
Chapter Eighteen
Strings. When your father uncharacteristically gives you permission to attend a New Year’s Eve party with people who don’t share your DNA, there are always strings attached.
First, I must check in hourly via text. My parents also warned me they may call periodically. And without warning. Of course, if they do, I’ll be expected to respond within two rings.
Second, I had to arrange a ride with Andie’s mom, who promised to bring me home by twelve-thirty, which, if I were Andie, I’d be pissed about since her curfew is much later. But she’s going to spend the night at my house, which she loves doing for some reason.
Third, and this may be the most embarrassing one yet, I have to bring over a dish of ghraybeh, which are basically just shortbread cookies with nuts.
Dad didn’t ask if Theo’s mom would be there tonight, which seems odd. Unless maybe Theo already told my father she would be.
The number of things my mind has to consider to “enjoy” one night out makes all of this feel not worth it. But then I think, What if John’s there?
Mom and Dad drop me off at Andie’s before their night out. My parents need this time alone to rebuild and get back to a good place. There was a lot of fighting when Georgie announced her pregnancy. My father blamed my mother. My mother blamed my father. They took turns taking the blame.
At some point I think it clicked for them that if they didn’t get on board, they could lose both Georgie and the baby.
A few months into her pregnancy, things shifted, and my parents focused most of their attention on my sister.
Maybe that’s what gave me room to even allow myself to think I had a chance with John.
I let my daydreams manifest into a quasi-reality.
When things were good, they were so good.
But now, sometimes I wish I could go back to before.
Before I met John. Before Georgie was pregnant.
When it was just the four of us in our safe little bubble and I didn’t want for more than that.
In Andie’s room getting ready, she tries to convince me to go without the cardigan I’m wearing, but I don’t care enough about impressing anyone tonight, and I don’t need to feel self-conscious about my skin showing.
I do experiment with a bit of makeup, though.
It doesn’t always have to be all or nothing. A happy medium can exist.
Once I’ve found my makeup happy medium (and Andie has approved it), we tell her mom that we’re ready to go.
Andie sits in the back seat with me, and her mom makes a joke about being an Uber driver.
Andie’s seated so close that our legs are pressed together, and she’s giggling as she shows me pictures of a guy she’s been talking to.
I hold in an audible gasp as she shares a picture of him in his underwear, which makes Andie laugh even louder.
“What’s so funny back there?” Andie’s mom asks.
“Lennon farted,” Andie says as she turns her screen off.
“I did not!” I say, completely aghast.
“Stop being such a brat,” her mom playfully chides. “We don’t want to lose Lennon. She’s the only good influence in your life. Me included.”
They both laugh, and I sit quietly, trying to make sense of their comment.
I wonder sometimes how Andie’s mom, once an in-demand international model, feels about chauffeuring her just as stunning teenage daughter around.
Andie says her mom is adamant about her having a normal teenage experience, since she never got one.
Part of me can relate to that. I’m afraid of looking back twenty years from now and feeling the same sense of loss.
In exchange, Andie’s mom got a modeling career.
And what do I get? I’d say my father’s approval.
But lately, that’s been a moving target, and just as I think I’ve reached it, another one appears in the far-off distance.
Once we’re dropped off, Andie grabs my arm to stop me from ringing Theo’s bell. “I have to ask you something.”
“Can you ask me inside?” I say. My bare hands are freezing carrying the tray of foil-wrapped cookies.
Andie fixes one of my stray hairs and focuses her gaze on me. “I’m kind of into Theo. But I want to make sure it’s okay with you if I, you know, go there.”
“So it’s not ever after with the underwear guy?” I ask. Then I pause to take in her question and scrunch up my face. “Why wouldn’t it be okay with me if you liked Theo?”
“Lennon.” Andie’s face softens. “Can’t you see what’s happening here?”
“What’s happening here?”
She fails to fight back her smile. “Your dad is basically paving the road for you to fall into Theo’s arms.”
“You think?” I ask.
“One hundred percent.”
“But I’m not even allowed to date.”
“No. But your dad is all about ‘laying the foundation,’ ” she says, laughing.
And I laugh too, because it’s one of his go-to lines in almost every conversation that has to do with my future.
“He’s slowly integrating Theo into your life in the hopes that one day, when you’re ‘ready,’ aka when he’s ready, you and Theo will just”—she snaps her fingers—“fall in love.”
If anyone else spoke to me the way Andie does, I’d tell them to stop treating me like a child, or what I am, an autistic teenager who sometimes needs things explained to them. Especially people things.
Sometimes, being autistic is like sitting too close to the movie screen and focusing on one detail.
Other times, it’s like I’m in the back row, with too many distractions between me and the screen, and I’m unable to properly process what’s happening.
Having Andie as a best friend is like always having the best seat in the house.
“In that case, he’s all yours,” I say, reaching my finger to the doorbell. It lights up and a bell chimes. “Seriously. My heart unfortunately is stuck on someone else.”
Andie grins as she presses her shoulder against mine.
The door opens and my mouth drops at the sight of him. “Speaking of,” she says quietly before entering the house. She squeezes past John and turns back to look at me, covering her open mouth with her hand in excitement.
“Lennon.” My name coming out of his mouth is like hearing a song I love but haven’t played in a while.
“Why are you answering the door?” I ask, instead of saying “Hi” like a normal person.
John’s lips curve up as he takes me in. It’s quick, but I’ve clocked it. “Theo is otherwise occupied.” He cocks his head to the family room behind him, where Theo is talking to a group of people, making big, showy movements with his arms, commanding all their attention.
I return my gaze to John, who these days I spend more time fantasizing about than actually being in the same room with.
“Come in,” he says, stepping away from the door.
Once inside, I ditch my shoes and drop my coat onto the pile on the front bench.
Awful music is playing, loudly, and the lights are dim.
Voices stream into the foyer from the kitchen and sitting area.
Theo’s house is cozy. Lived in. A perfect party house.
I wonder what it’s like when it’s just Theo and his mom.
I glance at the fancy dining room to my left, which doesn’t match the modest decor of the rest of the home.
I imagine big dinners with Theo’s large extended family, where Theo and his dad led prayers and Theo’s mom smiled proudly off to the side at her men.
You can tell this home has had a lot of good memories, and some not so good ones.
“How are you?” John asks, hands deep in his pockets. He’s wearing a long-sleeved tee and jeans, and he smells the way he always does. Musky, with a hint of lavender. His sister’s shampoo.
“I’m okay,” I reply, careful not to let the tray of cookies shake and reveal how not okay I am in this moment.
“Happy belated birthday, by the way,” he says, nodding as each word leaves his lips.
“Where can I put this?” I ask. It’s not that I’m ignoring his belated birthday wish, I just don’t know how to respond to it. “My mom made me bring these cookies for Theo and his mom.”
“I’ll take them.” He grabs the tray and places it on the dining room table before returning to where I am, unmoored by the front door. “Can I get you something?” he asks. “You want pop or water?”
“Is that what everyone else is drinking?” I say, pulling off my cardigan to reveal a sleeveless top.
My cardigan slips out of my fingers and falls to the floor.
I will myself not to flinch. I want John to believe that I am unbothered—by him, by the draft running across my bare arms, by the loud music—everything.
John picks my cardigan up off the floor and hands it back to me. “I don’t really pay attention to what others are drinking. I don’t drink.”
“I’ve never noticed,” I say, my shoulders dropping. “I guess I just assumed you were like everyone else.”
“Not when it comes to that.”
Not when it comes to anything.
“Are you two going to stand by the door all night or actually join the rest of us?” Theo shouts from the family room, drink in hand.
John lifts his chin to the party, and I nod, twisting my cardigan in my hands.
In the kitchen, John presents me with a beer, a bottle of water, and a can of pop. It feels like a test. I swipe the Diet Coke and take a long sip, then cover my mouth to conceal a small burp.
Theo wasn’t completely lying to my father. This is more like a “gathering” than a party. Just about twenty or so people, including Eddie from their band, and a few other eleventh-graders I recognize but don’t remember the names of. Well, “remember” would suggest I knew their names to begin with.
I take a seat on one of the couches. John sits on the arm of another couch across the room.
I try not to look at him, but it’s almost impossible.
When John’s in the room, my entire body knows it.
Magnetic forces from deep within pull me to him.
Our eyes meet, and it feels like he wants to say something to me, but every time he seems as if he’s about to get up and sit in the empty spot to my right, someone starts up a conversation with him.
“Having fun?” Theo flops down next to me, throwing an arm around my shoulders. I squirm and push him away. He reeks of pot and beer.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s fine,” he says, in a tone that could be interpreted as mocking, but I don’t take it personally.
“I never know what to do at these things.”
“Just be yourself.” He looks down at me. “You have goosebumps all over your arms. Are those from me?”
“No. I’m just cold,” I reply, clasping my cardigan with one hand while taking a sip of my drink with the other.
“Then put your sweater on, genius.” When I don’t respond, he nods.
“Ahh, I see. You want to look good for him. I’m going to let you in on a secret,” he says, leaning in, his breath warm and yeasty.
“You could be dressed in trash bags, and he’d still be staring at you the way he’s been staring at you since the second you walked in. ”
“Has he?” I ask, almost whispering. Theo smirks, and I study his face. His conventionally yet annoyingly handsome face. “How much do you know about us?”
Theo fist-bumps some guy who squeezes by on his way to the kitchen.
“A gentleman never tells,” he replies.
“We’re not talking about gentlemen. We’re talking about you and John,” I say, placing my drink on the table in front of us.
Theo licks his lips before his eyes land on mine. “To be honest, he won’t tell me anything.”
“That’s because there’s not much to tell,” I say, throwing my cardigan back on and slumping against the couch with my arms crossed.
“Did he try something?”
“No. That’s the problem,” I say, shifting to him.
“Really?”
I nod, wide-eyed, like I still can’t believe it either.
“Do you want me to see if Eddie will screw you?”
I sit up and shove him.
“So is your mom here?” I ask, glancing around.
Theo lets out a small huff before taking another sip of his beer. “What do you think?”
“Did you tell my dad she would be here?”
Theo’s eyebrows furrow at my question before he shakes his head. “No. Because that would have been a lie.” I nod at his reply, trying hard not to overthink it. “She’s working the overnight shift at the hospital.”
“Hey guys,” Andie says, sitting on the coffee table across from us. She and I exchange knowing glances.
“Where’s your bathroom?” I ask Theo.
“You don’t want to use the one out here. Fendelman was in there for like an hour. There’s a bathroom in my room you can use. I can show you where it is.”
“No thanks.” I shoot up and smile at Andie. “I remember.”
Andie squeezes into the spot on the couch where I was, and Theo throws his arm around her. He does it in a different way than he did with me. He’s more careful with her. Less playful.
Theo watches me walk away as Andie flashes him one of her signature smiles that he hasn’t yet noticed.
I admire that Andie so simply goes after what she wants. She doesn’t waste time overthinking things. And when things don’t work out, she moves on. She doesn’t linger.
Maybe I’ve been trying to force something that isn’t there. Maybe John Brody just isn’t that into me.
Because it shouldn’t be this hard, should it?