“What?” I snap, and she doesn’t say anything else.
After about two seconds of waiting, the waiter comes with our food. I stare into the enormous bento box I ordered, heaped with tempura and chicken teriyaki and California rolls, and part of me wishes I could still get the kids’ box. It has everything that this one does, just smaller portions. I eat one tempura carrot, and feel full.
“My friend Margie at work suggested a very good therapist. Her daughter enjoys working with her.”
“What’s wrong with Margie’s daughter?”
“Nothing is wrong with her. Like you, she’s just going through a difficult time right now.”
“Oh,” I say, all sarcastic. “A difficult time.”
Mom sips her tea. I bite into a California roll and soy sauce dribbles down my chin. I swat it away with my napkin and hope the waiter isn’t standing somewhere watching us.
“I’m not going to see some therapist,” I mutter.
Mom looks, sadly, into her rice bowl. I wish I knew what she was thinking.
We don’t say much after that, and I feel kind of bad about it, but I don’t know why she had to bring that up. She can’t expect me to go along with every suggestion she makes just because she’s taking me out to eat.
8
Friday-night dinner, I sit at the table with Mom and Dad and eat in silence. Dad asks questions about my first week back at school in the cheerful tone Mom has been using for days. I give him one-word answers, stab pasta with my fork. Soon they start talking to each other and I tune them out. When I can’t sit there any longer I get up, push the leftover food into the sink, and stick my plate in the dishwasher.
I climb into the backseat of my car and put my knees up against the seat covers I ruined. I was supposed to have gotten my license three months ago, but instead of making three-point turns, I was watching my best friend’s casket lower into the ground. Now I can’t seem to call the DMV to schedule a new appointment.
This car is so old it only has a tape player. I only own one tape. Fortunately, it’s a good one. Ingrid’s brother, Davey, made it for my birthday one year. It has all these indie bands on it that I had never heard of. The songs kind of blend together, but they’re all so great. I reach up, turn the key in the ignition, and a boy’s voice wails through the speakers. A few minutes later my dad comes out to the car.
“Do you have any homework? If you get it done now, you’ll be able to enjoy the weekend.”
“No,” I lie.
He lifts my backpack into the air. “I brought you this just in case.”
After a while I pull out my math book and some paper. The tape turns itself over. There’s the sound of a quiet guitar; a woman’s voice starts and then a man’s joins her. It sounds pretty. I try to do my math, but I don’t have a calculator in the car. All of a sudden I want the phone to ring. I picture my mom coming out with the cordless and handing it to me when I roll the window down. I would stretch out on the seat. And listen. And talk. I would come up with something interesting to say. But the only person who ever called me was Ingrid, so I know it will never happen. I reach up and turn the music as loud as it can go. The whole car shakes and it sounds like I’m tuned to a radio station that doesn’t come in clearly.
I push everything off the backseat and lie down. Through the moon roof, the sky darkens. I imagine that the phone is propped on the seat, right next to my ear.
So what was Veena wearing the first day? Ingrid asks.
I didn’t notice.
Of course you noticed. I bet it was something new.
She acted like she didn’t know me. I wasn’t exactly paying attention to her clothes.
Imagine her cleaning out her cat’s litter box.
Did you hear what I said? All week long, she acted like she hates me.
Oh my God, I know: imagine her finding moldy leftovers in her refrigerator.
I don’t feel like it.
How was it without me? Did you hide out in the library at lunch with all the nerds?
Actually, I ate with Alicia McIntosh. She brought me a tank top that said CHARITY and told me that if I promised to wear it every day she would let me follow her around and stand in the cafeteria line to buy her Diet Cokes.
Did you miss me?
Why are you asking?
I want to know.
It’s obvious.
I want to hear you say it. It’ll make me feel good.
Fuck you.
Come on. Just say it.
Mom appears right outside my window. She waves at me from six inches away. I don’t move. She points at her watch, which means that it’s late and she wants me inside. I don’t sit up. I just close my eyes, wish her away from the car. I’m not ready.
Wailing Boy is back on—I’ve been in here for ninety minutes—and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and listen to him. His guitar gets urgent, his voice trembles. I can feel it: his heart is broken.
9
The next morning, my dad knocks on my car window to wake me up. I snuck back out in the middle of the night and slept here.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says, beaming, voice muffled by the glass. “It’s around the side.”
“What is it?” I’m so tired I can hardly talk.
“Come see,” he says, real singsongy.
I unlock my door and step out into the daylight. I need to brush my teeth.
Dad covers my eyes with his hand and leads me around to the other side of my car. Beneath my thin slipper soles, I can feel the pebbles of the driveway, the stepping-stones that run through the grass alongside the house, and, finally, the grass itself. We’re in the backyard. Our actual house isn’t anything special. Like most of the houses in Los Cerros, it’s big and new and plain, but I love our yard. There’s a path that weaves around all the vegetables and flowers and on the weekends my parents spend hours out here in the dirt, gardening. The best part is that if you stand on the path and look away from the house, you can’t even see where the yard ends. It stretches on and on for acres. It’s hilly and there are a bunch of ancient oak trees.