Her and Me and You (4 page)

“You think you’re cute?”

“I do.”

“Come on, eat one.”

“Why?”

“For me.”

“For you?” She was laughing.

“Why is that funny?”

“Fred. It’s a cookie. Relax.”

“Well if it’s
just a cookie
then what’s the big deal?” He pulled one from the tin. “Stick it in your mouth and eat it.”

She swatted the air. “Get that shit away from me.”

“Hey, guys—” They ignored my interjection.

Fred shoved the tin and stood up.

“Wow.” She waited till he’d gone, then said, “Boys.”

Boys and their moody, food-phobic
twin sisters
. “You guys fight a lot?”

“A lot?” She cocked her head. “I don’t know, I guess.” Then, smiling: “We compete.”

“Oh yeah?”

“For attention. Affection. You know.” She glanced up. “You have brothers?”

“No. Just me.”

“That’s too bad.”

“It’s all right. I have a best friend. That I grew up with.”

She looked perplexed. “How is that the same?"

I flinched. “No, it’s just—we’re close. And we fight. Like you guys.”

“About?”

I leaned against the side of the pool. “I dunno. Her boyfriend.”

“What about him?”

“I don’t like him.”

“Well maybe they won’t stay together.”

“Yeah, well, they love each other.” I rolled my eyes.

Adina put a hand on my head, patting me. “There, there, Katonah. I’ll be your friend.”

“Will you?” Had Adina ever had a friend?

“Sure.” She uncorked a bottle of wine—“Why not?”—and took a swig.

“Can I have some of that?”

She passed the bottle.“Hey, Katonah.”

“Mm?” I took a slow sip, tilting my head back.

“You like my brother?”

I froze, mouth full, and righted myself.

“It’s okay. You can tell me.”

I swallowed. “I mean, of course, yeah. We’re friends.”

“No, I don’t mean, like, are you
pals
. I mean,
do you like Fred
?”

Did I like Fred? I wasn’t sure. Did Fred like me? “I mean, I don’t think—it’s not like that with me and him.”

She relaxed. “Good. I mean, not that there’s anything
wrong with liking him, it’s just—he’s a bad boyfriend. You’d be miserable.”

I nodded like I understood whatever it was she was hinting at. Then, after a moment or two: “Well, wait, what do you mean?”

“I mean, that girl he was with? Audrey Glick?”

“Yeah.”

“He wasn’t faithful.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, he tried, he’s just—he can be kind of compulsive.”

“Compulsive?”

“He has, like, a problem.” She was gesturing a ton with her hands. “He sleeps around. And then, like, lies about it.”

“Oh.” It took me a few seconds to process. “Wait, he lies?” Fred seemed so earnest and true.

“Don’t tell him I told you.”

“No, I won’t, it’s just—” I tried picturing Fred with a multitude of girls: preppies, sluts, brainiacs. Fred on top. Fred down below. Fred with a whip and a cigarette. I stifled a laugh. “Are you kidding?”

“
No
, I’m not kidding.” Adina leaned forward. So close I could smell the Merlot on her breath. “You’re too nice for him, Katonah.”

I pulled back, stung.

Fred was jogging toward us now, carrying two huge jugs of water. “Okay, fuck the cookies—I don’t care about the
cookies. Water, anyone?” He was breathless, jovial.

“Alex and I finished the wine. Look.” She flipped the empty bottle upside down, pouting.

“That’s fine,” he shrugged, sitting down. “Why would I care if you finished the wine?”

“I dunno,” she said. “You’re funny about things.” She looked at me conspiratorially. “He’s very territorial,” she insisted. “He hates when I take his stuff.”

12.

Morning.

I was jittery, nauseated, and eating spoonfuls of dry Grape Nuts straight from the box. Mom was next to me. We were watching PBS.

“So what did you guys do all night?”

“Nothing. Slept.”

“That’s it? Why couldn’t you sleep at home?”

“We did other stuff too. Built a fort. Ate cookies.”

“All night?”

I dropped my spoon. “I dunno, Mommy.
Yes
, all night.”

“Al, hey.”

“What?”

She made her eyes wide. “Watch it.”

“Watch what?” I was hungover. Short on patience.

“The attitude,” my mother snapped.

“Oh, okay,” I said. “What, three seconds of sobriety and you think you get to reprimand me for a coed sleepover?”

She slapped me hard across the face.

I watched the floor, stunned.

“Oh God, oh God, Al, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Now she was clutching me, hugging me, tearing up. “You didn’t deserve that, I’m so sorry.”

I touched my cheek, reeling, letting her sob and grab at me. “It’s fine,” I said, pulling back, dazed, shaken. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. I’d never been slapped before.

“Honey. It’s not you. You’re a good girl.”

She wept. She put her head in her hands and she cried.

“Mommy, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I’m just a little sad this morning, baby. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s fine,” I said, rubbing her back, feeling a mix of resentment and pity. “Really,” I insisted. My mind flashed to Fred. “I’m okay.”

13.

I was in line for hard-shell tacos. The kind with ground
beef, shredded lettuce, and plastic cheese. The lunch lady passed me a plate over the Plexiglas divider. I got in the cashier line behind Charlotte Kincaid.

“Hi,” I said.

Charlotte smiled stiffly, then turned toward the register. Icy. Aloof. But understandable. I was her fair-weather friend.

“Can I sit with you guys today?”

She pulled four crumpled bucks from her pocket and looked at me over her shoulder. “Are you talking to me?”

Charlotte had what seemed like a limitless reserve of Bishop information. “Yeah, of course.” I’d been chasing her around all morning long.

“Well, what about your bosom friends?”

“I mean, they’re around.” I angled my head and caught
sight of Fred hovering intently over his cereal bowl. “I just—I actually wanted to ask you about them.” I thought about what Adina had said: Fred was a liar, lothario, cheat. But really? The guy with the freckles and cereal obsession?

“Pay for your taco, please?” She waved me forward. “Libby’s waiting.”

I handed a ten to the cashier. “Adina just—she said something—”
Fred: XXX, “perplexing.”

“Big surprise.”

“Something about Fred, being, like, a womanizer.” I collected my change. “Is that true?”

Charlotte looked at me blankly. “How should I know?”

We were walking now. Across the cafeteria, toward Libby.

“Well, you said you knew stuff about him and that girl—”

“Audrey Glick?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, a little. But I don’t know anyone else he’s been with. I mean,
look
at the guy.” She tossed a hand toward Fred. “Who would hook up with him?”

I blinked.

“There’s Libby.” She upped her pace. “Wait, so, why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you care who Fred Bishop’s been with?”

“I don’t.”

“You just said you did.”

“No. I was telling you what Adina said. That he’d been with, like,
multiple
girls.”

She stopped. Faced me. “You like him.”

“No.”

She paused, pressing her lips together. “I think you do.”

I looked at Libby, who was waving.

“Kincaid!”

Charlotte turned. “Hold on.” Then: “Alex.”

“What?”

She shifted impatiently from leg to leg. “I mean, have your little crush, whatever, but, Fred Bishop?”

“What? What’s wrong with Fred?”

“He couldn’t even dump his own girlfriend. He had Adina do it for him.” She lifted an eyebrow and wagged her finger in my face. “You’re like, Audrey Two. . . .” She said, slinking away. “Can’t wait to watch the insanity unfold.”

14.

“This is weird, right?”

Dad. Dad said this. We were at a restaurant right outside Meadow Marsh, eating palak paneer, papadums, and naan. “It’s weird, yes.” I had refused to go home for the weekend. Evie and I hadn’t spoken for a week and Dad—Dad was, at best, a shitty stand-in for my drunk mother.

“Al.” He reached for the chutney, accidentally knocking my hand. “What do you think about spending one weekend away with me next month? We could ski. Stowe? Black Mountain?”

I ignored the invite. No weekends away. No rewards for bad behavior. “You and Mom should go somewhere. Or even just, like, out. On a date.”

Dad shifted in his chair. “Oh, Al.”

“Well why not? She’d like that.”

“Al, honey, come on.”

“
You were married nineteen years, now what, you can’t spend three seconds in the same room together?”

“Honey—”

“What?” He didn’t say anything else so I pushed on. “How’s Caroline?”

“Good.”

“Awesome. You know, Mom’s still pret-ty messy.”

He dropped his fork. “You’re mad, and you have a right to be mad, but Mom and I had issues way before Caroline came along—”

“Okay.”

“Al—”

“Okay. Enough.” I threw my hands up in quick surrender. “I don’t want to talk about Caroline anymore. All right? I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Dad cut the engine on Grams’s gravel driveway, pulled the emergency break, and got out of the car.

Mom was waiting on the porch steps. She wore Grams’s winter coat over a thin, sleeveless nightgown. It was freezing out. She looked ridiculous. Hungover, sleepy, and sexed-up.

“Babe.” She kissed my cheek, looking past me, at Dad. “Go inside, okay? I’ll be up in a bit.”

From my bedroom window I watched. My view, perfect, if I leaned out the window and a little to my left.

Dad made a joke, gesturing broadly. Mom laughed, then cried. She put her head on Dad’s chest. He touched her shoulder, she touched his shirt, and within seconds they were kissing. They kissed and they kissed and then Dad pulled away. “Liz,” he said, and Mom wailed. She screamed and cried and kissed him again.

“Liz, stop.”

I pulled away from the window.

The screen door slammed shut.

15.

Carbonara.
Anne Frank
on DVD. This was Bishop ritual.

“Which blanket?” I asked, digging through a wood trunk in the Bishops’ downstairs guest room.

“The poofy one with the ducks,” hollered Adina, poking her head through the door. “That one, yeah.” She was balancing three steaming bowls of spaghetti. “Hurry up. Movie’s starting.”

I tugged on the tattered, faded duvet and followed Adina into the den. Fred was on the floor fluffing pillows. Credits rolled on a tiny TV. Dreamy music. Seagulls. Adina loved this movie. The old version—the black-and-white one. She said despite the ending, she found the story comforting. She liked the idea of being locked away.

We huddled together in front of the sofa. Adina took
small bites of carbonara and yanked the comforter up to her chin.

“Is your dad back yet?” I asked.

Egg Roll hopped onto Fred’s lap. “Yeah.” Adina fed him a strand of spaghetti from her bowl.

I looked around. “He’s here?”

“He’s working.” Fred said.

“Tonight?”

Adina paused the movie. “Katonah, don’t talk.”

“Oh. Sorry—”

“You talk and it wrecks the mood.”

I put down my bowl of pasta.

“Hey,” said Fred. “No big deal.”

Adina shot him a look. “It
is
a big deal. It’s tradition.”

“It’s fine.”

“It not.”

“It’s a fucking
movie
, Adina, chill out.”

“Hey,” I said, “I’m really sorry—”

“Don’t tell me to chill out. And it’s not just a movie. It’s
our
thing.”

“Adina,” I said again.

She whipped around. “
What
?” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wet.

“I can go.”

She paused, considering my offer.

“You’re not going,” Fred said, putting a hand on my thigh.
Adina glanced down, to where Fred’s fingers lingered, right above my kneecap. “Hey, D,” Fred said. “Apologize.”

She looked at me, her mouth settling into a thin, hard line. “I didn’t mean you weren’t welcome,” she said.

“No, I get it,” I said. “I’ll shut up.”

She smiled then, a small smile. “It’s just really great, the movie.” She sat back, rubbed one eye, and smeared her mascara. “But if you talk you miss all the good parts.”

Fred moved his hand. I glanced quickly at him, then back to Adina.

“Finish your pasta,” she instructed, her mood leveling off. “It’s fine,” she said, making gosh-golly eyes at Fred. “Fight’s over.” She picked up the remote and aimed it at the television. “Any last words before we restart the show?”

16.

“So, stuff’s okay?”

Evie hadn’t called me in a week and a half. “I mean, yeah, stuff’s great, why?”

“What do you mean,
why
?” I’d called her.

“No, nothing, I don’t know.” She exhaled. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing. School. Liz. I’ve been over at the Bishops’ a lot lately.” I stuck a hand under my mattress and mashed my face to the bed.

“The Bishops?”

“You know. Fred. Adina.”

“I don’t.”

“The twins? Oh, Eves, you’d freak. Their house is huge and they barely have parents and Fred dresses like a”—I laughed— “
hot
old man and Adina eats, like, air, I swear. She’s a twig, you’d hate
her. But actually, maybe you’d love her.” I waited for Evie’s response. Dead air. “Eves?”

“What?”

“Are you listening?”

“Sorry. The twins.”

“You okay?” I wondered what she’d done all week. If she’d been miserable like me. “How’s Ben?”

“Fine.”

“Stuff’s still good?”

“Why would you ask me that?” Her voice had an edge.