Husky (15 page)

It's the day of the makeover party and I'm not getting out of bed.

It's one of the last days I can sleep in, so I'm going to. All day. I'm not getting out of bed or getting dressed or showered or even brushing my teeth. Nothing. I'm not even going to take the sleepies out of my eyes, I'm staying in bed. Gross and smelly and fat and dirty and all by myself. Everyone else can get up and go places and get pretty for whatever they want, but not me. Not today. Maybe not ever. And even if I end up smelling like lonely, that's fine, because I am.

I almost get out of bed, but then I think,
Why? Why go around and pretend I'm not lonely when I am or ride my bike around by myself or go to the bakery or something,
anything to try to not think of the fact that it's my best friend's birthday, not technically, no, but it's at least her birthday party and I'm not invited?
No one really cares about that. No one. And maybe if I was some better person, a cooler person, I would think of something awesome to do, or something so unbelievable that they would actually be jealous of me, but why? Why even try? And what do I care what they think? Because I still wouldn't get to go. I still wouldn't have been invited. Allegra wouldn't care about whatever I could think up to do. And why do I want to do anything to make Allegra feel anything? So I pull up my foot and put it back under the blanket and lie back down.

It's awkward lying in a bed when you're not even thinking about sleeping or watching a movie or reading a book or listening to music. You feel like it's not the right space anymore, the bed feels like it's not yours anymore. Your time in it is over. And it's lumpy in places that you've never felt before, and you can't really find the right spot to feel comfortable again. But you don't move. Or at least I don't. I just stay right there. I feel the lumps and the
strange spots and my clothes feel dusty in the slept-in way, but I don't move.

The first hour is like waiting for something to happen. Then a big nothing comes around and makes my brain stop thinking about everything. I stop wondering where they are, even this early, or what Sophie will be wearing and when Allegra will show up. At one point I sort of imagine that they will ride around in a limo all day, which sounds super stupid but just the sort of stupid that Allegra would pull when she's trying to steal my best friend. Why not a limo, then? Why not diamonds? Or champagne?

The second hour's easier. The lumps start to go away. The spot I'd slept in comes back or I find it again, and it is almost like I am sleeping with my eyes open. The light is coming in the window but it doesn't seem too bright. I can still close my eyes.

At twelve thirty, Nanny starts to raise the volume of Jock's TV to wake me up. Then she starts to bang and stomp around, up and down the steps, talking to herself. Yelling about all the things she needs to do and how at
least she for one is going to get something done on a fine day like today. At least she's going to accomplish something, because a day's not meant to be wasted. But I'm not wasting anything. It isn't like I am holding it to just myself, anyone else can have whatever they want with it. I'm just doing Nothing. It's a thing. Everyone else can do whatever they want. I don't care.

By two, I think maybe I'll watch a movie, but I don't have a television in my room. Neither does Mom, because maybe I could go over to her room and watch something. Nanny doesn't allow that. My computer isn't a laptop, so I can't bring it with me in bed. I think about even putting on music, but what? I think about every opera and every singer, but I've started to like the quiet. It's the perfect sound to do nothing to. Opera would be too big for now. It would fill the room with horns and violins and dying queens, and that would be too much. Just too much for all this nothing.

After three, Nanny goes a little nuts, I think, because nothing she's done for hours has worked in getting me up. She hasn't heard the creak of even my foot on the floor.
Not a door open. Nothing. And then I hear her start up the steps and pass her room. Usually I would freak, but I don't. I'm doing Nothing. By the time she gets to my floor, she's called my name about four times, and I haven't answered, which I guess is pretty rotten, but when she bangs on the door and then opens it anyway, I am so far in, why not just go all the way.

“What time do you call this now, boy-o?” Nanny yells down at me.

I look over at my clock and say, “Three twenty.”

“Twenty after three in the afternoon, and his lordship not even out of bed. What are you at?” Nanny yells.

“Nothing,” I say, which is the truth.

“I can see that, and what I see I don't like. Get up! You can't just lie in bed all day!”

“Why?”

That is always the question Nanny never expects, from anybody. You're just supposed to do things, because you're supposed to do them or because she tells you you're supposed to do them. It's that clear. But in this case, at least right now, there isn't really a clear why at all. I'm not
actually supposed to be doing anything or be anywhere else. I don't have school or a chore to do today. I'm doing nothing, and there's actually no real reason to do anything else.

Nanny's face goes blank for a minute. I can see her ask herself the question, go through a list of answers, of chores or tasks or anything and everything she can think of besides the most obvious, and then she gets angry that she has wasted all that time, so she goes back to her most obvious answer and yells, “Because I say so, that's why!”

“I don't want to,” I say. Not angry or yelly back. Just simply.

“What did you say?” Nanny stops again.

“I don't want to,” I repeat.

“Well, I don't care what you want, I've told you to get out of that bed, and I've meant it, so get up,” Nanny yells back at me.

And I say, “No.”

I've never said no to Nanny ever once in my life. And I didn't think I ever could, but here and now, I'm just saying exactly what I want to and not thinking anything
else. I'm not trying to make her angry, I really don't think it has anything to do with her. So I say no. Because it is the most honest response.

“No, he says? No? You don't say no to me. What's wrong with you?” says Nanny. I think at this moment she will start screaming louder, but she doesn't. She gets quieter, like the
no
has knocked all the air out of her. And I don't want that. I don't want to hurt her. I just want to do nothing. So I need this
no.

“Nothing,” I say in the nicest way I can think of.

“Do you not feel well?” Nanny asks.

“No,” I say.

“So you just mean to stay in bed? Waste the day?” asks Nanny.

“Yes.”

Somehow the
yes
is worse than the
no
. Honest. Because if the
no
is just me being a brat, that's one thing, but the
yes
is just me being crazy and she doesn't know how to handle that. At all.

“You're not right, you. I'm calling your mother and she'll put you out, if she has any sense. What do you think
of that?” Nanny asks me, waiting for me to say something snotty just to give her a clue to see what side I am really falling on: Crazy or Brat.

But I just say, “Okay.”

“Okay, he says! O . . . kay!” And she slams the door and stomps down the stairs, yelling to herself the whole way. “Okay, he says. Okay. That's what he says to me, okay.” Over and over, down all three flights to the kitchen, where she turns off Jock's TV so that I can hear just her talking to my mom. It is all a sort of threat, like my mom is the big bad something and is going to come home and kill me. But the truth is, she will just tell Nanny to leave me be.

“No! He won't! Told me no. Told
me
!” Nanny yells to Mom on the phone. I feel sorry for Mom. She's trying to use the day, doing lots, and I don't want to stop her. I don't really want to stop anybody. Let anybody do whatever they like. Anybody. I just want to do nothing.

I think about Sophie. They must be at the spa by now. I tried to imagine it a little bit, but I've never even been to a spa or even seen one, so I don't know exactly
what it will be like. I sort of imagine a fancier nail salon, with big, fluffy white robes and lots of New Age music playing, where people moan-sing and don't use any words. I imagine Allegra laughing and throwing Sophie a big, fluffy robe. Sophie's laughing too, a laugh I've never heard before. Both of them laugh like they don't care who's looking at them or who's around and really all the ladies in the spa don't. If anything, they just laugh too. They're all having a marvelous time. Everything is good here, so why wouldn't you laugh. Why wouldn't anyone laugh, anyone who is lucky enough to come here.

“Well, I won't again, I can tell you that now,” Nanny yells into the phone. “And no! Not in this house, the sin of it! So come and tell him. I can't make sense to him. All right. All right.” And Nanny hangs up, loudly too, just so I can hear it. “Your mother's coming home to you, Ducks, and won't that just get you right up! Won't it!”

It won't. But I don't say that. Even though she waits for it. And waits. And waits. And then turns on Jock's
TV again and goes back to banging around. I go back to my nothing.

Mom never makes it home. And when I do finally go down at six to eat dinner, Nanny's so annoyed with me, she doesn't ask me a single question.

The next morning there's a knock at my door, and because it's a knock, I know it's Mom. Nanny would be in and yelling already.

“Hey, buddy, are you up?” Mom says from behind the door.

“Yeah.”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Mom opens the door really slow, like she's nervous about what she's going to see, but I'm just in bed. She's not wearing her bandanna. Her hair is down, which is so unusual. But everything around me is changing all the time, so why not Mom? Mom sits down on the corner of my bed and takes a big breath in and starts to talk.

“Buddy, I need to be honest with you about something, okay? And I don't want you to think that I haven't been honest with you before, or that I've been trying to hide something from you, because that is not the case at all. I just wanted to wait, because I needed to see where things went, and if it was something real that needed to be talked about, I would. So I am.”

And she looks at me and says, “It is something real, and it's something we need to talk about. Okay?”

“Okay,” I answer back.

Mom and Paolo have been dating for months. And she thinks she really likes him and she wants to be with him, which means I guess the rest of us have to be with him, or at least have him around. My dad has been gone a long time, and she's lonely and Paolo makes her happy. He makes her laugh, and he wants to be a part of our family. Mom wants that too. So he's coming over for dinner tonight, and she wants me to be nice and patient with him because it will mean a lot to her if I do.

I promise I will. I say it's okay. But when she leaves, it isn't. I hate it.

I feel bad about hating it. I feel bad about listening to Mom just asking to be happy and knowing that her happiness is what I don't like, but I don't know what else to do. And it's not even that I hate Paolo, I don't. Honest. He's annoying and sings and sweats and makes Jules nervous, but he's not evil. But why does he need to be here? It's just all this stuff. I'm going to be pushed out again. That's exactly what's going to happen. Nothing will ever be us or the same ever again. And I'll be left alone.

So I'm not going.

I'm not going to dinner. And I'll tell them that.

I decide that part around four, when Nanny has me peeling carrots. I'm going to get up from the table and say NO to all of them and go up to my room and stay there until they're gone. It doesn't sound like a great plan, but it's all I have.

By six, Mom is lighting candles all over the house, and I'm told to get dressed. Something nice. “Buttons,” says Nanny. And I do. I get dressed. I don't freak out about it because it doesn't matter what I wear. I know I'm not staying for dinner. Right now I just play along. It's going
to come out of nowhere and probably hurt all of them, but I can't think of that now. I just need to plan what to say and worry about the rest later.

Mom gets dressed up and looks nice. Nanny puts on a necklace, which is a huge deal, and when the doorbell rings, I know I have to start getting ready to say no.

Paolo comes in in a big burst of sound: “Hey! It's good to see you, little man.” He goes to fake-punch me like always, but I don't even flinch now. I'm barely paying attention. He brought flowers for Nanny, which she thinks is the nicest thing ever, and she goes off to find a vase. Paolo's nervous, I can tell, and he should be.

Mom takes Paolo up to the living room so they can sit around and have a drink, and talk, but I'm not saying anything.

Not yet.

Paolo's funny, at least Nanny thinks so. She laughs really loud at everything he says. At every single story. Even ones that aren't funny. Mom smiles and laughs too, but she also keeps looking over at me, and checking in with me to see how I'm doing. She pays attention to every
little breath or move I make. And I feel weird because I wanted this, I wanted people to pay attention to me like this, and now someone is, and I hate it. Because I know what I'm going to do. And I know how much it's going to hurt her. And I almost hate that as much.

By eight, the dinner is ready. Nanny finished the cooking so Mom could look nice. And we all go down to sit. Except I don't.

“What's wrong?” Nanny yells at me.

“I'm not hungry,” I say.

And Mom looks at me, looks at me with these eyes that are asking to
pleasestoprightnowyouareliterallykillingme
, but I don't. I see her eyes and I don't. I just stand by the side of the refrigerator and fidget with the rope holding Jock's TV.

“You okay, little man?” Paolo asks, holding Mom's hand. “There a problem?”

“You,” I say. Out loud.

“What?” says Paolo.

“Ducks, I'll not have you be rude in my house,” Nanny yells.

“Then I'll go. That's what you all want anyway, isn't it?” I yell back. Loud. So loud, even Nanny stops. And leans into the table and says:

“You sit, boy-o. You sit and you be quiet. Or you go to bed.”

“No!”
I yell. “I'm not. I'm not going to be quiet or be okay or whatever. I'm not. I don't want to be here and pretend that this is okay, because it's not.”

“What's not?” Mom asks, making her big, searching, hurt eyes.

“This! Him!” And I point right at Paolo. “Everyone gets what they want and who they want and I get packed up and carried out in boxes with my name on them in a closet or I don't get invited to a makeover party or I get told where to go and I hate it!”

“Stop it now!” Nanny yells, slamming the plate of chicken down. “I'll not have this. Do you know how hard your mother slaves for you? Do you have any idea? And all alone in the world?”

“She's not alone.”

“Davis, buddy,” tries Mom.

“I am. I'm alone, and that's how you want me to be. All of you. You just take me around because you have to or you think you do. I don't know. There's no place for me. Anywhere. And I want one. I want the same place with you and Nanny and Jock. I don't want this. I don't want him here.”

Nanny interrupts with, “You stop this. You stop this right now.”

“What does Paolo have to do with any of this?” Mom tries again.

“I can go.” Paolo gets up to leave, but Nanny holds him back.

“You just want something new and better and cooler, and you hate me,” I yell at them.

“Go To Bed!” Nanny yells.

“Well, I hate you. I hate you right back!” I yell.

The whole time I'm playing with the rope even though I've been told a thousand times not to, and maybe because I was just about as evil as I could be, the rope comes undone, and Jock's TV flies off the top of the refrigerator and smashes on the floor.

It breaks into a thousand pieces. There's no way of fixing it. Mom jumps back to avoid the glass, and Paolo catches her. But Nanny just looks at me. With so much hate, like the hate I just said but real and true and terrifying. And then she's very quiet.

“Davis,” Mom says, and almost starts to cry.

“I'm sorry,” I say. I didn't want this. I didn't.

Nanny won't say anything. And when she finally does, it's so quiet I can barely hear her. She's still looking at the broken television. She looks and looks and says nothing.

Until: “Get out of my sight.” She doesn't look at me after that. I go upstairs.

Paolo leaves after that. Mom says good night to him and goes up to her room. I see her come up the stairs and sit on her bed, looking down at her shoes. But when she looks up and sees me looking at her, she closes her door.