She Dims the Stars (8 page)

The six-hour drive ends up being closer to seven, because Audrey’s bladder is the size of a peanut. Maybe a cashew. Also, at some point, once we crossed the border into Alabama, I had to pull the car over and get out just to distance myself from their constant bickering. As I stood and watched traffic go by, I made the decision to render Cline’s character mute in my game. Maybe sew his lips shut myself. Perhaps I’d just erase the mouth all together.

That thought is the only thing that gets me through the remainder of the drive to my house. We pull up in front of my little one-story home, and I take a second to look at it with fresh eyes. I try to see it like Audrey might. It’s small, sure. But the lawn is well kept and my mother’s flower garden is in full bloom. She keeps hanging plants along the front porch, and she’s just had the front door repainted crimson red. It may not be the most glorious place, but it’s ours.

The smell of chicken fried steak hits me as soon as I open the door, and I almost fall to my knees. I’m ravenous, and there is nothing better than my mom’s cooking. Except maybe my grandma’s, but she’s been dead for a couple years now.

“Ma! We’re here!” Without even thinking about it, I head down the hallway toward the kitchen, kiss two fingers and press them to my father’s picture as I pass. “Are you in here?”

She’s standing over a pot at the stove, her hair pulled up into a clip, the steam from the pot making her curly hair even curlier around her ears. There’s music on, and she’s doing this thing with her feet that I’m sure at one time she thought was dancing but now it just looks like an unsure shuffle. I crouch down low and sneak up behind her, then grab her ankles and yell as loud as I can.

Her scream is even louder, and I swear she jumps a foot into the air, her arms flailing out, and the wooden spoon in her hand goes flying across the kitchen before it makes contact with the wall and bounces to the floor. Roseanne Clark, all five foot nothing of her, pins me with her icy blue eyes, her hands to her chest and breathing ragged.

“Hey, Ma.” I go in for a hug but she slaps my chest instead. Then she pulls me in for a hug and pushes me away to slap me again.

“You’re the worst,” Audrey speaks up from behind me. She hooks a thumb toward Cline and shakes her head. “I should have made a t-shirt for you instead. You made your mom throw mashed potatoes at the wall, Elliot.”

Mom thrusts a kitchen rag into my hand and then composes herself. “Clean that up. Set the table. I’m going to change my clothes, and then you can introduce me to your friends. Also, I agree. You
are
the worst.” She hugs me again, turns around, and leaves the room.

Cline wanders over to the stove and starts touching pans. “I think you made her piss herself.”

“Shut up.” I start to laugh and then stop.
What if I did?

“Earlier statement retracted. Cline still holds the title for The Worst.” Audrey heads over to the cabinets.

I have just finished cleaning up the wall when I look over and see that Audrey has set the table for the four of us. She sees me looking and shrugs.

“I’m hungry and you’re slow. I don’t want to wait any longer because that smells amazing. I figured I’d help. No big deal.” she says.

My mom reappears in different clothes, making some excuse about not wanting to smell like oil or grease, but now I’m worried I
did
make her pee herself, and that only means that Cline is a shithead, because scaring each other is a thing with me and my mom. She woke me up for the first day of high school dressed like Freddy Krueger with one of the knife fingers pressed to my throat, telling me if I didn’t get up she was going to turn me into a motorcycle.

 
Cline sucks.

Audrey and my mom have clicked and are talking up a storm while I stuff my face with as much good food as possible. Cline is watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, and I’m starting to get the feeling that maybe he’s the problem in all of this. Not her.

My mom’s a pretty open book. She’ll talk to any and every one, and her body language is always welcoming. Audrey is responding to it, leaning in like she’s stuck in her tractor beam. There’s a fleeting thought in my head that it must be nice for her to talk to a motherly figure. No wonder she feels so comfortable.

“How is your game coming along?” My mom’s attention is on me, and I chew what is in my mouth quickly to answer her.

“It’s still in the early stages, but once I have everything I need, it should be pretty easy from there.”

“That’s why I’m here. Elliot needed another character for the game, so I said he could use me.” Audrey smiles and it’s genuine.

“What’s it about again?” Mom asks before taking another bite of food.

Audrey opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off to talk over her because I haven’t told my mom anything about the real project. I have no idea how she’ll respond to using my dad’s old journals and letters. I don’t know how it will affect her. So I say, “It’s a fantasy game like Game of Thrones meets Candy Crush, and Audrey’s character rides around on a unicorn and kills people with rainbow-colored unicorn poop cookies.”

There’s a barely muffled, “Jesus,” from where Cline has his face buried in his hands.

My mom hardly bats an eyelash. “Turn it into an app, and I bet you’ll make a million bucks.”

Lying in my old bed feels familiar and odd at the same time. It’s been this way every time I’ve come home for the last three years. Sometimes I wonder if my mom would like the extra space for a treadmill or an office, but then I’d have to sleep on the couch, and it would feel like this wasn’t my home anymore, so I let her keep everything the way it is. Sometimes we need a little bit of constant in our ever-changing lives.

My bedroom door creaks open, and I turn over to see Audrey slip through the crack and close the door again as quietly as possible. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Did I wake you?”

I sit up and reach for the light, but she waves her hand to stop me. “I wasn’t asleep. You okay?”

She’s hovering at the edge of my bed in these little shorts and a tank top, her hair pulled up into that mess on her head again. “Don’t be weird, but can I get in with you? Is it against house rules to have a girl in your room?”

“Isn’t your whole ‘thing’ —your whole existence—about breaking the rules?” I ask and pull back the covers to invite her in.

She slips between the sheets and rests her cheek on my pillow, so I turn and mirror her position, looking at her face in the muted moonlight of my pre-teen bedroom. This girl is really pretty, but she’s full of so many secrets. Her eyes search mine for a moment before she inhales deeply.

“I’m working on that. I promise.”

“Okay.”

Her body heat quickly warms up the space between us, and the bed becomes toasty under the covers. I fold the comforter down a few inches, and she smiles up at me as she adjusts her hands under the pillow.

“How many girls have you let sleep in this bed with you?”

Eyes wide, I lean back and feign insult. “None. I would
never
.”

“Liar.”

“Fine,” I concede in a whisper. “I’ve had exactly ninety-nine, so I was really hoping you’d come in here tonight so I could round out my number.”

“You’re an idiot,” she manages out through her laughter. The bed shakes and creaks a little, so I press my hand on her hip to get her to stop shaking.

“Shh. The walls are thin, for real. I don’t want my mom to think we’re in here doing anything.”

“Of course not.” Audrey lies on her back and looks up at my ceiling for a few quiet moments. “I really like your mom. You take after her a lot. Mannerisms and stuff. She’s nice.”

“Thanks.”

“Why did you lie about the game?”

I close my eyes and try to think of the best way to say it, but it’s hard to explain without getting too detailed, so I decide to go with, “I don’t know how she’ll react to having a game made that’s so close to real life for us. If you know what I mean.”

“Sure. I get it. And I agree that the unicorn game would make a million dollars in the app store.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh, and she has to place her hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. She’s hovering over me, our noses almost touching as she quietly speaks. “Thank you for doing this. For taking me to Ruth’s. It means a lot to me.”

I pull her fingers off my mouth and nod, curling her fist into mine and laying it on my chest. “You’re doing me a favor, too.”

“Is it safe to say we’re friends, then? I have people I like or know, but I don’t usually say I have many I would consider to be friends. But I think you and I are, yeah?”

Puckering my lips, I pull my eyebrows together. “I don’t know, man. You stuck your tongue down my throat and everything.”

“As a friend!” She whisper yells and pinches my side, making me gasp and jerk, then giggle before I man up and stop that shit.

“Alright! You stuck your tongue down my throat as a friend. Fine. Now, are you sleeping in my bed as a friend? Is this a friend snuggle here?” I motion between us.

“Yes. Now roll over that way so I can big spoon you. It’s safer like this. Plus I can pretend I’m a jetpack while we sleep. Maybe you’ll dream about being in outer space.”

I do as she says, and she wraps her arms around my middle, but I pull her hands higher. “This is the safe zone,” I tell her as seriously as possible. “I cannot be held responsible for the things my body does in the night or in the morning if your hands wander outside of the safe zone. Friends or not.”

“Jesus take the wheel. This is going to be a long night,” she pretends to cry into my back.

Then she starts making jet pack noises, and that combined with the warmth of her embrace helps lull me to sleep much faster than I care to admit.

I had snuck back out of Elliot’s room about an hour before we were supposed to be up and just rested on the couch with my eyes open, wondering what the day was going to bring. Three states are all that separates me from something life changing. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach as the rest of the people in the house begin to stir. A quick breakfast, a heartfelt goodbye, and we are on the road into the morning sunrise.

Saying goodbye to his mom was difficult for some reason. Her hug was warm and inviting, and maybe it was the way she embraced me and held me like she meant it, but I didn’t want to let go until I had to.

The mood in the car is much lighter today, and it feels like we get through Georgia rather quickly. Maybe it’s because we listen to music and don’t fight. I’m lost in thought for a while, adding license plates. Somewhere between the edge of The Peach State and South Carolina, Cline and I both fall asleep, and Elliot has to fend for himself. I wake up a couple of times when we hit the odd pot hole, and I glance up to see him focused intently on the road, so I drift back off.

Not far from my grandmother’s house, we are all awake, hopped up on sugar and hot boiled peanuts as I dole out an impossible game of Hump, Marry, and Kill.

“Cline, you’re up next. Ready?” I turn in my seat and survey his face as he groans and frowns.

“Your choices blow,” he complains.

“They are scientifically chosen. I’m not just throwing any old name out there for you to choose. Here are your choices: Matt Dylan, Dylan McDermott, Dermot Mulroney, and Rooney Mara.”