Darren and I watched Mom, me trying to stifle my sobs to something less animal-like.
“Tell her you love her,” Mom whispered. “Tell her.”
“I . . . of course.” Dad looked at me. My dad, my father. He wanted to say it, I knew. “It’s . . .” His hands dropped to his sides, and he walked out of the kitchen. A few seconds later we heard the front door open and close, then the sound of the car starting and pulling away.
I went to the sink and took a couple of paper towels off the roll to blow my nose and wipe my eyes. Mom sank into a kitchen chair and sighed. “Well. You shouldn’t have talked to your father like that, Deanna. I don’t know why you had to use that language.” She lifted a hand and ran it over the Formica surface of the table. “It’s hard for him, honey. It always has been.”
I held my root beer to my throbbing temple. “I know.”
She got up and came toward me like she might hug me or at least put her arm around my shoulders. Instead she stopped in front of me and shook her head, speaking quietly: “But it’s no excuse, is it,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s no excuse.” She poured herself another cup of coffee and stared out the window.
“Come on,” Darren said to me, pulling my arm.
I followed him downstairs. My head felt full and huge from crying so hard; my throat ached and I could only breathe through my mouth. I sat on Darren’s bed with a box of tissues.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Did that actually happen?” I was disoriented, still thinking about the shock on Dad’s face when I’d said what I did, and that denying he hated me might be the best he could do, might be as close to a declaration for me that he was able to give.
“I think so.” He sat next to me. “I mean, holy shit, I think it really did.”
I blew my nose a few more times. “So,” I said, ready to think about something else for a minute. “Where are they?”
“At Stacy’s mom’s.”
“I thought they hated each other.”
“They do.”
“When are they coming back?”
“I don’t know. April will be back tomorrow for a couple of days. Stacy wants to come back, too.” He ran his hand over his hair. “I told her I’d think about it.”
“What do you mean, you’ll
think
about it?” I couldn’t believe he didn’t feel the shift in our little universe the way I did, the way everything was connected, the way we all had to be if there was any chance for us.
“She left me!” he said. “She
left
me and April.”
“She came back.”
Darren shook his head. “I just don’t know if that’s who I want for the mother of my baby.”
I laughed, even though it made my head throb. “Too late, dumbass, she
is
the mother of your baby. You think you’re going to go out and just round up some other chick to be April’s mom?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” He stood up and stripped his T-shirt off. “I gotta get in the shower.”
I stayed in his room and crawled into the bed. It was still warm where he’d slept. My head hurt so bad from crying and when I thought about Jason and Lee and what Darren had just said, it hurt even more, but I knew, I
knew,
that even if Darren hadn’t felt it, the shift of things, that I had. That something had happened.
After he showered, he came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Um, a little privacy?”
“I’m not going to watch. God.” I turned over so my back was to him and stared at the wall. “You have to call her,” I said. “And tell her to come back.”
“Well I don’t know if I’m ready to do that.”
“So?” I could see it all so clearly, the way it had to be.
“I can’t just let her get away with it, Deanna.”
“Why not?” I said. “Just call her and say you’re sorry and you want her to come home.”
“
I’m
sorry?”
“Yeah.” I traced my finger along a crack in the basement wall. “For not trying to understand why she left and for kicking her out and everything.”
“What about her? She’s the one who left!”
I turned back over and looked at Darren. He had on his pants and shirt. “Did she say sorry?”
He looked down, picked his Safeway jacket up off the floor. “Yeah. But I don’t know if that’s enough.”
“What else is there?” I was going to have to tell Lee what I’d done. I would have to face her, and confess.
“Well, you know, she has to, like, prove that she’s going to be a good mother and not do that again.”
I handed him a pair of socks out of the pile on the bed. “Like Dad wants me to prove I’m not who he thinks I am?”
He took the socks from me and held them in his hands. “I’m not like Dad.”
“If you say so.”
I took a shower and some aspirin, ate a grilled cheese sandwich. I was exhausted and alone. I called Jason’s cell and got his voice mail. “Call me,” I said.
The phone rang about twenty minutes later and I grabbed it, hoping for Jason but getting Michael. He asked if I could come in early because Brenda’s babysitter was sick. I waited around a while in case Jason called, then got a bus down to Picasso’s.
Michael and I spent most of the afternoon cleaning the pizza oven and the walk-in. “One more citation from the board of health,” he said, “and I’m out of business. Which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” He handed me a crock of sliced tomatoes that had practically turned to mush. “Here, throw this in the minestrone pot.”
What Michael called “minestrone” was really a slimy mixture of leftover pizza sauce and water and vegetables from the salad bar that were about to go bad, with some macaroni thrown in. I added the tomatoes.
“I’m off for a smoke break,” he said. “Back in five.”
“What happened to just smoking in here?”
“I’m turning over a new leaf.”
While Michael was out, Tommy showed up. He went straight into the back for his apron and started rolling out pizza crusts. I remembered his face looking out across the top of his car in the old Chart House parking lot, confused, even innocent, in a way.
“Aren’t you going to say hi to me,” I said, imitating him.
“Hi.” He looked up and smiled a little, then went back to rolling his crusts. I watched him, trying to find that place in myself I always went to when faced with Tommy Webber. It wasn’t there; something was missing. “Take a picture,” he said, “it’ll last longer.”
“I think that’s enough crusts,” I said.
He flipped his hair out of his eyes and kept rolling. “I don’t remember Michael making you the boss.”
“Oh,
you’re
going to be mad at
me
now? Whatever.”
A few people phoned in orders for pickup and an older couple came in, so we kept busy for a little while. I was in the back running some dishes through the washer when Michael came to tell me I had visitors.
Darren and Stacy and April were there, standing at the front counter.
Honestly? I’d been expecting them. It was inevitable, almost, after what had gone on in the Lambert kitchen that morning. Still, the sight of Stacy smiling and holding onto April was a major Hallmark moment and almost made me miss the fact that Darren’s eyes were fixed on Tommy, who stood there looking like he wasn’t sure if he should grin or run.
I came around the counter and pulled Darren’s arm. “Yeah, he works here, okay? Let’s go sit down.”
“What the hell, Deanna?” Darren muttered as we took a booth.
“It’s cool,” I said. “Trust me.”
I took April from Stacy and blew a raspberry into her neck. “You guys want pizza?” I asked.
“No, thanks,” said Stacy.
She leaned against Darren and watched April in my arms and I felt happy, really and truly happy, like I’d done something good talking to Darren that morning the way I did. It felt like the best thing I’d done in my life, maybe.
Darren stared at me. “Why didn’t you tell me he worked here?”
“Because she knew you’d freak out, I’m guessing,” Stacy said.
“You’d be right,” Darren said. “If he touches you, Deanna, his ass is grass.”
“I’ll make a note of that.” Darren would never know how I’d gone off with Tommy one more time. Somehow I was sure it wasn’t something Tommy would spread around, not this time.
It got quiet for a minute, and awkward, then April made this growling sound and we all cracked up. “She just started doing that yesterday,” Stacy said.
Everything with babies happened so fast. I tried not to think about all the stuff I’d miss when Darren and Stacy left.
“We better go,” Darren said.
“Already?”
“Stacy has to work. We just thought we should come by, you know, so you could see.”
Stacy took April from me and smiled. “I’ll pick you up after work, okay?”
“Yeah,” I said.
I watched them leave and everything felt possible. If I could have called Lee that second and told her everything, I would have.
Tommy came up to me. “So is Darren going to beat my head in?”
“Not unless I want him to,” I said. I looked at Tommy’s little grin and his scar and I knew what was different.
“What?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I just figured something out.”
“What?”
“I don’t hate you anymore,” I said. “Something about you still pisses me off, but I don’t hate you.” It was weird, almost sad, like a part of me was gone.
“Wow. I feel so special.”
“Break it up, kids,” Michael was saying. “We have customers.”
Stacy picked me up right on time, looking the same as ever behind the wheel of the Nova, except for her red hair. We rolled out of the lot and through the dark streets. I leaned my head against the cool window and closed my eyes, exhaustion hitting me all at once.
“You okay?” Stacy asked.
“Yeah. Long day.”
“I heard what happened with your dad this morning.”
“It was crazy.”
“Wish I’d been there.”
I think I dozed off, for a minute or two at least, because before I knew it the car had stopped and there we were at the house. Stacy turned off the engine but didn’t move to get out. “Deanna,” she said, “Darren told me what you said. About . . . me. Us. He listens to you, you know. He respects you.”
“Darren? Respects
me
?”
“He doesn’t say it like that. But I can tell.” She checked herself in the rearview mirror, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “That’s why he gets on you about stuff like college. He knows you could really do it.”
I thought about that: me, in college, sitting there taking notes and buying take-out coffee in between classes.
“Anyway,” Stacy said, “thanks. What I did was dumb. I know that.”
“Well,” I said, trying to remember the exact words Lee had said to me when we first met, “we all have stuff we wish we could change. Right?”
She laughed. “Damn straight.”
We sat in the car a few minutes more and I let myself imagine, one last time, what it would have been like for me and Stacy and Darren to have a new life, together: me waking up some Saturday morning and walking into a sunny kitchen, where Stacy would be feeding April in a high chair. Darren would be by the coffeepot, and would turn to me when I came in,
Hey, Deanna, what’s on for today?
I’d pour my own cup of coffee and lean against the counter.
A little homework,
I’d say,
then I’m free until work tonight
. We’d make a plan, maybe, to divide up the weekend chores, then do some errands together and grab a burrito in the city before going our separate ways.
I let myself picture it all.
Then I let it go.
And I opened the car door, and Stacy and I went inside the house, the actual house, where in a way we
did
have our own little family, not a made-up one that only existed in my head, but a real one where at least Darren and Stacy and me had figured something out. Somehow we had found our own small island of declaration for each other.
I slept until eleven-thirty the next morning, and woke up feeling like I could sleep even more. But I had things to do.
First: I called Jason.
“I think I’m going to tell her,” I said.
There was a long pause before he answered, “
Why
?”
“Because. I just have to.”
“Dude. Do you mean, like, tell her
everything
?”
“Yes.” I’d thought it all out. Getting the truth into the wide open was the only thing that worked with Tommy, the thing that got my dad to finally
look
at the way it was, the thing that had brought Stacy and Darren back together. It had to work with Lee, too.
“Please,” Jason said, “I beg you, just leave that one little part out.”
“Trust me. Lee’s into honesty. That kind of stuff matters a lot to her.”
“And I’m into keeping my girlfriend.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Jason was quiet for a second. “Yeah I did.”
I thought about the way he’d held me when I kissed him, how he’d pulled me closer, kissed back. Picturing us together like that made me teeter, just a little, before I refocused. “Well, I’ll just tell her my part.”
“Holy crap, you’re serious.”
“Don’t worry, okay?”
He sighed and I thought I could hear him open a door, like he was standing in the kitchen, maybe, staring into the cupboard looking for a snack. “The whole thing was weird,” he said. “It’s like it never happened.”
“It did, though.”
“But why do you have to tell her?”
I sighed. “I know it sounds like a bad idea.” I didn’t know how to explain that, for me, it was the only option.
“Good luck.”
Second: I cleaned my room. I took down my macaroni-art turkey. I picked up my clothes. I organized my CDs. I cleaned off my desk, then I pulled the comp book out from behind my bed and set it by the desk lamp, where it would be waiting for me when I needed it.
Third: I found Stacy in the kitchen, trying to fix herself a bowl of cereal while balancing April on her hip.
“Need help?”
She handed April over. “Thanks. Just trying to eat before
she
wants to eat again. I think she’s having a growth spurt or something.”
I sat down with April and turned her to face me. She smiled her gummy smile and I squeezed her chubby legs. I took a deep breath. “I decided . . . that I want to give you guys everything I make this summer. So that you can move out.”
Stacy put down her spoon. “No way, Deanna. That’s your money.”
I held April to me and smelled her hair, fruity and milky and dusty all at once. “If you guys move out, that means I’ll have a place to go, too. Once in a while, I mean. To visit. So in a way I’d be using the money on something for me.”
“Deanna, we couldn’t. Anyway, Darren would never let you.”
“It’s my money, not Darren’s.” April looked up at me and flapped her arms.
Stacy shoveled a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, shaking her head. “You better just leave me out of it, because I’d probably say yes.”
I was off work that night and didn’t know what to expect with Dad and me both home. Mom had left a note for me to put a casserole in the oven, so I did, and set the table for four. Stacy left for her shift, and Darren came home from his.
“What are you doing?” he asked, appearing in the kitchen, carrying April in her car seat. He took in the set table, complete with water glasses and cloth napkins.
“Um, making dinner?”
We looked at each other and both came out with the same nervous laughter. Darren ran his hand through his hair. “Why the hell not, huh? This family has done crazier things than eat dinner together. I’m in.”
When Mom got home from work and found us there, her tired face lifted. “You kids are both in tonight? That smells wonderful, Deanna.”
“You made it, Mom. I just put it in the oven.”
“I can take over from here,” she said, setting her purse down and rolling up her sleeves.
“It’s okay,” Darren said. “We got it covered.”
She smiled. “All right. Maybe I’ll go put my feet up for a bit.”
The casserole finished, Darren threw some frozen rolls into the toaster oven, and we waited fifteen minutes past the time Dad usually got home from work. “Maybe he’s working overtime,” Darren said.
“They never give him overtime,” I said, unwrapping a stick of butter and putting it in the butter dish we hadn’t used since Thanksgiving.
“Well, I’m starving, so let’s get the show on the road.” He put April’s car seat on a chair so she could watch us eat. I brought everything to the table. Mom came in and sat down, checking her watch.
Then we all heard the front door open and close, and he walked in.
April flapped her arms.
Dad stopped, and I imagined us through his eyes — his family, sitting in a pink kitchen: his tired wife, who never complained; his son who looked exactly like him; his daughter, who used to be the baby, his baby girl; and now April, his granddaughter, who had a whole life in front of her, with no real mistakes in it yet. Could he look at us someday, I wondered, maybe today, and not be disappointed? Could he see us, and himself, for who we really were?
He sat down.
Mom dished up the casserole.
I passed the butter.
April watched us with her big eyes.
The Lamberts, eating dinner.
Before bed, I wandered into the living room to find Mom still up and watching
Letterman.
She smiled at me and held out a bag of microwave popcorn. I sat next to her, taking a big handful.
Her legs were stretched out onto the coffee table, stubbly hair all over, like she hadn’t had time to shave for maybe a week. “I’m going to stay up all night watching TV and then call in sick tomorrow,” she said.
“Sounds like a plan.”
A commercial came on and I felt Mom’s eyes on me. “Come here, sweetheart. Snuggle up.” She held her arm out, smiling. I was embarrassed; I hadn’t cuddled with Mom since I was a kid, way before Tommy. But the living room was dark except for the TV and it was just the two of us, so I leaned toward her and she pulled me in. She smelled like popcorn and the flowery lotion she always used. I curled my legs underneath me, putting my head in her lap.
She stroked my hair while we finished up
Letterman
and the popcorn. Then I closed my eyes, concentrating on the warmth of her fingers on my scalp, the worn chenille of her old robe under my cheek. Tears gathered behind my eyes; I sniffled, hoping Mom wouldn’t say anything or ask anything or stop touching my hair. She didn’t.
I lay there in my mom’s lap for I don’t know how long, and before I drifted to sleep I thought of something Lee said once when she was talking about church, that sometimes there was no reason to believe in God and you’d look at your life and know it was crazy to feel peaceful but you did anyway, and that was faith. I know that having faith in your family isn’t the same as God or religion or whatever, but I could kind of get what Lee meant about believing in something when it made more sense not to.