Carpool Confidential (18 page)

“I must say that this evening has been surprisingly enjoyable,” she announced.

OK. Right there. Grounds. I did not want her to associate me, in any way, with enjoyable hospitality. “It's the margaritas,” I said. Maybe she'd have a vicious hangover and develop a sensory memory forever associating me and my apartment with crippling headaches and never, ever come back and finish crying and telling me about what a horrible mother she'd been.

“Perhaps I should make some coffee and we can toast with that,” Jen suggested diplomatically.

“Oh, no, don't be silly.” Letitia waved her away. “You can't toast anything properly with coffee.”

“Coffee doesn't sober people up,” Randy hissed. “That's an old wives' tale.”

“No, but time does,” Jen whispered back. “I'm trying to buy some of that.”

“If you're buying it, I'd like some of mine back,” I told her. “It's starting to look like I wasted a lot on—” the door buzzed.

Since pretty much everyone I knew who would even think about showing up unannounced at close to midnight was already here, my heart went into my throat. But surely the doorman wouldn't buzz for Rick? We all stood for a second in that awkward silence you get when everyone's thinking the same thing but no one wants to be the one to say it.

Jen said, “Do you want me to go?”

I didn't know. My pulse was going like I'd just run stairs. I was stuck in limbo, somewhere exactly halfway between
Thank God you're back, honey
and
Get the fuck out of my sight and stay there
.

“Cassie?” Jen nudged me toward answering her question.

The buzzer went again. I shook my head at Jen. The few steps to the intercom seemed endless, like one of those dreams where you're being chased but your legs don't work. “Yes?”

No reply, which meant that whoever the visitor was, David, the night doorman, must have been sure enough of their welcome to be bringing them up. It was so silent in the kitchen behind me that I wondered if everyone could hear my heart slamming.

The awkward silence didn't last long. The three of them started talking loudly and slowly, presumably so we'd feel comfortable we weren't being overheard. And the second I opened the door, Bouvier, in the kitchen, started emitting frenzied yaps that probably woke people in Queens (Cad, the tireless guard dog, remained asleep, presumably with her head under the guest toilet).

I stood in the open doorway, my heart thudding, wondering what I was going to do. Throw my arms around him? Tell him to go fuck himself? Where did exactly halfway between the two fall? Did Emily Post have recommendations for this?

The elevator door slid open. A small person dressed in black and olive drab, trailing tears and long, light brown hair, screamed, “Cassie!” and flew out of the elevator into my arms. Unless he'd swapped Barry Manilow for Avril Lavigne, this was not Rick. So all that agonizing on the proper situational etiquette? Total waste of time. It was my niece, no etiquette necessary.

I peeled her off me enough that I could see her. Heart-shaped face, almondy brown eyes, no mouthful of braces this time, but definitely my niece. Nothing unusual in my sister being MIA, but for her daughter to be at my door at midnight, instead of tucked away safely at boarding school—well, something was wrong. I pulled her back into my arms. “Harmonye?”

She sniffled into my neck. “I'm so sorry about Rick. Grandma told me. That really sucks.”

“Thanks.” I was sure she was sorry. I was also sure that wasn't the reason for her arrival. “But what's up with you?”

“Oh, you know, not so much.” She lifted her head and frowned. “What's that insane noise?”

“A visiting rat, um, I mean dog.” I took her by the hand and pulled her toward the kitchen. “It's not that I'm not thrilled to see you, because I am, but shouldn't you be at school?” I was already suspicious that this was not a technical school holiday, but knew for sure when, instead of answering me, she threw her duffel bag on the floor and said, “I'm like starved, Cassie. Can I have something to eat?”

“Sure. There are a few people here, though.” We started down the hall.

She stopped. “Are you having a party or something?” Actually she said,
“Are you having a party or thomething?”

“No, my friends Randy and Jen and, um, Letitia, you know, Rick's mother are here. Are you lisping?”

“A little.” She stuck out her tongue. “I just had this done.”

Ouch. Her tongue was swollen around a little silver bar. Me being me, I immediately started to worry about infection. Before I could say anything about self-mutilation, Bouvier came skittering out, growling and yapping. I saw Harmonye take in his outfit. She gave me a questioning look. “He belongs to Letitia,” I said.

“Phew. Thought for a sec you'd lost it.”

“I probably have,” I admitted, “but I haven't sunk that far. Yet.”

She giggled. At least she'd stopped crying. “So, um, like Rick's mom? For real? I didn't know you guys like hung out.”

“Me either,” I muttered. “So come on, let's introduce you and get you some food. What would you like?”

“Something soft?” She motioned at her mouth.

“You're in luck.” I bit back the depressing realization that the kids would be getting up right about the time I got to bed. “Jell-O, applesauce, pudding?”

“I'm not supposed to have dairy or anything acidic.” Every
s
sound was a
th
.

Great. Special needs already. “Hey, everyone,” I said cheerfully. The whole kitchen was filled with the puncturing air of
we're all just hanging here, not worrying about whether it's Rick at the door
. “Look who's here! It's my niece, Harmonye.”

She kind of waved. There was a collective exhalation, and then a little babbled rush of
nice to meet you
s and
I've heard so much about you
s, some true some not.

“How lovely to see you again!” Letitia, looking like she might tip over at any moment, brandished her glass in greeting.

I grabbed Randy's elbow. “I think one of us is going to have to cut her off.”

“I vote you,” she hissed back.

“You're always saying you're so tough. Prove it.”

“You're the daughter-in-law.”

“Ex.”

“Show me papers.”

“Children?” Jen said.

“I'm not drunk.” Letitia turned to Harmonye. “Do I look drunk to you?”

Harmonye neatly sidestepped Letitia's question. “I'm not going by that name anymore. I'm thinking Mary Alice.” Because of the swelling it came out
Mary Alith
.

“I think it's a mistake, young lady”—Letitia was actually slurring—“to choose a name you can't pronounce.”

“The lisp is temporary,” Harmonye assured her.

I smiled at her. “If your dad hadn't been on assignment, he might have talked your mom out of Harmonye. You could have ended up her second choice: Peace-A.”

“He wanted Beatrice, which is probably worse—my mother always says, if you can't be bothered to show up, you don't get a say. Of course, knowing my mother, she was probably only there because she like had no choice.”

Unfortunately this was probably true. My sister, whom I love despite her eccentricities, and her husband, about whom I'm more equivocal, are not bad people. Just bad parents. I handed Harmonye a Horizon pudding.

She frowned. “It's dairy.”

“Live on the edge,” I suggested.

“Thanks.” She smiled, and I could see a trace of the chubby toddler who used to climb into my lap, which made me think with sadness of the baby I was not having. She sat down at the island and began spooning it up.

I turned away and pulled a box of Oreos out of the cupboard.

“Oreos!” Letitia cried happily. “I haven't had one of those in years!”

Randy took one. “They're not the same since they took the lard out.”

Harmonye gazed at them longingly.

“That's what you get for piercing your tongue.” I handed her another pudding. “Maybe I'll make you some gruel instead.”

She burst into tears for real, making her the third person tonight. I was starting to get a serious complex. I put my arms around her. “I don't really have any gruel.”

“Maybe it's time for us to get going.” Randy gave Letitia an
and you too
look.

Letitia, who was drunkenly splitting Oreos, either missed or ignored the hint. “They're best if you lick out the filling first. Do you have any milk, Cassie?”

Jen handed Harmonye a box. “Randy's right. I hadn't realized how late it—”

“No, it's okay”—Harmonye said—“don't go. If you stay, it's like”—sniffle—“having like a tribe of elders or something.”

“Gee,” I said. “Thanks.”

“If you're an elder,” Letitia said as she sat down with a thump, still holding the Oreo box but looking at me, “what does that make me?”

Randy yawned. “I don't know, but this elder has to be at work in the morning.”

“Oh, don't go.” Jen smiled. “It won't be a true powwow without you.”

Harmonye gave a teary giggle. “Sorry.”

In the end, Randy called Josh to say she was staying a little longer. They had one of those marital conversations of hushed voices and few words. Listening to them, I felt the cold draft of my aloneness. It was awful, this feeling of wanting my life back, which meant wanting my marriage, but not knowing if love or hate was my predominant feeling toward my husband.

“I know your mom's in the Himalayas, but where's your dad?” I asked Harmonye.

“Wherever.” She sniffled again. “Iraq, Pakistan. Somewhere in Europe.”

“Iraq and Pakistan aren't in Europe,” I said. “What are you learning at boarding school?”

“How to tell an Andover boy from an Exeter one,” she said, deadpan.

Randy hung up the phone. “Is that some kind of secret circumcision issue?”

Harmonye looked down at her pudding and started crying again. “I wouldn't know.”

So this was a boy thing. I should have guessed.

“Are you saying”—Letitia had Oreo in her teeth—“these boys don't like you?”

We all looked at Harmonye. Even with the swollen tongue, she was a beautiful girl. With breasts. And I don't recall it taking a whole lot more than that at her age. Come to think of it, it probably didn't take much more than that at any age.

“Griffin doesn't anymore,” Harmonye said. Then she started sobbing again. “And
he
wasn't circumcised at all.” I looked at my niece snuffling into tissues. Was Katya's little baby girl really old enough to be having sex? She was sixteen. God, now I really did feel like a tribal elder.

“Stupid, fucking uncircumcised jerk.”

I was out of my parenting depth and I knew it. My specialties were people who lost anything not physically attached, only ate two foods (neither with any taste or nutritional content), PSP hoggers, musical instrument practice shirkers, and those who needed half-hourly reminding not to throw balls in the house or step on other people's heads. Teenaged girls were not my area of expertise.

I knew whatever I said or did, it would be the wrong thing. And Rick had been an only child, Jen's daughter was seven and Randy's was eight, so there was no use looking around me for help. Why wasn't her mother here? Unfortunately, I was intimately acquainted with the fact that this wasn't the first time Katya hadn't been there for her daughter and likely wouldn't be the last.

My head throbbed and my eyes were so burning with exhaustion I could barely focus on the people in my kitchen. Randy was quietly making tea. I looked at Harmonye. Was it even legal for me to keep her here if she'd run away from school?

“Harmonye,” I said, “does the school know you're gone?”

She shook her head. “Well, probably they do by now.”

“Did you tell anyone you were going?”

She shook her head again.

“We'd better let them know before there's a panic and they terrify your mom.”

Jen crept out to check on the boys for me.

“Oh, Cassie.” She shook her head. “You so don't get my mom. I mean, good luck to them getting hold of her. I like tried and tried. And even if they do, she's not going to give a fu—um, damn.”

“I do get your mom, sweetie.” Randy handed me a mug of tea, and I wrapped my free hand around the warmth. “And I know she's not perfect, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love you, and it also doesn't mean she should have the life scared out of her the first second she gets back to phone reception.” Although privately, I sort of thought maybe she should. “So let's call and leave her a message that you're here and you're OK and then let's call the school.”

“I'm not going back.” She was getting hysterical.

Letitia burped. “Oh, dear,” She covered her mouth. “Now I remember why I haven't had an Oreo in years.”

She did look kind of green.

“They're best taken in moderation.” Jen came back in. “Sound asleep.”

“They may not mix well with margaritas.” Randy took the empty Oreo box.

I rubbed Harmonye's back. She sobbed on the waxed finish of my antique pine table. I started to laugh in that I-know-I'm-laughing-at-a-funeral-but-I-can't-stop kind of way. “You do realize,” I said to Jen, “that you're the only person in this apartment other than me who hasn't cried tonight.”

She burst into tears.

Fuck. I never should have mentioned it. Now I was the only one who hadn't, which made a change. I'd cried so much over the past few months I had no real recollection of starting and ending points.

This time Letitia got up to make tea. I worried as she turned on the Viking that the flame might ignite the margarita fumes. “You know what would be fun?” She was once again the flawless hostess. “Let's take turns placing our problems in front of the tribunal of elders. Harmonye first, then Randy, then Jen, then Cassie.”

No one said anything, but apparently as far as she was concerned, lack of protest constituted a communal yes, even if some of us looked sort of taken aback. She smiled brightly. “Excellent. And me, well don't worry, Cassie, I'll wait for another day.”