The Lighter Side of Life and Death (13 page)

“Was it okay?” the waitress asks, pointing to my plate. The fries are doused in ketchup but I can’t have eaten more than a handful.

“Yeah, it was fine,” I tell her. “I’m just not that hungry.” Jamie glances at me from the other end of the table and I automatically start to grin. His gaze leaps stubbornly past me but I can’t work up the slightest resentment; I’m up to my neck in anticipation, gratitude and shock.
She’s been thinking about me
.

“I’ll take your fries,” Y volunteers.

“I’ll help,” Dustin says.

“Knock yourselves out.” I pass Y my plate and wonder what Colette’s doing right this second and why I can’t call her tonight instead of tomorrow. Is she with Ari? Let’s face it, his existence won’t stop me from calling. It’s not a matter of
if
, but
when
. I drum my fingers against the table and gulp in oxygen tinged with the taste of mustard and vinegar. A bolt of lightning knocks around under my ribs, charging out through my nails, my lips and my teeth. The last time I felt this alive was the night we finished
All My Sons
.

———

I’m up early Sunday morning and Burke and I eat bowls of cereal together at the kitchen table. He’s into Lucky Charms; I’m more of a Cheerios kind of guy. These are the tolerable kinds of differences that I appreciate—not like Brianna stumbling into the room with her hair on backwards (hey, I can’t help it if that’s how it looks), scowling and asking why the empty milk carton’s sitting on the counter.

“Good morning,” I say, fixing her with an extrawide smile. She reprises her scowl, throws last night’s chili into the microwave and pulls up a chair across from me. “You’re not eating that for breakfast?” I ask. Leftover pizza, sure. Chili, now that’s revolting.

“It smells like farts,” Burke complains, smiling at me.

I laugh, almost choking on my Cheerios.

“You ate it last night,” Brianna reminds him. “I don’t remember you telling Mom it smelled like farts then.”

“It didn’t smell like farts then,” Burke says, shoveling in a spoonful of blue moons, pink hearts and green clovers.

“Oh my gawd,” Brianna says under her breath. “You are
so
retarded.”

Whatever sibling rivalry they have going is none of my business, but Burke is six and a half, which puts him at an automatic disadvantage. “Just ignore her, little B,” I say.

“Little what?”
Brianna screeches. Honestly, her voice makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s that bad, especially in combo with her tangled devil-woman hair. “He’s not your little brother, you know. Just because we’re living here now doesn’t make us related.” The microwave bell dings and she flies across the kitchen and yanks out the chili.

I plunk down my spoon and stare at her. She completely misunderstood me. I meant
little buddy
, not
little brother
, but that’s not
the point. “What’s your problem, Brianna?” I’m careful not to use the F word in front of Burke, but my tone implies it.

“What, like you guys are all bonded now after watching one stupid movie together?” she says bitterly. Her gaze switches to Burke. “Don’t think he really likes you just because he laughed at your stupid joke. You’re still retarded.”

Nina strides into the kitchen in her robe and slippers before any of us can react. “That’s enough, Brianna,” she says sharply. “Stop badgering your brother.”

Brianna glares down at her chili. It stinks worse now that it’s been reheated, and she flips it over, dumping it swiftly into the sink. “He’s being a pain,” she protests. “They’re both being obnoxious.”

“It sounds like you’re the one being a pain,” Nina says in a flat tone. “I hope you plan on cleaning that mess up.” She motions irritably to the sink.

“I’ll clean it up,” Brianna mumbles. “It’s your smelly chili but fine, I’ll clean it up.”

“Watch it,” Nina warns. “You’re on thin ice.”

Brianna shrugs like she doesn’t care.

“Wait for me in your room, Brianna,” Nina commands. “I’ll be up in five minutes to talk to you.”

“What about the chili?” Brianna asks, further testing her luck.

“I’ll take care of the chili.” Nina grits her teeth and turns towards the counter. “Just give me a minute to grab some coffee and then we’ll talk.”

“Fine.”
Brianna storms out of the kitchen. We hear her footsteps on the stairs, heavy and deliberate.

Burke digs back into his Lucky Charms, unfazed, while Nina plucks a mug from the shelf above the stove and switches on the coffeemaker, looking harried. “How’re you guys doing this morning?” she asks.

“I’m finished,” Burke announces, tapping his spoon against the bottom of his empty bowl. “Can I watch cartoons?”

“Of course.” Nina smiles thinly. “Might as well bring me your bowl. It seems I already have some cleaning up to do.” Burke hands her his cereal bowl and heads off to watch TV and I know by the rigid way Nina’s holding her arms that she has something to say to me. I wish we could fast-forward through it because whatever it is won’t fix Brianna’s attitude in a hurry, and besides, I’ve already stopped caring. Brianna can be as bitchy as she wants. I just need to make it to noon without picking up the phone to call Colette. I don’t want to seem overeager.

“Sorry about Brianna,” Nina says, leaning against the counter. “I, for one, am glad you and Burke are getting along so well.”

“He’s a cool kid.”

“Yes, he is.” Her eyes are pensive. “Brianna is too. She’s just going through a bad patch. Everyone says girls are tougher at this age. It’s not about you. I hope you don’t take it personally.”

I take another bite of Cheerios and listen to Nina’s coffee gurgle. She turns towards the sink and starts scooping up steaming chili with a wad of paper towels. I throw the rest of my soggy cereal into the garbage after it and go back to my bedroom, wondering why it’s not even ten o’clock yet and how I’m going to make it through the next two hours.

But I don’t. Of course I don’t. I punch in Colette’s number at eleven and hang up when her machine answers. I don’t let myself call again until after eight that night and by that time I have a pounding headache behind my eyes from the weight of anticipation. I should know better because of Kat but I don’t. Of course I don’t.

“Hello,” Colette says smoothly.

“Hi, Colette,” I fire back. “It’s me—Mason.”

“Mason, hi.” Her voice changes when she says my name. I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing. “You got my message.”

“Yeah.” I lie on my bed and think of Ian Chappell’s stellar performance in
Spin Cycle
last night. This is the easy stuff; I shouldn’t give it a second thought. Besides, if I’m twitchy over the phone she may not want to see me again. “I was at the theater with some friends last night.”

“The theater?” she repeats keenly. “What did you watch?”

I give her a quick recap of the play, careful to stay loose. She follows up with questions about themes and performances and I answer a few before panicking that we’ll never get to the important part and interrupting her in midsentence: “You said something about wanting to talk.”

“I did,” she says faintly. “It’s a good phrase, isn’t it—we need to talk. It pretty much fits every situation.” She pauses for a second. “I wasn’t going to call you but my problem is, well, I suppose I should’ve thrown your phone number away, for a start.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” My head doesn’t hurt anymore. I could run a marathon. I might have to. All that excess energy charging through my veins needs someplace to go.

Colette laughs. The sound makes me smile. I’m in so much trouble here. I don’t know what I’ll do if she says we shouldn’t see each other again.

“Are you going to make me do all the talking?” she asks. “Do I have to do all the grunt work—climb out on a limb for you?”

“Poor you,” I tease. “What do you even see in me?” Okay, so I feel a little better now. This isn’t so difficult. This is fine.

“It’s a mystery,” she says. “Maybe you’re my final fling as a shameless, soulless early twentysomething.”

“I thought you’d already turned over a new leaf.” I sit up with my back against the wall. I can’t believe we’re having this
conversation. The undercurrent’s giving me a massive rush. “I thought you were going to save the world from SUVs.”

“You know, you’re right,” Colette says, mock-serious. “I think you’ve stopped me from making a major mistake here. Thanks, Mason. I owe you one.”

“No problem.” I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna dive into the deep end and ask her.
This is where it’s all meant to go
. “So do you think we can see each other again sometime?” I say that with complete sincerity. I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding.

“It’s kind of late right now,” Colette says, matching my tone. “What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s cool.” Tomorrow’s incredible. I stand up, fold one arm across my ribs and pace back and forth between my bed and desk. “I can meet you at The Java Bean if you want.”

Colette pauses like she’s thinking it over. Maybe she’s worried about meeting in public but I don’t want to risk sounding sketchy by suggesting her place right off the bat. If anyone’s going to suggest that, it should be her. “It’d be, you know, just like bumping into each other,” I add. Translation: No one would have a clue what we’re up to. Then I suddenly remember about Christopher. “My friend’s not working tomorrow,” I say. He’s doing Tuesday and Friday shifts this week; he told me that yesterday.

“All right then,” she says. “I’ll see you after work.”

I pace some more after I hang up, my hands crammed into my pockets and the skin on my face tingling. Then I get it together, change into track pants and run for over an hour. I’m wired, like in the final days before
All My Sons
, but somehow this is different—maybe because whatever happens between Colette and me depends more on her than it does on me.

It’s pouring rain
when I wake up, and Dad knocks on my bedroom door and offers to drive me to school. In the car I’m too tired to talk, but not to think. We listen to details of the latest national political scandal involving the minister of the environment and drunk-driving charges while I picture Colette, in bare feet, her breasts spiky against her top. “We should get that TV tonight,” Dad says. He apologizes for not getting around to it earlier, but the truth is I forgot too.

“I’m hanging out with some people tonight,” I say. Television’s the last thing on my mind, despite our conversation.

“Maybe later this week then,” Dad offers.

“Sure.” But I can’t think past tonight. It’s the same all day long. Not even Kat next to me in history distracts me. I couldn’t give you one accurate detail about her appearance today. The only person that gets my attention, even a little, is Monica G, and that’s only
because she rests both hands on my shoulders outside the cafeteria and frowns with her mouth open like she’s trying to be a menace.

Of course she’s way too hot to succeed. She looks more like a frustrated porn star.

“I can’t believe you went to a play without me,” she complains, a thick line of disapproval popping up between her eyes. “You never even tried to call me, did you?”

The play was Christopher’s idea. I didn’t phone anyone. “I guess everyone just assumed you’d be busy with Hugo.” As far as I know they’re still together.

“We’re not with each other twenty-four seven,” she snaps.

“I didn’t realize you’d care that much,” I say apologetically.

“I don’t exactly know a lot of people who are interested in theater.” Monica rubs her finger under her chin and hooks her thumb through the belt loop on her jeans. “I thought someone would’ve at least texted me.”

“Next time for sure, okay?” I touch her hand. “Any news on the commercial?” Last I heard she’d gotten some head shots done and read for the part. “When am I gonna see you on TV trying to sell me lottery tickets?”

Monica pushes her hand into my chest and smiles reluctantly. “Now you’re just sucking up to me so I won’t be mad at you.”

Nope, it’s because she’s gorgeous. But seriously, I don’t mean that either. I guess I feel bad about excluding her, even though it was unintentional.

“No news,” she continues, her smile fading. “But I don’t think I got it. All the other girls there looked more, like, seasoned. And my voice wouldn’t cooperate. I sounded fake.”

Kat would be happy to hear that but I tell Monica that I’m sure she’s being overly critical and that I bet she did fine. Over lunch
I tell everyone what Monica said about wanting to be asked along to
Spin Cycle
. They confirm that no one even considered inviting her, and Zoe says what everyone is thinking: “I know she was in
All My Sons
with us, but I guess it seemed like most of the time she was more interested in being a sex kitten.”

“I guess the two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Jamie comments.

Round about then I crawl back into my own head and resume concentrating on tonight. It makes the hours go by slow, until about four-thirty, when I sit on the end of my bed and decide I should sink a Trojan into my back pocket. Stranger things have happened, right? Kat was a virgin and this girl is twenty-three and joked about me being her final fling. So I do it. I slide a condom into my pocket and walk out the door.

It’s bright and warm outside, like the weather got a memo that we just hit May, and my ego’s bloating up like a sumo wrestler but I’m edgy too. At JB I order a latte and sit facing the front door. I’m a few minutes early, which is a good thing, because I see Jamie and Dustin the second they step inside.

“What’re you guys doing here?” I ask anxiously.

“Same thing as you,” Jamie replies, all ironic. “Imbibing the local java.” He’s still hauling that anti-Mason attitude around, grimacing at me like I’m a rung beneath him on the evolutionary chain, but I don’t have time for it today.

“I have to talk to you.” I struggle out of my chair and motion for him to follow. Dustin sidles over to the counter while Jamie reluctantly trails me back towards the door. “I need you guys to do me a favor and get out of here,” I tell him. “I’m meeting someone and she won’t come in if she sees me with anyone else.”