The Vast Fields of Ordinary (26 page)

“Half lemonade, half iced tea,” I said.

“Um, sure,” he said. “Sounds great.”

“I’ll make them and bring them out,” my mother said, coming into the kitchen behind us. “Go on outside. Alex, you can meet Dade’s dad.”

Alex and I went out back. My father was staring at the smoking grill with a weird sort of grimace on his face like he didn’t know what was going on but was prepared to at least attempt to disprove anyone who suggested such a thing. He looked up when he heard the sliding door.

“I accidentally bought the crappy coals and not the good ones.” He looked Alex up and down. “You must be Alex.”

They both put out their hands and shook.

“I am,” he said. “And you’re Dade’s dad.”

“Call me Ned.”

“Okay.” Alex shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. I remembered the first night we’d met, how he’d done the exact same thing on the sidewalk that ran in front of the Montanas’ place. “Nice pool.”

“Alex brought me flowers,” I said. The moment I said it, I wished I hadn’t.

My father waited a moment and said, “Well, that was nice of you. Nobody ever brought me flowers. Dade’s mother brought home this wonderful fern when we first got married, but I think it was more for both of us. Not for me specifically.”

“I have some more in the car if you want them,” Alex said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his car.

“Oh. Um, no. I’m all right.”

“Dad, that was a joke.”

My father looked at me and then let out a laugh so loud that I gave a little start. Alex gave me a look of wild amusement.

“Of course,” my father said. “Of course.” He turned back to the grill and poked around at the coals. An awkward silence fell over the three of us, like he’d suddenly forgotten we were there.

“So what’s for dinner?” Alex said, circling the grill and putting himself in my dad’s line of vision. There was nothing on there, just a heap of coals that were barely burning. They both looked at it like that evening’s meal would magically appear there at any second.

“Kabobs,” my dad said. “Lots and lots of kabobs.”

“Nice,” Alex said.

“Should we sit?” I asked.

The dining area in the corner of the yard was already prepared. The lime green plates were out, the ones my mother only used when we were eating outside. She had put out silverware, cloth napkins, salt and pepper shakers.

“So,” my father said after we sat down. “Alex.” His name hung there in the air for a few seconds. Alex nodded at my father. He wore a good-natured smile, a less charged version of the smirk he offered those he was trying to in some way seduce. “How old are you?”

“I’ll be twenty-one in November,” he said.

“So you’re twenty.”

“Yes. Twenty.”

“Dade’s eighteen.”

“Yes. I am aware of that.”

Just then my mother came out with drinks. She placed an Arnold Palmer in front of each of us, smiling brightly as she did so. There was something weirdly ceremonial about it, as if she was glad for the chance to play perfect homemaker in front of someone new.

“No further schooling for you, son?” my dad asked while she did this. “Dade said you weren’t enrolled at any of the local colleges.”

“Not right now,” he said. “Maybe someday. I’m just working. Saving money.”

“Saving money is good,” my mother said, taking a seat.

“Where do you work?” my father asked.

“I work at Taco Taco. It’s over on Edgewood and—”

“I know where Taco Taco is,” my father said.

“We have two locations,” Alex explained.

“Is that so?”

“Yup yup.”

“Your mother got sick on Taco Taco many years ago,” my dad said in a slightly accusatory tone.

“Mine?” Alex asked. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or if he actually thought my father was referring to him. My dad shot him a weird look.

“No,” he said. “Dade’s mother.”

“Me,” my mother said, raising her hand demurely.

“I don’t remember that,” I said.

“You may not have been born,” she said.

We all reached for our beverages and went through the awkwardness of drinking them together. It was an accidental camaraderie followed by a long silence.

Dinner was kabobs, salad, corn on the cob, and some mushroom rice medley thing that my mother always served when we had people over for dinner. She asked Alex about his family and work, and he gave her sterilized answers, things to appease her inquires but nothing to alarm her. I kept stealing glances over at my father. He appeared to be pouting about something. I wondered if all this was his worst nightmare, if he was sitting there thinking about how he’d always wanted a jock who’d bring the head cheerleader home for dinner. Instead he got some lazy, skinny, thrift-store-loving kid who brought home some dude that worked at a taco joint.

“Ned, did you hear that?” my mother said.

Both my father and I looked over at her. I’d also missed whatever had just been said.

“No,” my dad said. “What?”

“Alex’s sister is in Europe,” she said. “That’s where we’re going. Isn’t that something?” She looked at Alex. “Dade’s father and I are going to Europe next week. I can’t wait.”

“Ah, yes,” my dad said. “It’ll be great.”

His words came out empty and emotionless, and he went back to his food without saying anything else. The silence that followed was unbearable. Alex gave me a look that seemed to ask what was going on. I gave a subtle shake of my head to indicate he should ignore it. My mother needlessly cleared her throat and reached for her wineglass.

“It’s hard to believe Dade will be leaving for school in less than a month,” she said. “You know, Fairmont is the same school—”

My dad suddenly shot up, pushing the chair back noisily as he went. He grabbed his plate and headed for the house.

“—where Dade’s father went,” my mother went on, her eyes following my father. She took another gulp of her wine. “I remember going to visit Ned—”

“What’s his problem?” I asked after he’d slid the glass door shut behind him.

My mom shrugged, shook her head, and waved her hand all at the same time. “I don’t know. You know how he is.”

“This is embarrassing,” I said. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t say
fuck,
Dade,” my mother warned.

“Should I go?” Alex asked. He was already halfway out of his seat, his thumb once again pointing over his shoulder in the direction of his car and the nonexistent flowers he’d brought for my father. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“No,” I said. “Stay.”

“Stay,” my mother said. “There’s still dessert.”

“Unless you’d rather go,” I said. “I understand if you want to.”

“I want to stay,” Alex said. “If that’s cool.”

“It’s cool,” I said. I stood up and grabbed our plates. “We’ll go up to my room and finish.” My father’s plate was in the kitchen sink, but he was nowhere to be found. Alex and I took two spoons and an entire container of strawberry ice cream up to my room. We were at my bedroom door when I realized that I was about to escort him into a realm where everything was mine, covered with the fingerprints of my existence, and unable to be explained away or blamed on someone else. I thought of my Johnny Morgan shrine. It suddenly seemed childish and obsessive. I gave a long, hard blink, and silently wished that we’d walk in and find it had magically disappeared.

“Nice digs,” he said as we walked in. Despite my wish, dozens of Johnnys grinned and posed on the far wall. “Love the high ceilings. Makes my room at my grandma’s look like a jail cell.”

I laughed lamely, unsure how to respond. I perched on the edge of my bed with the ice cream and spoons as he walked the perimeter of my room. He closely examined the postcards I’d taped to the wall, images by Lichtenstein, Warhol, and Cindy Sherman. He briefly perused my bookshelf, hums of interest coming from his throat as he scanned the titles.

“What’s all this?” he asked when he came to the pile of stuff my mother had bought me for college.

“Stuff for my dorm,” I said.

“Ah,” he said. “Your dorm. I keep forgetting.”

“Keep forgetting what?”

He went over to my desk and flipped open my laptop. “Can we put some music on?”

“I’ll get it,” I said. I put on a collection of
Vasectomy
B-sides that I hadn’t listened to in a while. The sad opening chords of “Lava Lamp” started and I returned to my bed.

Alex noticed the Johnny Morgan shrine and laughed. “Love it.”

I felt my face get hot. I looked away. “I should take that down. It’s lame.”

“Whatever,” he said. He came over and sat by me. “Johnny Morgan’s a hot piece. I’d hit it.”

He took the ice cream from me and opened it up. We sat there eating it and listening to the music and not saying anything.

“So what did you mean that you keep forgetting?” I finally said. “You keep forgetting that I’m going to school?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Michigan’s far.”

“It’s not that far,” I said.

“Far enough.”

I didn’t like the way he said it, like he’d already decided something about what was going to happen to us after the summer ended. He was looking around my room, not completely invested in the conversation. It occurred to me that we’d been alone for over five minutes and we hadn’t kissed yet. I put my hand on his knee. He gave me a smile, warm and maybe a little bit forced. It felt like a consolation prize. I moved my hand away.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He furrowed his brow. “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Am I acting like something’s wrong?”

“Frankly, yeah. A little. Did dinner freak you out?”

“No. Not at all. The food was good.”

“I’m sorry about my dad.”

“Don’t be. God only knows how my parents would’ve acted in the same situation. At least your dad had the courtesy to just get up and leave instead of causing a scene. Mine probably would’ve just gotten drunk and thrown something.”

“We went out to dinner the other night, and he said he was going to try,” I said. “He said he wanted to understand everything.”

“Bummer.”

He was holding the ice cream and looking distractedly around my room. I was convinced that he was plotting his escape. Why hadn’t he kissed me yet?

His phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. He gave me a look that asked if he could take it, and I gave him an overly permissive nod. He stood up and moved slowly to the corner of my room and answered.

“Hey, Jarvis,” he said. “How can I help you this lovely evening?”

Alex took the liberty of opening my window and lighting up a cigarette. He leaned far out as he blew the smoke into the night. It vaguely pissed me off, but I didn’t know what to say. I lit some incense and went over to my closet. I took off my collared shirt and tossed it on the ground near my shoes. I was over that shirt, over this night in general. All I wanted was for Alex to leave so I could call Lucy and commiserate with her about how crappy the evening had been. I went through my clothes, noisily pushing the hangers down the rod as I went, until I finally settled on a tight green T-shirt that bore the logo of some heating and cooling business, one of my favorite thrift store purchases.

“Hey, man,” I heard Alex say to the caller. “I should go. I’m at a friend’s. But I’ll be there in thirty. We can talk more later. . . . Okay, peace. . . . Right, I won’t forget. . . . Okay. Bye.”

“You gotta go,” I said for him as he hung up.

“Yeah.” He came over to me and kissed me on the forehead and rubbed my shoulders. There was something so condescending about it. I suddenly couldn’t wait to get him out of the house. “I gotta go.”

“Okay,” I said. “Go.”

The words came out a bit more defiantly than I wanted them to. He leaned back and gave me an inquisitive look. I looked everywhere but in his eyes. He put his hands on my shoulders and tried to steer me into looking at him, but I kept my focus on everything behind him. My bed, the Johnny Morgan shrine, the spoon on the nightstand resting in a puddle of melted strawberry ice cream.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did I do something?”

I finally let my gaze meet his. “It’s just that nothing about tonight has gone the way I wanted it to. My dad was a jerk and now you’re leaving. I guess I just had this idea of how things would be, which was a huge mistake, but one I make over and over again. You think I would’ve learned my lesson by now.”

“Hold on,” Alex said. “I had a great night.”

“Well, you’re being all distant,” I said. “And a kiss on the forehead? What’s up with that? And you’re at your
friend’s
house? Is that what I am? Who’s Jarvis?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know Jarvis that well. He’s only bought from me twice before, and he doesn’t need to be all up in my business. He doesn’t need to know whether or not you’re my friend or boyfriend or whatever. And I’ll admit, dinner freaked me out a little. I’m not good with parents as it is, and then to have things go down the way that they went down . . . well, I got a bit rattled. I’m sorry if I went into my shell. But what do you expect?”