think you’re going to need him, too.”
I didn’t quite know what he meant by that last part, but I was still processing the fact that Tennyson felt this was good.
“I thought you hated him….”
“I did,” Tennyson admitted, “but if I wanted to keep hating him, I needed a good reason; and I couldn’t find one.”
This was not the Tennyson I knew. It’s amazing how people can surprise you. Even brothers. “So, now you’re friends?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Then Tennyson lifted his hand and made a fist. I thought he was making a point; but no, he just studied his knuckles with a creepy kind of intensity. “Tell me something, Bronte by any chance did you hurt your foot last week?”
It threw me because I didn’t expect him to know about that. How does he find out these things? “Yes,” I said. “I mean, no. I mean, I thought I sprained my ankle, but I didn’t.”
“And the Bruiser was with you?”
“Were you spying on us again?”
“No, I just had a hunch.”
“So, then, he told you about it?”
“Nope.” And then he added with a grin, “Maybe I’m just a mind reader.”
Now this was more like the Tennyson I knew. “The only thing supernatural about you, Tennyson, is your body odor.”
He laughed at that. It eased the tension, but only a little. Then he got serious again. “Just promise me that you’ll stay away from his house and from his uncle…and if things start to get weird, you’ll tell me.”
“What do you mean by weird?”
“Just promise,” he said.
“Okay, fine. I promise.”
Then Tennyson leaned back into the man-eating sofa and turned on the TV, signaling the end of the conversation.
I left feeling more unsettled than before. It was easier to deal with Tennyson when he was fighting me; but having him on my side was frightening, because now I didn’t know who the enemy was.
18) PERIPHERALLY
In horse racing they put these slats on either side of the horse’s head, blocking the creature’s peripheral vision. They’re called blinders. They don’t actually blind the horse, but they allow the horse to see only what’s right in front of it; otherwise it might freak out and lose the race.
People live with blinders too; but ours are invisible, and much more sophisticated. Most of the time we don’t even know they’re there. Maybe we need them, though, because if we took in everything all at once, we’d lose our minds. Or worse, our souls. We’d see, we’d hear, we’d feel so deeply that we might never resurface.
So we make decisions and base our lives on those decisions, never realizing we’re only seeing one-tenth of the whole. Then we cling to our narrow conclusions like our lives depend on it.
Remember how they imprisoned Galileo for insisting the earth revolved around the sun? You can call those people ignorant, but it was more than mere ignorance. They had a lot to lose if they took off their blinders. Can you imagine how terrifying it must be to suddenly realize that everything you believe about the nature of the universe is wrong? Most people don’t realize how terrifying that is until their world is the one being threatened.
My world always revolved around our nuclear family. Mom, Dad, Tennyson, and me. It was an atom that might ionize once in a while, erratically spewing electrons here and there; but in spite of that, I always believed it was fundamentally stable. No one expects nuclear fission within the loving bonds of one’s own family.
My blinders didn’t allow me to see it coming.
19) GASTRONOMY
I promised Tennyson I wouldn’t go to Brewster’s house, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t invite him to ours.
It was Friday, and I was already cooking dinner when Mom came home from the university. I had told her and Dad that tonight was the night Brew was coming; but I still couldn’t take the chance that Mom would forget and have to order fast food, or worse, pull out frozen burritos and try to pass them off as homemade. So I skipped Friday’s swim practice and got dinner going myself, thank you very much.
Sure enough, Mom’s mind was beyond elsewhere when she got home, so I had definitely made the right call. “Brewster will be coming at six,” I told her. “Just in time for dinner. Please, please, don’t bring out my baby pictures, or ask him about his philosophy of life the way you did with Max.”
Mom nodded, then said, “I’m sorry, honey, what was that?” like she was somewhere in deep space, where sound waves couldn’t travel. It drove me crazy that I had to repeat myself, and I still don’t know whether she heard.
If it weren’t for my blinders, I might have wondered about the bigger picture, but right then and there it was all about me.
“Please try to make him feel at home. Please try not to scare him away.”
“Did your father call?” Mom asked with an emptiness in her voice that I misread as exhaustion.
“I don’t know,” I told her. “I’ve been out buying groceries.”
Tennyson arrived a bit later, all sweaty from lacrosse.
“Shower!” I ordered. “Brewster’s coming over for dinner.”
He looked worried and said to me quietly, “I don’t think this is a good night.”
“When is it ever?”
“No,” he said just as quietly. “There’s something wrong. Something going on. I could tell this morning at breakfast; didn’t you notice the way Mom and Dad were?”
“No.”
“It’s like…it’s like someone died and they haven’t told us yet. Anyway, whatever it is—”
“Whatever it is,” I said stridently, “it’s going to have to wait until after dinner. I’ve been planning this for a week, dinner is in the oven, and it’s too late to call it off.”
He gave no further argument and went off to shower.
When Dad came home, he opened a bottle of wine, which wasn’t unusual. He’d usually have a glass as he watched the news, and maybe one with dinner if the wine was one that complemented the meal—but never more than that. Tonight he guzzled the first glass with the wine bottle still in his hand and poured a second. I thought about what Tennyson had said but decided that whatever was wrong, a hearty, home-cooked meal would soothe it.
“Dad, save the second glass for dinner,” I told him. “Merlot goes well with what I’m making.”
“You?”
“Yes, me. Brewster’s coming for dinner, remember?”
“Oh. Right.”
Brewster arrived just as I finished setting the table. “Am I too early?” he asked.
“Right on time,” I told him. “You look great.” He was dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt that was a little bit small on him; but that was his own personal style, and I’d come to appreciate it. His wavy hair was so well-groomed, he was hardly recognizable. I practically wanted to put him up as the centerpiece of the table and present him proudly to my parents; but instead I just made introductions, and they all shook hands.
Then, when everyone was seated, I brought the platter to the table. “
