He grits his teeth. “Whatever, Libby. If I didn’t have to beg you for every cent, you’d never know, and it wouldn’t be any of your business what I spent it on. It shouldn’t be, anyway. I’m an adult.”
In two steps, I’m next to him, putting my arms around his shoulders and squeezing. “I’m sorry. Really. It just slipped out.”
Reluctantly, he replies, “Yeah, yeah. I know you only nag the shit out of me because you care.”
“Exactly. Let’s not fight. What do you want to do today?” I let go of him and return to my cup of coffee.
“What about your boyfriend?” he asks. “He seemed pretty pissed off when he left.”
My stomach clenches at the thought of Jude being mad at me, but I say lightly, “All the more reason for me to avoid him for a while.”
17
It was fun for an afternoon to pretend like Hank was really in Chicago to see me. We talked over lunch, and I even allowed him to reminisce a little bit about the days before the accident. But he got sick of hanging out with me at about the same time I wrote him a big, fat check (“for books and shit”).
So after he leaves to go catch up with some of his old high school buddies, I sit alone in my apartment, staring at my cell phone, wondering what I’m going to say when I call Jude.
“Hey, my big-mouthed kid brother’s gone, so it’s safe for you to come around again.”
Probably not.
In the end, I decide to call and pretend like nothing’s wrong. When in doubt, denial works wonders.
He seems completely normal until I say, “So, you wanna do something tonight?”
“Is this what you Americans refer to as a ‘booty call’?” There’s no mistaking the chill in his voice.
“Of course not,” I answer, twirling a piece of my hair nervously. “Huh-huh. One track mind.”
“So we’re going to go out somewhere with Hank, then, I take it?” He waits for me to answer, and when I don’t, he adds, “Because I’d like to get to know him better. Or at all. Now that I’ve adjusted to the fact that he exists.”
“Are you finished?”
“Finished what?”
“Passive-aggressively chewing me out.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re a shrink now? Because one would have a time with you.”
This is the first time he’s ever been seriously mad at me. I don’t like it. He’s… he’s… “You’re mean,” I finally manage after swallowing and trying to steady my racing heart.
“I’m sorry,” he says sarcastically. “Do you have the monopoly on that today?”
“When was I mean to you?”
“How about when you tossed me out on my arse this morning?”
“I didn’t mean to be mean. You said you were going to leave; I didn’t stop you. That’s being mean?”
“No, first you very deliberately excluded me from your plans; then you were obviously relieved when I said I’d leave.”
“You can read minds?”
“It was written all over your face! You didn’t want me in the same room with your brother for another minute. Afraid he might tell me your big secret, whatever the hell that happens to be?”
Quietly, I ask, “Why are you being like this?”
“Because I’m sick to the back teeth of women who refuse to be upfront with me, maybe.”
“I’m not your ex-wife!”
“That’s about the only thing keeping me from jacking it in when it comes to you!”
“What does that mean? Speak English!”
“It means I’m going to put down the phone now, before I say something I regret. I’ll see you Monday at work.”
My phone beeps at me to let me know I’ve been dropped, in more ways than one.
“Asshole,” I mutter to the phone. Well, I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit around my apartment all night, alone. Unfortunately, I don’t have any other friends to hang out with.
Impulsively, I grab a jacket and my keys and head for a place I haven’t dared visit in nearly six years.
The face. That’s what I’m dreading most when I tell him the story. Because I will tell him the story, I promise myself as I sit on the ground in front of my parents’ double headstone. It’s the first time I’ve seen the large piece of granite. I haven’t been here since the day I was released from the hospital and had to watch them lower the caskets into the ground. And I didn’t bother coming back after that, even when they told me the headstone had been installed. As a matter of fact, I almost couldn’t find the gravesite today, because it looks so different now than it did that awful day. Other grave markers have popped up over the years, not to mention that there’s grass here now. And that tree over there is a lot bigger than I remembered.
Anyway, now that I’m here, I wish I’d never come up with this stupid idea. Because now I really have lied to Jude. Before, I could get off on a technicality. “I don’t talk to my parents.” Well, that’s not true now. I’ve been sitting here talking to them like a crazy person for the past two hours.
At first I was unsure what to say. “Hey. How’s it going?” is a ridiculous thing to say to two dead people, no matter how unclearly one is thinking. Then I jumped right in, like we’ve been having an ongoing conversation for six years, and I was just continuing where we left off last time. I talked about Dr. Marsh like he was an old family friend they’d know. I let them know that Hank was visiting and looked good and that he was thinking of changing his major… again. I told them about Jude and how I thought they’d have liked him.
“Anyway,” I say now, shivering a little in the cool dusk, “I’m dreading the face. You know the one. The ‘oh-my-gosh-I’m-so-sorry’ face, the ‘you-poor-dear’ face.
