Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [56]
“Hawaii?” Shipley repeated. She was still processing the information that her parents were no longer together. Tom’s father would never leave Tom’s mother. They were still in love, even after all these years.
Mrs. Gilbert poured herself some more wine. “Yes, Hawaii. He said he’s going to fly you out there for Christmas. He said there’s even a place out there where you can ski. Some volcano. Imagine.”
Shipley cut off another strip of turkey. “Patrick would like that.”
“Yes, well,” her mother responded with a shrug of her shoulders.
Eliza just sat there, stuffing her face. She felt sorry for Shipley. She felt sorry for Shipley’s mom. But it was still better than TV.
Shipley reached across the table and poured herself a glass of wine. She got up and retrieved a pack of cigarettes from her bag out in the hall, lighting one before she sat down.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” her mother said. “I didn’t even know you liked wine.” She watched the smoke trail into the air. “Maybe I should start smoking.”
Shipley stuffed the pack of cigarettes into her back pocket, annoyed that her mother wasn’t more horrified. “It’s bad for you,” she said, taking another puff.
Eliza waited for one of them to raise her voice, make accusations, demand an explanation, but it never happened. The silence was infuriating. She couldn’t help but wonder what Shipley’s mom did all day, alone in that big house. Iron her underwear? Or maybe she was secretly addicted to Nintendo or porn. Maybe she was a coke fiend. Maybe she was learning Russian or Mandarin or sign language. Maybe she had a huge dildo collection and hosted orgies or key parties or whatever kind of parties Greenwich housewives hosted.
“You know what my family usually does for Thanksgiving?” Eliza asked. “Mom always makes two different flavors of Jell-O with those little mini marshmallows mixed in, and Dad makes turkey meat loaf with Wonder bread and catsup because neither one of them really likes whole turkeys with drumsticks and skin and everything. And sometimes I make root beer floats. It’s always just whatever we feel like eating. One year we had nachos.” Her voice trailed off. Her mom said they weren’t even having a Thanksgiving this year without her there. They were going to a casino to watch a floor show and play the slots.
“Would you like some wine?” Mrs. Gilbert offered her the bottle. She sounded a little sloshed.
“No thanks, but would you mind if I nuked the potatoes again, with some butter maybe?” Eliza asked. “They’re a little cold.”
Shipley yawned her way through the meal, her mind back on Tom. Did he miss her? Was he painting her right now? She was glad she’d taken her clothes off in the end, although she sort of regretted the Macy’s bag.
“I thought we could stay up and watch It’s a Wonderful Life,” Shipley’s mother said. “It’s on tonight. Shipley and her father used to watch it every year,” she explained to Eliza. “I’ve never even seen it.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Shipley yawned again and pushed back her chair. “I can’t keep my eyes open.”
Eliza followed her upstairs. On the way down the hall she spotted something that made her stop in her tracks. “Wait a second. Come here.”
Shipley sighed and retraced her steps. “What?”
“Who is that?” Eliza pointed at a framed photograph on the wall.
It was the family, the four of them, on the beach in St. Croix during Shipley’s seventh-grade spring break. Patrick wore a heavy black windbreaker even though it was ninety-five degrees. His face was ruddy and marked with blond stubble. His long blond hair was wild and windblown.
“Oh, that’s just Patrick, my older brother.” Shipley yawned. “He’s a little strange.”
Eliza put her face up close to the picture. “When’s the last time you saw him?”
Shipley shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. He went to Dexter, but then he left. None of us have seen him since. I guess the last time was when we dropped him off for his orientation—a little over four years ago?”
Eliza nodded. “Well, you’re wrong about him leaving Dexter. He’s