The Beautiful Between - Alyssa B. Sheinmel [26]
“Hey, the doorman didn’t buzz you.”
“Nah, they know me by now.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Of course, all those cigarettes.
Jeremy whips out his physics textbook as soon as he gets to my room, so there’s no question of talking first. I’m relieved—I’d actually done the same thing: I’d laid out all my physics stuff so that it would be waiting when he got here. I’m still embarrassed by what happened at lunch, when I tried to talk about Kate and my father.
“Where’s your mom?” he asks after an hour or so of working. We’re sitting on the floor by my bed, and Jeremy’s leaning back against it.
I shrug. “Not sure. She wasn’t home when I got home from school.”
“Don’t you wonder?”
“Not really. I mean, it’s her private life, right? She’s entitled to it.”
Jeremy looks at me strangely. “You mean, she’s on a date?”
“I don’t know. She could be.”
“But you wouldn’t ask?”
I would never ask. I shrug to play it off like it’s nothing. “I guess not.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want you to know if she’s dating someone. I mean, like, she’s worried you’ll feel bad about it.”
“I don’t think I would. She’s never dated anyone seriously that I know of.”
Jeremy tilts his neck so the back of his head rests on top of my bed, stares at my ceiling. I think of all the times I’ve spent lying there, looking at the ceiling above my bed, and I wonder if Jeremy’s noticing the things I see—the places where the paint is peeling, the watermark shaped like a dog’s tail.
“But don’t you know how strange that sounds—that you ‘know of’? She’s your mother.”
This is getting frustrating, someone attacking our carefully choreographed cohabitation. I know some mothers and daughters are closer. And yes, it makes me jealous, even at my age, when I see them out together, holding hands. But I know that we can’t be like that, not since I was a baby, not since the first day of third grade. Maybe there are too many secrets between us: she can’t tell me the truth about my father; I can’t tell her how I’ve been lying about him—about her too, and about me—since I was eight years old.
I try to act nonchalant, but I can feel my muscles tense as I answer him. “I don’t know, I guess we’re not close. We respect each other’s privacy. She doesn’t ask what I’m doing, leaving every night at eleven.”
“Well, that’s weird too.”
“Well, we’re a weird pair, what can I tell you? Whatever we’re doing, it works for us.” I’m exasperated now. “See how normal you’d be if your dad-slash-husband died.” I’m immediately sorry for saying this, because Kate is sick, and for all I know Jeremy might have to find out what his family will be like after a death in it.
“I’m sorry, Jeremy, I didn’t mean to be—” I search for the word. I can’t think of one to use that won’t reference Kate’s illness.
“No, it’s okay. I was being rude. It’s none of my business how your family copes with its loss.”
“I know we’re strange.” I’m so close to telling him that I don’t know about my dad, but the embarrassment takes over. “Most families aren’t like ours.”
“Not like mine either.”
I smile, thinking of their millions of dollars, of their power and prestige. Royal families are a rarity; of course there aren’t many like his.
Jeremy sits up, presses the heel of his hand to his forehead.
“I mean, my mother can barely acknowledge what’s happening. She just keeps shopping and going to her lunches and to her charity board meetings and whatever. Even when Kate’s in the hospital. I mean, she visits her and stays with her too; she’s not a bad mom. But Kate was diagnosed months ago, and still it’s like she can’t stand to let this disrupt her … I don’t know, her place in society. And my father—he’s still going to his board meetings; he even went on a business trip last month. Like they don’t think they should be soaking up every second they can—you know, just in case.”
“Maybe your parents know something you don’t,” I say carefully.
“What?”
“Well, maybe the doctors have told them something you don’t know yet.”
Jeremy smiles, but it’s a hopeless kind of smile. I guess if there was some promising news, his parents wouldn’t exactly