The Beautiful Between - Alyssa B. Sheinmel [49]
Then I walk past her on the way to my room—she’s sitting on the living room couch, reading some book I know she stole off my shelves. No, I feel guilty for thinking something like that. However much my mother loves her New York City gossip, however much she’d like to be a part of the Coles’ world, she’s been through tragedy herself (even if I don’t know the damn details), and I’m sure she’d never derive pleasure from being the first to know something awful like that. No matter how hot the gossip. She chews the pinkie finger on her left hand when she reads, just like the sixth graders do when you see them sitting in the hallway between classes, backs up against the lockers, eyes scanning the chapter they’re behind on in Little Women.
It’s six-fifteen when my mother knocks on my door. I’m studying, even though today was the last day of school before winter break. I was hoping that physics would keep my mind from wandering and landing on Jeremy and Kate.
My mom opens the door. “Honey, are you staying home for dinner?”
I pretend to be completely absorbed in my work. My back is to her because I’m lying on my stomach, my books splayed out across the bed in front of me. I arch my back and turn my neck to face her. I’m scared she’ll ask why I’m not at the Coles’.
“Honey?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you going to be home for dinner?”
“Oh, yeah, I guess.” I try to sound like I haven’t thought about it. “I’m not really that hungry,” I lie.
“Well, I was going to order something, if you’d like that. I wasn’t expecting that you’d be home.” She says that as though it explains her not having cooked.
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She steps into the room; sits on the edge of my bed, disturbing my notes. It occurs to me that this is the first time we’ll have had dinner together since that night at the diner. I remember how sad I made her that night, how her voice dropped when I brought up my father, and I consider telling her that I have to study, so that I can eat in my room and not have to sit across the table from her.
“Maybe Chinese?” she suggests.
“Sure, that’s fine.”
“Or we could order from that diner you like.”
“Okay.” I keep my eyes on my physics text.
“Or pizza—how about pizza?”
I put down my highlighter and look up.
“Mom, really, whatever you want is fine with me. I just have a lot of work to get done tonight.”
“Oh,” she says, and for just a second, I think she looks heart-breakingly, achingly sad. The expression leaves her face almost before I think I see it. I wonder if she misses me. Sometimes, even though we’re both right here in this apartment, I miss her.
“I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just … physics.”
“Jeremy isn’t tutoring you anymore?”
“No, he is.” I swing around so that I’m sitting up, cross-legged on the bed, facing her. “He was just home sick today, so, you know, he can’t help me.” I look her straight in the eye when I lie. She knows nothing about my friendship with him, I think, so she can’t tell that I’m lying. Technically, I don’t even have to be studying now. I wonder if my mother remembers that school is out for the next week and a half.
“Oh, that’s too bad. I hope he feels better soon.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say, like it’s no big deal. “Anyway, pizza sounds good. Pepperoni and onions on my half, okay?”
“Okay.” She gets up from the bed and heads for the door. I lie back down to face my notes, so that my back is to the door again.
“What’s the matter?” she says.
“Huh?” I say, frightened, swinging