Tilt - Alan Cumyn [19]
“She’s, uh . . . she’s romantically obsessed,” Stan said, surprising even himself.
“Is that an illness?” Janine’s teeth beamed at him. Stan remembered his father telling him once — years ago, of course — to be careful of a girl’s teeth. It had been an odd thing to say at the time and now he wondered about it.
He was only inches away from kissing her. How did he end up only inches away? And how did one go about kissing, anyway? What was the protocol? In movies the guy always seemed to know when to do it. Or the girl jumped the guy and they kissed.
Janine looked like she might be about to jump him. Stan braced himself.
“Romantic obsession?” she said again. “Is that an illness?”
“It is with my mom,” Stan said. And then suddenly the staple was gone. “My mom and dad are divorced.” He pulled out the phone. “But Dad is back in town now. I keep expecting him to call any minute. It’s all a big secret. He had a kid with somebody else. And he’s not supposed to be here and he hasn’t paid us any support in, like, forever. But he gave this phone to my sister and . . .”
Why was he telling her all this? He’d never told anybody.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” he mumbled.
Janine didn’t blink. “She’s amazing, really. She might still live way past what we think. When was the last time you saw your father?”
Stan was about to say, “Five years ago.” But a flash of something caught his eye — a gray beard on a man who was leaning against the wall of the coffee shop across the street, staring at him.
Was that his father?
Stan honestly couldn’t tell. This man looked stockier than his dad, shorter — but of course men gained weight, especially in middle age, and Stan had grown taller over the past few years. The beard was full and hid the man’s face.
Was that his father?
Janine’s hand just casually touched his. Stan’s senses sprang into high alert. A girl was wrapping her fingers around his!
“Are you all right?” she said.
The man — his father? — was gone. Slipped into the coffee shop, maybe.
“I don’t see anybody,” Janine said.
“My family got hit by a crazy bomb five years ago, and nobody’s been anywhere near sane since,” Stan said. “That’s what I want to tell you before tomorrow. Just to give you fair warning.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to go?”
Her fingers were interlaced with his now. How did that happen? One little tug from either of them — just the way she’d pulled on his belt loop before — and they’d be kissing. Right here on the open sidewalk in front of the whole world.
In front of his father, maybe, who’d probably stepped into the coffee shop and was looking at them through the darkened window.
“Did I tell you I’m a terrible dancer?” Stan said.
She was not looking away. She just kept standing there looking highly kissable.
“I can’t dance, either,” she said.
He laughed. She moved like — Stan didn’t know what. Like a river. Like a sleek, tawny animal slipping through the brush.
Tawny. Lily’s word gave him the strength to unlace his fingers and step away.
“Maybe we both should wear steel-toed boots,” he said. Then his legs were taking him off, off to safety.
9
Stan wasn’t home a minute before his mother ordered him into the car.
“It’s the appointment!” she said. “With the principal. For Lily!”
“That’s now?” he said.
“It’s in six fucking minutes!” she said. “Sorry for my language. Don’t you ever swear like me.” He could see her jaw was nearly locked. There was no point asking her why she hadn’t told him until just now.
Stan’s mother got in the car and fumbled with the ignition key, her hands shaking.
It wasn’t just Lily. What else had happened?
“Do you want me to drive?” Stan asked.
“Drive? You?” Stupid of him to even mention it. His mother was in a state. She had to be almost Zen calm to drive with him.
She was never Zen calm.
“Forget it,” he said. He settled back in his seat beside her. She swore again under her breath and crumpled against the steering wheel.
“I suppose you should,” she said.
“No, no, it’s all right!”
Too late. She opened the door and jerked herself out.
“You’re sixteen, you need