Dinner that night was unexpectedly easy. Alan had skipped lunch with Vanessa—after the lecture, she was busy with students and suggested that they eat quickly, with Dr. Kunis, at the campus café, an atrociously Van-like notion—and had set out again in the Toyota, to do some sightseeing. In the evening, he reported on his “findings.” Sitting at the pine table, Josh and Vanessa gently teased Alan. Perhaps because the subject was America and not England, he was breezy and genial, as proud of his ignorance as of his newfound knowledge. He would leave the news of Jerry’s “intervention” to the next day.
Alan had got his lunch that day at Scooby Don’t, a diner in town he selected because of its promising shabbiness, as you choose the second cheapest wine on the list. At Scooby Don’t, he had something called a Hypocrite Burger (veggie burger with cheese and bacon)—one of the most delicious things he’d eaten in a long while.
“Yeah? Truly? I’ve never eaten there,” said Josh.
“Nothing hypocritical about the flavor,” said Alan. “But I have a question. What exactly is American cheese?”
“Okay—it’s a fairly bland processed cheese, usually orange or yellow, that you, um, get in America,” said Josh.
“American cheese is … American cheese,” Van said, laughing.
Alan had experienced another moment that involved the word American. After lunch, coming out of the diner, he almost tripped over a small dog, whose owner had stopped to light her cigarette. Even though he didn’t like the dwarfish mongrel at his feet, but because he’d almost killed the damn thing, he reflexively praised it. What kind of dog is that? he politely asked. “What kind?” A small pause. “Oh—it’s American,” she had replied.
“The thing is, I couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not,” said Alan.
Almost in unison, Josh and Van assured him that the owner was joking. Americans do have a sense of humor, you know, added Vanessa.
“I’m getting the hang of it,” said Alan.
“There’s a lot to get the hang of,” said Vanessa, “and some of it’s quite weird. I still can’t stand all the American flags everywhere. That’s the mark of my foreignness, I suppose.”
“What cracks me up,” said Josh, “is these massive stars and stripes flying outside totally ordinary buildings, like Toyota car dealerships and McDonald’s, like the country is collectively shouting: this is what we’re proudest of. At least in Chicago they hang from some actually cool modern buildings.”
Alan was really struck, for the first time in his visit, by Josh’s physical appeal: his interesting, handsome eyes were shining; he was full of vigor and quick intelligence. His lisp evaporated when he wasn’t nervous. Also, how much younger than Van he seemed: Vanessa spoke pretty much like her dad, while Josh sounded—well, young and American.
She was cheerful tonight: her first class of the semester had gone well; Dad had seen her at work. And Helen had left. She missed her, she always missed her sister when they were apart. Helen was as close to her—that terrifying line about Allah—as her jugular vein. But it was an awful truth that Helen’s absence made everything easier simply because her presence made everything more difficult. Helen was taking a BA night flight from JFK, she would be in the air by now, laying her businessclass seat flat over the Atlantic …
And Josh was gentle tonight, keen to leave a good final impression, perhaps because he was going tomorrow for a two-day trip to Boston—a big assignment, interviews with a couple of computer scientists at MIT—and now it wasn’t clear that he would see Alan again, before his departure for London.
The trip to Boston caused the only moment of disturbance. Vanessa had thought Josh was away only for a day; she was clearly disappointed by news of the extra night. Not just disappointed, thought Alan, looking carefully at her, but almost fearful—a gleam of disquiet, of need, crossed her features. She quizzed Josh. Where was he staying? When precisely was he coming back? Nowhere fancy, said Josh defensively, just the Holiday Inn in Somerville. “Back almost exactly forty-eight hours later. I told you about this two weeks ago.”
“Then you won’t quite miss Dad, actually.”
She insisted that he had never mentioned the two nights, only the one, but of course he should take as long as he required. The sound of permission hung in the air for a second, until Vanessa caught it, and herself.
“Wish we could come with you,” she said lightly, “but I’ve got my other class tomorrow, and Dad has another appointment at Scooby Don’t.”