lovers quarrel over the shape of clouds in the sky

Mickey and Philippa were hanging around Mickey’s house on Tuesday night, trying not to get into trouble again. Mickey had a huge desire to go out and do something insane, but being totally in love with Philippa was kind of squelching that feeling.

“You have a way of making me want to sit home and drink milk,” he said.

“That’s romantic,” Philippa said, and she sounded like she kind of meant it. “It’s the new, clean us—and if we stay this way, maybe my parents will even start being nice to you.”

“Wow,” Mickey said. And then they locked eyes and started to fool around very intensely because that was the only relatively harmless thing they could think of to do—and since they’d been hanging out at home alone, they’d been doing it constantly.

They were in the Pardo living room, which was massive and blanketed in art, and which resembled the hall of a medieval castle. They were sprawled out on the huge purple couch and took breaks from kissing to sip beer from shiny cans of Sapporo. Mickey was in billowy black shorts and an I KAREN O T-shirt. Over the last couple of days he’d rediscovered shorts and remembered how much he liked them.

“Have you talked to anybody today?”

“Only at school.” Philippa rubbed her eyes. She had allergies and the rugs in the Pardo house all came from exotic animals.

“Did you hear anything about Liesel’s party?” Mickey asked.

“Just that we missed a good time.”

To Mickey, it sounded a little like Philippa wished she’d been there. They were quiet. She handed him the beer. He sipped it, and smiled at her.

He could feel the need to go out and break stuff rumbling in his chest. He knew that this just wasn’t his nature, that no matter how much he loved Philippa, he couldn’t sit at home and study and fool around much longer. Then his cell rang and he fumbled around on the floor to get it. Unlike, say, Jonathan, who had the latest Motorola with all the extras, Mickey was content with an old phone of his dad’s that was about the size of a softball, and that he had to punch a few times after it rang to get a connection. It was David.

“I heard that Ebershoff kid attacked you with a meat cleaver last night,” Mickey said.

“Close,” David said. “But we got out of there. Where were you?”

“Same place I am now. Behaving myself, with my girl.”

“Gawd,” David said. “Listen, something weird is happening with Jonathan.”

“Yeah, his dad’s getting married, right?” Mickey was stroking Philippa’s hair. So long and brown. He kissed her cheek. In the background, the Beatles’ Abbey Road played softly.

“That’s part of it. What else do you know?”

“Well, he called because he wanted to know what clothes to buy for hiking or hang gliding.” Mickey looked at Philippa, who was picking at her cuticle. “I’m going with him on some sailing trip to the jungle or something.”

“You are?” David asked. “But I am, too.”

Philippa went to change the music. She was wearing a long red dress, and it flowed behind her. The room was so big that it took time to get to the wall with the stereo controls, and she seemed to glide, like a ghost. Mickey watched her.

“Great. I’m sure we all are. What’s the problem?” Mickey frowned. If David was about to confirm the stuff Philippa had been saying the night before, then maybe the trip would be off after all.

“Well, Jonathan told me only one of us could come. And that it’s me,” David said.

Mickey could hear David breathing heavily into the phone.

“Oh. Well, that’s kind of lame of him to invite me, too, then,” Mickey said, and started picking at his cuticle, like Philippa.

“Yeah, and he invited Arno.”

“Huh.”

“But wait—there’s this other thing that my dad said Jonathan’s mom told him about his dad that’s even worse—”

“Isn’t your dad not supposed to talk about things he’s learned from patients?” Mickey asked. He’d visited many therapists and counselors over the years, so he knew the rules.

“Yeah,” David said. “I guess he feels like he’s beyond that rule. But forget it, I think.”

“I already have and he’s not.”

“Whatever, Mickey, the point is I’m telling you this thing about Jonathan, but now I’m actually kind of wondering why Jonathan is lying to all of us, or playing favorites, or whatever he’s doing.” David paused. “I think he feels guilty about some stuff.” David could hear that he was channeling his dad. He shuddered.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Um, I don’t know. Nothing.” As annoyed as David was at Jonathan for being sketchy about the whole sailing-trip-thing and whom he had invited, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Mickey about Jonathan’s dad being a thief. That just seemed too huge.

“Well, let’s not say anything to him if he doesn’t say anything to us,” Mickey said. “We’ll see how long it takes for him to straighten this out.” Mickey chuckled, but he was actually sort of bummed. He’d gotten excited about rafting in the Amazon, which he’d imagined doing on this trip. He wondered if David was wrong and maybe Jonathan did still plan on taking him, rather than David or Arno.

“Okay,” David spoke quickly. “And I’ll keep the other thing completely to myself. Deal?”

“Yeah, it’s a deal,” Mickey said with authority.

Philippa came back, having switched the music to a Dvoák symphony she loved because she’d played the piano when she was younger. The classical music started quietly and then began to thunder through the big room.

“Okay,” Mickey said. “I’m holed up with Philippa but I’m sure I’ll talk to you later.”

Mickey got off the phone. He looked over to the other side of the couch, where Philippa was stroking one of the family dogs, an old white greyhound called Blue. With her other hand, she covered her mouth and nose with a cloth napkin.

“What happened?” Philippa asked.

“Well,” Mickey said. “It seems like Jonathan was only supposed to invite one friend on the wild sailing trip, but he invited me, David, and Arno, and maybe Patch, too, although I haven’t talked to him in a while.”

“Sorry, baby. I know you were excited about going,” Philippa said. They lay there, quietly, in front of the ten-foot-high fireplace, surrounded by huge sculptures and paintings. In the distance, they could hear one of the housekeepers preparing hors d’oeuvres for the drinks hour that the Pardos had every day at six-thirty for whomever happened to be around the house, whether they were art dealers, collectors, or just Ricardo’s staff of guys, who were always up for some eating.

“I think he’ll still take me. I mean, I’d definitely be the most fun, and really, he’d probably fall of the edge of a cliff or something if I wasn’t there to help him with all the outdoorsy stuff.”

“Yeah,” Philippa said. “But don’t do anything too wild to prove that to him, okay?” Philippa was really good at reading Mickey’s mind.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Mickey smiled mischievously at his beautiful, calm girlfriend and picked up a big log. He dropped it on the massive andirons his dad had made out of a park bench. “Got a match?”

Philippa flipped him some matches. He struck the match and threw it into the fireplace, and immediately the huge log was engulfed in flame. The Pardos soaked their logs in kerosene because they were too impatient to bother with kindling.

Philippa reached over and kissed Mickey, and he decided he could wait to prove to Jonathan that he was the most fun friend and thus definitely the guy to take on the trip. After all, he’d still be fun even after making out with Philippa some more, right? And before long they were rolling around together in front of the sputtering, flaming log.