Talia’s grabbing my arm all the way down the stairs. I don’t know if it’s because she’s nervous about having dinner with my parents (both of them, here for dinner on the same day!) or just that guys held out their arms to help girls back in her time. I sort of like having her hold on to me. But I bet if my dad sees her holding my arm, he’ll see it another way. “Clingy,” he’ll say. That’s what he used to say about Amber.
But maybe it would be okay if it was the guy’s idea. So right before we go into the kitchen, I take Talia’s hand off my elbow and put it in my hand. I give it a squeeze. She squeezes back. “It will be okay,” I say.
“I might say the same to you.”
Then we walk into the kitchen. My dad’s there in his suit and tie, like every other day of my life, so it’s weird that I have this urge to throw my arms around him, like I did when I was three and he went out of town, to say, “Daddy.”
But I don’t.
“Dad, this is Talia, the girl I met in Europe. She’s staying with us.”
“Nice to meet you, Talia. Have a seat.” As soon as she does, he turns back to me. “So, Jack, it’s lucky, your coming home early. Ed Campbell was telling me he’s looking for a summer intern for his office.”
I’m torn between annoyance and annoyance—annoyance that my dad’s not even going to bother disapproving of Talia. Instead he’s going to ignore her completely. And annoyance at the idea of a summer internship. Like, couldn’t he say hello at least before he starts trying to turn me into him?
I know what that means—my dad talked one of his golf buddies into offering me a job making copies and fetching Starbucks to “get a feel for the business” and look good on my college apps. Boring. Talia says I should tell my parents what I want. But she doesn’t know what that’s like when you’re a regular person, not a princess.
“Um, I don’t think so, Dad. I sort of have other plans for the summer.”
“Partying and going to the beach?”
“No. Not exactly.” Although what’s so bad about that? I mean, I am seventeen years old with my whole life to work.
“Good, then. So I’ll tell Ed you can come in Monday.”
It’s Thursday. I should probably be happy he’s at least giving me a weekend before he destroys my summer. But Talia’s staying a week.
Dad’s talking about what a great opportunity this is, blah, blah, blah….
“Mr. O’Neill,” Talia says, “I believe what Jack was trying to say is that he has other plans for an occupation during the summer.”
“Excuse me?” Dad gets that line that he always gets between his eyes whenever he talks to me. “Young lady, I don’t believe I asked—”
“She’s right, Dad,” I say. “I was thinking about putting up some flyers at the grocery store, about doing gardening. It would be, like, starting my own business.”
“Gardening?” Dad laughs. “Jack, you’re not eight years old anymore, and we’re not poor, either. This internship will look great on your college applications.”
Here we go with college applications.
“I like plants, okay?”
“Well, that’s just ridiculous. What are you going to do—work at Home Depot?”
Mom holds up a bowl of string beans. “Beans?” When I shake my head, she says, “Enough about work. Tell us about your trip, Jack.”
Then she starts talking about it herself. She’s memorized my entire itinerary, starting with Day One, Museum One and starts going through it. I answer, trying to avoid the words boring and lame and also trying to keep from looking at Dad. We’re talking and laughing like everything’s okay, but I know it’s not.
When I finish, Dad says, “So, I’ll call Ed and tell him you can start Monday?”
“I told Talia you’d never listen to me.”
“This was Talia’s idea, then?” Dad says.
“Yeah. I mean, no…I mean, the gardening business was my idea. Trying to tell you about it, like you’d actually care what I want, that was Talia’s idea.”
“We just want what’s best for you,” Mom says, “and for your college—”
“I don’t even want to go to college.”
Which stops her for about two seconds. Then she turns to Talia. “Talia, you must have been to so many museums growing up in Europe. Which is your favorite?”
“Can I be excused?” Meryl says.
“Yes, dear.” Mom turns back to Talia. “Now, as I was saying…”
I say, “You can’t just change the subject and expect things to go away.”
She stops in midsentence, looking at the bowl of rice like she’s trying to decide whether to try and change the subject yet again. But finally she looks at me.
“The reason I change the subject, Jack, is because it helps me to ignore the fact that my son, the child I bore and raised from infancy, has no interest in anything we want, no respect for—”
“That is not true,” Talia interrupts.
Both Mom and Dad stare daggers at Talia, but she continues. “I have known Jack only a week, but already I can tell how much your opinion means to him. When we were traveling in Europe, you were in his thoughts and conversation the whole time.”
Is that true?
“Young lady,” Dad says, “I hardly think this is any of your business.”
“No, it is not. But perhaps as an outsider, I can see more clearly. Jack does respect your opinion. He craves your approval. But he feels that the only way he can get it is to deny his true nature and do exactly as you say.”
Mom looks at me. “Is that true?”
I nod.
Talia continues. “It was my idea that Jack should tell you where his real interests lie, in gardening, in being with the earth. I said I was certain caring parents like yourselves would understand.”
“Young lady,” Dad says. “I don’t know who you are or where you’re from, but you have no idea the sort of pressures a boy like Jack will face, the competition…”
“Dad,” I say.
Talia holds out her hand. “You are right. I have no idea, and it is none of my business, and I was taught to obey my parents. But sometimes it is just impossible to obey blindly. Sometimes a child must strike out on her own. A child cannot be a child forever, whether that means not touching a spindle or…or…”
I know, of course, that she’s not just thinking about me but of herself and her own parents. I think what she’s saying is pretty profound.
Dad looks away. “I’ll tell Ed you’ll be in Monday.”
“I won’t be there.” I stand. “Come on, Talia.”
“Jack!” My mother tries to follow me.
“Sorry I ruined our family dinner,” I say.
Talia follows me out. “That did not go well.”
“It’s not your fault. It never goes well.”
She purses her lips in that cute way she does. “It certainly makes me think about my own situation.”
She means about leaving, about going home. She’s still thinking about it. I don’t want her to go. Yet I have no idea how to get her to stay. I was hoping maybe my parents would give in, let her stay a little longer, at least until the end of summer. After the mess at dinner, that’s not looking very good.
Thing is, I’m falling in love with her. But my parents wouldn’t want to hear that, either.
The next morning, Talia beats me downstairs again. When I finally make it to breakfast, Talia whispers, “It did work!” Then, louder, she adds, “Your mother has been telling me of a lovely garden nearby, where she volunteers. Will you take me to it?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I seem to have walked into the wrong room. My mother is talking to you about gardening?”
“About Fairchild, Jack,” Mom says. “You must remember. I used to take you there all the time with me when you were younger, and you loved it. But I never thought you’d have any interest in it now that you’ve grown up.”
“Jack is very interested,” Talia says. “Right, Jack?”
“Yeah. That’d be cool.”
I remember going there with Mom, and then we just stopped. I figured she didn’t want to be seen in public with me anymore, once I was a pimply-faced thirteen-year-old. Could it have been that she just didn’t think I’d want to go? Was I that much of a jerk?
Mom nods, like she’s answering yes to the last question. “I’m happy you want to go. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you taking a real interest in anything, other than partying.”
“He has some other interests of which you are unaware,” Talia says.
“Okay, enough talking about how I don’t have any interests,” I say, wanting to end the subject. “Why don’t we have breakfast, then go?”
Talia laughs. “Once again, you have slept through breakfast.”