I make it back to the safety of my room and smile because I was right. He’s doing scales. They aren’t as pretty as what he usually plays, but I still love the sound. I know it’s a little “Kumbaya” to say this, but it makes me feel more connected to everything.
A few times he stops abruptly, and I imagine he’s listening for me, sensing me. I wish I could build a secret walkway across the street from our two windows.
When he’s finished, I check my email and see one from Daria, the girl in Benjamin’s apartment.
Hi there—
Benjamin ran off and I never got to give him your email.
I tell you what, if you want, let’s go shopping on Saturday.
Why don’t you meet me at Strawberry Fields in
Central Park at two?
Ciao,
Daria
My dad peeks his head in without knocking, which annoys me. He’s wearing his fuzzy gray robe. “Hey, Moonbeam, what’s up?”
I quickly minimize the screen so he can’t see the email.
“Nothing. Just looking at Internet porn.”
He smiles, but then his face gets all twisted up, and I realize I still have the lipstick on. I try to think of something quick.
“I was fooling around at Sephora.”
He sits down on the floor and starts playing with a scarf I have hanging on the back of the door. “Elise is here,” he says.
I am not prepared for this information.
“That was fast,” I reply.
“Yes, it was. I’m not even sure what I’m doing, but I want to … I want to make sure you’re okay with it.”
What am I supposed to say to this? Yes, it’s fine, just tell the hippie lady to move in?
“I’m okay with it as long as you are.”
He stands up and paces around my room, the scarf wrapped around his hands.
“You know, every time I think I’m moving forward, that just maybe I can be a normal person in the world, I see you.”
He stops and puts a hand to my face, draws an imaginary comma on my cheek. I turn away and wipe off the lipstick with a tissue.
“You have her eyes, her smile, her quick mind. You’re everything that was great about her.”
I try to stop tears from pushing out.
“Were there things that weren’t great about her?”
He puts the scarf around me and says, “Well, there were certain sides of her life she never showed me. I think everyone has those sides.” He puts the scarf back on the hook and turns to me. “Are there things you feel, thoughts you have, that are only for you, completely private?”
I think about Oliver and his cello, and my mother’s phone under the mattress.
“Yes.”
“Well, I think that Elise is an open book. She doesn’t really have anything to hide. While it’s reassuring, I’m not sure about it … there’s no mystery.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just watch him. He has gotten something back, he seems more confident. I want to ask him more about the day my mother died, and tell him I found the cuff link, but I know this isn’t the time.
“If you see her in the morning, don’t be alarmed, okay?”
“Okay. Did you tell Tile?”
“No. I thought maybe you could talk to him about it. He really looks up to you.”
“No problem.”
He kisses me on my forehead and leaves the room. I reopen the email and wonder why Daria wants to hang out with me. I figure it won’t hurt, especially if we meet in public. But doesn’t she have people her own age to shop with?
When I see Elise in the morning, I notice that she looks different. Loosened. It’s strange having her in my kitchen, spilling sugar on the counter and not cleaning it up. She smiles at me from behind her coffee mug and suddenly I feel transparent.
“So, are you like, moving in now?”
She laughs and shakes the hair out of her eyes. “The U-Haul is outside.”
Good, I think, she has a sense of humor. Tile runs in and grabs the toast I made for him and jumps into the breakfast nook. I gave him a little prep talk about Elise last night, but he barely seems to notice her.
When she leaves the kitchen, I clean up her spilled sugar and rinse her mug out with extra-hot water. Tile watches me curiously.
“So that’s Dad’s new girlfriend?”
“I think so. Do you like her?”
He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “We made cookies yesterday.”
“That’s good. I think it’s right for Dad to have a new friend around.”
“How many times a day do you think about Mom?”
He’s serious now. It’s frightening, these moments when he looks like an adult and has so much truth in his eyes. Completely exposed.
“Five, maybe more depending on the day. What about you?”
“A thousand,” he says, as if it’s a single-digit number.
“Well, I bet you wherever she is, every time you think about her she feels it in some way.”
“No she doesn’t. She’s dead.” Here are the adult eyes again. I feel myself caving in, like I could just start sobbing. I’m glad to actually feel things again, but it’s almost easier not to. I give him a hug. He squeezes back, and he smells so pure and clean that for a moment I think, He’s going to be all right. We are all going to be all right.
I meet Daria in the park and she has on a short black skirt and another thin sweater the color of blood, like her lipstick. She sits down next to me on a bench and sighs.
“You live around here, right?”
“Very close,” I say.
She puts her hand on my thigh and says, “Well, let’s move.”
She takes me to Victoria’s Secret and buys me a “starter” bra. I am not even embarrassed because she has this way about her, like everything is natural. Then we go to H&M and she buys me a pink hoodie. I don’t usually wear pink, but being with Daria, I feel like the possibilities are endless. She even eats pretzels from the street vendors. We get two, draw thin lines of mustard on them, and sit at a bus stop. She asks me about boys and I start telling her about Oliver. His curly hair, the music, and the way he looked at me at the dry cleaner.
“You need a plan of attack,” she says, wiping mustard from the corner of her mouth.
“Attack?”
“You know, a plan.”
“I really want to watch him play.”
“Good. Tell him you are writing an essay for school on classical music. And you’d like to sit in on his rehearsal for research purposes.”
I don’t have the heart to tell Daria this is a dumb idea, so I just shrug. A bus pulls up and the driver smiles at us.
“Or … what if you just ask him, flat out?”
If someone had said this to me a month ago I would never have considered it, but I’m feeling strangely empowered after finding Mom’s phone. “Yeah, why not?”
“Okay, but here’s the thing. Act aloof, like it was just something that popped into your mind. Never give too much away.”
What is it with adults and their secrets? I start watching the people walk by: a businessman, a skater kid, an old lady. I realize they all have secrets, hidden like small stones in their pockets.
“What should I wear?”
“Wear the hoodie I got you, and your favorite jeans. It’s very important that you wear your favorite jeans.”
She gets a call on her cell phone and talks for a minute while I finish my pretzel.
“I’ve got to run downtown for a go-see.”
I know this term, as my mother was always on go-sees. It’s where a designer or a photographer gives you a quick look to see if you’re right for a shoot or a runway show. Daria throws half of her pretzel in the trash and kisses me on both cheeks.
“You have my cell, right? Let me know how it goes with Cello Boy.”
“Okay.” As she walks away I say, “Thanks for everything.” She turns around and waves her hand like it was nothing. I realize I never got to ask her about the cuff link, whether it might belong to Benjamin. Maybe the next message will lead me there.
When I get home, I go into my room and put on the bra and the hoodie. I walk over to the window and look for Oliver. He’s not there, but my heart still picks up. Tomorrow is the day I turn fifteen, and I’m going to ask Oliver if I can watch him play.