Singer
89 days with Miles
“I now call this official Thurman House meeting to order.” Jake raised the bottle, which caught the back porch light and glittered. “Wine, anyone?”
Singer’s phone vibrated. Frankie. I can’t believe you jerks are having a house meeting without me. “Is it strange that Frankie’s annoyed that she’s not here?”
Jake handed a glass of wine to Lisa. “Is it strange that it wouldn’t be strange to me if she was?”
“That’s weirdly true.” Lisa glanced between them. “I thought you guys weren’t drinking with Miles around?”
“We’re not getting drunk with Miles around. Big difference. Plus, we have church tomorrow.”
Singer seesawed his hand. “And we’re using Thurman standards for drunk.”
“What’s the difference?”
Jake grinned. “Well, Lisa, since you ask, Derries basically consider everything this side of belligerent to be ‘slightly intoxicated.’ And ‘I’ve only had four beers’ is how we express a desire to be the designated driver.”
“That seems … juvenile.”
“Oh yeah. These days it’s all a big joke, but we’re lucky we all survived to adulthood. I mean, I don’t want to talk shit, but you weren’t exactly pure as the driven snow in high school either, right?”
“Ha. No. I, um, once puked in the side yard.”
Singer swiveled so fast that his wine sloshed against the sides of the glass. “That was you? Dad thought it was me! And I didn’t even drink back then.”
“Sorry, Singer. I told him it was the cat from down the street.”
“He gave me an entire lecture about honesty and owning up to my mistakes.” He sat back, feeling the injustice of it slide into the past. “I can’t believe that was you.”
Jake shook his head. “If it wasn’t you, who did you think it was?”
“I didn’t even think about it in those terms, to be honest. I just felt … wronged.” He blinked away the memory—they’d been in the living room, and he’d fought waves of guilt and embarrassment, which was hardly fair since he really hadn’t puked in the side yard.
“You want me to call Dad and tell him it was me?” Lisa was smirking, which also wasn’t fair.
“Oh, hush. And anyway, of course he believed you and not me. It makes perfect sense, even though I was always the more reliable one.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Wait. Am I the favorite? Do they have a favorite?”
“Well, they wouldn’t have moved to Southern California to rescue me.” He’d made his voice light enough to fool Lisa, but Jake shot him a distinctly not-fooled look.
“Okay, and what’s the deal with that? When I, you know, moved to the farm, they were these normal retired people who like … traveled, or whatever. Now Dad is working again—part-time, but they clearly don’t need the money—and Mother sits in the house, only leaving it to go shopping for things she doesn’t need. What happened?”
Singer topped up his wine, thinking about it. “I think it was like, they started taking those trips because that’s what people who could retire early with all the money they’d ever need kind of … were supposed to do. But can you imagine spending that much time with either one of them?”
Both Lisa and Jake shook their heads, Jake with feeling.
“And then you moved to the, uh, farm, and suddenly they had a goal, a reason to go places and do things. When you were inside, Mother went to a lot of support groups and—actually, I’m not sure exactly what all of it was, but she seemed busy. I guess maybe when you came out she stopped.”
“Wow,” Jake whispered. “That’s kind of tragic.”
Lisa raised her hand. “Speaking as the obsession she replaced all that with, I want it noted for the record that it wasn’t a cakewalk for any of us.”
“No, but still. It’s sad, don’t you think?” He swirled his wine and stared through the glass.
Singer would have given anything to know what he was thinking. “What is?”
“I don’t know. Like, it’s easy to look at Viv and think, That lady has everything. And maybe she kind of does. But since she’s not even a little bit happy, I guess I feel sorry for her.”
“No one on earth has ever felt sorry for Mother,” Singer said.
Lisa tentatively raised her hand.
“You have not.”
“You didn’t go to therapy with her! It was sad, Singer. She cried.”
“If Mother is a pitiable figure, it’s due to her own actions.”
Jake reached for the wine. “That’s pretty much true of everyone, though, isn’t it? I mean, when it comes to people like us, who were born with advantages. When we fuck it up, it’s our fault. Doesn’t mean it can’t also be kind of sad.”
That was an opening. Singer could feel it slipping through his fingers as he sat there, thinking about Mother and responsibility.
“Anyway, Singer, you called this house meeting. What’s the agenda?”
He cleared his throat, banishing any rash ideas of confession and forgiveness. “I hereby propose we move. As soon as possible.” Since both of them were staring at him and Miles was apparently sleeping peacefully, he began an in-depth study of the wood grain on the top of the table. Then, when that wasn’t diverting enough, he added, “Lisa, I know that things will be a little up in the air for you until you settle in more, but I’m sure you can stay with us as long as you need to.” He glanced at Jake.
Who was watching him enigmatically, no longer the transparent young man he’d been when they ran into each other as adults. “Of course she can stay with us, though I don’t know how Brandi will feel about that.” He shrugged. “I think it’s only important that Miles has a room, and I’m not sure we can afford a three-bedroom. But yeah, of course you can stay with us, Lisa. You’re family.”
Family was such a tricky thing. Singer had no idea if that was a passive aggressive dig at him or a genuine expression of support for Lisa. Or both.
After a pause, Lisa nodded. “I definitely think we should move. And if you guys don’t mind me hanging out a little while longer, that’s … really good. I don’t think I could live with Mother and Dad again, even if they were here.” She shuddered, tugging her sweater in around her shoulders.
Jake reached out, clamping down on her arm. “Seriously, that’s never gonna happen if you don’t want it to. Carey and Alice have a nice sofa bed, and you just know Emery would find all kinds of excuses to show up if you were there.”
“Shut up.” They grinned at each other, and Singer looked away.
He’d meant this to be … something. An olive branch. A move in the right direction. A sign he understood Jake’s fears, that he wasn’t willing to wait for the next time Mother decided to invade. He was taking the bull by the horns, dammit, so why was Jake smiling at Lisa right now? Why had he seemed so … unimpressed with Singer?
He cleared his throat again. “I’m glad that’s settled.”
“So which one of you is gonna call your parents to tell them they’ll have to take over the mortgage?” Jake’s raised eyebrows were clearly a challenge.
“Must we?” Lisa seemed to be considering the idea of just abandoning the house and letting the late fees pile up until Mother and Dad noticed.
“Fine.” He hoped his tone of grievous self-sacrifice wasn’t lost on them. “I will call them tomorrow.”
“Call Dad’s phone in the morning when he’s at work,” his sister advised. “Straight to voicemail.”
“Did you just set me up?”
“Hey, you’re the reliable one, right?” She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “You said it, not me.”
He sighed.
Jake nudged him. “Do you want me to defend your honor? I’m pretty sure Lisa just got over on you.”
I want you to do more than nudge me with your elbow when I thought we were going to have a serious conversation. “No. I can handle leaving Dad a voicemail while he’s at work all by myself, thank you.”
A fleeting smile in response. “That’s cool. I wasn’t actually gonna fight Lisa, anyway. More wine?”
They finished the bottle, though Jake lagged a little behind, which was unexpected.
Silent commentary on Singer’s own willingness to numb his senses? Or just the prudent action of a parent who didn’t mind drinking a little less in order to be a little more aware? Singer didn’t know, and tried to drink enough so he didn’t care.