13
THE REST OF THAT DAY, I WAITED FOR NATE. I READ HIS BIKINI magazines and ate cereal. I played with his guitar until I got bored and feared I’d break the strings. Harry hid when I tried to sing. I sifted through one of my boxes and spread my things across the floor. But there were no shelves or drawers, no place to put anything, even if I were a good organizer. I couldn’t do anything without asking Nate first, so I just left things alone and waited.
It had to be close to ten when he startled me at the front door.
“Hey,” he said, opening the fridge.
“How was your day?” I said.
“Long.”
“You were at the restaurant this whole time?”
“Yep.” He grabbed a beer and began to guzzle. “Turns out the manager needs a shit ton of help, so I volunteered for everything. If I do enough, I should be able to move up the ranks.”
“That’s great,” I said. “Right?”
“It’s something,” he said. “Hell of a lot different from a school day.”
He put the bottle in the sink, and with the clanging Harry ran into the closet.
“What’s his deal?” Nate said.
“He doesn’t know you, or this place. It has to be weird for him.”
I watched him drink more beer.
“I’m kind of hungry,” I said. “Are you? I ate your cereal.”
“All of it?”
“Sorry. I’ll buy you more.”
“Forget it,” he said. “I’ll make some sandwiches.”
“Okay,” I said. “I can help.”
Peanut butter I could do, tuna if the salad were made, but I didn’t quite get how to make grilled cheese. He slapped the cheddar and bread on the burner so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to grasp it.
“Can I do anything?” I said. “I mean I’d like to help if I can, in some way.”
“Just take a seat,” he said.
We settled into the cushions on the floor and zoned out for a while in silence before he returned to the agenda.
“How’d unpacking go?” he said.
“I started, but I wasn’t sure where I should put things.”
“Maybe this weekend,” he said, exhaling.
“Great,” I said. “Maybe she’ll come back when we’re together.”
“Who?”
“Mom. I think I saw her today. Has she been here before?”
He stopped chewing and inspected me.
“What?”
He began talking in softer tones, like I was going to break if he pushed too hard. “What do you mean you saw her? You mean you found an old picture of her, or you spotted someone in the neighborhood who looked like her?”
“Forget it,” I said, turning away.
I brought my plate into the kitchen.
“Luce, what are you saying?”
“It’s not a big deal,” I said. “Maybe we could watch some TV.”
He was shaking his head.
“What’s the problem?” I said.
“Oh, I don’t know, the fact that you’re seeing dead people? Are you losing it?”
“No.”
“Because if you need to see a therapist, you need to let me know.”
“I will.”
“Seriously. If this is the beginning of some kind of manic episode, we have to address it and get you in to see someone. We have been going through some big shit lately. It’s understandable that it would be hard to deal with. Of course, it would be really cool if you could hold it together, but if you can’t—”
“Forget it!” I said. “She’s gone now. She was never here.”
“You mean Mom,” he said. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure it was nothing, okay?”
“Luce, listen,” he said. “I don’t want to be an asshole. I mean if you’re actually seeing ghosts—”
At least he was laughing a little then, and I was too, because it was an absurd conversation we were having. You had to see it to believe it, and there was no convincing someone who couldn’t see.
“Can we move on now?” I said, grabbing Harry for moral support.
“Good idea,” he said. “Did you check out Starbucks?”
“Was I supposed to do that? I thought I wasn’t.”
“Because you don’t like the coffee.”
“Because it would be hard for me to work there.”
“Right.”
“You don’t get it,” I said. “Can you imagine if you didn’t have executive functions? You can’t do jobs without them. I’m not sure how to talk to you either. I think that’s related. How is this supposed to go? Us conversing as adults, as people who are supposed to know what we’re talking about—big things. Do you know what you’re talking about?”
“I’m still trying to figure out what you’re talking about.” He finished his second beer. “Just so we’re both on the same page here: Are you telling me that you’re incapable of work? Not that you don’t want to, or that you’re too tired to, but that you can’t do it?”
“Not incapable, just—it’s not how I want to be.”
He sighed again, heavily, rinsed the dishes, and grabbed another beer.
“You’re drinking more?”
“Yes.” He took a long pull, burped, and looked at me. “You want one?”
“No thanks.”
I watched his gaze gravitate toward the far end of the room.
The case was slightly open, and it wasn’t exactly where he had left it. How had he noticed that?
“Did I? Sorry. I must not have locked it the right way.”
He ran over to inspect it. “Did you mess with the strings?”
“No, I don’t know how. Think you could teach me sometime?”
He looked at me. “You’re interested in guitar?”
“Sure,” I said. “I don’t think my fingers can move that way, but I could try. Right?”
“You could try.” He took a second. “What about temping?”
“What about it?”
“A lot of it is like monkey work. Stuffing envelopes, answering phones, making copies. It’s what I would’ve done if I didn’t get the restaurant gig. You don’t have to think at all.”
“Monkeys think. Some can paint, and they know sign language. And math.”
“You wouldn’t have to do any math.”
“Wait, you’re serious? How would I get there?”
“I’ll drop you off at the agency on my way to work.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Why not? Getting out will shield you from the dead.”
“I guess that’s good that you’re joking now, that you don’t think I’m crazy.”
“I didn’t say that,” he said. “Look, neither of us is expecting you to get a job. But what if you just gave it a shot, for the hell of it? Just to see. Unless, of course, you had other plans.”