SHE HAD THE DOOR open before I’d finished saying his name. “Jared asked you to be school mascot?”
I nodded. “He told the coach he thought I’d be perfect for the job. The guy who did it last year had a growth spurt. And it’s a pretty small costume, so they needed someone who hasn’t reached his full height potential yet. The only thing is, the head kind of reeks, like maybe the guy last year had halitosis—”
“Did you give Jared my message?”
“Yes. I did.”
“And did he say anything back?”
“Yes. He did.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘Tell Ashley to go on Facebook tonight so we can chat.’ ”
Her face went all weird and rubbery, like she was working really hard not to smile. “Did he name a time?”
“He said around eight o’clock.”
“That was it?”
“That was it.”
“Then why are you still standing here?” She started to close her door, but I put my hand out.
“Can I ask you something?”
“No.”
“Why does it bother you so much?”
“What?”
“Your dad being gay.”
“Why are you so interested? Maybe ’cause you’re gay?”
“No, I’m pretty sure I’m straight. All my fantasies are about females—”
She slapped her hands over her ears. “Oh my God! You are so disgusting! You think I don’t know what you were doing yesterday under that blanket?”
“Not what you think I was doing.”
“Oh, please—”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were!”
“I wasn’t! I was breathing in my mom’s molecules!” I blurted.
She stared at me. “You were what?”
I tried to explain. “The human body is made up of trillions of molecules, right?”
“Maybe. Whatever.”
“Molecules are made of atoms. When someone dies, their molecules break down into smaller molecules as well as individual atoms. So, say a carbon atom is part of a molecule in a person’s leg. When that person dies, that atom could become part of a molecule in something else, like a blooming flower, or even another human being. Or an oxygen atom in your sandwich could end up in a molecule as part of your brain.”
“Ew.”
“Right now, as I’m talking to you, you’re probably picking up a few Stewart molecules and vice versa.”
She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Gross!”
“I don’t think it’s gross. I think it’s kind of beautiful. Everything, and everyone, is interconnected.”
Schrödinger wandered up to me and started rubbing against my legs. I picked him up and held him close to me. “Right now I’m breathing in cat molecules.”
“You are so weird.”
“I don’t think it’s weird to want to stay connected to my mom in any way I can. A lot of her molecules were floating around our old house, so I always felt connected to her there. But then we moved here, and I had to use a specific object to breathe in her molecules.”
“That hideous blanket?”
“It’s not hideous. She knitted it. It’s called an afghan. When she was sick, she used to lie on the couch with it on top of her. So now I go under it once a day and breathe her in for a while. And I just remember her. It’s kind of like I’m collecting a bit of her soul.”
Ashley just stared at me. “Still weird. And kind of creepy.”
I shrugged. I hadn’t expected her to understand. I started to walk to my bedroom, holding Schrödinger.
“But I can’t imagine what it must be like to have your mom go and die on you,” she continued. “So, I don’t know…. Maybe, if I was in your shoes, I’d do some weird stuff, too.” Then she added, “Not as weird, though.”
“So why don’t you try a little harder with your dad? I know he hurt you, but he’s alive. He loves you—”
She closed her bedroom door.
Still, it was easily the best conversation Ashley and I had ever had.