“Yes,” said Grayson, unmoved. “Feeding the hippos. Pass the butter this way, would you?”
I grinned. Grayson was another reason why I liked living in this house; in fact, he was an even better reason than the coffee machine. First, he could help me with my math when I got stuck (after all, he was two classes above me); secondly, he was a really cheering sight, even when he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep and was yawning like a hippopotamus, and thirdly … well, he was just nice.
His sister wasn’t quite so nice.
“What a shame Henry didn’t have time for the party last night … again,” she said to me, and although her voice was dripping with sympathy, I could hear the malice behind it. It showed in the way she left that little pause before saying again. “You two really missed something. We had such fun, didn’t we, Grayson?”
Grayson just yawned again, but my mother leaned forward and examined me in concern. “Liv, darling, you went to your room without having any supper yesterday evening. Should I be worried?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Mom just went on. “Anyway, it’s not normal to spend a Saturday evening hanging around at home, not at your age, and going to bed early. Just because your boyfriend doesn’t have time to go to a party, you don’t have to act like a nun and stay home yourself.”
I cast a dark glance at her through my glasses. That was typical of my mom. We were talking about the birthday party of a guy two years ahead of me at school. I hardly knew him, and anyway, I’d been invited only as Henry’s companion, so I’d have looked pretty silly going on my own. Aside from the fact that, whatever Florence said, I probably hadn’t missed much. Parties were all the same: too many people in a small space, too much loud music, and not enough to eat. You couldn’t talk except in a shout, a couple of people always drank too much and made fools of themselves, and if you danced, other people were poking their elbows in your ribs the whole time—it really wasn’t my idea of fun.
“What’s more,” said Mom, leaning a little farther forward, “what’s more, if Henry has to babysit his little brother and sister, which naturally I think is very nice of him—who’s to say you can’t go and help him?”
To my annoyance, she’d hit the bull’s-eye, right at my most sensitive spot. In the eight and a half weeks of our relationship, Henry had often come here to see me: we’d spent time in my room, in the park, at the movies, at parties, in the school library, in the corner café, and of course in our dreams. But I hadn’t been to his house once.
The only member of Henry’s family that I knew was his little sister, Amy, aged four, and I knew her only from dreams. I knew that he also had a brother called Milo, who was twelve, but Henry didn’t often talk about him, and he almost never mentioned his parents. Recently I’d wondered whether Henry was keeping me away from his home on purpose. I’d found out most of what I knew about his family not from him, but from Secrecy’s blog. I’d learned that his parents were divorced, his father had already been married three times, and he was now planning to make a former lingerie model from Bulgaria wife number four. As well as Milo and Amy, according to Secrecy, Henry also had a whole crowd of older half brothers and sisters.
Mom winked at me, and I hastily thought about something else. When Mom winked, it was usually suggestive, and therefore embarrassing.
“I always had no end of fun babysitting. Particularly when the babies were asleep.” She winked again, and now Mia put her knife down in alarm. “In particular I remember the Millers’ sofa.…”
So much for a homey, nearly Christmassy mood.