I nod and try to smile, but it probably comes off more like a grimace.
He doesn’t seem to notice, and tells me to come on. I follow him through the swinging doors. Standing in the center of the bright yellow kitchen, a rolling pin poised over a mound of dough, is Catherine, Adam’s mother. She’s pretty, just like I remember, and I feel a particular type of pain—the same squeezing heart I get every time I open the trunk. Suddenly I have this thought that I should have dressed up, the way you would before you enter a church. Instead I’m wearing my too-short jeans and too-small shirt with the holes in the armpits and along the collar.
She steps from behind the island, reaching out both hands as if she’s going to hug me, then she glances at Adam and lowers her arms. “How are you, Julian?” There’s a certain inflection to my name, the same tone people use to say honey or sweetheart.
“Fine.” It seems wrong to give an automatic response like fine to her, but it’s all I can say. No one starts filling the silence and it’s awkward until I hear a bass pulse from outside, so loud it rattles the copper pots and pans hanging against the wall.
“Sounds like Camila’s here,” Adam says. Catherine smiles at him, sparkling and entertained like every word he says is worth hearing. “Gotta go, Mom.” He kisses the side of her head.
“Julian?” She stretches out one hand, almost but not quite touching my shoulder. “You’re welcome here anytime.”
I nod, then follow Adam back through the swinging yellow doors. From the living room window, I see carloads of older kids disembarking and spilling across the lawn. That’s when I realize it won’t just be Adam and me going to this concert.
While he’s shrugging on his jacket, I bolt out the back door, setting off a motion sensor light. “Hey.” He’s followed me into the backyard. “Where are you going?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can go. Thank you for inviting me.” When I take another step, he hops over to block my exit.
“Why?” He follows my gaze to all the strangers filling the house. “My friends are cool.”
And that’s the problem. They’re cool and I’m me and I won’t know what to say and he’ll realize that soon enough.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
That sounds terrifying and I regret ever coming here.
It’s as awkward as I could imagine. Not because they aren’t nice, but because I don’t know what to say. I’m annoyed with myself for being so bad at things that everyone else can do without trying.
After a long, uncomfortable ride in a girl named Camila’s car, everyone grabs blankets and joins the thousands of other people milling around the giant field. I’m still a little queasy from the drive, and the loud music is giving me a headache. Adam and his friends talk and laugh and pile onto each other like puppies or children. It’s uncomfortable watching people who know each other this well, like how it might feel to invade a stranger’s Thanksgiving dinner.
It’s even worse when Adam disappears into the crowd.
A few minutes later, someone asks where he is. The tall blond boy named Charlie answers, “Where do you think? Running up and down the field.” Everyone nods as if they know what this means. Charlie sees me watching them and scowls. He doesn’t like me, which isn’t so unexpected, but it still stings.
I sit on the grass and pull my knees to my chin, trying to keep warm while everyone else sits on the quilts and talks. After a while Adam comes back and says hello to me, but then he races off again, smiling and chatting and hopping.
As it gets darker, the temperature drops. Soon I’m so cold I start to shake.
I’m startled when a figure wrapped in a blanket sits down beside me. It’s dark; maybe she didn’t know I was here when she decided to sit. Now that she realizes, she’ll want to move.
But she doesn’t. Instead she looks right at me and says, “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“You haven’t? I mean…you remember me?”
When I lived with Adam, sometimes Emerald would visit. She always wore dresses, and she was pretty like an angel or someone’s mother. I remember walking along a blue-green lake, and Emerald saying something about my blue-green eyes. I remember that whenever my legs got tired, Adam would kneel so I could climb onto his back, and when I wasn’t tired anymore, I would walk between them, holding their hands.
“Of course I remember you,” Emerald says. “You were like Adam’s little brother.” A look flashes over her face, one that’s uneasy. I must have said or done something, but I don’t know what. As we sit without talking, I expect her to leave, join the others.
Instead she smiles and says, “I’m glad you’re here.”
AFTER THE CONCERT, Saturday and Sunday are silent.