When he’s finished taking pictures, we wander to the food court and get giant cinnamon rolls the size of our faces. Jamie lets me look through the digital copies on his camera.
“These are amazing.” I feel dizzy looking at them. He’s so talented. Way more talented than me. He’d never have been rejected by Prism.
“I want to see your paintings,” he says. “I bet they’re amazing too.”
Laughing, I eat another bite of cinnamon roll. “Your expectations are already way too high. I’m not that good. Not like you.”
“I doubt that.” His blue eyes sparkle. I forget to chew for at least three seconds.
Clearing my throat, I drop my eyes. Somewhere inside my bag, my phone vibrates. It’s a text from Mom.
He went out. Come home so we can talk.
I take a deep breath and glance up at Jamie. With the exception of when he’s looking at his camera, he’s barely taken his eyes off me since last night.
“Will you come with me to my house?” I don’t want to face her alone.
“Of course I will.”
I text Mom back: Okay. I’m bringing Jamie.
We’re already back in the neighborhood when she finally texts back: I bought dinner, so I hope he likes Italian food.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Mom’s wearing a cream cable-knit sweater, even though with the humidity it feels like it’s ninety degrees outside. Her makeup is done and her hair is perfect, and she’s wearing the vanilla perfume she always wears when she goes out, but never when she’s inside the house.
There’s something strange about her smile, but I can’t figure out what it is. I try not to pay attention—Mom is always analyzing the way people perceive her. Every time I talk to her it feels like I’m taking a test. Most of the time I fail before I even open my mouth.
I hope Jamie doesn’t notice. I don’t want him to feel as weird as I do.
“Hey, Jamie,” she says enthusiastically. “The last time I saw you was at Taro’s birthday party. Do you remember that? It was years ago.”
Jamie gives a polite smile, but his eyes flicker back and forth like he doesn’t want to look directly at her. I’m not sure why. Maybe her smile is too intense for him, too. “Yeah, I remember.” He looks at me. “It was the day that old guy yelled at us for going in the Jacuzzi because we were too young or something.”
I grin. I remember too. After we got yelled at, we decided to spy on him from up in the nearby trees. In our game, he was an evil space pirate, and we were the half-robot half-human rebels who were trying to save the world.
Except we forgot what game we were playing after a while, and we ended up sitting in the tree for the rest of the pool party playing our “one or the other” game and trying to master the art of whistling. We completely missed the birthday cake, which Mom was really mad about. She said we were supposed to be there for the pictures—for the memories. I guess she didn’t care that we were making our own.
Mom crosses her arms and pushes a hip out. “You and Taro were such good friends. Sometimes I felt like you were my third son.”
My teeth press together. Jamie Merrick was my best friend, not Taro’s. You see? She even tries to take my best friend away from me.
Jamie pulls his lips into his teeth in a tight smirk, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure he notices what I do.
“I hope you two are hungry,” she says, leading us into the dining room.
There are at least four giant containers of pastas and two massive meatball subs on the table, not counting the empty packaging that my brothers already cleared out. It’s way too much food.
“Are you having a party or something?” Jamie asks as she slices the sub in half and passes it to him.
Mom laughs melodically. “I thought you guys would be hungry, that’s all. This place is so good. Make sure you try the eggplant parmesan. Kiko, I got that for you, because you’re a vegetarian.” She’s watching me, and her blue eyes look like they were pulled out of a doll—unmoving, always smiling.
It takes a lot of control not to give away what I’m thinking. She’s probably made an active effort to pretend I’m not a vegetarian hundreds of times over the last two years, but now that there’s company, remembering a personal fact about me makes her look thoughtful. So of course she mentions it.
“Thanks, Mom.” I hesitate when she passes me a plate of food. It feels like I’m making a deal with the devil. Nothing nice Mom does is for free. I just won’t know what it will cost me until it’s too late.
I take the plate. Maybe bringing Jamie here was a bad idea. I just didn’t want to come back here alone.
She asks him about college, and California, and whether he has a girlfriend—it’s so uncomfortable—and eventually she asks how his parents are doing.
Jamie nods through a bite of meatball sub. “Mm-hmm. They’re good.” He keeps chewing. And chewing. I’ve never seen anyone chew for so long just to get out of saying anything else.
Mom watches him carefully for a while, her eyes half closed and the same partial smile stapled to her face as a disguise. “Well, I’m sure your parents must be so proud of you. You seem like you turned out to be a very nice young man.”
I cringe through another mouthful of breaded eggplant. Jamie laughs gently. When she tries to come across normal like this, it’s so weird. And I know weird—I’m probably the very definition of weird—but when people come to the house, it’s like she turns into some suburban housewife cyborg. Everything she says is nice and thoughtful and makes her look like the greatest mom in the world.
Nobody ever sees what I see. Nobody ever knows what I know.
At least, nobody who lasts. Anyone who figures out what’s beneath her pretend skin gets shoved straight into enemy territory. It’s why she and Dad never speak. It’s why I’m her least favorite. It’s why the only long-term friends she has are the ones she never sees—the ones that get too close eventually figure my mother out. She doesn’t keep anyone around who could potentially crush the pretty exterior she wears to hide all the ugliness.
They start talking about photography—like Mom knows anything about photography!—and it doesn’t take long before she starts telling him how she used to model.
“It was such an exciting time in my life,” she gushes. “If I hadn’t decided to get married and have kids, I probably would’ve ended up in Milan or Paris.”
“That’s cool.” Jamie pushes his plate farther away, but she keeps scooping more pasta onto it.
Mom’s boiling over with energy, and she’s trying to shove it down our faces like she is with the Italian food. “You know, I sacrificed a lot to have children. Being a mother is truly one of the most selfless jobs you can do.”
Jamie pushes his chair back. He’s probably just trying to get away from the food, but he could also be trying to get away from her desperation for a compliment. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Not at all. It’s right around the corner on the left.” Mom points down the hall.