“Dating?” I said hesitantly.
“Oh.” Her shoulders sloped down. “Yeah. Isn’t it obvious? I mean, my mom thinks I’m dating nine girls at the same time, but Cheslin and I have been together since the beginning of the summer.”
“Whoa,” I said. “That’s… a while.” I thought about Axel and Leanne, and tried to imagine them together that long. My stomach churned.
“I meant to say sorry about my mom,” Caro said. “I hope she didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. I came out to her pretty recently, and I think it was such a surprise that she’s been overcompensating.”
It took me a moment to realize she was talking about Mel’s jokes when they gave me a ride home. I wondered if it was my turn to apologize for my mother. For her being passed out on the floor. For causing Caro and Mel to wade knee-deep into a swamp of awkwardness. Was I supposed to try to explain what had happened, when I didn’t have a clue myself?
I took a breath and made myself smile. “No worries. Your mom seems really cool.”
Caro rolled her eyes. “Everyone says that. She’s the biggest weirdo nerd.”
“And what are we?” I gestured at the art and equipment all around us.
“Touché,” said Caro.
Relief settled around my shoulders. It didn’t seem like the subject of my mother was going to come up, thank god.
In the other room, we set everything up where the light was best. We spent the day painting the details swirling in the body of “Evil Lover,” as we had taken to calling him. Her. Them. Caro told me how she first found her papi’s original SLR camera. How she figured out she liked girls when she watched Titanic and couldn’t stop staring at Kate Winslet’s breasts. Then there were the moments of silence, when we mixed colors and focused on our brushstrokes.
We painted until the sun tucked itself away. I was mixing to get the perfect teal and caught myself squinting.
“Is there a lamp or something?” I asked.
Caro looked up. “We should probably stop, really. I have a light, but it makes all the colors look off. We can finish tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, though part of me was reluctant to leave. Painting had been meditative.
“You should totally stay for dinner, though,” she said. “My grandparents are over. They love meeting my friends.”
Friends. The word echoed in my skull and sent a ray of warmth into my chest. I hadn’t made a new friend in years.
“I’d love to,” I said.
“I’m warning you, though, they’re kind of gross.”
Gaelle and Charles Renard made me feel like I’d been a part of the family forever. They told me the story of how Mel kicked her boyfriend out two days before Caro was born.
“And we haven’t seen the bastard since,” said Gaelle with a wink, walking in from the kitchen bearing a casserole. “Good riddance.”
Mel shrugged and topped off her wine. “At least I didn’t marry the guy.”
While Grandma Renard sounded entirely American, Charles had a touch of a French accent. “And at least all your rolling around in the hay gave us the gift of Carolina.” The way he said her name, the R turned in the back of his throat, making the syllables sound special, like they belonged to a Hollywood actress in a black-and-white film.
Caro made a loud, drawn-out noise of pain.
Mel wrinkled her nose. “We never did it on the farm.”
“You sure smelled like it, though,” said Gaelle. She reached for Charles’s hand across the table, and the two of them chortled.
“Never do it on a farm,” said Charles in a mock low voice, leaning toward Caro like he was saying this in confidence. “No matter how beautiful and sexy your girl is.” There was extra emphasis on the word sexy.
“Papi,” Caro pleaded. She looked mortified.
“What are you so embarrassed about?” said Gaelle. “I loved a few women back in my day.”
“More than a few,” said Mel, “the way I heard it.”
Caro’s grandmother ignored this. “You love who you love. There’s no changing that. You do your loving whenever, wherever you wish—”
“Except on a farm,” Charles interjected.
“If you do do it on a farm,” said Gaelle, “just don’t tell your papi.”
“Chérie, you are the most terrible of them all,” said Charles to his wife.
Gaelle giggled and leaned in to rub her nose against his.
“Ugh,” said Caro.
“Seconded,” said Mel.
I ducked my head down for a bite of green beans to hide my smile.
“Leigh, what about your parents?” said Gaelle. “I’m always keen on a good love story.”
I chewed fast and swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of my grip on my fork. “I’m not even sure I’ve heard the whole story. When I was little, I used to ask how they met, and they would just say they’d known each other since the beginning of time, for hundreds of lives.”
“Life after life,” said Charles. “Very romantic.”
I smiled, but inside I was wondering if romantic was the right way to describe it. Once upon a time, maybe. I thought of how Dad used to sit on the couch while Mom puzzled out new pieces on the piano. There’d be something work-related in his lap—papers he was pretending to grade—but I knew he was really listening to the music, watching my mother move like a wave. His eyes stayed glued to her, and a soft smile tugged up the edges of his mouth.
That had been romantic. But something had changed in the last several months, the most obvious of which being that Dad started flying off to conferences and things. He was too busy now.
He’d shifted his work toward economic sociology, whatever that meant. He was gaining recognition and being invited to speak, join research projects, be a visiting professor. He was coauthoring a book with a fellow sinologist—it sounded like a big deal.
My mother was so loudly supportive and enthusiastic of everything. It was obvious: She was overcompensating for the guilt she felt whenever he suggested we move to Asia. He’d asked about China and Taiwan and Hong Kong and Singapore, and every time her answer was Maybe in a few years, or What about Leigh’s schooling, we cannot afford international private school, or I moved here for a reason.
“Leigh?”
Caro kicked me under the table. I’d missed something Gaelle said. “Sorry, what?”
Everyone smiled politely like I hadn’t just zoned out.
“Did you ever find out how they actually met?” said Charles.
“Right,” I said. “Yeah. My mom was still a college student in Taiwan, but she came over for a summer music program in Illinois. My dad had just started his PhD there, and both of them got dragged to a mix-and-mingle event. They dated for almost the entire summer… and then kept it up long-distance after that.”
“Wow,” said Mel. “Long distance is tough.”
“Yeah.” I imagined my mother waiting for his call, snatching up the receiver on the first ring.
“And then?” said Charles.
“He proposed over the phone, and she flew to Chicago, and they eloped.”
Gaelle was beaming. “I love it.”
“You would love it if they’d met falling into a septic tank,” said Mel. “As long as they ended up together.”
“Yup, she’s a hopeless romantic,” Caro told me with an eye roll.
“There’s got to be at least one of us in this family,” said Gaelle.
“Lucky for you, there are two.” Charles reached out to pinch his wife’s chin and then her nose. Gaelle dissolved into musical giggles.
I tried to remember the last time I’d seen my mother laugh like that. The last time she’d looked so happy. I focused on Gaelle’s wide smile, the crow’s-feet wedging cheerfully into the corners of her eyes, and tried to mentally transplant my mother’s features onto that carefree face.