“Her name is Simone. What about Simone?” Mum said with a preternatural calm. She positioned me behind her, a lioness shielding her cub.
“She’s had a terrible influence on our Liam,” Mr. Avery replied. “And now he’s in the shitter, which is clearly her doing.”
That’s when Dad laughed, sure that this was all a case of mistaken identity. The look the Averys gave him in response was downright murderous.
“I don’t understand. Simone isn’t permitted to see your son,” Mum replied. She straightened her back while she spoke, as though someone suddenly stuck a steel rod in her spine. When completely upright, Mum’s almost six feet tall and quite imposing, far more than Dad. “No. You must be mistaken. That’s impossible. Right, Simba?”
I’ve started to sweat. Rivulets of liquid panic roll down my back. I try to speak but my throat is too dry, too constricted to form proper words, particularly under the Averys’ hostile gazes.
“Impossible?” Liam’s mom snorted. “She’s at our house every day. If you were the kind of people who kept track of their kid, you’d know.”
Both my parents turned to look at me and I found myself wishing the ground would split open and swallow me whole. I’d wondered if my lies wouldn’t eventually catch up to me, but I never envisioned this.
“Simba,” Mum asked, her normally firm voice taking on a pleading edge. “That’s impossible, yes? You’ve been at the newspaper.”
I shook my head, not able to look in her eyes, incapable of making a sound.
“Oh, Sim,” Dad said, sounding more hurt and disappointed than angry.
Mr. Avery gestured toward me. “You keep her away from Liam, understand? She stays away from our son or there will be consequences.”
“Beg your pardon, but it almost sounds as though you’re threatening our daughter,” Mum said, attempting to clarify a situation that I’d later describe as surreal, even though Dad despises my perpetual misuse of the term surreal. Makes me put a dollar in a biscuit tin when he catches me saying it. He says surreal is not being lectured by bullies in a foyer, surreal is Magritte’s bowler-hatted, bespoke men raining down on row houses.
“That’s not a threat,” Liam’s mother said, jaw set and arms firmly crossed, clutching her own elbows. For all the muffins she bakes and the good morning hugs and darling Homecoming posters, I suddenly saw the ice queen Mrs. Avery was back in her advertising agency days. “That’s a promise.”
“Your Liam has problems,” Mum said, her own frosty calm turning into something else. “Problems he had before he ever met Simone. I’ll thank you not to come into my home and make baseless accusations.”
“Let’s do the math here,” Liam’s dad responded, his lip curled into a sneer. “Liam was the perfect kid, an ideal student, and a dedicated athlete a couple of months ago. But now that he’s hooked up with this one—” he thrust his chin in my direction “—I’m hearing that he’s taking drugs and lying about college applications. Hmm, let me think about that...before meeting Simone, Liam was headed to Princeton. After meeting Simone, he’s on the path to heading to, I don’t know, prison? You claim she’s innocent, but she lives here, with you...two bohemians. Read about you on the internet. Real nice example you’ve set.” He let out a cruel laugh. “Yeah, sure sounds like Liam’s the problem. Let me tell you this, he will be fine again the second she’s out of his life. This isn’t him, this is her.”
“Let me tell you this,” Mum hissed, her patience spent. “Your ‘golden child’ was high the first night we met him. Get your house in order before making accusations in mine.”
I ached to talk to Liam, to hear what had happened to him before all of this, to offer some sort of comfort. As impossible as his father was when he’d done well, but not well enough, I was terrified of how Mr. Avery might have reacted to hearing anything negative about Liam—anything that could somehow reflect badly on himself. I wouldn’t sleep a wink that night, agonizing over Liam’s state of mind.
“Let me tell you this,” Liam’s dad countered, inching closer to my mum. I was holding my breath, waiting for someone to throw a punch, and I feared it would be my mum who struck the first blow. “If I see her around my kid again, then I—”
“Wait,” my dad said, inserting himself between them, always opting to be peacemaker over the antagonist. Dad rarely fought; he was much more likely to work out his emotions through his art. I half suspected he’d whip out some colored pencils and paper, instructing us all to sketch our feelings. “Let me stop you all right there. So, you don’t want your son to see our daughter, yeah? And we don’t fancy having our daughter around your son. Looks to me that we’re on the same page. We want the same thing. I’d say we’ve accomplished our mission here and there’s nothing left to discuss. We’ll call it a night before this gets even more ugly, right?”
That seemed to take the wind out of Mr. Avery’s sails, yet he was determined to have the last word. “You make sure she stays away.”
“We will,” Mum said, nodding. “We will do that because we’re her parents and we love her and even as virtual strangers, we can see your son is on a collision course with trouble. We’ll gladly keep close watch on our daughter because wherever your son is headed, we’d prefer he not drag her down with him.”
Mrs. Avery began to protest, but Mum shut her down, adding, “If you don’t see that, if you can’t comprehend that your Liam might have issues, despite every advantage you’ve given him, despite being exemplary parents, whatever happens next is your fault and your responsibility.”
In a softer voice, Mum continues. “I’ve seen what drug use can do to the most talented among us, so I’m begging you to find him help. Regard this as a serious threat. With our daughter removed from the equation, you might assume your problem’s solved. Simone’s not the issue, despite your beliefs. Your son is wrestling his own demons. Get him to treatment. Now. Please. This isn’t the time to punish him, this isn’t the time to rend your garments or cast blame. Reach out because it’s not too late. Too many tragic things have already happened in this community this year. Help him. Don’t let your child become another statistic. I beg of you, don’t ignore what’s going on under your own roof.”
“Uh-huh,” Mr. Avery replied, dismissing everything my mum had just said. “Follow your own advice. Get your house in order before you go looking for trouble in mine.”
With that, the Averys left. I wanted to warn Liam, to tell him what to expect, but I had a feeling reaching him would be impossible. And I was right.
Dad closed the door behind them and collapsed a little bit as he leaned against it. The whole interchange had zapped him of his spirit. I hated that they had to witness anything unpleasant and that I was the cause of their unhappiness.
Mum turned to me. I braced myself for yelling or accusations or for the firm hand of justice. Instead, with the saddest eyes in the world, Mum simply asked, “Why did you lie, Sim? I’m not angry, I’m confused. Please tell us why.”