We decided to watch an old movie from my dad’s collection. “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Sam said.
“I just watched that with my dad.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Well, I did.”
“Tough cookies, baby. It’s not going to kill you to watch it again.”
“Really,” I said. “Look, they published that sequel thing—?and Atticus turns out to be a racist.”
“Yeah, yeah, and have you read that book?”
“No, but—”
“But—?but nothing, Sally. In this version, Atticus is not a racist. So let’s focus, Sal.”
I don’t know why I bothered arguing with Sam. The result was always the same. So rather than prolong a debate that I was destined to lose, I just said, “Next time I get to pick.”
“Deal.”
In the middle of the movie Sam poked me and said, “I think your dad’s a little like Atticus Finch.”
“The unracist one.”
“Yup, that one.”
“You think so, Sammy?”
“Yup. And he’s just as handsome as Gregory Peck.”
“Yup,” I said.
“How come when you sleep over, you always get the bed?”
“’Cause I’m the girl.”
“Sometimes you’re so full of shit, Sam.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“And how come you always get to sleep with Maggie?”
“You should ask Maggie that.”
I looked at Maggie: “Traitor.” Then I looked at Sam. “I think you should sleep on the floor sometimes.”
“Shut up.” She turned off the light. “Go to sleep.” But we couldn’t stop laughing.
Everything was quiet. Then I heard Sam say, “Tell me a secret.”
“A secret.”
“We all have them.”
“You first.”
She was real quiet. Then she said, “I’m still a virgin.”
I was smiling to myself, happy that she hadn’t slept with any of those bad boys. “I am too.”
She laughed. “Everyone knows that, you idiot. Tell me a real secret.”
I didn’t know I was going to tell her. “I have a letter from my mother.”
“What? Really? Really?”
“Yeah, my dad gave it to me.”
“When?”
“A while ago.”
“What did it say?”
“I haven’t opened it.”
“What? What’s wrong with you?” She turned on the light so I could see that look of hers. “You have a letter from your mother, your mother who’s dead, and you haven’t opened it? What an asshole.”
“I’m not an asshole. I’m just not ready to open it.”
“Well, when will you be ready? After the earth dies from global warming?”
“Now you’re being an asshole.”
“Okay, talk to me. I knew something was going on with you. I just knew it.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Don’t yeah, yeah me, you jerk. Talk to me.”
“It’s just that, well, I’m not ready.”
“What is that about?”
“I don’t have an answer.”
I could tell she was exasperated. “Look, I’ll read it to you,” she said.
“That is exactly what I thought you’d say—?which is exactly why I didn’t tell you about it.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time—?but I could tell she was pouting. She turned off the light.
“Don’t be mad at me, Sam,” I whispered.
“Are you scared to read what it says?”
“I guess I am.”
“Why, Sally?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know what I think? I think you’re angry with your mom. Because she died. You just never let yourself in on that dirty little secret.”
“Oh, so now you’re the frickin’ Dalai Lama?”
“Yup.”
I gave her a snarky smile in the dark.
“Well, when you’re ready and you read it, Sally, will you tell me what she said?”
“I promise. And will you promise not to nag me about it?”
“I promise.”
“I’m glad we’re friends, Sammy.”
“Me too, Sally.”
She stopped talking, and I could hear her breathing. I wondered why girls didn’t snore. Maybe they did, but Sam didn’t. I knew I snored sometimes. I was no expert on snoring. I lay on the floor in my sleeping bag and started making a list of things I was no expert on. Cancer. Girls. Gay men. Mothers. Bio fathers. Nature vs. nurture. Anger. Fear. Prayer. I fell asleep in the middle of making my list.
Me and Dad
I WOKE UP EARLY. Sam was fast asleep. She was definitely a sleeper. Me, well, not so much.
I sat and watched the sun come up. My dad called. He said Uncle Julian had taken time off and was going to Scottsdale to be with Mima while she was at the Mayo. “I’m flying home tonight.”
“Flying? I thought you drove.”
“No. The drive was too long for Mima. And the flight’s only an hour.”
“Oh.”
“I thought I’d told you.”
“Guess I didn’t remember. Glad you’re coming home,” I said. “The fort isn’t the same without you.”
“What? You didn’t tear up the place?”
“Nah. Sam came over. We had our usual slumber party.”
“You didn’t practice any more kissing, did you?”
“Course not. I should never have told you.”
“Just checking.”
I noticed he didn’t say anything about Mima. If the news had been good, he would have said something.
Sylvia
I WAS MAKING OMELETS, and Sam was feeding Maggie bacon. “It’s bad for her,” I said.
“She doesn’t seem to think so.”
I gave her a look.
She gave me a look back. Then she started texting.
“Who you texting?”
“It’s private.”
“Yeah, well, if it’s so private, why are you doing it in front of me?” I gave her one of my best smirks.
“If you must know.”
“And I must.”
“I’m texting Sylvia. We’re supposed to go shopping today.”
“That’s nice. More shoes.”
“That was just a phase.”
“Bullshit. Hummingbirds were a phase. Well, you relapsed on that phase and it came back. But shoes. That’s chronic.”
“Chronic?”
“Yup. So what’s the new phase?”
“Vinyl.”
“Vinyl?”
“Sylvia has old albums and a record player. I took it out the other day and played some of her stuff. It belonged to her uncle. I have to hand it to Sylvia. She can’t keep a clean house, but she can keep her old record collection in mint condition. Go fucking figure.”
“There’s that word again.”
“Say it with me.” That girl could smile.
“Nope.”
“C’mon. It won’t kill you.”
“I use that word sparingly.”
“I bet you’re gonna marry a bad girl.”
“Nope.”
She shook her head. She kept playing with her phone. “Sylvia didn’t text me back. She promised. She’s trying to make up for the fact that I’m not allowed to go out on any more dates unless she meets the guy first. And she promised, if I behaved myself, we’d discuss my application to Stanford. If I behaved? What does that mean? Who gets to evaluate my behavior? Me or her?”
“I think she gets the honors,” I said. “And at least she’s being motherly. That’s progress.”
“Not in my world.”
“You want her involved or not?”
“Involved? She’s the one who got me addicted to uninvolved. So what’s a girl to do?”
“Go with it.”
“I’ll try it on for size. But if it doesn’t work for me, I’ll tell her to buzz off.”
I put her omelet in front of her. “Just the way you like ’em.”
She smiled as she was calling her mother. “You can always work as a short-order cook.”
“Oh yeah, my life’s ambition.”
“Shit!”