??
Next E/I date at one of our houses?
You think?
Maybe less stress?
Maybe
Ok, a different KIND of stress
Right. Worth a try I guess
Ron and Mom usually run errands on Sunday afternoon, so we make a date to meet then at our house.
I wonder if David will feel like he needs to stay. He could probably just drop Ethan off, but it’s also okay with me if he wants to come in and hang. I don’t hate him anymore.
I’m not sure what I think about David these days.
I tell Ivy the plan.
“Okay,” she says. “What will we do?”
“I don’t know . . . Have a snack, watch TV, listen to music? Whatever you want.”
“Could Diana come too?”
“Your friend from school? I don’t know. Ethan might not want to have to share you.”
She gives me one of her classic Ivy looks: a combination of confusion and annoyance. “That’s a weird thing to say. I’m not food.”
“I just meant he might want all of your attention.”
“Diana’s his friend too.”
She’s clearly not getting it. I wonder if I should try to make her at least a little aware of what Ethan might be feeling for her at this point. And a little more aware of what she might be feeling for him—?what I hope she’s feeling for him.
Maybe not being able to describe or put a name to your feelings makes them less accessible to you. Mom once said that they had to explain to Ivy when she was little what hunger was—?she would just cry from the feeling of emptiness in her stomach instead of asking for food. Maybe romantic attraction is like that for Ivy—?something she feels but can’t yet name or even connect to its cause.
But can someone tell you you’re in love? Or do you just have to know it at a gut level? And if you can’t identify it, does it even really exist?
At lunch on Tuesday, Sarah asks me what’s going on with “the Ivy fix-up thing,” and James says, “Yeah, what?”
So I tell them that Ethan’s coming over on Sunday to hang out with her.
Sarah says, “Oh, my God, that’s the cutest thing ever. Can I drop by? I want to see them together. Do they hold hands? That would just kill me.”
“Is he coming too?” James jerks his chin toward David, who’s sitting alone at a table in the corner, staring at his open laptop as he shoves a bouquet of french fries in his mouth.
“No idea.”
“Let’s crash the date,” Sarah says to James.
“I’m so there.”
“Guys . . .” I say.
“We’re just joking,” Sarah says. She leans over and stage-whispers to James, “We’re not joking.”
Jana comes over and drops a full tray on the table. “I am exhausted,” she announces before sitting and launching into a description of her day, which apparently involved a Spanish presentation, a biology test, and something else that she resented (I’d stopped listening by this point).
A little while later, when people are talking about other stuff, she turns to me and says, “That was cool meeting your sister. You never talk about her.”
“Yeah, I do,” I say uncomfortably. “It just doesn’t come up that often.”
“She seems really sweet.” She’s fishing. She wants to know more.
“She is,” I say. “She’s also autistic.”
“I thought it was something like that!” she crows.
I feel a brief flash of something that’s almost hatred for Jana, but I just take a sip of my water and will it away. She doesn’t mean to be hurtful, any more than Ivy means to whisper incessantly to herself.
People can have nothing but good intentions and still sometimes make you want to kill them.
Nineteen
THERE’S A MOVIE on the TV and chips in a bowl on the table, but Ethan won’t eat them because Mom buys the kind sprinkled with flax seeds and Ethan does not appreciate finding seeds on his tortilla chips, as I discovered a few minutes earlier. It wasn’t a chili-pepper-level crisis, but he was pretty upset. I found some plain rice crackers in the pantry, and he was willing to eat those, so peace has returned to our family room.
Ivy and Ethan are sitting next to each other on the sofa. I steered them there. I’m perched on one sofa arm and David’s in the armchair on the other side of them. I’m bored. I don’t like the movie—?some mediocre thriller Ethan wanted Ivy to see—?but I’ve been forbidden to talk during it: Ethan and Ivy both shushed me when I asked David a question about our English homework.
David catches me yawning and gestures toward the doorway. I nod. We both get to our feet.
As I cross in front of them, Ivy says, “Where are you going?”
“We’re just getting something to drink.”
“Come back,” she says.
“Do you think she’ll ever be willing to be alone with him?” David asks me once we’re in the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I say. Then: “I don’t know. Maybe not . . . Why wouldn’t she? But she can be so weird about it. But eventually she has to get comfortable, right?”
“Maybe think about it for a while and get back to me?”
“Sorry. Clearly I have no idea. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure. You have Coke?”
“Sorry. It’s considered unhealthy around these parts. I have a stepfather who’s very concerned about everything he puts into his body . . . except when it comes to alcohol, which he seems just fine with.”
“So my only choice is alcohol? A little early for me, but if it’s what the natives do . . .”
“Yeah, no. But you can have water. Or juice. Or milk. Or one of these.” I open the fridge and take out a can of the weird health food carbonated zero-calorie juice things that Mom and Ron buy. I toss it to David. He catches it and sits at the table.
“Blackberry and sage?” he reads off the label. “And here I was hoping for watercress and guano.” He pulls the tab and peers dubiously down into the opening before sniffing it. “Ugh.” He takes a sip. “Yep. Just as disgusting as I expected.” He gulps some more.