My mother suggests that the family all eat lunch together, so I suddenly “remember” that I promised Ivy we’d grab some burgers at In-N-Out before meeting up with Diana. Ron won’t touch fast food, and Mom won’t either anymore, although back in pre-Ron days, dinner for the three of us was often just a greasy bag of takeout from almost anywhere.
I miss those meals.
Ivy’s really out of it at lunch for some reason—?she’s so distracted she can’t even make the limited conversation she’s usually capable of—?so I spend the meal texting other people. James and I go back and forth about which movie we want to see that night, and then David sends me a text that says You figure out Sunday yet?
Mom and Ron will be home
So not your house?
yeah
Movie? E and I could go to one and we could go to another
And suddenly I’m discussing what movie to see with both James and David. If my life were a sitcom, I’d accidentally make plans to see the same movie at the same time with both of them, and end up running back and forth, pretending to be going to the bathroom and buying popcorn and doing stuff like that so I could keep switching from one seat to the other, and hilarity would, of course, ensue.
Ivy suddenly shrieks, and I look up from my phone.
“What?”
“Look!” She lifts up her hand, and there’s ketchup smeared all over the fabric at the wrist of the floaty top I gave her for her birthday and told her to wear on her first date with Ethan. “It’s ruined!” she says.
“Just go into the bathroom and rinse it off.”
“What if it doesn’t come out?” Her voice is too high and loud and upset. People are looking at us.
“Well, then you don’t ever have to wear that top again. That should make you happy.” I’m hoping a joke will defuse the situation, but her face screws up in distress.
“You said it’s nicer than my other tops! You said I should wear it when I want to look nice! I don’t want it to be ruined!”
“Calm down. All you have to do is wash it off. Do you want me to help you?”
“No! I can do it!” She gets up and runs to the bathroom with her arm held up and away from her body like it’s bleeding or about to fall off or something. More people look at her. One young guy whispers something to his date, and they both laugh. I glare at them, but they don’t notice.
Ivy’s gone long enough for me to wonder if I need to go in after her, but I really don’t want to. When she does return, she happily informs me that the ketchup came out. She doesn’t seem to mind that her sleeve is visibly soaked from the wrist to the elbow—?so much so that water is dripping from it and pooling on the table. I hand her a few napkins and suggest she sop it up a bit. She blots at her sleeve carelessly, then goes back to eating her lunch.
Diana is pretty much the way I remembered her—?very skinny with incredibly pale skin that’s pitted here and there with acne scars. Her dirty blondish hair is pulled into a long, narrow braid down her back, and she’s in overalls again. She mutters a low, toneless “hi” to Ivy’s much more enthusiastic greeting.
Diana’s mother is an older, more polished version of her daughter—?gaunt, with a long, pale face and hair pulled back in a ponytail and no overalls (thank God), just plain black slacks and a button-down shirt. She greets us both warmly, and when the girls go to look at the boba tea menu on the wall, she says to me, “You’re such a nice sister—?Diana’s brother would never offer to chauffeur her around.”
“Thanks for coming in our direction.”
“I’d drive a hundred miles to get Diana together with a friend. Except I can’t drive her at all during the week, because I work. But on the weekends, I’d do anything to get her out and being social.”
“My mom feels the same way.” Actually, it’s more me than Mom, but this sounds more normal.
She says, “I can keep an eye on them if you have something you’d rather do—?I brought a book and was just going to wait here.”
I check with Ivy, whose response to my “do you mind if I leave?” is an impatient wave of her hand and a “no, just go, I’m busy.” She turns back to Diana, and I hear her telling her that the green dragon tea is best and also that she has enough money to pay for both of them. “I just want water,” Diana is saying as I leave. “I don’t like tea.”
I wander in and out of a bunch of stores around Westwood Village, idly looking through racks of clothing and occasionally trying on stuff. I buy a black dress on sale at Brandy Melville, a candle at Urban Outfitters, and mascara at Target.
I drop the stuff off at the car, feed the meter, and decide it’s time to head back to the boba shop. Ivy hasn’t texted me, which is great. I wish she could be as mellow about hanging out with Ethan as she is with Diana, but it’s not surprising that she finds a date more stressful than just hanging with a friend.
As soon as I enter the place, Ivy spots me. “Chloe! It’s too soon. Go away.”
“Nice to see you, too.”
“We want more time here.”
“I don’t,” Diana says. “I’m a little bored.”
I have to hide a laugh. I can’t decide if the world would be a better or worse place if everyone was as honest and literal as these two. Better in some ways, I guess, but maybe a little harsh?
Diana’s mother was sitting at a table reading by herself, but she gets up and comes over. “So what do we think?” she asks. “Do you girls want to do something else before we head home?”
“Can Diana come back to my house?” Ivy asks. “We live close.”
“It’s okay with me,” Diana’s mom says. Her daughter just shrugs.