WHEN MOM AND RON come home later that evening, Ivy and I are sitting at the kitchen table together—?I’m on my laptop, and she’s using her iPad. Mom greets us in that overly energetic and cheerful way she does when we’re all in one room together, like if she’s just bright and sunny enough, we’ll be a real family.
Ivy looks up. “You didn’t come today. I was waiting and waiting.”
“I am so sorry, baby.” Mom never calls me baby, only Ivy, even though I’m three years younger. “We got so busy at the office—”
“Chloe came, but she was late.”
“Not exactly my fault,” I say. “I didn’t know I was picking you up until it was already too late.”
“You girls have to learn to be more flexible,” Ron says, putting a bag of groceries on the counter. “Learn to roll with the punches a little. Life isn’t always predictable.”
“So true,” Mom says. “I hope everyone’s hungry! We picked up some salmon and asparagus. I can have it ready in half an hour.”
“I’m going out for frozen yogurt with Sarah,” I say.
“Have you eaten anything healthy yet today?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“She had a muffin at Starbucks,” Ivy says helpfully.
Mom frowns. “You need to eat a real dinner, Chloe. You can’t live on muffins and frozen yogurt.”
“What are you talking about? Yogurt’s, like, the healthiest thing in the world.”
“Can’t you meet Sarah after dinner?”
“I already told her I could go at seven. It’s not my fault you guys came home late.”
Ron turns around, fists firmly planted on his love handles. “Don’t argue with your mother. She told you she wants you home for dinner. End of discussion.”
“You’re not part of this.”
“Maybe you can just postpone with Sarah for half an hour?” Mom says, darting anxious looks back and forth between me and Ron. “I’ll just feel better if you have a few bites of salmon first, Chloe.”
“Fine,” I say, because I can hear the plea in her voice, and I don’t want her to feel bad—?Ron’s the one who makes me crazy. I text Sarah with the new plan.
Ron goes to the refrigerator and takes out the half-empty wine bottle from the night before. He pours them both a glass of wine, and Mom stops what she’s doing to take a long, grateful sip from hers. Ron picks up his and leaves the kitchen, saying he’s going to change.
“Muffins and frozen yogurt,” Mom sings out as she puts her glass down and starts sprinkling a piece of fish with salt and pepper. “I will say I’m jealous of how you can eat whatever you want and stay thin, Chloe. I never had your metabolism. Or maybe it’s just that I’m so much shorter that I end up wearing everything I eat.”
“Yeah, I’m glad I got Dad’s tall genes.”
“Dad was six feet and two inches tall,” Ivy says with sudden interest, looking up from her game. “I’m five feet and ten inches tall, and Chloe is five feet and seven inches tall, and Mom is five feet and three inches tall. Mom is the shortest.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you?” Mom says cheerfully.
“Was that a bad thing to say?” Ivy asks anxiously. “I wasn’t being mean, was I? I was just saying how tall we all are.”
“Mom’s just teasing you,” I say.
“How about my metabolism?” Ivy asks. “Is it like Chloe’s?”
“No one’s is like Chloe’s,” Mom says. “She’s unnatural.”
“Is mine bad?”
“Metabolisms aren’t good or bad,” Mom says.
“But you made it sound like Chloe’s is better than yours.”
My phone buzzes, and Mom quickly jumps on the chance to change the subject. “Who’s texting you?”
I check. “Sarah—?she’s fine going later.”
“Can I go too?” Ivy asks.
“You want me to bring back some fro-yo for you?”
“It will melt. I’d rather go with you.”
“Sorry, but Sarah and I have stuff to talk about.”
“That’s okay. I’ll let you talk.”
Argh. Sarah and I do a lot of gossiping and giggling about the people in our class, and I know from past experience that if Ivy comes, she’ll ask awkward questions and we’ll start to feel self-conscious and a little guilty . . . and all the fun will go out of our conversation.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I really need to see Sarah alone this time. But I’ll bring you back whatever you want.”
“You always get to go out and have fun.” She slumps in her seat and morosely swipes her finger across the iPad. “I never do.”
“We’ll have fun tonight,” Mom says as she empties a bag of prewashed lettuce into a bowl. “We can watch TV together!”
Ivy may be autistic, but she’s not an idiot—?you can’t fool her into thinking that an evening on the sofa with Mom and Ron is a good time. She says, “Please, Chloe?”
I feel bad, but I still shake my head. “Another time. I promise.”
I do bring her back a cup of frozen yogurt. She’s already in her pajamas and in bed, and she points out that it’s mostly melted. “It’s like eating a puddle.”
She manages to scarf it down, though.
Five
“I HAVE A PROBLEM,” I tell James on Friday as I walk him over to practice.
“What’s that?”
I nuzzle into his neck, kitten-like. “I don’t know what to wear on our date tonight.”
“That is a problem,” he agrees. “If it helps, I like tight jeans. Or that tight little black skirt you wear sometimes. Actually, anything tight works for me.”
“Oh, I can choose an outfit,” I say airily. “It’s what I should wear underneath that’s the issue.”
That wins me a growl and a grab.
We duck behind a tree and give each other a decent preview of the pleasures waiting for us later that evening.
“Stupid practice,” he mutters eventually and tugs me back out into the courtyard with a sigh.
I pout. “You need to get your priorities straight.”
“They are straight,” he insists. “You, then soccer, then . . . nothing, because nothing else matters. What are your priorities?”
“You. And then you. Followed by you.” We kiss. Deeply. Lots of tongue.