Ethan says nothing. I understand it’s because he doesn’t even know how to deal with me when I’m not fighting him on everything. In the mirror, I note he’s fidgeting with the collar of his shirt—one of those crisp white polos with the crocodile logo. I would be pleased that he’s obviously irritated, except I remind myself I’m not engaging in our warfare anymore.
After I pull up to the curb of my house, I say goodbye to Hector. I say nothing to Ethan. Getting out of the car, I glance in his direction, and I’m surprised to find his green eyes on me. He’s not reading The New Yorker on his phone or gazing dispassionately out the window.
His eyes are a hurricane. I pause for a moment, caught in their currents. There’s his everyday vexation at our endless fighting, and the veneer of equanimity he works to uphold. Rising within them, though, there’s a dissatisfaction I’m not used to.
I’m the one who breaks our eye contact. Walking to the front door of my house, I know I deserve to feel victorious. I conducted myself perfectly, exactly the way I’d hoped. But I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t feel irksome hints of the same unfulfilled frustration I saw in Ethan. They tighten my chest, and despite accomplishing each of my goals, I feel like I lost something.
Twenty-Three
INSIDE THE HOUSE, I hear voices. One is Jamie’s. I don’t recognize the other two. There’s a girl, who I’m guessing is the Mara Jamie mentioned, and the other voice belongs to a guy. In a flash I remember what Jamie said on the way to coffee—band practice.
I’m in no mood to interact with Jamie’s new Facebook friends. Rolling my eyes, I head quietly for the stairs, hoping to work on homework in my room without Jamie plugging in her guitar. I need to reorganize the reunion to-do list, read Macbeth for English, and finish my physics homework. Really, I need to do whatever I can to take my mind off this weird discontentment with Ethan.
I barely reach the first step before my sister’s voice rings out. “Hey, Alison, is that you?” she calls from the other room. Holding my breath, I tiptoe up the stairs, hoping Jamie figures she was wrong and doesn’t come to investigate. I’m halfway up when Jamie appears on the other side of the railing below me. “It is you,” she says, sounding pleased. “I want you to meet the band. Mara and Ted.”
“I’m pretty tired . . .” I lie.
Jamie’s expression falters. “It’ll only take a second.”
I hear the undertone in her voice. Having brushed Jamie off a couple times this week without her protesting, I realize she might finally be fed up. If I dodge her now, I’m pretty certain I’ll provoke a fight, which I’m definitely not in the mood for.
I draw on the restraint I just used with Ethan. “Yeah, sure,” I reply.
Jamie beams. I follow her into the kitchen, where I find Ted, his back turned while he searches for something in the fridge, and Mara, who’s leaning on the counter, beer in hand.
Mara waves. “Hey, Alison. I’m Mara.” She’s short, with thick black hair, wearing a gray oversized T-shirt. The rasp in her tone makes me think she might actually have a decent singing voice.
This looks nothing like a band practice. I don’t see instruments. I doubt Jamie’s new bandmates even brought them. Instead, this looks like three twentysomethings drinking my parents’ beer in our kitchen. Jamie hops up on the countertop, perching on the granite and blissfully watching Mara and me. I wonder when I’m permitted to leave without pissing off Jamie.
The thought vanishes when Ted turns toward us, closing the fridge.
Because this random guy Jamie brought into our house is hot. Ted is tall, his arms leanly muscled, his chin covered in more stubble than a high schooler is capable of growing. His eyes are green, a much nicer shade than Ethan’s. Holding his beer in one hand, he rubs his corded forearm with the other.
I find myself fixating on those forearms. I don’t often devote time to pursuing boys, or even to thinking in romantic or purely physical directions. It’s not like I haven’t enjoyed the relationships I’ve had in high school. Nate, with hipster glasses and insightful comments in English. Prateek, one of the Chronicle news editors who graduated last year, who I made out with after production nights over a couple months. They were nice guys. Our relationships were just insubstantial because of how fleeting I knew they were. Knowing I would leave home for college, hopefully for Harvard, I couldn’t ignore how my high school relationships could only ever be that—high school. The reality made it hard to invest much of myself in dating.
None of which is to say I don’t think about guys.
“Mara’s our drummer,” Jamie announces proudly, “and Ted plays bass.”
This information doesn’t register in any meaningful way with me. I watch Ted slide onto one of the barstools on the other side of the island. He places his elbows on the smooth granite. “Did you go to Fairview with Jamie too?” I ask him.
He nods. “I did.”
“I didn’t know him then, either,” Jamie chimes in. “But he and Mara go way back.”
“Jazz band freshman year,” Mara says.
Ted’s watching me from where he’s sitting. “Do you want a beer, Alison?”
I don’t, really. For one thing, I don’t drink. For another, he’s offering me beer from my own fridge. I’m ready to ignore both these points, however, in the pursuit of continuing this conversation with Ted.
Jamie cuts in, upending my plans. “She’s seventeen, Ted.” I close my mouth, fuming, and not just from Jamie interrupting my one-on-one with Ted. I know my age won’t exactly further my flirting. It’s not like I’m trying to sleep with Ted. I just don’t want to be Jamie’s kid sister right now.
“Oh, word,” Ted replies, looking unbothered.
“Mara, Alison was curious what you’re doing your master’s in.” Jamie’s face has lit up, and I know she’s loving me hanging out with her “friends.” Despite presently having no interest in Mara’s master’s program, I turn in her direction.
“Well, I’m not in the master’s program yet,” Mara clarifies. “I’m thinking about applying to one in public policy or business or something. I’m not really sure.”
The implication of what she’s said surprises me. While I haven’t decided if I’ll major in English, government, or philosophy for an eventual career in politics or law, I’m seven-teen. I couldn’t imagine reaching my midtwenties and not knowing what subject of higher education I want to pursue.
“Cool.” I offer Mara an encouraging nod, then turn to Ted. “What about you? What do you do?”