“I think you’re probably right. But it makes me sad. How do we get people to stop being like that?”
He shakes his head. “You’re talking about basic xenophobia. We’re hardwired to stay with our tribes.”
“My father would have liked you.”
He blinks. “Um . . . okay?”
“Sorry. That was a weird thing to blurt out. But he always liked to think about stuff like that—why we do what we do, what the root biology of our behaviors probably was . . . that kind of thing.”
“Cool.” A pause. “I’m sorry about him. I mean . . . you know.”
“Yeah, it sucks that he died.” We walk for a moment in silence and then I say, “Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone else?” I’m sort of embarrassed by the question as soon as I ask it—it sounds more meaningful than it is. I’ve never told anyone else because my mother would freak, and no one else would care. But David will get it, I think.
“Sure.”
“I think he was autistic.”
“Really?”
“He wasn’t like Ivy or anything—I mean, he was totally out in the world and really good at what he did and, like, this amazing scholar and researcher . . . but he was sort of hard to talk to. Mom always called him an absentminded professor type, and maybe that’s all it was, but I can remember all these times when I’d talk to him about, like, kids at school being mean or something, and he never seemed to get it. And he dressed terribly and hated social events . . .” I trail off. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it.”
“It makes sense genetically that one of your parents would be on the spectrum.”
“He was a good dad, either way. I felt safe around him.”
“I’m sorry you lost that.” He stops, and for a second I think it’s because he wants to say something more about that, but instead he says, “Our car’s down this one,” and points to an escalator.
“Ours is on the other side. We’d better go down that way, or I’ll never find it.”
Before we separate, Ethan grabs Ivy’s hand, squeezes it, and manages to land a kiss on her cheek. Given all the sauce she splashed on herself this evening, it probably tasted nice and salty.
David and I just say a brief good night to each other, but he texts me later that evening.
I had a thought
??
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.
“Why are you drinking it if you don’t like it?”
“I’m thirsty.” He puts it down and leans back in the chair. “I’m glad we’re staying in today. It’s definitely less stressful than being out in the world with them.”
“Yes, because people suck.”
“They do.”
I’m wearing my hair clipped up in a knot on top of my head. I unclip it now and shake it free. For no good reason.
“You have nice hair,” David says.
I shrug, pleased by the compliment but also a little surprised by it. “You said I was ridiculous for highlighting it.”
“You are. But it’s still nice hair. With or without highlights.”
“Thank you.”
A slightly awkward silence follows.
His fault for complimenting me.
It’s gotten kind of dark in the kitchen. I should turn on a light. But I don’t move. I just sit there, playing with my hair, darting glances at David Fields, who, in one of life’s weirder twists, is right now sitting alone with me in my kitchen.
He says abruptly, “Oh, so Ethan told my dad that he has a girlfriend.”
“What did your father say?”
He makes his voice gruff and dismissive. “ ‘You’d better get a job, then—if she’s anything like the women I’ve known, she’ll spend all your money and expect you to thank her for the privilege.’”
“Nice misogyny.”
“Well, to be fair to him, it’s not so much that he’s sexist as it is that he hates everyone. Also? He’s sexist.”
I laugh.
But he’s not smiling. “Meanwhile Ethan’s standing there, waiting for my father to see how exciting this is for him, how proud he is to be able to say he has a girlfriend—but Dad just says that one unpleasant thing and walks away.” His fingers trace the writing on the can in front of him. Then he shifts and glances up. “You have to wait a long time if you want to hear my father say something nice. Like, forever.”
“I’m sorry. Ethan deserves to be appreciated. He’s so sweet.”
“I’ve never seen him do or say a mean thing. I mean, I’ve seen him be anxious and loud and demanding and annoying . . . but not mean. Never mean.”
“Ivy’s the same way. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone.”
“And yet they’re supposed to act more like us. That’s what we keep telling them.”
“Because it’s dangerous to be too nice. Selfish people get ahead.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Pretty dark thing for Chloe Mitchell to say.”
“It’s true.”
“So why aren’t you selfish?”
“Who says I’m not?”
“You told me your college plans depend on Ivy. Not a lot of kids our age worry about their siblings.”
I shrug. “Most people aren’t in my situation. You’re the only other person I know like me.”
“Yeah, I’m basically the male version of you.” He cocks his head at me. “And a look of horror crosses her face. Don’t worry, Mitchell. I was joking.”
“I didn’t look horrified,” I protest.
“You were terrified at the thought,” he says. “Admit it.”
“It was a look of intrigue—I was intrigued by the possibility.”
“In a horrified sort of way.”
“Maybe,” I say, and we grin at each other and then the door from the kitchen to the garage bursts open, and Mom and Ron and James and Sarah all come flooding into the room, and we stare at them open-mouthed, and they stare at us open-mouthed, and then Sarah bursts out laughing.
“You should see your expression!” she says, coming toward us, curly hair bobbing on her shoulders. “You look like you’re about to faint.”
“They were parking out front just as we were pulling into the garage,” Mom says. “What’s this about Ivy having a date here? You didn’t say anything to me about that.”
“Sounds like someone didn’t want the parents around,” Ron says, setting a bag on the counter.
I glare at Sarah, who’s clearly been shooting off her mouth. Next to her, James is watching David with narrowed eyes.
I turn back to Mom. “I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, for Ivy’s sake.”
“Mm-hmmm,” Ron says, like he doesn’t believe me.
“Where are they?” Mom asks.
“In the family room. Watching TV.”
Ron says to Mom, “We should probably check on them. Not sure how long they should be left alone. For a lot of reasons.”
“I would like to meet Ethan,” she says. She holds her hand out to David. “You must be his brother.”
“Yeah.” Still sitting, he shakes her hand. James would have jumped to his feet the second Mom walked in the room. It’s the polite thing to do, and it bugs me that David doesn’t do it. Not because I think that kind of thing matters, but because other people do, and now that we’re spending a lot of time together, it would be helpful if he would stop alienating everyone he meets.
Mom doesn’t seem to mind, though. She smiles warmly and says, “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m going to the family room,” Ron says, and heads off. Mom excuses herself and follows.
“So,” James says. “What’s up, guys?”
“Not much. We’re just hanging out while Ivy and Ethan do their thing.” I go over and stand next to him. I feel wary, like he might be angry, but he doesn’t look angry. And that makes me wonder why I’m worried he might be. He knows what the story is with me and David, why we’ve ended up spending so much time together. He understands the situation. So why am I on edge?
“How’s the date going?” Sarah asks, dropping down into the seat next to David. “Are your siblings totally in love?”
David’s face has taken on the bland, distant expression he wears at school like a fencing mask. I hadn’t realized it was gone until it reappeared.
“This is disgusting,” he says, and for a second I think he’s talking about Sarah’s question but then I realize he’s tapping on the soda can.
Although I wouldn’t rule out a double meaning.
“So don’t drink it,” I say.
“I wasn’t planning to.” His tone is adversarial. We were friends a minute ago. We’re not now.
“Can we see the date in action?” Sarah asks.
“It’s not very exciting,” I say.
“Please?”
“Fine. Just don’t expect fireworks.”
She gets up, and I lead her and James out of the kitchen and down the hallway. David follows a few steps behind the rest of us, hands jammed in his pockets.
In the family room, Mom and Ron are hovering over Ivy and Ethan.
“Is it a good movie?” Mom asks.
“Not really,” Ivy says.
“I like it,” Ethan says.
“I’m sure Ivy’s enjoying it too,” Mom says.
“No, I’m not,” Ivy says.
Mom laughs like it was a joke.
Ron says, “Can you please pause the TV while we’re talking to you, Ivy? That’s the polite thing to do.”
“Okay.” She picks up the remote and stops the movie but stays slumped on the sofa.
“Hi, Ivy!” Sarah says, and moves deeper into the room. “How are you doing? We came over to see your sister. Who’s your friend?”
“Ethan,” Ivy says.
“Introduce everyone, Ivy,” Ron says. “You know how to do that.”
“I just did,” she says, her eyes darting around the room, taking in a
ll the faces looking down at her, watching her every move. I don’t blame her for looking a little terrified. She and Ethan are like two bugs that are about to be pinned to a card and cataloged.
“Come on, you know how to do this right,” Ron tells her. “Stand up. You too, Ethan. And now you say, ‘Ron, this is Ethan, Ethan, this is Ron.’ That’s the right way to introduce people, isn’t it?”
They’re quietly doing what he told them to do—they’re both standing up, and Ivy’s repeating his words, and Ethan’s shaking first Ron’s hand and then Mom’s, and then Sarah’s and James’s—and I’m the only person (well, maybe David, too) who can see how Ivy’s chin is down and her hand is slapping quietly against her thigh and how Ethan’s eyes are more evasive and more troubled than I’ve ever seen them before.
All the comfort and peace of the afternoon are gone.
“Can we get you guys anything?” asks Sarah, all smiles and curly hair and knowing winks. “Chloe makes really good popcorn . . .”
“We already have snacks,” Ethan says, and points to the table.
“How about some carrots?” Ron says. Ivy shakes her head at that, and Ron says, “No, thank you?” like he’s prompting her, so she says, “No, thank you,” and her hand pumps faster at her side.
“We don’t mean to interrupt,” Mom says. “You two should finish your movie and then maybe we can all have an early dinner together?” She turns to James. “That reminds me—I’ve been meaning to thank you for all the meals your parents have treated Chloe to. I think if she could trade our family for yours, she would.”
“Well, my parents would trade me for her, so it’s even,” James says easily. He’s so good at this make-the-parents-happy kind of thing. Meanwhile David stayed behind in the hallway, where he’s staring down at his phone, ignoring the rest of us.
“Let’s go back to the kitchen,” I say and start us moving back in that direction. I want everyone to leave Ivy and Ethan alone.
I pass David, who backs up against the hallway wall to make room as we go by. “You coming?”
“I think I’ll go see how the movie ends.” He slips past the others, moving away from the rest of us and into the family room.
Twenty