Out of Blue Comes Green, page 10
Mom slouches over the kitchen table, painting her left pinkie nail a bright pink. She squints a bit in the setting sun. “Can you get the light?”
I’m leaning against the counter, reading, despite Mom’s intrusion. I despise the smell of nail polish because it’s always accompanied by an offer. I flip the switch for her.
She blows gently on her nails, one finger at a time. Without losing her focus, she says, “You know, Kayla, I can show you how to do this anytime you want.”
I pivot around the counter with my book so she can’t accost my color-free nails. I swear Mom needs an audience for everything she does. She really should get going. Mom and Dad are going to a party tonight, which is why I get to snack and read Wuthering Heights without her giving me weird looks for being home on a Friday night. And reading a book.
She pops open her makeup mirror, selects a vial, and applies thick black liner above her wrinkled eyes. “Liner can really make your eyes pop.”
I hold back a snort. “Why do you have to do that out here?”
“Your father is making the bathroom into a sauna. I am not going to put on my face only to have it melt.” She’s peppy. Her college friends from back in the day are holding the party. They always make her feel like she hasn’t made the worst life choices since two of them are divorced and the other never married. On top of that, one of the divorcees is a cocaine addict. The nineties were a strange time.
I read the first sentence of chapter nine again.
“Besides,” she says, “this gives us a chance to talk.”
I read the first sentence again.
“This blush makes me feel so much younger.”
Feminine propaganda again. I keep my glare to myself and read the first sentence again.
As she brushes deep pink on her cheeks, her eyes close as if she’s powdering on a layer of ecstasy. Embarrassing. “Kayla.” She pulls out the chair beside her. “Come over here and we’ll do your cheeks.”
Don’t scream at her. Don’t.
She flexes her fake smile muscles. “Come on.”
My stomach fills with stinging nettles. “We’ve talked about this.” My teeth press hard together.
“Just a little color.”
Why can’t she stop this? “No. Thanks.”
She pats the chair. “We’ll see how it looks.”
“Are you serious?” I whack my book against the counter.
“I was thinking that—”
“No, Mom, you weren’t thinking. If you were thinking, you’d remember that I don’t wear makeup, that I have never worn makeup, that I have no interest in makeup.”
“We could change that. I could find some colors that look good with your complexion.”
“I don’t want colors that look good with my complexion. I don’t want to wear a dress to have my picture taken. I don’t want these useless things growing out of my chest. And I don’t want to be a fucking girl.”
“Kayla! Language!”
I fumble with the book, unable to pick it up at first. Once I have it, I fly from the kitchen in a haze of red. Reaching my room, I slam the door, dropping the book to the floor. I can’t calm down. My breath comes so hard, I crouch over to try to control myself.
I hear Dad’s voice in the hall, calling to Mom. “What’s going on?”
Why can’t they just leave already?
I don’t hear Mom’s reply, but I know what’s next: Dad will try to fix everything. It can’t be fixed. I brace myself at one end of the dresser and then push until it slides in front of the door. Good luck getting in, Dad.
I should have left. I should’ve gotten in my car. Driven far from here.
He’s knocking now. “Kayla? Can we talk?”
Without thinking, I yell back, “Not if you insist on calling me that name!” Then my stomach roils. It just came out.
Reflex. But I haven’t told him yet. I haven’t wanted to disappoint him.
He’s not knocking or talking now.
Shit.
“I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“Forget it, forget it. Just leave me alone.” All I see is the pink wall across the room.
“Kay—sweetheart, let’s talk first. Tell me what you mean.”
I drop onto my bed. “Ask Mom.” I’m startled by a thud as the door smacks into my dresser. I sit up.
“What’s going on? What did you do here?” He’s more panicked than he should be.
“I just need to be alone.”
He thwaps into the dresser a few times to make a point. He can’t possibly think he can move a piece of furniture with that flimsy door.
“Everything’s all right. Really, Dad.”
He’s quiet. Or has he left? Then I hear: “Your mother and I will only be gone a little while.” It’s some kind of a warning.
“That’s fine.” I close my eyes tight. I didn’t want to worry him. “I’m fine.”
“I love you, Kay—” He clears his throat. “I love you.”
A muffled discussion comes from the kitchen. Dad’s voice is agitated, but it doesn’t take too long for his tone to change. Clearly, Mom has convinced him nothing is going on. Has he asked her about my name? What that means? Maybe. She won’t tell him, though. She’d never admit she knew about it any more than she’d admit it’s the truth.
When I hear the garage door lower and know my parents are clearly gone, I slide the dresser back; then I grab some crackers from the kitchen and settle in to the best part of the couch in the living room. I place the throw pillows just so, opening Wuthering Heights to chapter nine.
Peace. Quiet. Book. No interruptions. Just me, Heathcliff, and Cathy.
I’ve nearly finished the chapter when a flash of tomorrow night comes into my head. Madi and me at the college auditorium, surrounded by college students only a year or so older, but more educated, more independent. People who all have their lives on track. There I am, dressed like my true self, acting like my true self, but everyone around us sees Kayla.
Scowls. Raised eyebrows. Strange looks.
And then Madi starts to look at me differently too. She’s the only one who has ever seen me as I truly am. She, and Christine for those two minutes in the parking lot. Tomorrow night could change that.
Tomorrow night could be a good night to read Wuthering Heights too. Maybe I’ll be too sick to go to the play. I’ll call Madi. No, no, I’ll text Madi. Can’t make it. Maybe another time. But I’ll have to wait until tomorrow or she’ll think I could recover.
Now that it’s decided, I return to reading chapter nine. Cathy is going to marry Edgar Linton even though she shouldn’t. She loves Heathcliff because “he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
There will never be anyone like that for me.
Saturday morning, I awaken with Heathcliff in my head, chasing Cathy over the moors, wanting her to choose him over Linton, but going about it all wrong. I’m Heathcliff, awkwardly pursuing a phantom-like girl across the windy plain, yelling unintelligible things to her. When she turns back and screams for me to stop following her, her face is cloudy, but the voice is unmistakenly familiar. I can’t place it.
I sit in bed, breathing hard, tired from running.
Madi. Cathy’s voice was Madi’s.
I shake it off.
I have a shift today at the Wallin Animal Rescue. Troy said Saturdays can be unpredictable. Sometimes wildly busy, sometimes completely dead. “We try not to use the d-word around here, though. Gets some of the older dogs riled up.”
After I shower, I put on boxers and bind my chest, then search my closet for my most Nathan-esque clothing. Everything feels like it has a hint of girl in it. Jeans. T-shirt. Flannel. None of them look right, so I choose clothes at random, put them on, and slip out of the house before Mom or Dad realizes.
As I enter the animal rescue, light flakes float down from the winter sky. Inside, down the cement-floored corridor is the door labeled “Large Dog Playroom.” I enter the giant space with a few raised beds, single doghouses, and most importantly, dogs.
Troy mingles among them, instigating play for some, separating others. Every little furry face watches him closely, waiting for him to look their way for just a moment. He sees me and waves. “Nate,” he calls out. “You made it.”
Nate. All right. Perhaps Nathan Ashur would go by Nate. I wave, too, not sure if I can call across the room in a low enough voice over all the barking.
I need to keep my eyes open for Troy’s dad. He’s the only one who’d know what Nathan looks like. The second he sees me, this whole façade is over.
Troy scoops up a water bowl and delivers it to me. “Go around and put fresh water in all of these, okay?” He points at the bowls around the room and then the sink.
No small talk. That’s fine with me, though I would like to know what school he goes to. If he goes to Lakeview, I would at least know to look out for him. Of course, I don’t know if seeing him would be good or bad. Hallway? Possibly good. Strength Training class? Mostly bad. Any class? Bad. Is that your real name? Are you a boy or a girl?
It’s possible he graduated. I try to size him up more as I move around the room, filling bowls. He’s hard to read. He could be my age, but he could be older.
Each time I bend over for a bowl, I get a wagging tail in my face or an unprompted lick from someone now at my level. I don’t mind at all. When I’m finished, Troy is no longer around. No problem. I have about twenty dogs to hang with.
I stroll among them, hands dangling to intercept soft fur and random wet noses or tongues. I end up alongside the doghouses, wondering if Dakota is still here. Sure enough, she is in the same house as before, about a foot or so inside the opening. Her eyes follow me as I get closer. Making sure she can still see me, I shrink down beside the opening, far enough away that I’m not threatening, and I’m not blocking her in.
Her claws scrape the floor of the house as she stretches, but she doesn’t let me out of her sight. Not even to blink. Still, she isn’t snarling or growling. I cross my legs and sit there on the floor, letting her see I’m up to nothing suspicious. A number of the other dogs become overly excited that I’m now perfectly at their level, taking the opportunity to lick my face or put a paw on me as if I’ll play. I stay calm to encourage them to leave.
I’ll get back to them in a minute. Right now, I want to see how close I can get to Dakota. After most of the others have given up on me, I hear Dakota take a bunch of short breaths. Is she trying to smell me?
“I thought we could be friends,” I tell her. I stare at her for a moment, then look away before she sees it as a challenge. “Maybe you could come home with me some day.”
She sniffs the air, then lays her head on her front paws. She hasn’t stopped watching me, but she allows herself to blink. Then she closes her eyes for a bit. They burst open a moment later, reminding me of when I’m fighting sleep. “It’s all right,” I tell her. “You’re safe.”
Before I get overzealous and get closer or startle her in some other way, I force myself to get up. “See you, Dakota.”
Chapter 14
MADI TEXTS A NUMBER OF times while I’m at the animal rescue. I’m so excited about tonight. And: This play should be really good. I type in the response that I’m sorry, but I can’t make it but delete the words. I can’t do it. Doesn’t matter that I don’t want to go, I just can’t disappoint her.
I text Sam, hoping I can get some older brother advice about girls, but I start with What’s going on with you? and I don’t get much more serious than that.
Is something wrong? Is it Mom?
I want to tell him that Mom doesn’t understand me, but he knows that. After too long of a pause, I send: Nothing’s wrong. Mom’s being Mom.
So, I’m waiting for Madi without Sam’s advice at Emerald Isle Pizza where we agreed to meet for dinner. It’s a place Libby and I go sometimes because not too many people from our school come here. Emerald Isle makes a mean slice. I’m not a fan of their house special—cheese pizza with orange peppers and a basil leaf, a play on the Italian classic with an Irish color scheme—but their pepperoni is pretty great.
Words keep repeating in my head. She thinks it’s a date. She thinks I’m a guy. And this whole thing was her idea.
Is she interested in me? Does she like me? She thinks it’s a date.
The bells above the door jingle as chill air flows in and swirls around my feet. A couple of letter jacket jocks from my school. Not Madi. I sip my Coke, but all I get is a rude noise since it’s empty.
The jocks take a table too close to mine. While it’s clear they don’t notice me when they sit down, it takes them only a few minutes to realize that at the next table is the girl who dresses like a boy and seems to have somehow lost her boobs in the last month. After a few minutes of snickering at my life trauma, though, they lose interest and talk about their wrestling match and other equally trivial nonsense.
When the bells sound again, Madi ducks inside, wind following like a gust from a frozen sea. Her mittened hand holds her scarf closed against her throat. “It’s just bitter out there tonight.” She slides the scarf from her neck and her coat flops open. The top two buttons are missing. I scan her coat to find her liberal agenda, but realize I’ve only ever seen her pins on her backpack, not her clothes.
“Sorry I’m late.” Her cheeks are pink, but I’m not sure if it’s the icy wind or embarrassment. “We’re still getting to know the area.”
I must look confused because she adds, “Oh, we moved here about three weeks ago.” She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, giving me the sweetest smile.
“So that’s why you just started at Lakeview?” I poke at ice cubes on the bottom of my glass.
She removes her mittens, tucking them in her pockets. “Yep.”
“That must suck.”
“Which part? Starting a school when I’m four months from graduation, or moving here?”
I smile. Lakeview has a reputation for being judgmental and elitist. “Starting a new school as a senior.”
“It’s not ideal. At least all my credits transferred. It’d be worse if I had to do summer school.” She flags down the server and orders a Diet Coke.
I make another rude noise with my straw, hoping the server will get the message since she didn’t stop long enough for me to ask politely. “So is it true then? Your family declared bankruptcy?”
Now her cheeks definitely redden. “I forgot I told you that.”
I apologize before I remember that guys don’t apologize. To distract her, I add, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
The server appears with two drinks then whisks away again.
“It’s not a very good story.”
“All right.” I drink about half of my Coke. “I’ll try not to expect much.”
“My dad got laid off. His boss said the company is ‘right sizing’ itself.” She stops there, waving a hand at me.
“No, no, keep going.”
She wants to talk about this, I can tell.
“So we’re left with just my mom’s job.” She laughs awkwardly. “Doesn’t pay the bills.”
The server comes back and asks for our order. We look blankly at each other.
“Medium pizza,” I say. “What do you want on it?” I ask Madi.
“Oh, no, none for me. Just get what you want.”
I grin. “Pepperoni.”
The server writes it down. “Anything else?”
“That’s it.” When she’s gone, I ask, “What were you saying about your mom?”
She thinks before answering. “She loves what she does, but she’s a teacher. They don’t make any money. It wasn’t enough for us to keep up with our house payments, anyway.”
“Where did you live, Wayzata?” Wealthy Wayzata.
Madi laughs wryly. “Funny.” She picks up her glass as if she’ll take a drink but starts speaking again before she does. “We lived in Minneapolis, just outside of Uptown. Our house isn’t big or fancy, but it’s ours. I mean, it was.” She has to pause to calm herself down. “My dad blames himself.”
“He could just get another job.”
“No one’s hiring machinists.” She rolls her eyes. “They’re not going to be any time soon either.” She busies herself adjusting her coat. Then adds, “He was up again last night. I was going to go sit with him—he was in the dark in the living room, alone. Then he started crying.”
I shift a little.
“I just couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
She wipes her eyes that are now rimmed red. “I didn’t want to embarrass him.”
Exactly. What guy wants people to know he’s crying?
“He has this ancient belief system. Men shouldn’t cry. That it’s a weakness or something.”
“Well, yeah. Don’t you think it is?”
She laughs like I’m kidding. “You can’t be serious.”
Warmth rises through me. That look on her face. “The guys I know don’t show their feelings. They’ve learned to keep them in check.”
“Kay, that’s absurd.” She stops herself there, taking a drink from the edge of her cup to retrieve an ice cube. While she crunches it, she shakes her head.
I consider naming off the guys I mean. My brother Sam? No, he seems to run the gamut of emotions, so not him. My dad? He cried when Sasha died. He cried when Sam came home from college too. Not him. What about Danny? Not enough evidence yet. I finally come to a guy I know who controls his emotions. JT. But I can’t think of anyone else. I mumble, “It’s not absurd.”
“I suppose it depends on what kind of man you are.”
Wait, is she asking me? I think about it for a second. What kind of man am I?
With a sigh, she breaks the silence. “Tell me about your family.”
“How much time you got?”
Madi laughs. “They can’t be that bad.”
“They’re all right. My dad’s a good guy. My mom is another story.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.
She raises her eyebrows and waits.
“She wants to make me into who she thinks I should be.” I pray Madi doesn’t ask follow-up questions. I should have kept things simpler. Something about Madi, though, makes me want to tell her everything. Anything. But maybe not that my mom wishes I was someone else.
