Love Somebody, page 15
To my left, I hear Ros start to play, something quiet and slow and a little heavy. Her eyes are shut, and she’s completely focused on the music, on timing it with this interview. I look away before she can feel me staring.
“I don’t think it occurred to me that any of that would affect my life,” her dad continues on-screen, “until I was a few months out of high school. I’d never really been one for parties or dating in my teens, and both I and my parents assumed I was just … a late bloomer when it came to girls. But high school came and went, and still nothing. My freshman-year roommate in college was the first big hint that I probably wasn’t ever going to start liking girls. There were a few other hints after that, but I don’t think it ever really ‘clicked’ until I met Charles.”
The video keeps rolling, showing a picture of Mr. Shew with another man, lighter-skinned and grinning at the camera. This guy—Charles—is definitely related to Ros. Their eyes are the same shape, with the same heavy brows, and her hair is rich brown like his. I catch myself watching her instead of the video, trying to pick out more similarities until I can’t find any more, until it’s just an excuse to stare. She’s frowning in concentration as the music starts to build slightly and takes on more of a hopeful note to match the smile on her dad’s face as he describes how happy Charles used to make him.
I don’t know how long the video actually is. It could be only a couple of minutes, but it feels like every second is much longer than usual as I sit there, listening as Mr. Shew tells the story of meeting Charles, of their decision to start a family, of their struggle to have Ros and, later, the struggle to keep her. The longer I listen, the more I realize that the music follows the timing of the story perfectly, so well fit that it could only have been written by Ros herself, specifically for this. She’s not using sheet music, either, playing from memory the story of her dads and what they went through. I don’t think she means to, but a little of the emotion slips into her expression. It’s almost hard to watch, especially as her dad’s voice gets more and more choked up, explaining what it was like to lose the man he’d fought so hard to be with.
Without really meaning to, my mind starts to wander to Monty and how nervous he was at first to tell me he was nonbinary. He looks and acts like a cis guy at school, so not a lot of people know about him, but he still gets crap for it occasionally. Then there’s Sam. There were rumors, before we started dating, that she’d been with some other girls from the popular crowd, and she never tried to deny it. I asked her about it once, and she just shrugged and said, “Sure, I like girls. So?” The “so” was the only crack in her confident mask, a clear challenge, daring me to say something negative about it, which, obviously, wasn’t going to happen. They don’t teach us about the Stonewall Riots or stuff like that in school, so I don’t know much. But I’ve seen enough through friends to know that just because it’s easier now, it doesn’t actually mean that it’s easy.
I don’t know where Ros stands on the sexuality spectrum. I’ve never asked. But I can tell that the story of her dad has affected her in a major way. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have made this whole project about it. The music is weird—it seems determined to stay sad, even when Mr. Shew mentions how happy he was that he got to keep Ros after all that fighting with Charles’s family. I think what Ros is trying to say is that some things, like love, get taken for granted by people. Kind of like me, when I first tried to talk to her and assumed she’d respond well. I’m not going to pretend I understand every part of this project. But Ros made it, and it means something to her, so that’s good enough for me.
When the video ends and the last few notes of the song fade out, Ros stands there for a second, eyes still closed, letting the tension hang for a while. I’m unsure if I should clap or not. Finally, I clear my throat. “That was … that was awesome, Ros.”
She smiles, almost looking relieved. “Really?”
“Yeah! Your dad’s story is intense. You guys must be close.”
“We are.” She frowns, biting at her bottom lip. “What did you think of the music? I wrote it myself, and I’ve been getting some critiques from the vice principal. She says it doesn’t fit the theme of the assembly enough.”
This is the part where I would appreciate still having Sam to help me out. I consider putting the earbuds back in but decide it might look rude. What had she told me to say? “A complicated exploration about the effect of bonds”?
“It did feel a little … sad at times, I guess, when it didn’t need to be. But maybe that’s what you were going for.”
Ros nods, perking up. “It was, actually.”
“Okay then. So, like, are you trying to say that your dads’ love story is a really sad one, or that it’s more complicated than that? That the bonds we have with people are more complicated than just ‘love,’ or ‘family’?”
I realize that that’s not exactly what Sam wanted me to say, and I’m worried I screwed something up somehow. For a few quiet seconds, Ros looks surprised. Then her face splits into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her. “That’s … that’s exactly it, Christian. You get it.”
I feel a little shock of guilt that the words that made her so happy weren’t my own. I wouldn’t have even thought to say what I said if it hadn’t been for Sam.
“Maybe try to find a way to say that without making the music so sad, if Mrs. Reagan doesn’t like it,” I say. “I think Charles would probably want you to be happy that you’re still with your other dad, right?”
“Yeah, I guess he would.” She sighs, and I watch a weight lift from her as she does. “That’s a different way to think about it, thank you. Mrs. Reagan wanted me to make it more ‘romantic,’ and that was getting on my nerves.”
“Yeah, well, your first mistake was trying to listen to Mrs. Reagan in the first place.”
“She’s in charge of the assembly!” Ros says with a laugh.
“So?”
“You’re ridiculous.” She shakes her head, then looks back up at me with another smile. “Thanks for that. I really needed a fresh take. We can get back to the homework now. It’s already dark outside, and I don’t want to keep either of us too much longer.”
We go back to the trig questions again, Ros acting much happier, and me feeling … conflicted. I don’t exactly know what’s bothering me, and I don’t think I can figure it out just yet. Much like this math homework, I think it’s too complicated for me to solve on my own. At one point, I check my phone to see if Sam is still on the call, but she’s gone. I guess she didn’t want to stick around for the homework chat. That’s okay, though. I can talk to her about this later.
31
SAM
I end the call.
I don’t need to hear any more, and Christian seems to be doing just fine on his own. My hand is shaking so bad I can barely press the button. It’s not the performance that’s made me feel like this—or maybe it is? It’s at least part of it. Hearing Ros play that violin, hearing the video of her dad telling that story, suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense. Ros acts so cold and aloof because she’s scared. Scared to lose people, scared that anyone she lets in is going to vanish. It’s why I’ve never seen her date anyone before Christian, why she was so quick to dismiss him at first. She puts on a front of invincibility because it’s easier than letting people in. God, do I ever know the feeling.
So the moments of vulnerability I’ve seen over the last few weeks must be the real Ros. The things she admitted to Christian while I was on the phone. The slight shake in her voice when she explained to Christian that she didn’t want to kiss him, like she was afraid he’d be angry. Even now, sitting alone in my room, I can almost picture the look on her face when she finished playing her piece, biting her lip just slightly, waiting for Chris’s opinion and pretending it wouldn’t crush her if he hated it. Knowing, deep down, that it would.
I think I’m in over my head.
I turn my phone off and put it facedown on my desk, although I don’t know how that’s supposed to help with my racing mind right now. It’s not going to get that conjured image out of my head. It’s not going to stop the weird swooping feeling in my stomach whenever I see Ros in person or the sense of giddy victory I get when I one-up her in a conversation, that feeling I thought used to be something like victory, but now I realize it’s my brain’s reaction to knowing I made her laugh.
It’s not going to change the fact that right now, I really, really wish I were Christian.
I need to find something to do. Something to take my mind off this. Doesn’t matter what, just something.
I walk out of my room and into the kitchen, where Nana is pouring a glass of wine. “Did you wash the dishes yet?”
She gives me a weird look. “Not yet. Why?”
“I’ll do them.” I’m already halfway to the sink, grabbing a sponge and the first dirty plate I can reach on the counter.
Nana’s staring at me like I’ve grown another arm. “Are you all right, sweet pea? You’re acting a little off.”
Of course I am. I’m panicking. But she doesn’t have to know that. So instead, I shrug and start acting like someone who doesn’t desperately want to kiss the girl she’s spent the last month trying to set up with her ex and smile at my grandma over my shoulder. “Nah, I’m just bored. I finished my homework, and I was feeling unproductive. Plus, you’re clearly getting ready to be done for the night.”
She glances down at the glass of wine, almost embarrassed. “I was going to leave the dishes until tomorrow,” she admits. “But thank you for doing them, sweet pea.”
“You got it, Nana.”
She leaves the kitchen, and once she’s gone, I let the mask drop. I turn on the faucet, as hot as I can make it, and start scrubbing at dinner plates and forks and glasses, and soon everything smells like dish soap. The sound of the water running drowns out my thoughts, and the scalding heat is almost—almost—enough to distract me.
32
ROS
When I do end up taking Christian’s offer of dinner with his parents, about two weeks after he first suggested it, I’m more nervous than I expected. It’s not that I don’t want to meet them—he talks about them a lot, and even more about his younger sister—but in this, as in everything dating related so far, I’m a complete amateur. I don’t like being out of my depth in anything. But Christian assured me they were excited to meet me, and in the end, I didn’t want to disappoint him by flaking.
To my surprise, Christian meets me outside when I pull into the driveway. There’s a shiny, expensive-looking car parked near the garage, and I do my best to stay away from it, parking closer to Christian’s instead. He smiles and waves at me through the windshield. He’s wearing a plain (if nice) T-shirt and jeans, apparently immune to the chilly March air, and suddenly I’m anxious all over again.
“Am I overdressed?” I ask, getting out of the car.
Christian looks me over, examining the dark jeans and blouse I spent almost thirty minutes agonizing over before I left the house. “No, you look nice! You’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” I let out a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, Ros. I know they’re gonna like you. Why wouldn’t they?”
I could probably come up with a couple of reasons if he gave me enough time, but instead, I smile at him. “Okay. And thanks for walking me in. You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, well…” Christian pauses before the steps to the front door. “Actually, I wanted to tell you something first. I’ve talked with you about my older brother before, right?”
“Yeah. Will, right?”
“That’s him.” Christian shuffles his feet, suddenly nervous. “Could you maybe … not mention him? I’m fine if we talk about him when it’s just us, but my parents took it really hard when he left. They might be mad if they knew I’d told you about him.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t this. I hadn’t planned on bringing it up anyway, but now that I know it’s a taboo subject, I’ll have to be extra careful.
“Sure,” I say. “I won’t mention him.”
Christian visibly relaxes. “Thanks. Should we go in now?”
It’s pretty dark outside, and in all my nervousness about leaving the house, I forgot to bring a jacket, so the early spring chill is definitely setting in. I nod. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Christian’s mom is all smiles when she meets us at the door. She’s a pretty woman with brown hair and smile lines, and her blue eyes are the same shape as Christian’s. She shakes my hand, then turns and looks Christian over. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
He shrugs. “Yeah?”
“Ros got dressed up for you, and you’re just going to wear a T-shirt? No sir. Go upstairs.”
Christian sighs. “Fine. Be right back.” He disappears up the hallway, and his mom turns her smile back to me.
“It’s great to meet you, Ros,” she says. “Take your shoes off here and then come on into the kitchen. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Water is fine, Mrs. Powell,” I say, kicking off my shoes and putting them near the door.
“You got it!” She moves off, calling upstairs as she goes. “Bill! Come downstairs! Ros is here!”
As I start to follow her, I hear footsteps on the stairs that sound too light and fast to belong to anyone called “Bill.” Sure enough, a few seconds later, a little blond girl comes running around the corner, stopping dead in her tracks when she sees me. Her hair’s messy, and one of her teeth is clearly loose.
“Hi,” she says.
I smile at her. “Hey. Are you Aimee?”
Her eyes light up. “Did Christian tell you about me?”
“Of course he did! He talks about you all the time.”
Aimee looks thrilled by the news. “Good. He should.”
I laugh. “So what are we having for dinner, Aimee?”
“Mom’s making a casserole.” She wrinkles her nose. “And some salad.”
“Not your favorite?”
“No. I wanted to order a pizza.”
“Well, I’m happy your mom and dad wanted to cook for me. Maybe you guys can do pizza some other time.”
Aimee shrugs. “Maybe.” Then she starts to run backward up the hallway, gesturing at me to follow. “Come on, I wanna show you my room.”
“All right, lead the way.”
Aimee tries to sneak us both past the kitchen, but Mrs. Powell spots her. “Aimee, why haven’t you brushed your hair yet? I told you to do it before Ros got here.”
“I can do it before dinner!” Aimee pouts.
“That’s not what I asked. Do you want Ros to think you don’t brush your hair?”
“I don’t care.”
“I do. Go brush it.”
“Mom—”
Mrs. Powell turns to me with an apologetic smile. “So sorry about her, Ros. Aimee’s impossible sometimes. Give us a moment.”
I can sense an argument brewing, so I do my best to give them their space. I wander into the living room, far enough that their voices fade into the background. Someone in this family must have a good job, because the furniture is nice, clearly expensive, and still fresh like it was just bought. There are pictures everywhere—Christian as a kid, grinning with his bright blond hair, Aimee when she was maybe two. There’s a picture of Christian’s parents at their wedding, too. Every available space seems to have pictures of the family set out on it, each one of them so perfect and all-American that they almost look like stock photos.
The one thing I do notice, though, is that Christian, Aimee, and their parents seem to be the only ones in the photos. There are individual shots of Christian and Aimee as kids, some of the two of them together, and one recent family photo with all four of them, but as far as my cursory glance goes, I don’t see any of Christian’s older brother, Will. If he hadn’t told me about Will himself, I wouldn’t have known there was a third Powell sibling.
Maybe Will did something terrible. Maybe there’s a good reason he’s not in their lives anymore. I don’t know the circumstances behind what happened. Christian never told me, and I didn’t think to ask. I tuck that question away for later. Something new to learn about Christian.
As if he read my mind, I hear his voice behind me. “Are you snooping?”
I turn and grin at him. “Aimee wanted to show me her room, but your mom made her go brush her hair, so I decided to entertain myself.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. They’re picky about appearances.”
“I don’t care. She’s just a kid.”
He laughs. “Try telling that to them. Anyway, Aimee’ll probably figure out some way to give you the grand tour of the place after dinner. You’re not missing much.”
He joins me standing in front of the TV cabinet, looking at some of the family photos. There’s a couple of seconds of silence, and in them, I scramble for something else to say. This feels different from other dates we’ve gone on. At the art museum, or the park, or the soccer game, there was something to talk about. Somewhere else to put our attention instead of on each other. And really, it isn’t going to be just us tonight. Three completely new people are involved. As nice as he is, dealing with Christian so far has been plenty all on its own. “Meeting the folks” is not something I thought I’d have to deal with in high school.
I’m almost tempted to ask about Will, just to have something to say, but right about then I hear more footsteps, heavier this time, and Christian’s dad joins us in the room. Here, I realize, is where Chris gets most of his looks. Mr. Powell is tall, blond, and sturdily built, like maybe he used to play sports when he was younger, too. From him, I can get a pretty good idea of what Christian might look like in thirty years. How does Christian feel, I wonder, being able to see that in someone every day? I have no idea what that’s like.
