All Adults Here(81)

“So, tell me about Birdie,” Nicky asked. “I mean, I get the broad strokes. But how is it? It sounds like it’s been going on for a while.”

There was a jukebox, and it was playing Hall & Oates. Porter didn’t think there was a song on it that was released after 1997. “I think it’s kind of amazing,” Porter said. “It feels a little bit like watching an episode of Black Mirror, but one of the uplifting episodes, not one that makes you feel like the robot overlords have already won. I think Astrid is happy, believe it or not.”

Elliot leaned forward, spreading his elbows wide on the table. The coaster tower collapsed to one side. “It’s not amazing, okay, it’s fucking weird.”

“Here we go,” Porter said.

“No, Porter, come on! Come on. You really don’t think it’s weird? After all this time of Astrid being like the Hudson Valley Margaret Thatcher, now she’s Ellen DeGeneres? I like Birdie. I like her a lot, even. But it’s still weird.” Elliot shook his head.

“Oh, is that the face you make when you have to imagine a woman doing something just because she wants to? Do you know what year it is? It’s the year of the woman! Again! Women can do anything. We can do stupid things and amazing things and smart things and dumb things. And we don’t even need to get a permission slip!” She slapped the table, sending a wave of Nicky’s beer onto the already sticky wood.

“That’s not what I meant,” Elliot said. He shrank backward, as Porter had known he would. Elliot growled, but he never bit. “It’s that it’s not like Mom. I don’t mind seeing her happy, it’s just that she never seemed happy before, and it’s like, man. I don’t know. It’s like she’s a whole different person.”

“I think she was happy,” Nicky said. “I think her happiness just lives in a little box, you know? Her happiness has boundaries. And I think it’s good. Birdie is younger than she is. Companionship is important. Care is important.”

“She’s not her nurse, Nicky, she’s her girlfriend!” Porter didn’t think she’d have to scold them both.

“I know that, Puerto,” Nicky said, gently. “But getting older isn’t easy, and I think that people who do it together are happier and live longer. I worried about her being alone. I know that you two are both here, but from a distance, I’m relieved.”

“You are such a kumbaya fucker,” Elliot said. He took a drink. “I guess my problem is that she was always so hard, and that was our model, you know? Like, after Dad died, all we had was her, and she was this certain way. It’s like the mama duck turning around and telling all her ducklings that they’ve been waddling the wrong fucking way, even though she taught them how to do it.”

Nicky reached across the table and put his hand on his brother’s cheek. “You still walk like a duck.”

“Oh, come on. It doesn’t matter to you because she liked you the most! Everyone did! She didn’t even pretend to like us the same. Or be as proud of us or whatever. As if what you were doing was so great or important. Jake George was a fucking stupid movie, you know?” Elliot held up his palm, waiting for Nicky to nod, which he did. “See? You know. Everyone else knew. But Astrid’s still waiting for your Oscar to show up in the mail.”

“And the Nobel,” Porter said. “It’s true. She still likes you best! I mean, look at us, we’re both still here, and she treats us like we’re crushing disappointments, and you never even call her and her eyes get all twinkly when she says your name. I’m surprised there isn’t a photo of you stuck to her refrigerator.”

“Come on,” Nicky said. He took a drink of his beer. “It’s not like that.”

“Like hell it’s fucking not,” Elliot said. Porter clinked her water glass against his beer. Maybe he wasn’t always annoying. For a split second, Porter imagined a future in which she and Elliot could see each other on purpose, for pleasure. “Parents are not supposed to do that. I may think my kids are monsters, but at least I think they’re both monsters.”

“All I can say,” Nicky said, “is that they were different with me because they were different. If Juliette and I had had another baby a few years after Cecelia was born, we would have been different parents. You had one set of parents, El, it’s true, and then Porter had another, and then I had a third. They just look the same on the outside.”

“And what, that just makes it fine? So we all just have to accept the fact that our parents like you more than they like us?” Elliot’s cheeks were red, but he didn’t look angry. Porter recognized this look of her brother’s—it was the face he’d had as a kid when his team had lost after he’d missed a few free throws, or when he hadn’t won his class election. Whatever bad feelings Elliot was having, they were all pointed inward. “They were supposed to lie. They were supposed to make us believe it.”

“It’s not your fault,” Porter said. “Just like it’s not my fault.”

“Fine,” Elliot said. “It’s not my fault.”

“Hey,” Nicky said. “It’s really not.”

“Can I ask you about something else, El?” Porter asked. They were already skating onto new parts of the ice, and so she decided to keep going. Porter sat up straight and cracked her knuckles. “Wendy told me about the building.”