Everything Leads to You(56)

“My brother,” I say.

“Same dad?”

I nod. I could tell him about all the teachers who had Toby first and who tried to mask their surprise when they discovered that I was his little sister. Or the times when I was a kid when strangers mistook my mom for my babysitter.

But I decide to keep it simple for now.

“The mysteries of genetics.” I shrug.

“For real,” he says. And then, a moment later: “You have a cool family.”

I don’t know what to say in response. I don’t know anything about Jamal’s life, but the fact that he lives in the shelter with Ava obviously means that his home life wasn’t exactly ideal. I suddenly feel very shallow for being embarrassed when they first came in. There are far worse things for parents to be than overinterested in their daughter’s friends, than a little too excited about telling them things about themselves that they might not know already.

So I just smile and say, “Thanks,” and my dad and Ava reappear from his study carrying two Clyde Jones biographies and a few books about Westerns in their arms.

“Should we set the table?” Dad asks.

“Actually,” I say, “we’re here to watch a video, so I’m thinking we’ll just coffee-table it in the den.”

“You have a den?” Jamal asks.

I nod yes, and Mom, now back to us, clasps her hands and says, “A movie!”

Charlotte and I exchange glances.

“Guys,” I say to my parents. “I don’t want to be rude but—”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Dad says.

“Yes, right,” Mom says. “We don’t mean to intrude. Gary, we could watch our own movie. That sounds fun, doesn’t it!”

If Ava Garden Wilder were the star of her own film, the scene during which she watches her dead mother in a minor movie role would look something like this: Ava sits in a small, dim room alone. She sits close to the screen, and when her mother appears, she turns up the volume to better hear her voice. When the scene is over, she rewinds the tape and then her mother reappears. She touches the screen and it’s a poor substitute for the woman she wishes she knew. She hits rewind, then play. Rewind, then play. Everything is cast blue by the TV screen; her face is tear soaked.

But this is not a movie, this is life, and I hear Ava say, “Actually it’s fine with me if you both want to watch with us.”

“What movie is it?” Dad asks.

“It’s called The Restlessness.”

“Oh yeah,” he says. “Scott Bennings. I haven’t seen it since it came out in—what?—’92? ’93?”

“Do you know everything?” Jamal asks.

“Don’t encourage him,” I say.

Charlotte asks, “Are you sure, Ava?”

I explain to my parents that Caroline Maddox, Ava’s biological mother, has a small part in the movie.

“A waitress,” Ava says. “In an important scene. I don’t want to watch it alone. It’s fine if it’s emotional for me, right? It doesn’t need to be a private thing.”

“Oh, honey,” Mom says. “Feel completely at home. You just let it out if it hurts. Gary and I are honored—honored—that you will include us in this moment.”

Dad is nodding in concerned agreement, but I see something else flash behind his eyes.

“Let me guess what you’re thinking, Dad. You’re thinking: I’m about to see Clyde Jones’s daughter in a movie, and not a single one of my colleagues or a single film critic knows that she’s Clyde’s daughter, or even that Clyde Jones had any children.”

Dad furrows his brow.

“Of course not,” he says. “I’m thinking about Ava and how important this must be to her.”

“You can be thinking about both,” Ava says, smiling. “It’s okay.”

I have an urge to send Charlotte a secret text from across the room about how wonderful Ava is, but I don’t. My willpower has suddenly become stronger than I knew it ever could be.

“Okay,” Dad admits. “It’s both.”

We all carry our plates down my wide family-photo-lined hallway and into the den, which is basically a shrine to my parents’ eclectic interests. Where else can you find a framed flyer for a 1963 protest against the savage police beating of civil rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer hanging directly next to a framed poster of Beverly Hills, 90210, signed by the entire cast of the 1993 season?