Life and Other Inconveniences(121)

They did try to be friends again over the summer, on Snapchat and Instagram. Like I couldn’t see through that. You look amazing!!! when I posted a picture of myself in New York with Gigi, or legit jealous! and looks so pretty there!!! for one of me and Rav at the July picnic. He posted that one. I didn’t respond to their comments, but I didn’t block them, either. I didn’t care enough to make the effort.

I’m gonna miss Rav a lot when he leaves at the end of the summer, even though we’re not really a couple. We hold hands sometimes, like at the movies last week. I know there are kids my age who are already having sex and doing things, but that seems far, far away for me. I like the way things are now. We’re friends. We take walks and hikes together, and we’re still young enough to do stupid things like go out to the farthest tip of Gigi’s property and pretend we got stranded on an island. Soon enough, I’ll have to figure out dating and romance and sex and stuff, but not for a good long while. College, maybe. I’m in no hurry. Mom says I’m wise beyond my years.

The Talwars live in New Haven for most of the year, which is an hour from here, and Rav will be going to some swanky private day school. Saanvi won’t let him go to boarding school. So I do have one friend in Connecticut, and one good friend is better than three shitty friends, that’s for sure.

Besides, I’m not completely unknown here. I’m Genevieve London’s great-granddaughter, Duncan and Owen’s half sister, Jason Finlay’s daughter, and Jamilah Rochon’s stepdaughter. (She’s using her maiden name since she and Dad are getting a divorce, and she’s as great as ever. We had lunch the other day, just us two.) I’m Paul Riley’s great-granddaughter, and that’s hilarious, because Pop knows more people here than Genevieve, I think. Mr. Popularity. He comes to the house almost every day and bickers with Gigi. It’s almost flirting. He hasn’t said if he’ll stay here in Connecticut with us. Obviously, I’m hoping he’ll stay.

Mom’s going to keep working at Rose Hill, because the guy who left wants to be a stay-at-home dad. She also is going to rent some office space downtown to see other clients. We’ll stay with Gigi for the time being. I get to see Hope whenever I want, and I’ll be volunteering there when school starts for my senior community service project.

The only sad part is, Gigi’s not doing great. After that rainstorm when she didn’t know who I was, things seemed to change. She goes to bed earlier and takes more naps, and there are times when I can tell she’s trying not to let on that she’s in one of her fogs. Donelle and I have this way of talking to her when she’s forgetting . . . We ask about old times, because those memories are easier for her to talk about.

At least Gigi is being nicer to Mom. The way she talks to her now has changed, too.

I kind of ran out of ways to look for Great-Uncle Sheppard. The only new thing was when I got those age-progression photos—you send in baby pictures of the person, and pictures of relatives, and get a composite of what the person would look like.

If the photos were right, Sheppard would’ve looked a lot like my grandfather, Clark. Gigi keeps a few pictures of him around. Mom says he’ll come out at Christmas. Big whoop, right? At any rate, I took the doctored photos of Sheppard and did a reverse Google image search on them, hoping the results would pop up with a name or a photo of some sixtysomething-year-old who might’ve been Sheppard. I was thinking CEO or senator or architect, you know? Because he would’ve had a lot going for him, being Gigi and my great-grandfather’s kid.

The only result that came up was “man smiling.” I guess that was better than nothing. If you’re going to be categorized as something, smiling isn’t so bad. But it made me sad, not ever knowing what happened to him, not being able to run into Gigi’s room and say, “Look! This might be him!” I knew it had been a long shot, but still. She misses him so much. Almost every day, she tells me I have his eyes. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it makes her happy.

It’s funny how weird this house and situation seemed when I first got here in June. How stiff and tense things were with Mom and Gigi. Now there aren’t any subtle jabs or undercurrents . . . It’s all out in the open.

“How is the rent-a-friend business going? Does it pay well?” Gigi asked the other night, full of piss and vinegar, as Pop says.

“Hey, I’m not the bankrupt person sitting at this table,” Mom said. “And yes, it pays pretty well. Want to sign up? You could use it.”

So we’re doing okay. Better than okay.

It feels like home.





CHAPTER 37


    Emma


The big stroke happened in early October, when the leaves were changing and the sky was heartbreak blue.

The past two months had been tinted with poignancy, because it was clear Genevieve the Gorgon was fading into Genevieve the little old lady, confused and anxious, still trying to hang on to her pride. She didn’t need diapers, but I had to help her in the shower. Donelle’s toe, which had more problems than just an infected toenail, had to be amputated at long last, so I was taking care of the both of them.

I did fire Helga. She still lives here at Sheerwater, and still gets paid, but enough was enough. No more gray meat, no more limp green beans, no more ogre in the kitchen. Riley and I had always liked cooking, although now she had a lot of after-school activities and couldn’t help that much. And friends. Nice friends, too. Good kids, and of course they were, because my daughter, who was older and wiser herself, had chosen them. They came over a lot, and Sheerwater was filled with the sound of thumping feet, laughter and music.