Always Never Yours(55)

“There’s something else we’ve discussed, actually,” Dad says next to me, his eyes shifting back to my mom. “Catherine, you want to, uh . . . ?”

“Your father and I have talked quite a bit more lately,” Mom says gently, “and what with your festival, Randall and I have decided we’re going to extend our visit a couple weeks. We’d like to be there for the birth of your sister.”

I suck in a breath. Already the idea of a couple of dinners with both my parents and their respective significant others had me nervous. But this? Watching my dad be the perfect loving spouse to Rose and father to the new baby? Waiting for my mom to finally realize just how little she—or I—belong in Dad’s new family?

“Sounds . . . weird,” I say. It’s the understatement of the century.

The corners of Mom’s lips begin to curl, and there’s a knowing gleam in Dad’s eyes, like they’re sharing a joke. It’s the kind of look I remember from years ago, when they were always stealing glances they thought I couldn’t see after I’d pushed them to their parenting limits. It’s almost too painful to watch.

“Maybe a little.” It’s Mom who speaks up. “But it’s exciting. For you, for your father. . . . And while your dad’s in the hospital with Rose, it’ll be a chance for you and me to hang out. Do mother-daughter things.”

“With everyone here? It’s still weird.” I won’t look at either of them.

“We’ll get to spend time together, the seven of us,” Dad chimes in.

The seven of us. It sounds impossibly strange. Erin’s birth was jarring enough, but with every new step my dad takes, his family gets further and further from me. And while I enjoy every Friday-night video chat with my mom, I can’t deny that she’s changing, too, that I understand less and less about this person who takes pottery classes and dates someone like Randall. It doesn’t feel like seven of us. It feels like four and two, and me fitting nowhere in the middle.

I’m spared having to reply because there’s a huge clatter from downstairs followed by a tiny voice bellowing, “Noo-noos!” It’s Erin-speak for noodles.

“That didn’t sound good,” Mom says, a smile in her voice.

“Erin’s taken to throwing her dishes. I have to go clean Spaghetti-O’s off the wall. Third time this week.” Dad heaves himself off the bed with a resigned sigh, then glances at my mom in the FaceTime window. “I’m looking forward to having you guys in town. It’ll be a chance to welcome in the new shape of our family.”

He lays a hand on my shoulder before leaving the room, and even though I didn’t think it possible, my heart plummets even lower. I don’t let it show on my face because I know Mom’s still watching me, still hoping her efforts to make this sound positive might have worked.

But I hate the feeling of a “new shape” of my family. To me, that shape feels like the pieces of my family broken apart, held together only by memories everyone’s trying to forget.

Everyone except me.





SEVENTEEN




JULIET: I should have been more strange, I must confess,





But that thou overheard’st ere I was ware


    My true-love passion.


II.ii.107–9


I LOVE SHAKESPEARE, BUT I’VE HAD JULIET’S dialogue and cues running through my head for a month now, and it’s a breath of fresh air to rehearse a scene without the words anon or forsooth.

“Give my best to Bill Oliver—he may remember me,” Tyler says in the voice of a defeated Willy Loman, ending the scene I chose for my piece in the Senior Showcase. He gazes wistfully into the distance like he’s looking into the past, and then his shoulders relax. He and the other three members of my cast turn to me from the drama room stage, waiting for directions.

It’s been two weeks of Senior Scene preparations. Two busy weeks. Outside of Romeo and Juliet rehearsals, I’ve worked every night on directing my scene and organizing the entire event. I’ve had to rehearse my actors, book the auditorium, arrange the ads for the programs, figure out the lighting with the theater-tech kids, and keep the other directors on schedule for the performance.

Honestly, I love it.

Checking on everyone’s scenes isn’t too hard, and it’s fun seeing what they’re working on. Anthony’s doing Samuel L. Jackson’s final monologue from Pulp Fiction, which includes a level of profanity I had to push the teachers to permit. Brian Anderson, I’ll grudgingly admit, is doing a pretty nice job directing and starring in a scene from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. The only possible problem is Courtney, who’s putting on something from Cats. Why. Just why.

With the showcase at the end of the week, I’m pleased with the progress on my own scene. Today’s rehearsal went well. My instincts were right in casting Kasey, and I have a hunch that after seeing her performance, Jody will give her the lead in the fall play next year. Tyler’s obviously stepped into the role like he was born to play Willy, and he and Jenna pair really well. Even Owen’s holding his own—and I have a feeling he’ll cut a nice figure in a 1940s suit.

“Perfect, guys,” I yell from the back of the room. “See you all tomorrow.”