Other People's Houses(32)
“I don’t like being cold.”
Lucas peeped over the top of his screen at his dad. “No one likes being cold. But are you scared of it?” His dad looked at him and smiled, thinking of the possibly hundreds of times he’d brought Julie a blanket, a sweater, his jacket, a hot water bottle. She really didn’t like being cold. He hoped she wasn’t cold right then, and then realized there was nothing he could do if she was. She didn’t want his help anymore.
“I guess not. I’m scared of sharks.”
Lucas made a snorting noise. “My teacher said more people are killed by cows every year than are killed by sharks.”
“Really? Maybe I should be scared of cows.”
Bill could hear she was running out of energy. There was a time difference, it was later where she was, and he knew she’d had a busy day. “Come on, kid, it’s time for dinner. Say goodbye to Mommy, and come eat.” He called out, “Bye, Jules, I’ll call you later.”
“OK,” her voice floated back, and then dropped as she murmured good nights and much love to her son. Bill knew what she was really terrified of was never seeing Lucas again, but they didn’t need to talk about that.
They never talked about it, in fact.
* * *
? ? ?
Ava was also on Skype, as it happened, that service’s ethereal wires humming with bedtime chatter between parents and kids, grandparents and kids.
“So, how’s your mom?”
Ava shrugged and smiled at her grandma. “She’s fine, I guess. She’s always fine, right? She’s the most even-tempered person on the planet, which is so annoying. Was she always like that?”
Her grandmother laughed. “Oh yes, she was a very stable kid.” She dropped her voice. “One might even say boring, except that she was also very sweet and friendly and most people liked her a lot.” She looked sad, fleetingly. “I think I left her alone too much.”
Ava snorted. “Well, she hasn’t repeated your mistake, unfortunately. She’s always up in my beak.”
“She loves you.”
“I know.”
“She worries about you.”
“There’s no need. Everything’s fine.”
Her grandmother snorted, the original that came down through time and genetics to her granddaughter. “Please, Ava. There is nothing fine about being fourteen. It’s a total mess.”
“It’s OK. Parts are OK.”
“The whole period from eleven to fifteen is pretty much a yawning chasm of pain.”
“A catastrophe of confusion.”
“A maelstrom of unrelenting hormonal surges and storms.”
“OK, you win, Grandma. I don’t want to talk to you about hormones, please. That’s weird.”
“Why?”
“Because I can barely get my head around them in the peace and quiet of my room, let alone discussing them openly.” She looked at her spotty socks and flexed her feet, wishing she had longer toes. Just one more thing that wasn’t perfect about her.
Grandma sighed. “Your generation is far more prudish than mine. You get naked online, you send topless self-chats, or whatever you call them, but when it comes to having a private conversation about basic biology you get all squeamish.”
“Kids these days,” said Ava. Her mother’s voice floated up from downstairs. Dinner was ready. “I’ve got to go, Grandma, dinner. We’ll talk soon, yeah?”
“Of course. Give your mom a hug and kiss from me. And your brother and sister, please. When are they going to get on this thing?”
Ava got up, carrying the laptop over to her desk. “I don’t know. Milo has a laptop. I’ll help him put it on. Lally doesn’t have anything, but she could use mine, I guess.”
“That would be nice. Go eat your dinner, baby.”
After Ava had folded the screen down she stood there for a moment, her hand resting on her computer, a smile still in her eyes.
* * *
? ? ?
Wyatt and his mom were having dinner alone that night. Sara was shooting a commercial and was running late, as usual.
“Will Mommy be home in time for bed?” Wyatt was talking with his mouth full, but Iris didn’t care. Mommy was Sara. Iris was Mom.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. She wants to be, but sometimes these things take longer than you’d like.”
Wyatt nodded wisely. “Directors.”
Iris smiled. “Exactly.”
He turned up his hands, one of which was holding a carrot. “And don’t get me started on the studio.”
His mom laughed out loud and he joined her, thrilled to have pulled off a comedy bit. It was a relatively new skill, and he was crushing it. Iris leaned across the table and stroked his cheek where it grinned, a petal-soft swelling of happiness. She was blown away by him, then as ever. When he was small he’d basically gotten his words from Iris and Sara, so although she would sometimes hear her wife in what he said, she rarely heard anything surprising. Then he started watching TV and things from shows cropped up, little references from Dora or songs from Sesame Street, tiny nuggets of cultural exchange. But once he’d started school, and started listening more carefully to the conversations of adults, suddenly a whole new lexicon opened up and for the first time he brought fresh material to the table and, more thrilling still, ideas of his own.