Other People's Houses(64)
Ava appeared. She was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that read: “Feminism is the radical notion that women are human beings” and Frances clucked her tongue at it. Ava frowned.
“Go back upstairs and change. That is in no way dress code, and you know it.”
“Because of what it says?”
“No,” Frances said. “Because it shows your shoulders.” Ava opened her mouth to argue, but Frances help up her hand. “I know. It’s bullshit, it’s patriarchal overreach, it prioritizes the primacy of the male gaze over the individual right to self-expression, and it’s a kick-ass T-shirt. I get all that, but last time they made you put on a Justin Bieber oversize hoodie and someone posted it on Instagram and you were miserable.”
Twenty minutes later they all left the house. Kate and Theo were ready, standing outside the house with comb marks in their hair. Charlie was clearly Bringing Order to Chaos, the poor sod. Then came Wyatt, who was holding a piece of toast in one hand and his shoes in the other. Then finally Lucas, who was carrying a plastic bag of Cheerios. Frances realized it was just the inner bag from the box of cereal, which she admired as an efficient choice.
Right then. Time for school.
* * *
? ? ?
At recess Kate was cornered by some of the other girls in her class.
“Hey, is it true your mom left?”
Kate frowned and looked around. There were four of them, all of them girls she’d known since kindergarten. Alison, Jemma, Becky, and the other one whose name she could never remember. She nodded, but then shrugged.
“I guess so. She’s not living at our house right now. She’s coming back soon.”
Alison shook her head. “She’s not coming back.” Alison was one of those kids who was always very definite in their opinions. Often wrong, but always definite.
“Yes, she is,” Kate said, no wishy-washy kid herself. “They said they’re having a problem right now. When that’s over she’ll come back.”
Alison sighed. “My dad was supposed to come back, but he didn’t. And Leo’s mother went away and was supposed to come back and didn’t. They always say they’re coming back, but it’s not true.”
“Maybe this time it’s true.”
Another sigh. Ah, the innocence of youth. “No. It never is. Maybe you can go and live with her instead? That happens a lot, right?” She looked around for support. One of the other girls, Jemma, piped up.
“My mom lives in a much nicer house than she did when we were all in the same place. She said now that she doesn’t need to pay for my dad she can afford a better place. I have a cat at her house. And a bike.”
Kate considered this. Jemma had more details. “But when I stay with my dad he lets me stay up late and watch TV with him on the sofa, and then I get to sleep in his bed.”
“Where does he sleep?”
“On the sofa. I guess he likes it.”
“Why can’t you both sleep in the bed?”
Jemma shrugged. “It’s not big enough. It’s just a regular bed, like I have at home. Not a big parents bed.”
“Where is your mom living?”
A ball came flying toward them, but Becky deftly returned it, displaying the superior reflexes of a seven-year-old. A clump of boys scattered as the ball plowed through them, like pigeons evading a toddler. One of them hurled insults at the girls for no reason, and Becky flipped him the bird.
“I don’t know where she is,” Kate realized suddenly, a feeling of panic starting in her tummy.
The bell rang for the end of recess, and the girls turned to go inside. Suddenly Becky put her arm around Kate and hugged her. “Don’t worry, Kate, everything will be fine. Hardly any of the kids in school have both parents at the same time. It’s not that big a deal.”
It felt like a big deal to Kate, but she smiled anyway.
* * *
? ? ?
That night at dinner, Lally was incredibly bent out of shape. She wanted a different plate. A different spoon. A different pasta shape. Frances tried to convince her they all tasted the same, but Lally considered that a ludicrous argument and Michael unhelpfully agreed with her.
“I think the thicker shapes, the penne, the rigatoni, the farfalle . . . they definitely taste different from the thinner ones.”
“Like what?”
Ava chimed in. “Spaghetti and angel hair.”
“No.” Frances felt pretty strongly about this. “They taste different because of the way in which the sauce interacts with them.”
“Is interact the right verb? I think of pasta as pretty passive, I’ll be honest.”
“Yes, Michael. It takes both pasta and sauce to make a taste, otherwise we would just eat them on their own.”
“But I do want to eat them on their own.” Lally felt this conversation was getting away from her. “I just want spaghetti with butter and cheese.”
“But you like meat sauce.”
“No. I’ve never liked it.”
This was a lie, but suddenly Frances didn’t care anymore. She put a fresh pan of water on to boil, and gave Lally a bowl of strawberries in the meantime.
Milo had been steadily eating during this whole exchange, and now pushed his plate away. “I’m done, is there dessert?”