We Are the Ants(67)

Looking in the mirror, I could identity every disgusting, clogged pore, every hair out of place, every imperfection on my imperfect body. I hated how my nipples were sort of oval, and my belly button was deeper than Krubera Cave. I’d spent an hour brushing my teeth and scrubbing away blackheads and digging Q-tips into all my face holes. I even paid special attention to the slum areas, not that I expected Diego to visit them. So far, he’d kept his hands in the touristy regions, showing a restraint Marcus never had. He respected that I still had no idea what we were doing.

After pulling every piece of clothing I owned out of my closet and drawers, I settled on my best jeans and a button--down shirt my mom had bought me that still had the tags on it. I felt like a little boy in his father’s suit, a fraud everyone could see through.

Mom whistled when I walked into the living room. She was smoking and drinking and watching Bunker with the volume muted so she could read. It must have been her day off from the restaurant because she was still wearing her pajamas. “Don’t you look nice?”

“Whatever.”

“I’m serious, Henry. You’ve grown into a handsome young man.”

“You’re my mom; you’re contractually obligated to say that.” There’s probably be a genetic reason every mother believes her son to be the apex of male beauty. I suppose if they didn’t, they’d smother the ugly ones, and the human race would have died out or been much more attractive as a result.

Mom flicked her ash into the ashtray. “Well, yes, but for a while, your father and I were worried you were never going to grow out of your ugly phase.”

“Mom!”

“What? You had those knobby knees, and your front teeth were so big, you could barely shut your mouth.” I liked seeing her laugh, even if it was at my expense. “Who are you dressed up for?”

“I’m hanging out with Diego. You met him.” I didn’t want to remind her that she’d met him over Thanksgiving break because I’d disappeared.

Mom raised her eyebrow. “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together. Do we need to have the talk?”

“Jesus, no. We’re not even dating.” I held up my hands and backed toward the door.

“Sex is nothing to be ashamed of, Henry, and I want you to be informed. We should have had this discussion sooner.”

My face was burning, and I wanted to escape, but Diego wasn’t going to pick me up for another ten minutes. “I’m not sleeping with Diego,” I said. “And anyway, I already know about that stuff.”

Mom looked skeptical. “I know you’ve seen it on those Web sites you visit—”

“Oh my God! Mom! Have you been going through my computer?”

“Only to make sure you weren’t experimenting with drugs or planning to shoot up your school.”

“That’s an invasion of privacy!”

Mom took a drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke at me dismissively. “Don’t be so uptight, Henry. Compared to Charlie, you’re pretty vanilla.” She shuddered.

The thought of my mother knowing what kind of porn Charlie and I browsed was mortifying, and I couldn’t get out of the house quickly enough. Waiting outside was preferable. Having needles driven into my eyeballs would have been preferable. “Please stop.”

“I want you to be happy. You know that right, Henry?”

To be honest, it never occurred to me that my mother was concerned about my happiness. My safety, yes, but not my happiness. It seems obvious now, but before she said it, I wouldn’t have put it at the top of a list of things my mother wanted for me. “I’m trying.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“Why?”

Mom stubbed out her cigarette. “Because a smart, handsome boy like you shouldn’t have to try so hard to be happy.”

“I’ll be back by eleven,” I said, and dashed out the door.

? ? ?

Diego’s hand lingered on mine when he passed me the popcorn. His fingers were butter-slick and warm. He smiled, looking far less nervous than I felt. The movie theater was mostly empty, which only amped up my anxiety. Diego had convinced me to let him take me on an actual date, arguing that it wouldn’t have to mean anything and that it would be a good way to see what I was missing out on. He wore me down and I finally agreed, but only to prove to him that it was a disastrous idea.

“What’s the name of this movie again?”

“Dino and July,” Diego said. “It’s about a guy whose family owns a funeral home, and this girl he has a crush on dies but then comes back to life and helps him become cool. Sort of like Cyrano de Bergerac meets Pygmalion. With a zombie.”

“Sounds . . . interesting.”

“It got good reviews.”

I grabbed a handful of popcorn, immediately regretting it. What if my breath smelled like butter and salt? I dropped the popcorn and sipped my soda instead.

“Any word from your slug friends?”

After reading to Diego from my journal, I felt less like a freak discussing the aliens with him, though they still weren’t my favorite conversation topic. “Not since the barbecue.”

“Is that strange?”

“I’ve gone a whole year without being abducted before, but January twenty-ninth is barely a month from now, so you’d think they’d want to give me plenty of opportunities to push the button.”