We Are the Ants(90)

I chuckled. “Fat chance.”

“Can’t blame a mom for dreaming.” She set to work descaling the salmon. I’ve never been able to get past the meaty pink of it, so similar to human flesh, the white stripes of fat running through it.

“Are you having someone for dinner?”

She shook her head. “Just experimenting for the restaurant.”

“How’s it going?”

“Good . . . I think.” Mom leaned forward and made a face. “Henry, will you scratch my forehead?” She held up her fishy hands.

Mom arched her back like a cat when I finally hit the itch. “Better?”

“Much.”

“You seem happier.”

“I guess I am,” Mom said after thinking about it for a moment. “It’s tough work, and Chef Norbert can be a real *—”

“Nice way to talk about your new boss.”

She rolled her eyes. “What? His only mode of speaking is yelling, and sometimes he barks orders in French and I have no idea what he’s saying.” Mom laughed, and I couldn’t help thinking there hadn’t been enough of that in our house this last year. “Maybe I’ll open my own restaurant one day.”

I cringed at the idea of Mom running her own place, stress smoking and screaming at the help, but there were worse dreams to have. “Well, someone ought to put Charlie’s college fund to use.”

“Good thinking.”

I watched Mom while I waited for Audrey. She chopped and mixed and moved so quickly that I couldn’t always follow what she was doing, but every action was confident. Cooking is practically magic to me, and my mom is a wizard.

“Mom? Did Dad leave because of me?”

She froze. The knife hovered over the cutting board, and her eyebrows dipped to form a V. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

“Lots of reasons.”

“Henry, sweetie, your father loved you.”

“I know.”

“You aren’t the reason he left.”

“Why then?”

Mom sighed and set down her knife. She moved more slowly, like she’d been waiting years for me to ask and, now that I had, she realized she wasn’t prepared to answer. “Your father and I fell out of love. Joel was never the marrying type, and I was naive. In love with the idea of love. His devotion to you and Charlie is the reason he stayed as long as he did.”

“If he loved us so much, why’d he abandon us?”

“Because he hated the person he was becoming, and he wanted to leave before you and your brother hated him too.”

My memories of my father are all jumbled together. They say when we recall a memory, we’re actually calling up the last time we remembered it, and I’m not sure I can trust that my anger at him for leaving hasn’t tainted those memories. I tried to think back to the last few months he lived with us. Had he been stressed? More distant? If he’d stayed, would my life have turned out differently? Would I hate him more than I hated him for leaving us?

“Do you think Dad made the right choice?”

Mom resumed chopping at a leisurely pace. “I don’t know, sweetie, but I think we’re doing pretty well without him. Everything happens for a reason.”

? ? ?

The Calypso High winter carnival was held in the school’s senior parking lot. Gone were the cars and neatly lined spaces, replaced by game booths and food booths and a Ferris wheel that looked like it had barely passed its last safety inspection. The cold weather had stuck around, but the heat from the bonfire and the press of bodies made me wish I’d worn shorts rather than jeans and a button-down shirt.

Audrey spent the drive describing her mother’s next invention: an office chair that grew more uncomfortable the longer you sat in it. It was supposed to remind cubicle workers to stand and stretch every hour, but it sounded like an ergonomic torture device. I did my best to camouflage my anxiety by singing along to the stupid songs on the radio. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of spending the evening surrounded by my peers, most of whom I imagined whispering “Space Boy” as they passed. There were too many dark corners to hide in, too many shadows to launch punches from. Still, I tried to enjoy myself.

We ran from booth to booth, looking for trouble. I made a valiant effort to win a stuffed whale by pitching a ball at a pyramid of bottles, but never managed to knock down more than two. Audrey, however, had perfect aim, and dunked Jay Oh into a tank of freezing water. Seeing him shiver and sputter wasn’t exactly revenge, but it didn’t suck, either.

Somewhere along the way, my fake smile became real. I was with my best friend, and no one could hurt me. I didn’t even mind when she had to leave to work the debate team’s booth—for two dollars, they’d try to help you win any argument. I wandered through the maze of booths and tents, thinking how much Jesse would have adored the spectacle of it all. He loved anything loud and manic. The laughter and smiles of crowds had given him strength, whereas they drained me even when I enjoyed them.

The Calypso Crooners were hosting a karaoke booth, and I couldn’t listen to one more off-key rendition of “Summer Nights,” so I ended up on the far side of the carnival, where it was quieter. I noticed a blue-striped tent with a meticulously painted sign that read: CALYPSO HIGH ART GALLERY. Diego had mentioned an art show, and I wondered if any of his paintings were on display. I had thirty minutes to kill before Audrey rejoined me, so I decided to take a peek inside.