Adult Assembly Required, page 20
“I didn’t say you said I couldn’t, I simply said I could.”
They both paused.
“Well,” said Asher, “fine then.”
“Fine,” agreed Polly. Then she headed outside.
* * *
• • •
Polly had indeed been with friends when the earthquake struck, and all of them had paused their conversation and waited for it to end. Once it was over they were ready to keep talking, but Polly felt worried and made her apologies. She knew it wasn’t a bad earthquake and she could simply have called, but she didn’t. She leapt into her little orange car and zoomed home.
Entering the kitchen, she’d felt relieved to see Maggie was fine and nobody was hurt, and now as she approached the vegetable garden she waved at Laura and Bob, working side by side. Maggie was already there, leaning on the fence.
“Bad news,” she said to Polly. “Those that gave their lives gave completely, and are not edible. Those that survived are to be left on the vine to recover, says their father.”
“I’m not their father,” said Bob mildly. “That would be God. Or something. I am merely their servant.” He was pulling on what was left of a tomato plant, and it came out, showering him with dirt. “And their executioner, when necessary.” He tossed the plant into a green trash can that stood nearby.
Maggie sighed. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I do not feel like cooking now. We had pizza the other night . . . I vote burgers.”
“Seconded,” said Polly instantaneously. “I will even volunteer to go pick them up, such is my sudden desire for a chocolate milkshake.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Asher, calling from the upper patio. “I’ll put my shoes on, you gather everyone’s orders.” He turned to go back inside, presumably for his shoes.
“OK, bossy boots,” muttered Polly, but she turned to the others as she pulled out her phone and looked for her notes app. “Orders, please?”
“Veggie burger with cheese for me,” said Laura, “and a chocolate malted, if they have one.” She paused. “And fries.”
“Large or small?” asked Polly, her finger poised above the screen like a waitress holds her pencil.
“Large shake, small fries.” Laura blushed a little. “I’m going to work it off tomorrow, I promise.”
Polly looked at her curiously. “You don’t have to caveat self-care, you know. You’re allowed to nourish yourself.” Having delivered this statement, Polly turned to Maggie. “And for madam? Something highly caloric and bad for your arteries?”
“Yes, definitely. Bacon cheeseburger with caramelized onions, large strawberry shake, no fries.” Maggie cheered up. “I love a strawberry shake.”
“And finally, Bob?” asked Polly. “Or has the death and devastation of your little minions put you off?”
“Nope,” said Bob. “I’ll also have a bacon cheeseburger, no shake, onion rings.”
“Wait,” said Laura. “They have onion rings?” She frowned. “Are they proper onion rings or are they the ones where you take a bite and the whole onion circle slides out and leaves you with a batter husk?”
They all stared at her.
“Sorry,” she said. “I like onion rings.”
“You can share mine,” said Bob. “We can do a fry–onion ring exchange.”
“Great,” said Laura. “We can eat while we fill out your paperwork.” She headed to the gate. “Come on, we can do most of it online.”
Bob stared after her. Maggie raised her eyebrows. “What paperwork?”
Laura turned and kept walking backward, demonstrating her skills. “Bob’s applying to grad school.”
“Maybe,” said Bob.
Maggie opened her mouth to comment, when Asher spoke from the kitchen door, his voice slightly raised.
“Mom?”
Maggie turned. “Yes?” Her brows contracted; she could see from his face that something was up. “What is it?”
“Sarah’s here.”
A woman stepped past him onto the patio. “Ash, I don’t need an announcement, for crying out loud.” She was smaller than he was, and her hair was long, a tangled mass of curls that fell around her shoulders. She was beautiful and immaculately put together, wearing the kind of casual clothes that were anything but: the perfect white T-shirt, the perfect pair of jeans, the perfectly distressed suede jacket. Laura saw wealth all the time in Manhattan, and recognized it.
The woman walked carefully down the steps from the patio and evaluated Polly, Bob, and Laura, switching on a pro forma two-second smile that barely wrinkled her nose, let alone her eyes. Reaching Maggie, she leaned in and kissed her formally on both cheeks, her hands lightly resting on the other woman’s upper arms. Then she stepped back and looked around at the broken wall, the devastated vegetable patch.
“Bold landscaping choice,” she drawled. “You’ve done wonders.”
There was a pause, then Maggie cleared her throat and said, “Everyone, this is Sarah.” She paused. “My daughter.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Sarah Morse was not what Laura expected. Having been introduced, Sarah made no effort to discover anyone’s names, but merely waved a lazy hand and turned to start walking back to the house. Her walk reminded Laura of a winning racehorse circling the paddock, proud and aware of its own success. After a fractional pause Maggie followed her, and once they’d both disappeared inside, Laura turned to Polly and Bob.
“Um . . . are we supposed to follow them?”
Polly shrugged. “No clue.” She clicked her tongue. “I’d forgotten how weird she was. She clearly doesn’t remember me at all.”
“She’s very beautiful,” said Laura doubtfully.
Bob sighed, and turned back to his vegetables. “Pretty is as pretty does,” he said, which made Laura giggle.
“That’s my grandmother’s favorite line,” she said.
Bob smiled a small smile and looked back at her. “Mine too.”
Polly raised her eyebrow. “Your favorite line?”
He shook his head. “My grandmother’s.”
Polly made a noncommittal noise. “My grandmother’s favorite line was Who the hell drank the last of the scotch?” She headed toward the house. “I’m going in. Something tells me Maggie might need backup.”
Laura hesitated. “Maybe we should go, too?” She raised her voice. “Pol, should I come with you?”
Polly shrugged, and turned around. “No need, I can take her.” Her eyes fell on the huge pile of roses. “Hey, can I have those roses?”
“Bob gave them to me,” said Laura without thinking, then caught herself, “but of course, take them inside.”
Polly raised her eyebrows. “Bob, she’s giving away your flowers.”
Bob was kneeling at the far end of the vegetable garden, completing his survey of the survivors. “I’ll grow her some more,” he said casually. “Take them in and put them in water before it’s too late. I’ll be in shortly, I need to finish staking these guys.”
Polly came back for the roses, and Laura helped her. Then she stayed with Bob, saying, “I’ll help you, then we can go in together.”
Bob sat back on his heels and looked up at her, squinting into the sun. She moved, casting his face in shadow. “Scared of the new girl?” he said, smiling.
Laura nodded. “Is that dumb?”
He turned back to the plants, shaking his head. “Nope, she hasn’t said a word to me and I’m already terrified.” He staked the remaining unsupported tomatoes efficiently, searching the ground for the twist ties he’d put somewhere. They were green to blend in with the plants, but that also made them hard to find.
Laura spotted them and bent to pick them up, handing them to him one at a time. She giggled again. “Me too. Why is that?”
He shrugged, reaching out his hand for the next twist tie, which she slapped into his palm like a surgical nurse. “Beats me. Her mom is the least scary person I’ve ever met.” He looked up at the sky. “It’s going to start getting dark soon. Shall we go in?” He stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Do you think we’re still getting burgers?”
Laura nodded. “I think Polly was pretty determined.” She paused. “I don’t suppose there’s another game on?”
Bob shook his head. “Not tonight, but we can always watch an old classic.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well,” he said, “there’s this thing called the Internet . . . ?”
Laura put on a puzzled face. “It sounds familiar . . . I can’t place it right now . . .”
“Well,” said Bob innocently, “thanks to the magic of the Internet, we could watch the ’81 World Series.”
Laura narrowed her eyes at him; she was painfully aware the Dodgers had won that one. She said, “Or ’77 or ’78?” The Yankees had taken both.
They started walking toward the house. “How about this,” said Bob. “We’ll toss a coin, and the winner picks the game.”
They climbed the steps to the patio and approached the kitchen door. “I like it,” said Laura, pleased by this idea. “Then the other person can pick the next one.”
“Deal,” said Bob. “We can watch a new game every night.”
“A new old game,” corrected Laura. “And why stop at baseball? We can do Lakers-Knicks as well.” She stepped back to let him go through the door. “The 1970 playoffs were fantastic.”
Bob gestured for her to precede him. “Not for us,” he said mildly.
As they walked into the kitchen, Laura was about to launch into a recitation of all the playoff games where the Knicks had kicked the Lakers, but when she realized they’d walked into a war zone, she forgot all about it.
* * *
• • •
Surprisingly, Asher seemed to be the most irritated person in the room. Sarah was leaning on the kitchen counter, as her mother often did, and though her expression was calm, clearly she was attempting to give as good as she got.
“I come over all the time,” she was saying, “and I don’t know where you get off bitching at me, seeing as you literally left the country four years ago and didn’t visit once.”
“He was working,” said Maggie, her voice tight with the effort of sounding loose. “It’s not like Tokyo is around the corner.”
“Unlike, say, Beverly Hills,” said Asher. It was clear from his face that this argument was hitting a big, fat nerve.
Bob looked at Laura, whose eyes had widened slightly. Both of them wanted to slowly back out the way they’d come. Failing that, Bob wondered if he could lower his head and glide through the kitchen unnoticed, while Laura wondered if anyone would see her if she dropped to her belly and crawled to the hallway. Instead they froze in place and pretended to be somewhere else.
“So was I, working,” said Sarah, wounded. “You always take his side.” She threw up her hands. “I don’t know why I expected anything different.” She snapped at her brother, “Clearly your Japanese colleagues failed to pass on any of their famous civility.”
Asher scoffed. “This isn’t about me, Sarah, it isn’t even about you, although you probably think it is.” He looked at Maggie. “Mom, when was the last time Sarah came over?”
Maggie looked at Polly. “So, Polly, would you like a cup of tea?”
Polly, who’d been watching the argument since it had kicked off a few minutes earlier, telling herself she was studying body language rather than stickybeaking another family’s drama, answered immediately. “I would love a cup of tea, Maggie, thanks.” She got to her feet and went to the cupboard. “Shall I get some cookies?”
Sarah turned to look at her mother. “Wow, Mom, it’s like having your kids around, except these guys are actually helpful.” She turned to look at Polly. “Even if they do dress like cartoon characters.”
Bob looked at Polly, who was slowly turning back from the cupboard, and he started walking through the kitchen, keeping his head down. Laura was right behind him, but Maggie wasn’t having it.
“Bob, Laura,” she said, “I’m making tea, would you like some?”
“Which cartoon character?” asked Polly mildly.
“I don’t know,” said Sarah bitchily. “Someone minor. A sidekick.”
“Uh . . .” said Bob.
“Great,” said his landlady. “Polly, grab a couple more cups, would you?” She stepped into the hallway and raised her voice. “Libby! Do you and Anna want some tea?” Her voice was still calm, but Laura could hear a faint note of hysteria. Poor Maggie was not having a good day. Earthquakes. Walls. Arguments. A distant voice responded, and Maggie came back into the kitchen. “Two more for tea, that’s fantastic.”
Polly was having an internal argument, but decided to simply smile and restrain her tongue. She was learning to let shit go and gave herself a small pat on the back for progress. Then she wondered which element of her outfit provoked the comment—it could easily be the shirt; there was a definite Velma from Scooby-Doo vibe. To be fair, she’d been kind of fine with that.
Sarah had swiveled her sights back to her brother. “Mom, you can’t let Asher talk to me like that.” She folded her arms. “It’s so easy to criticize, isn’t it? God forbid you look at your own side of the street.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Asher, his voice much quieter now. He was aware they had an audience, including Polly, and wished this had never started. But his sister always did this, always caused trouble.
“You know,” said his sister, going over to her purse, which sat on the table. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter. “You let Madeleine walk all over you and then you fled the scene. Borrowing money from Mom to do it, am I right?”
Asher looked quickly at his mother, who shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I paid her back,” he said to his sister. “I paid her back within a few months.”
Sarah stuck a cigarette in her mouth, but didn’t light it. “And now you’re back, living with Mom.”
“Sarah,” said Maggie, “please don’t smoke in here.”
Sarah pulled the cigarette out of her mouth and crumpled it in her hand, holding it up high and letting the mangled pieces drop to the floor. “Sorry, Mom, forgot the rules.”
“Only till I find a place.” Asher pointed at his sister. “Maybe if I’m lucky, I can follow your example and marry someone wealthy and stupid.”
Sarah laughed. “My husband is not stupid.” She went to pull another cigarette from the pack, shot a look of frustration at her mom, and didn’t.
“He married you, didn’t he?” Asher couldn’t help himself any more than he could have at twelve.
Laura was unable to hold in a gasp, and everyone turned to look at her. “Sorry,” she said, going bright red. “I . . . uh . . .” Her family argued all the time, but it was usually about some arcane point of knowledge, rather than ad hominem attacks on one another’s character. Those they saved for one-on-one conversations, but for the first time Laura could see the silver lining in that.
The kettle was coming to a boil, and Maggie’s eyes were glittering with emotion and embarrassment. “Guys, would it be possible to get together without it devolving into a screaming match?” She turned to Asher. “Stop insulting Jeff, he’s not here to defend himself, and he and Sarah are very happy together.” She turned to Sarah. “And stop poking at Asher because he borrowed a little money years ago. He paid it back, and I would have done the same for you.” She paused. “I still would, not that you want my help with anything.”
“What does that mean?” Sarah’s quills were still sticking out all over, her readiness to defend herself pokily palpable.
Maggie sighed and raised her hands in surrender. “Nothing. It means I would help you. I would help Asher. I would help anyone who asked me, if I could.”
There was a pause, and Laura could see Sarah’s face working as she battled for the right comeback. In the end, she picked the wrong one. “Well, you’re a fucking saint, aren’t you? And I’m the miserable sinner who ruined your perfect reputation at the tennis club.”
Maggie flushed and shook her head. “No, and you know that’s not fair.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Sarah,” said Asher. “You’re too old to get away with it.”
Sarah was gathering her things, putting the pack of cigarettes back in her bag, hurling the lighter after it, throwing the bag on her shoulder, and getting ready to leave.
“Don’t make me any tea, Mom,” she said sarcastically. “Not that you asked me if I wanted any.” She walked out of the kitchen. As she went down the hallway, she said loudly, “Bye, Asher, see you in another four years, maybe.”
“Sarah . . .” he called back. “Don’t leave.”
“Why would I stay?” she asked as they all heard the front door open. “I’ve never been welcome here, and honestly, I’m cool with that.” The door slammed, and the house shook for the second time that day.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Growing up in Manhattan meant Laura had plenty of experience flicking on the kitchen light at midnight and seeing cockroaches scattering in various directions. She knew, thanks to the kinds of conversations her family had at dinner, that the cockroach was one of the fastest insects on earth, capable of covering five feet in a single second. While no one in the kitchen could call on that much accelerative power, they all treated the slamming front door as a kind of starter pistol and took off, possibly to avoid the dense cloud of awkward settling over the room.
Bob kept going in the direction of his bedroom, with Laura on his tail. Asher headed upstairs, Polly ditto, and Maggie crossed the kitchen and hit the back stairs like a homing pigeon. Within seconds the room was empty apart from the dogs, who looked at each other with consternation, each silently accusing the other of farting.
