8. We're the Substitute People
As she waits in the car in front of the airport, Veronica thinks this should be a somber time. This, of course, would be much easier if the person behind the wheel was anyone other than Troy Curtis.
The radio is on, and Troy taps the steering wheel in time. That is, of course, until he starts singing.
"'Four-letter word just to get me along …'"
Veronica looks over at him with sharp eyes.
"Troy," she says. "No offense or anything, but if you're going to be here right now, while we wait … don't you think you should be a little more … 'Behind These Hazel Eyes' and a little less … this?"
Troy looks at her, theatrically offended.
"Veronica!" he says. "I'm surprised that you, of all people in the whole world, would disparage a classic such as 'That's Not My Name' by none other than The Ting Tings."
"That's exactly it, though. What is a ting? Why are there two of them?"
"Why would you ask deep questions? Sometimes, the classics aren't deep. Like, listen to this."
He turns up the radio so that even after Veronica comically covers her ears, she hears it blaring.
"'They call me Hell / they call me Sta-cey / they call me Her / they call me Jane / that's not my name …' well, it's my mom's name / that's not my name …'"
He claps his hand on the steering wheel so hard that Veronica feels the passenger seat begin to shake.
"Dammit!" he says. "That's what I'm talking about."
Veronica frowns, crosses her arms, and slumps down toward the car floor.
"I think I liked moody Audioslave Troy better," she mutters.
Troy clicks his tongue with disappointment.
"Aww, no, don't say that," he says. "That guy sucks."
He continues to drum on the steering wheel, and Veronica sits back and watches. It's easier to focus on Troy's hands than look out the window (even though she knows that's what she really needs to do). In the end, she's glad she has him. This morning, everybody made a big deal about who would drive Veronica to the airport to pick up Elenore. Sadie said she would do it, but when she broke down crying again, Johnny thought it was better for them to stay home (Veronica thinks he might have been crying late last night, too.). At some point, Johnny suggested she call Lynnie, but nobody really heard him. Jane almost suggested Soda. When she realized what she was about to say, she covered her mouth and said, "He always got her."
Troy volunteered shortly after Veronica decided she was going to the airport alone. He shook his head and said, "'Of course you are! And I'm coming with you!'" She couldn't really tell him no after that. Veronica doesn't even like Tolkien, but she knows it's not everyday you get your own Sam.
"You know this is good for you," Troy says.
Veronica jumps. She hates being pulled out of her thoughts.
And now she knows it must be genetic.
"Huh?" she asks.
"The music. It's good for you to listen to something silly. It'll keep you from getting stuck. There's this movie I saw a long time ago where Orlando Bloom keeps trying to kill himself, but he can't, because his ringtone is 'I Can't Get Next to You.' Saves his life every time."
Veronica tries to smile. She's kept calm since yesterday, even when she was on the phone with Elenore. She thinks maybe she's numb to it. To discover, at twenty-two, that Ponyboy Curtis is her father is so overwhelming, it knocks her into a fugue. It doesn't even bother her that she gets this from him.
She hasn't felt the need to sit on her hands in almost twenty-four hours.
"I'm not stuck," she says to Troy. "I don't know what I am."
"Yeah, you do," Troy says.
"No, I don't."
"Yeah, you do. You're not like Elenore. I know her. She feels a bunch of shit, but she can't ever say what it is. She's just … messy."
Veronica cringes. It's true, but it doesn't feel right when Troy says it.
"And what am I?"
"You're … smarter than that," Troy says. "You know how not to keep things bottled up. I think you get it from me."
"How could I get it from you?"
"We're cousins. How quickly you forget."
Veronica bites her lip and caves her shoulders in. Troy lets out a tiny sigh and puts his hand on her shoulder. She doesn't move. He's the only person in this family she can bear to love today.
"Hey, I didn't mean to … I never mean to make you upset," he says. "You know that, don't you?"
"Sure," Veronica says. "I just … I don't think there's much you can say that isn't going to make me upset today. Or tomorrow. Or next week. Can you check in with me when I'm twenty-five?"
Troy laughs, discouraged.
"I'll check in with you all the time," he says. "How's that sound?"
"Excessive."
By his smile, Veronica knows he can read underneath her words. She wishes she could do the same for him, but to her, Troy is a blur. She worries that's part of what it means to be Ponyboy's daughter. Everything's a blur except your reflection.
Her phone buzzes in her lap, and when she gets a look at the screen, she's both relieved and disappointed that the text isn't from Elenore. She grunts and crosses one leg over the other.
"What?" Troy asks. "Did you get some ridiculous notification from a delivery app? Like, '5% off when you order $200 from this noodle bar you've never been to?' Or is that just a me thing?"
Veronica rolls her eyes and shoves the screen in Troy's face. He furrows his brow and moves his neck backward a little to be able to read it.
"Evan," he finally says. "You know he texted me to get a hold of you?"
"I didn't."
"Any thoughts about that?"
"I don't know. He has my number. Why doesn't he text me?"
"He did text you. Just now, and that makes a whole twice since you went out with him. And that, I think, is like … the opposite of ghosting. Do you know how hard it is to find a guy in Evan's demographic who doesn't ghost?"
"Not really."
"Then let me give you some context. 'There was green alligators and long-necked geese / some humpty-backed camels and some chimpanzees …'"
"Yes, yes. 'The loveliest of all was the unicorn.' I get it."
"So, why ghost?"
"Why do you think? How would you feel if you went out with a girl, and two days later, she texted you with something like, 'Hey, sorry it took me so long to respond, exclamation point. I just found out my father is someone named Ponyboy?'"
"Well, personally, I'd be horrified, because that would mean I was datin' my cousin. But that's not … did you just say 'exclamation point?'"
"Yes. When I want to make fun of punctuation, I say it out loud."
"Well, as long as you're well-adjusted."
Veronica rolls her eyes. She unlocks her phone and pulls up her text messages out of habit. There's the unopened message from Evan, but right underneath are her most recent texts from Elenore. She pulls it back up and stares at it.
Mom: Just landed. We're pulling around the Tarmac.
Mom: Did you know the place where the planes park isn't actually called the Tarmac? It's called the Apron. Tarmac is the road surface.
Mom: Looks like we've got another "altar vs. ambo" situation on our hands.
Veronica sighs. She never responded to the messages because she hates them. She can't believe Elenore has the nerve to text her with her tongue in her cheek like this was any other flight on any other day. On her last flight to Tulsa, she cried so hard she put herself to sleep, and that was for an old man's funeral. Doesn't she understand that this is worse? Doesn't she understand that this should be somber? Veronica almost thinks about texting her with those very words, but in a split second, she realizes she knows better. If she uses the word somber in front of Elenore, she'll surely say something like, "Hey, remember when Burgermeister Meisterburger banned toys from Sombertown? What a dick."
She'd act a lot like the way Troy is acting now, as he switches from "That's Not My Name" to "Grenade." He points to the speakers with more enthusiasm than Veronica has ever seen from anyone in the world.
"Now, this is how you keep the fifties fresh!" he says. "Fuck Bublé!"
He turns the radio up, and Veronica closes her eyes and tries not to think about it.
"'To give me all your love is all I ever asked / but what you don't understand …'" he (poorly) tries to sing until Veronica reaches out and turns the volume down for him.
"What're you doing?" Troy asks.
"I'm sorry," Veronica says, even though she doesn't really mean it. "Not this song. Not right now."
"Why not?"
She sighs loudly and turns her head to look out the window. There's still no sign of Elenore.
"Jenny and I rewrote that song when I was in tenth grade, and she was in ninth," Veronica says. "'I'd catch a grenade for ya / I'd drink blue Powerade for ya.' It was stupid."
"Sounds like fun to me," Troy says. "You ever write another song like that?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"At the end of that school year, she started going out with Cal, and I started staying in with throw pillows and a Raiders of the Lost Ark DVD. One of us had grown out of silly songs, and it wasn't the one it should've been."
"There's no should've," Troy finally says. "There's just … what happens."
"Or what doesn't," Veronica snaps.
"Yeah. Are you gonna get OK with it?"
Veronica snarls and folds her arms tighter. She has options. She's smart enough to know that. Somewhere, she knows she could reply to Evan's text and ask him to meet up. She knows that back in New York, there are plenty of wannabe Kubricks who would be happy to take her out for coffee and watch her drink a bottle of water instead. But she doesn't do it. Instead, she sits on her bed like Hamlet with the windows shut so she can fabricate madness.
"We'll see," Veronica says, and she hears Troy's exasperated little gasp.
They're quiet except for the radio. Veronica's eyes wander over to Troy's hands. One is firmly holding the steering wheel at 10:00; the other reaches past the gearshift and falls onto the passenger side. She pretends not to know what it's doing there.
"How did you find out, anyway?" Veronica asks.
He turns his neck to look at her. His eyebrows are raised to a point that makes him look like a cartoon. Veronica has always wanted Troy to be a cartoon.
"What?"
"You know what. How did you find out that I'm … that we're…?"
She doesn't get to finish making an awkward moment more awkward. Troy steps on the brakes and rolls the windows down. Veronica could just about kill him for treating this like a party. She straightens her spine and looks toward the automatic doors in the corner of her eye.
From a distance, she watches while Elenore swings a canvas bag around her shoulder and too cautiously makes her way to the car. Veronica rolls her eyes.
Elenore looks too happy to be here.
On the way to Sadie and Johnny's house, Elenore and Veronica don't speak. Elenore jiggles her legs up and down in the backseat, and Veronica opens up an ancient memory. She was in kindergarten, and her class was having an art show. Her drawings were the worst, and her paintings weren't much better. But the teacher hung up the pictures around the walls just before the half-day kids (including Veronica, whose grandparents insisted she didn't need full-day kindergarten simply because they wanted to spend time with her) left for the day. When she got around to hanging up Veronica's painting of the trees in Central Park, all the kids within a few feet of the wall laughed and pointed. Her trees looked like wobbly lollipops. Wobbly lollipops.
That was how Cal put it before he stepped on her shoe.
As the laughter continued, Veronica decided she would tell her mother that the art show was canceled. After all, she didn't want her mother to be embarrassed that all the other kids could draw trees, and her kid was the only one who couldn't. She hoped her mother wouldn't come in the classroom when she picked her up today. She didn't want her to be disappointed. Until today, that was the only time Veronica could remember ever dreading to see Elenore.
Troy pulls into the driveway to let them out of the car. Veronica unbuckles and shuffles out of her seat. She hears Elenore get out of the back, so she quickly turns around and talks to Troy from outside the window. She frowns.
"What's going on?" she asks.
"I'm not sure," Troy says with a smirk. "Is that a trick question?"
"Why aren't you getting out of the car?"
He pulls his eyes away from her without a word. When he starts to drum his thumbs against the steering wheel again, Veronica knows she's not going to like whatever comes next.
"This isn't really my place," he says, and Veronica sighs.
"Really?" she asks. "You're the one who actually told me the truth, and you're saying this isn't your place?"
"Veronica …"
"What, Troy?"
He looks at her again, and Veronica can't help but wish she had blue eyes, too.
"I don't want to get in your way," he says.
"Quit talking like a mentor right before the big death scene and get out of the car!"
He shakes his head again. Veronica knows she would hate him if she didn't love him so much – if he wasn't family.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says, and the gentleness of his voice is enough to make Veronica want to run through a brick wall. "I just think it's good for you to be with your mom. Just your mom."
Veronica exhales through her nose like she's ready to charge. When she spots Elenore out of the corner of her eye, a canvas bag slung around one of her shoulders and a poker face to boot, she's pretty sure she is ready for the charge.
"Fine," she says. "But don't go too far."
Troy chuckles and drums the steering wheel somewhere – this time with an ounce or two of added pep.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he says.
He moves his hand to put the car in reverse. Veronica stops him before he can. She knows her eyes are urgent because of the look Troy gets in his. He reads her too well, and that's always been the problem.
"Yes?" he asks.
But Veronica doesn't say anything. It's not who she is. Troy wiggles his eyebrows like he knows her words better than she does.
"Me too," he says, and he's gone before she realizes what he meant.
Slowly, but not slowly enough, Veronica turns around to look at Elenore. She stands on the edge where the grass meets the concrete and looks up at Veronica. Her lips make a thin red line. Veronica holds back a scoff. She hates when her mother tries to look like a girl.
"I'm glad to see you," Elenore says, voice thick with the tears she knows she's not allowed to cry.
This time, Veronica can't hold it back. She rolls her eyes, too, for good measure.
"Whatever, Mom," she says. "Just get inside."
She turns around and heads toward the door. She almost wants to feel sorry for Elenore when she hears a sharp inhale behind her back. She decides not to.
Either way, Veronica holds the door open for Elenore once they get to the front porch.
For a moment, Veronica decides she hates Sadie. As soon as Elenore walks through the door, Sadie stands firm and looks at her with love; then she rushes over to her and wraps her up in the same embrace she gave to Veronica not one week ago. Elenore melts into her just as easily as Veronica did. Veronica turns her head and shuts her eyes. When Sadie was a twin, she was the one who knew how to pick sides. Everybody's overcompensating now.
Sadie beckons for Veronica to come around, and she decides she doesn't hate her anymore. She can't. After all, they're family today like they weren't the day before.
"It's good, isn't it?" Sadie asks. "To have your mom here."
Veronica crosses one foot over the other and doesn't say anything. Sadie's not this bad at reading the room. She probably just wishes she were. Things have never been bad between Elenore and Veronica before.
It's hard to breathe. Veronica twists out of Sadie's grasp and wanders over to the couch. She could always walk back to Rosemary's old room, shut the door, and pretend like Elenore isn't here. But she's the one who called her. She's the one who asked her to get on a plane and show herself. It would be a pity for Veronica to hide now.
Before she (somehow) fell asleep last night, she had about a hundred fiery fights with Elenore in her head. The phone call between them was short and numb on purpose. Veronica had been saving her energy for the moment she finally saw Elenore. That was when she was going to bite – when she was going to tell her she hated her. She hasn't told her that since she had strep throat that turned her vomit black. She was supposed to be ready.
Then they saw each other.
Veronica watches as Sadie pulls Elenore in for another hug. She closes her eyes and pretends she's not there. If only Sadie would stop pretending to be Soda, maybe they could get something done.
"I'm glad you came," Sadie says.
"That makes one of us," Elenore says with a nervous laugh.
Veronica makes her hands into fists. She wishes she could want to see her mother, and in an unusual way, maybe she's glad to have her here. But then she remembers why, and she just wishes Troy hadn't gone home.
The room somehow gets quieter before there's movement down the hallway. Johnny walks into the living room, staring at his shoes.
"Sadie Lou, have you seen my…?" he starts, but surely, he feels the stiffness in the air. He raises his eyes from the ground and fixes them on Elenore. Veronica stifles a scream when his face turns soft.
For days now, he's been soft for her.
Johnny lets out a small breath and practically jumps toward Elenore – as much as an old man can jump, anyway. She holds out her hands to him, and he takes them. Veronica grabs onto the arm of the couch until her knuckles are white. Doesn't Elenore know? Between the two of them, only Veronica is family.
"I forgot you were comin' in today," Johnny says.
"Surprise," Elenore says. "Well, sort of."
"How … how was your flight?"
"Too long. Too short. I've been on three flights here since December, and only one of them's been a happy one."
It takes every part of Veronica's will not to scream. Her mother doesn't deserve joy. Since Veronica's been around, she never has.
"'S good to see you," Johnny says. "Even … even if I know …"
"It's OK," Elenore says. "It's always good to see you, too."
When Johnny gives Elenore that same small smile he's been giving to Veronica since she got here, Veronica thinks about what it would be like to stand up and vomit all over her mother's shoes.
"My dad … well, I don't think my dad has ever started a conversation with hello, but I know that's what he meant when he said your name at the airport," Elenore says.
Johnny laughs a little and looks at his shoes again.
"Sounds like your dad," he says.
That's when Veronica decides she can't take it anymore. She kicks herself up off the couch and weaves her way in between her mother and her uncle.
"If that's the game we're playing," Veronica says, "then what sounds like my dad? Is it putting maple syrup in the freezer? Throwing a metal fork in the garbage? Is it lying about who he really is for twenty-two years?"
"Veronica …" Elenore tries, but she knows she has nothing.
"Or is it all three?"
Elenore doesn't say anything. She bites down on the inside of her cheek like it's going to help. Veronica feels her hands turn into fists. She knows she gets that from Lucy, who, until yesterday, was her only grandmother.
Her father's mother is dead, but she was born almost 100 years ago.
Sadie takes Johnny by the hand and leads him toward the front door.
"We're just …" Sadie starts, but there are no right words for a moment like this. "Bye."
They're out the door within three seconds. They even let it slam behind them.
Both Veronica and Elenore sigh at the same time and in the same pitch. Veronica pretends like it doesn't comfort her. She circles her mother like a buzzard. She feels like one, too. Twelve years of sitting on her hands when she could have been using them.
"Veronica," Elenore tries again. "I think we should sit down."
"No, thanks," Veronica says. "I don't like sitting."
"Fine. We'll stand."
"That's what I just said. You don't always have to have the last word. But I'm not so sure you know that."
Elenore closes her eyes and shakes her head. Veronica's not stupid enough to think she's defeated, but she wishes she were.
"Baby, come on," Elenore says. "Turn off the Degrassi and just … act like my kid. Please."
Veronica stops dead in her circle and folds her arms across her chest. She has never been so defiant. She has never been so happy.
"Oh!" she says. "You want me to act like your kid."
"Yes."
"Hmm. I guess I could – if I knew who that was."
She starts her circle again. She's not sure if Elenore rolls her eyes or if it just looks that way as she spins around and around.
"Veronica, please stop," Elenore says. "When people really have a conflict, they don't talk like this. I should know! Half the time I don't talk like a real person."
"You're right," Veronica says. "Real people usually tell their daughters who their fathers are, especially if their fathers live blocks away."
Elenore sighs and pulls herself out of Veronica's circle. When she moves onto the couch, Veronica makes sure to stand over her. It's an obvious metaphor, she thinks, but it's a good one. Things don't become obvious unless they're also a little bit good.
"I don't know what to say to you," Elenore says.
"Good," Veronica snaps. "I don't think you should have to say anything."
"You'll do the talking, then. I'd always …"
Veronica arches one eyebrow and dares her mother to finish the sentence. She gulps instead. Good.
She paces back and forth. It's theatrical, and she doesn't care. All her life, Elenore's been the theatrical one – the one who stands up in the middle of the room and makes everyone watch while she stumbles through Fosse's "Hot Honey Rag" and gives longwinded speeches about how New Coke was out to get her, personally, because it debuted weeks before her high school graduation ("It was telling me to move on, and I would not heed its syrupy call!"). Veronica has put up with that – has been bewitched by that – for twenty-two years. It's time her mother sat and watched.
"It's just … it's a little too much for me, you know?" Veronica says. "One day … one day, I know I don't have a father. And sure, I must, somewhere, but I know he doesn't matter. My mother told me he didn't matter."
"I never said that," Elenore objects, and it's true, so Veronica nods.
"Fair enough," she says. "But you never told me who he was, either, so I don't know if that's your best defense. Hey, Mom?"
"What?"
"Remind me what you do for a living?"
Elenore closes her eyes and tenses. When she opens her eyes again, Veronica holds her tongue between her teeth and snickers. Maybe she'll be sick in an hour, but now, there's nothing sweeter than torment.
"Is this what you planned to say?" Elenore asks. "Did you sit down and write this all last night?"
Veronica feels her cheeks get hot. She takes a long breath to calm them down, but it doesn't work. She knows she sounds too panicky when she asks her mother, "What? Why?"
Elenore sighs.
"Because you don't sound like yourself," she says. "And I know … how upset you must be. I know how much of an understatement that is. But when I thought … when I thought about how this conversation would go, I never thought I'd have it with a super villain. I thought I'd have it with my daughter."
In spite of herself, Veronica lets go of a sad sigh and takes a seat next to her mother. She'll never admit it, but there's a part of her that wants to grab her mother's hands and forgive her without another word. But she can't. She can't sit on her hands this time. She has to be able to make a fist.
"OK," Veronica says. "I'll stop."
Elenore looks at her and tries to smile. It all comes out in tears. Veronica can't decide whether that's a good thing because she's too busy swallowing her own tears to think about anyone else's.
"I don't know what to say," Elenore repeats. "Every time I tried to think about it – before I fell asleep, when I was at the gate, when I was on the plane – everything sounded so bad. I can't tell you I'm sorry because it's not enough. I can't tell you … oh, Veronica."
She turns like she's going to grab Veronica's hands, but she draws back. Elenore's not stupid. She's selfish, and that's worse. Veronica balls her hands up into fists again. This time, she knows she's doing it. She stares straight ahead and looks at the world outside Sadie and Johnny's big window. It's stupid, but she's jealous of the people across the street – whoever they are. They don't know a thing about this living room. For them, it's probably just Wednesday. It's stupid, but she can't stop.
"I thought there was so much I wanted to say to you," Veronica says, and her head hurts from the peaks and valleys in her blood. "So … I did write it down."
Elenore almost grins, but she knows better than that.
"I thought so," she says flatly. "You're so much like …"
Veronica raises an eyebrow, and Elenore holds her breath.
"Well, anyway," she mutters.
"Yeah," Veronica says. "I thought I knew what I wanted to say, but now that I hear it … I sound like an idiot."
"Never."
Veronica snorts. Even in desperation, her mother roots for her. She'd be comforted if she weren't so stubborn.
"It's like … it's like there are these whole minutes where I forget," Veronica says. "When we were stuck in traffic on the way back from the airport, and Troy was going on and on about why The O.C. was a good show, I was just … listening to him."
"Yeah," Elenore says. "He's chattier than I am."
Veronica surges with such love for Troy that it startles her fifteen-year-old self somewhere else in time.
"But then … then I remember," Veronica says. "And when I do … I don't know, Mom. It's like my whole body is cold."
She's not surprised when Elenore reaches out and puts a hand on her knee. It's warm. Somewhere, Veronica is glad for it.
"You know what it really feels like?"
"No," Elenore says. "Can you tell me?"
"Remember when we driving through Pennsylvania when I was five? We were going through the mountains. We went through a tunnel, and I was scared. Do you remember?"
Elenore laughs out loud.
"Oh, yes," she says. "You thought we were being swallowed by the mountains."
The memory makes Veronica smile, but barely.
"That's kind of how I feel now," she says. "Like I'm being swallowed by the mountains."
It's silent for too long. Veronica tries to remember the page in her diary with expletives and stories she wanted to bite her mother with. None of them seem to fit. She listens to Elenore's breathing, and she never wants either of them to stand up again.
But then Elenore ruins it by talking.
"You must hate me."
Veronica shrugs.
"Yeah," she says. "But I don't, either. It's both."
Elenore snorts.
"Makes sense," she says. "It's how I felt about my mother when I was twenty-two."
Veronica's stomach drops. She wishes Elenore would stop doing that. Today is their worst day, and even now, she doesn't want Elenore to compare herself to Lucy. When she does, it makes it seem like she's giving up.
"It just doesn't make any sense," Veronica says.
"Which part?"
"Any of it. You … and him. How did that…?"
"I don't want to get into it."
"Are you kidding me?"
"No, I'm not. Look, even if you'd always known … I'm not sitting here and giving my daughter the gory details about how I had an affair with my dad's old pal. It's too All My Children."
"Is that a hint? Am I not the only one the two of you … got up to?"
"Veronica."
"OK, so I'm the only one. But … how long did it last? Can you at least tell me that?"
It's a long time before Elenore answers.
"About four months," she says. "All the way up to when I got pregnant."
"Did you break up because you got pregnant?" Veronica asks.
Elenore looks like she's going to be sick. Veronica can't decide whether or not she's happy about that.
"No," she says. "Not really, anyway."
"Then why did you break up?"
"He loved Carrie. And he wasn't done fighting for her. Turned out she wasn't done fighting for him. It was that easy. Plus, it's not like we were ever … break up isn't exactly the right way of putting it. I think you know what I mean."
Elenore looks down at her hands, and Veronica looks with her. She notices patches of dry skin near her mother's knuckles – unusual for early May. Part of her wants to reach out and take Elenore's hand, just to cover up the dry spots. She doesn't. She can't have Elenore getting the wrong idea.
Apparently, she's great at that.
"Did you love him?" Veronica asks.
She gasps a little after the question mark falls out of her mouth. She hadn't meant to ask it. It's a little surprising when Elenore nods.
"Yes," Elenore says. "I loved him."
The next question hangs in the small bit of air between them.
Do you love him now?
Veronica can't ask that one. She already knows the answer.
"And when I was born," Veronica starts, careful not to look anywhere near her mother's eyes, "what did you … or he…?"
"Pony didn't come by for two days after you were born," Elenore says. "I bled and bled when I had you, and he knew about it. I could have died having his baby. And he didn't come to meet you until you were two days old."
Veronica tightens her jaw.
"Well," she says with clenched teeth. "I guess he did kind of have a lot going on that weekend. His grandson was born."
"Sure, but so was his daughter."
That's still enough to knock the wind out of Veronica's lungs. She closes her eyes and hopes that will do something. It just makes her think about how when she opens them again, they'll be green.
"What happened when he came to meet me?" Veronica asks. "What did he do?"
Elenore gulps hard, and Veronica acts like she can't imagine what it must be like to be her mother today.
"He asked if he could hold you," she says. "I didn't … I wasn't sure, at first, what I should say. But I let him."
Veronica scoffs, and Elenore taps her on the knee. When Veronica looks at her mother, she hates her expression. Such disbelief from a woman who's kept the same secret for more than twenty years.
"What?" Elenore asks.
"You let him," Veronica says. "Sounds like you were in charge."
"Well, of course I was in charge. You were my baby. I was the one who went home to raise you. Not him."
"But how much of that is because you didn't ask him what he wanted? Huh? How much of that is because you didn't let him?"
Elenore is a bottle rocket. She stands up, whips around, and points her finger right in Veronica's face.
"Hey!" she says. "That is not true."
"How am I supposed to know that?" Veronica asks.
"Because you've met me, and you've met … you've met Ponyboy, all right? I always kept the door open for him step in and to be your dad. But he never walked all the way in. He just kept the door propped open with his back."
"How did he do that?"
"By being in your life! He showed up to your plays and speeches, but he never showed up to conferences. He took Cordelia's old room and made it yours, but did you ever notice there was no bed? He held you when you were two days old, and he asked me if he could be your friend. You grew up, and he never once asked me if it was time to tell you he was your dad. And I know I didn't … I know I didn't ask him if it was time to tell you, either, but that's not the point. He didn't want us, Veronica. Not all the time, and not all the way."
Veronica closes her eyes until she's pretty sure she's gone blind. It's all the tears she wouldn't be allowed to cry if she were in New York right now. She opens her eyes again, and even though she knows they're bloodshot, she doesn't care. She can't care.
"How do you know he wasn't asking that so you'd say something else?" Veronica tries. "How do you know he didn't ask, 'Can I be her friend?' so that you'd say, 'No, you should be her dad?'"
Elenore shakes her head for a while before she answers.
"I know Ponyboy," she says. "That's not what he meant."
"But what if you gave him the chance?"
"Veronica! No. I wanted him … I wanted him to want you. I wanted him to want you more than that crowd in Tokyo wanted Cheap Trick. And now I can hear my dad yelling at me to stop making jokes when I'm trying to be serious, but dammit, I don't think I can be one or the other."
"Well, try."
Elenore stuffs her hands into her back pockets, and Veronica hates that she learned from her.
"He was supposed to fight for you," Elenore says. "You're his daughter. I shouldn't have had to ask him to want you."
"But this wasn't the same as when you were born," Veronica says. "My parents weren't already married, like yours. Everything was different, and when everything's different … don't you think … maybe you did have to tell him it was OK. You know – to fight for me."
But Elenore keeps shaking her head.
"You know that's not an excuse," Elenore says. "If my dad could decide he wanted me when he was nineteen, then yours … then Pony … he was supposed to be a better man."
Veronica narrows her eyes at Elenore and doesn't let the words on the back of her tongue slip through her teeth.
And you were supposed to be a better mom.
If Elenore's sniffles are any indication, she could hear Veronica thinking it, anyway.
"I know this isn't worth much," Elenore says. "But I just … I love you, Veronica. I love you more than anything or anybody. I never wanted you to get hurt. And when Pony … when he didn't pick you the way I thought he would … when he didn't pick us … I guess I thought a little too much about me. I didn't think enough about you."
She covers her eyes with the palm of her hand. Veronica wants to slap it away, but she also wants to pull her mother close and tell her they'll make it through. She wants to.
"Mom," Veronica says, and Elenore looks up.
"Yeah?"
The knot in Veronica's gut furls and unfurls every time she breathes. Finally, she catches onto something. Her shoes dig into the carpet, and she can speak as freely as she did before her tenth birthday.
"I'm not … I know you lied," she says. "And it's not worth it to me to stand here and cry about it because it's done."
"Veronica?"
"No, no, let me finish. I'm not going to cry because you did it. All I want to know now … is why."
Elenore brings her shoulders to her earlobes and falls back down on the couch next to Veronica. She stiffens when her mother's arm lightly brushes up against hers and not because her touch is uncomfortable.
"Because I was scared," Elenore says.
Veronica shakes her head back and forth. She should have known.
"Scared," she repeats. "Of what?"
Elenore looks up at her and bites her lip like a little girl. She's going to answer, but Veronica wishes she wouldn't. She doesn't want to have to be afraid of Ponyboy, too, on top of hating him.
"I ruined everything," Elenore says.
All Veronica sees is red.
"Sure," she says. "You had me, and it ruined everything."
She turns on her heels and heads toward the door. Once more, Elenore jumps up from the couch like a shot and reaches for Veronica. She does not reach far enough.
"Veronica!" she says. "Don't go."
But all Veronica can do is shrug. There's a part of her, hovering above herself, that knows she should stay in the house – that she should show the same compassion that Sadie or Soda would show. But she's not Sadie or Soda. Carrie was right about her when they talked yesterday. Veronica is all Dally.
"Whatever, Mom," she says for the second time today. "I don't want somebody who doesn't want me."
The air leaves the room, exactly as she wanted it to. She doesn't look back at Elenore because she doesn't have to. She's a mess, and Veronica doesn't need to see it. She just needs to cause it. She's done being sweetie.
Her lungs burn as she starts to run down the block – all the way to someone who wants her even less.
It's Darry who answers the door this time around.
Usually, when he spots Veronica on the front porch, he turns pink with uncertainty, clears his throat, and makes some excuse for why it's taken him so long to invite her in. That's not today. Today, when Darry sees his littlest niece, he awkwardly bows and then looks up twice as awkwardly. His face is seasick as he moves aside to let her through the door. It's her family home, too.
"Hey, kid," he says dryly. "I was wonderin' … come in."
Veronica walks into the living room and then stops. She realizes she doesn't want to sit anywhere. The couch reminds her of yesterday. The chair reminds her of all the days before. She doesn't even have a chance to make a choice. Lynnie barrels down the hallway with tears in her eyes and arms wide open. She sweeps Veronica into a hug, and although Veronica doesn't return it, she was expecting it.
"Oh, honey," Lynnie says. "I was afraid you were going to … you're here."
Veronica nods. It's almost the same thing Lynnie said four days ago, but it'll never sound the same again. Lynnie backs up a bit and holds both of Veronica's hands like she's a prize.
"I didn't think you'd want to come back," Lynnie says.
"I wasn't sure, either," Veronica says back. "But here I am."
Lynnie tries to smile because Lynnie always tries to smile. She points to the couch and offers Veronica a seat. She stares at the couch for maybe thirty seconds before she plops herself onto the floor for the second time in less than a week. Lynnie closes her eyes and breathes deeply.
"That's OK," she says. "The floor is always welcome to you."
Lynnie waves Darry over to the couch, and the two of them sit where they can most easily talk to Veronica on the floor. As always, they leave the spot in the middle wide open.
"I don't know the right thing to say," Lynnie tries, and it's already so cliché. "I've been thinking … I've been thinking since yesterday about what I would say if I got to see you again. And the only thing I could come up with was …"
"That you're sorry," Veronica says, and Lynnie nods.
"Yeah. How did you…?"
"Everybody's sorry for something, even when it's not their fault."
Lynnie blinks back a few tears that fall from her eyes, anyway. It sets Veronica's teeth on edge. She hates that about people like Lynnie and Sadie. They'll cry for anybody all the time like they're the ones with the problem. Lynnie and Sadie are hurt by anything, even when it has nothing to do with them. They're the kind of people who cry when you mow the lawn because you might be hurting the grass, and they the kind of people who cry when you find out your good friend Pony has been your daddy the whole time. It's embarrassing, Veronica thinks. She doesn't think Soda would have acted this way.
Her eyes fix on Darry, who now looks even more ill than he did three minutes ago.
"You knew, right?" she asks. "Before yesterday, you knew you were …"
"Your uncle," Darry says. "Yeah, I knew."
"How long?"
He sighs. Lynnie grabs his hand and squeezes it gently. Veronica wishes everybody would stop being so precious about it and start throwing punches like they used to. Things must have been simpler when they were boys looking for a fight.
"When you were twelve," Darry says, and Veronica swears his voice cracks. "Elenore said … she just couldn't keep it from us for much longer."
Veronica scoffs.
"Sure," she says. "She'll tell you, but she won't tell me."
"I think it was because she and I are family," Lynnie says. "Even before yesterday, you knew … I'm your cousin. So are Willow and Jimmy and the kids. You knew you were related to me."
"But ya didn't know about me," Darry says. "And I think it was drivin' your mom crazy. To know you were related to us on both sides."
Veronica shudders. Before now, she hadn't given herself the time to consider that. To think about her mother and Ponyboy has always been sickening, but to think about herself as Lynnie's cousin and Lynnie's niece is enough to make her want to gouge her own eyes out.
"Great," she says. "I don't know whether to call myself Antigone or Ismene."
"What?" Darry asks.
Veronica thinks she'll be the one to answer, but she's not.
"They were Oedipus' kids," Ponyboy says as he walks into the living room and takes a seat on the chair like he's welcome. "Two of 'em, anyway – his daughters. And his sisters, too. It was both. That's why it was a tragedy."
Veronica spins around so quickly she's not even aware of the massive rug burn on her thighs. She looks at Pony like he's gone mad (because he probably has).
"May I help you?" she asks.
"Veronica …"
"Because I'm pretty sure nobody asked you out here. I didn't come here to see you."
"Well, then, who'd ya come to see? I know it ain't Darry."
Veronica watches as Darry bows his head to the floor again. Lynnie reaches out and rubs his shoulders.
"I don't know why I'm here," Veronica says. "I just knew I couldn't be there."
Pony gets a grave look in his eyes. She's not sure if he knew about Elenore being in Tulsa, but he sure knows now. He's been getting this look about Elenore for longer than Veronica can remember. She should have known.
"I get it," he says. "Your mom … she can be a handful."
Veronica's stomach turns upside down. She could have gone the rest of her life without picturing Ponyboy Curtis getting a handful of her mother.
"I'm sorry," she snaps. "What are you doing out here? Did you know I was here, or are you just being Ponyboy?"
She thinks she can hear Darry stifle a snicker behind his hand. Lynnie gently swats at him. It's not funny, really, but Veronica feels sort of proud. As far as she knows, it takes a lot to make Darry laugh.
"I heard ya come in," Pony says. "I didn't … I didn't wanna hide from you."
Veronica rolls her eyes farther back than she ever has before.
"It's what you've been doing," she says. "Why stop now?"
Pony opens his mouth, but all that comes out is that terrible squeaking sound you make when you're clean out of words. Veronica knows it all too well. It's a sound she's been making since two days after her tenth birthday – the ten-year anniversary of the day her father finally decided it was worth it to meet her.
She turns her head when she hears rustling from the couch. It's Lynnie and Darry, hand-in-hand, making their way out of the house.
"Come on," Lynnie says. "We better leave them alone."
Veronica tips her head and looks at them desperately.
"Are you kidding me?" she asks. "You think you should leave me alone with him? I didn't come here to see him!"
"But'cha didn't come here to see us, either," Darry says, and Lynnie threads her fingers through his. His eyes melt a little. Veronica can see the green in them, too.
"I …" she tries, but it's no use. It's never any use with Darry.
"Come on, Lynne," he says. "I think you had the right idea."
Lynnie gives Veronica one weak smile before she turns her back and walks out the front door. Everybody's doing that lately – walking out the door as soon as they see Veronica coming. Everybody's turning their back on her and running away from her.
Everybody but Troy, and even he's not here now.
She hugs her knees to her chest and looks up at the ceiling, careful to avoid eye contact with Ponyboy. It's an ugly ceiling, but she knows it well. Seven years ago, when she and Elenore fled to Tulsa to get away from Pete Butler, they stayed at this house, in Sadie's old room. Every morning, Veronica was the first person to wake up. Quietly – and Veronica did everything quietly, especially seven years ago – she'd get up from the bed, grab her iPod off the charger, and make her way out into the living room. When she was sure she was alone, she'd put in her headphones, look up at the ceiling, and listen to "Drunk on the Moon." She knew the ceiling was ugly then, but there was still something she loved about it. It felt more like a home before she knew she was entitled to it.
"I can't believe they bailed," Veronica mutters.
"I can," Pony says. "Darry never liked it when things got too heavy. Usually left that for Sadie. Sometimes Soda."
"Don't try to bond with me."
"I ain't tryin' to bond with ya. I already have. That part's been over."
Veronica finally lets herself look at Ponyboy. She takes in his every feature. Beneath his wrinkles, she thinks she can see back to a time when he was handsome. She still hates him, even if he's the reason she's pretty.
She looks closer for the things in his face she can find on hers. Their noses tip the same way. She has his ears. A long time ago, there was red in Ponyboy's hair; today, there's a little red in Veronica's.
Veronica is not forgetting the eyes. There's no way she ever could.
Delicately, she sighs and looks at the carpet. She doesn't know what color it was when her grandparents lived here, but for as long as she can remember, it's been khaki. It's the perfect color for Darry, she thinks. It's the perfect color for her secret uncle who's known the truth about her for ten years and never said a word.
She thinks maybe she'll throw up on the carpet, instead. Make it the perfect color for Darry with just a little spot of filth to remind him – all of them – that they're not off the hook.
Ponyboy distracts her before she can work up any bile.
"How's your mom?" he asks.
Veronica makes a face.
"Why?" she asks. "Thinking about making another move for old time's sake?"
"Veronica …"
"You know she's married now, right? Of course, you're married now, and you were married then. That didn't really stop you. Let's see. What would stop you? You'd think it would be the fact that she's your old buddy's one and only child, but I guess that didn't matter much, either."
"Veronica."
"What?"
Ponyboy shakes his head, and Veronica thinks even the thought of his name is profane today.
"Nothin'," he says, and he's lying. "I just don't want you to be mean to your mom. That's all."
"That's all?" Veronica asks. "My mother doesn't tell me who my father is for twenty-two years, and you don't … you think I shouldn't be mean to her?"
"I ain't sayin' she wasn't wrong. I'm not – look, this ain't just your mom's fault. And your mom … she's got reasons."
"Yeah. I've heard them. I can't say I'm interested."
Pony gently exhales. For a moment – about as long as a heartbeat or two – Veronica thinks she can make it sound like she's having a real talk with her real dad.
Her heart beats a third time, and she decides to hate him again.
"I know," Pony says. "I can't even imagine all the shit you must be sick of right about now."
"Sure you can," Veronica says. "I'm sick of being left in the dark about my own life. It's really not that hard to imagine, especially for someone who's imagination is …"
She erratically waves her hands in front of Ponyboy's face.
"Like this," she says and retracts her hand.
Pony sighs again and leans forward in his chair. It seems like he wishes he could get down on the floor with Veronica. All that does is remind her that he's old. He's old, and he's her dad. It hardly seems fair.
"You're right," Pony says. "I'm sorry. You didn't … you oughta have better than what we gave ya. So, right here. Right now. Ask me anything about … what happened … and I'll answer."
Veronica arches her eyebrows, bored as hell.
"And how do I know it won't be a bunch of bullshit?" she asks. "Everything else always has been. Why would you stop?"
"Because there's no reason to keep it goin'," Pony says. "You know who I am. I ain't hidin'."
She looks into his eyes (hers) and bites down hard on her bottom lip. God help her. She's known him so long she can't help but trust him.
"Fine," she says. "If you want me to ask, I'll ask. What were you thinking? Why would you go after your friends' daughter?"
"Veronica …"
"No. No bullshit."
He takes a deep breath.
"I wasn't thinking," he says. "I mean … sure, I was thinkin' about something. I'm always thinkin' about something. But I wasn't thinkin' about Dally or Lucy or even Elenore. I was thinkin' about me."
"But why would you want her?" Veronica asks. Her voice wobbles as she tries not to cry again. "Why would you want your friends' daughter?"
Pony shakes his head and breaks eye contact. He answers the question and keeps his eyes steady on the bookshelf beside him.
"I wasn't thinkin' about who she was," he says. "I just knew … she wanted me. And it had been … well, I don't think I gotta say the rest in front of you."
Veronica ignores the pinkness in her cheeks and shakes her head. He doesn't have to paint her a picture.
"So, then, what were you thinking?" she asks again.
"I just told ya. I ain't gonna say more."
"Not about my mother. What were you thinking when you abandoned a child?"
She watches as he closes his eyes and thinks. Maybe it's a good thing he has to pause. But then, of course, she looks closer. He's pausing, but he has the answer. She can see it behind his lips.
Veronica does not have her father's lips.
"I don't know," he says. "I guess … I guess you wouldn't hear it if I said I wasn't thinkin' very much, would ya?"
She shakes her head.
"No," she says. "I wouldn't take the same answer twice in a row. But make it make sense to me. You spent all those years watching kids – Johnny and Two-Bit and my grandfather – you spent all those years watching them grow up without dads. I know it broke your heart. If it didn't, you wouldn't have written about it."
Pony hangs his head, and Veronica is happy about it (except for the part where she's mortified).
"It wasn't that easy," he says, and Veronica rolls her eyes.
"It's always that easy. I was your kid. You're supposed to stick around and care about your kid. If my grandfather could hold my mother when he was nineteen and stick around for her … then why didn't you stick around for me?"
Pony clenches and unclenches his hands. Veronica studies them, just as she studied her mother's earlier today. His knuckles are dry in the same places that Elenore's were, too.
"I didn't know what to do with you," he says. "I never … nobody was plannin' on you, but there you were. And every time I looked at you, I just saw …"
His voice trails off. Veronica breathes deeply and pulls him back in.
"No," she says. "You don't get to stop when you say you're going to tell me what I want to know. When you looked at me, you saw what? You have to tell me."
He looks up at her, and he starts to cry. He looks like a little boy, but he's supposed to be her daddy.
Veronica Winston has no daddy.
"I just saw everything I ever did wrong," he says. "You … and Cordelia … I ain't never did right by either of you. Too busy doin' right by myself."
Veronica swallows to keep from sobbing. By some miracle, it works. It takes her a minute to find her voice in her throat, but once it's there, she speaks.
"I reminded you of how you failed," she says. "It's what every little girl wants to hear from the daddy she's always dreamt of meeting."
Pony has the nerve to frown at her like he's a real parent.
"Hey!" he snaps. "That ain't what I said, so quit puttin' words in my mouth. You ain't … you ain't my failure, Veronica. You're one of the best things I ever done."
"And I still wasn't good enough," she says under her breath. "I wasn't good enough to keep you."
"That ain't what this is about."
"Then what is it about? Everybody's really excited to jump down my throat and tell me what this isn't. Nobody will tell me what it is. I'm starting to think none of you really know."
After that, Pony doesn't say anything. Still a little while later, Veronica figures out why. They don't know what this is. There's nothing to call it because it isn't quite a tragedy.
"Fine, then," Veronica says stiffly. "Do my grandparents know?"
Pony nods, and even though Veronica expected it, she still feels queasy. And here, she was sure Lucy and Dally were the last people she could count on.
"Your mom told them after she broke up with Pete," he says. "Dally came right over and gave me this."
He points to the scar on his lip. Even in her disappointment, Veronica can't help but feel proud to know Dally. She thinks she might have done the same thing.
"And everyone else?" Veronica asks. "Do they know?"
"Everybody from the old gang. Two-Bit didn't know for sure till you were done with high school. But I didn't think any of the kids knew, except for Core. I don't know how Troy found out. I tried callin' him yesterday, but he didn't pick up."
Veronica stops. She's able to inhale deeply one more time and feels her last question rattling in her lungs. Finally, she eases it out.
"So," she starts, trying to keep her voice steadier than her knees. "If … everybody from the old gang knew … that means somebody had to find out first, right? Besides you and Carrie."
Pony nods a few times.
"Well, yeah," he says. "Your mom never put it out in a newsletter to all of us, 'f that's what you're askin'. Everybody found out … when they found out."
"Yeah. So, if somebody found out first … I just want to know which one of you it was."
But Pony doesn't say. He just stares into her eyes and expects her to hear it. Stubbornly, she doesn't. She can't. All she can think is that on Monday evening, she had a home, and by Tuesday afternoon, she found out it was a soundstage. There's a wacky announcer's voice in the back of her mind.
Coming up next … they're a big family with an even BIGGER secret! Everybody knows the truth, but don't let the baby find out!
Everybody and everything in the world wrapped around itself to make Veronica Winston feel safe. She'd be heartened if she weren't so sick.
"Ponyboy," she says, cutting into her own thoughts. "I asked you a question. Don't …"
"Why'd you ask it if you already know the answer?"
Veronica jerks backward and frowns. Pony shakes his head. For a guy who's good at lying, he's even better at spotting it.
"Come on, sweetie," he says (because he can't read a room). "You know who your mom is."
She does. No matter how much Veronica wishes she could forget Elenore today, she never could.
"Soda," Veronica says. "And he came home pissed off after meeting me when I was a baby … because he knew."
Pony nods like it's the easiest thing in the world. Briefly, Veronica wonders what it would be like to knock his teeth in.
"He knew longer than anybody," Pony says. "Says he figured it out when he saw … well, ya know."
He gestures toward her eyes, so she closes them.
"How much longer?" Veronica asks, closing her eyes tighter. "How much longer did Soda know than the rest of them?"
Pony takes a moment to answer. Veronica can hear him shift his weight in the chair. Good. She's always loved to make him squirm. She just didn't know it was because he deserved it.
"Ten years," he says. "What you saw … with Sadie in your room at my place … nobody else found out before that."
The whole world presses down on Veronica's neck. Ten years. Her mother kept a secret from everybody but Soda for ten years. Soda knew more about Veronica's life than Veronica did. He loved her and hugged her and called her little lady until the day he died … and he never told her. He loved her and hugged her and called her little lady until the day he died … and he never got to be her uncle.
Oh, God.
Soda was her uncle.
She's not sure which train of thought to follow. Each one moves too fast for her to hop onto it. Veronica doesn't get to look at Soda differently now. She can only look back at him. She can only wonder what it would have been like to hug him and know. Her eyes wander over to his spot on the couch, and though she tries to make herself see him there, she can't. Grief doesn't work like that.
She thinks about how if Soda were still here, he'd be the only one with his head screwed on. He'd be the only one who knew how to talk to Pony and Elenore. He'd be the only one who remembered to listen to Veronica. At least, that's what she thinks. She only ever knew him in spots.
He's dead, and she'll remember him in even fewer.
"Veronica?" Ponyboy says. "You still in there?"
She narrows her gaze at them and then stands up. She swears she can't feel her tongue as she answers him.
"Sure," she says. "I just … I have to go."
"Go where?"
She throws a dismissive hand over him as she trails down the hallway.
"I don't know," she says. "If I couldn't be with Mom, then I know I can't sit here and be with you."
Even though she can't see his expression, she likes to imagine he's dejected. Of course, he probably isn't. He's never cared enough to be dejected before. If you're Ponyboy Curtis, then today's just Wednesday for you, too.
In the end, Veronica winds up on the bathroom floor, back against the cabinet under the sink, hands over her eyes. She's not crying.
She's waiting.
Veronica has her back against the cabinet under the sink when she's eight years old in Greenwich Village. She's been in the bathroom for ten minutes already. Maybe only five. There's no clock in here, and she's never been good at keep track of time.
She hears a knock at the door.
"Go away," she says.
"Are you sure?" asks the voice on the other side.
She rolls her eyes. Soda.
"Yes," she says. "Especially if it's you."
Soda chuckles from the outside. The nerve of him!
"C'mon, little lady," he says. "Just lemme talk to ya. I didn't mean to make ya sad."
Gently, Veronica sighs and stands up from the floor. There are tile prints on the backs of her legs because that's what her skin – and only her skin – is like. She opens the door and finds Soda standing there with a smile on his face. Veronica can't help but give him a smile of her own. He's catching.
"You didn't make me sad," she says.
"Well, that's good," Soda says. "Ain't it?"
"You made me mad."
Soda bites his tongue and holds back another chuckle.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Can I come in?"
"To the bathroom?"
"Well, I don't see where else I'd wanna go!"
It makes her laugh, but she doesn't know why. She steps aside and lets Soda through the door. He looks around the room with a funny sort of expression.
"What?" she asks. "What are you doing?"
"Tryin' to figure out where I oughta sit," Soda says. "I'm too old to sit on the edge of the bathtub anymore, and I'm not about to sit on the lid of the toilet."
Veronica is eight years old and can't help but giggle at the word toilet. Soda kind of seems like he's eight years old when he says it, too. Sometimes she forgets he's an old man because he's as sweet as he would be if he were still a kid.
"How about you stand?" Veronica asks. "And I sit on the bathtub?"
"You got yourself a deal."
Veronica sits on the edge of the tub and looks up at Soda. He's still grinning, and she frowns. This only makes him grin more. It will be years before she understands why.
"So, tell me," Soda says. "Why're you mad at me?"
"It's obvious," she says. "Whenever you come here, my mom pays too much attention to you."
Soda gets this look in his eye. Veronica is eight years old, but she knows it's a look of regret, even if she doesn't have the right words.
"Oh," he says.
"Yeah."
"Well … I don't mean to take your mom away from ya. I never mean to make you upset."
"Then what do you mean?"
Soda sighs a little and leans up against the sink. His forearms rest right on the edge. Veronica's not sure why she thinks she needs to pay attention.
"I mean your mom's been my best pal for a long time," he says. "We don't get to see each other too much, so when we do ... you must feel kinda left out."
Veronica looks down at the ground and scowls.
"No," she says. "I don't care."
"Veronica," Soda says, a little firmer than usual. "Come on. You don't gotta lie to me."
She looks up at him again and sees him smiling. It's a good smile, she thinks. Maybe one of the best there ever was. There's something in her blood that makes her love him even when she's trying not to. She must get it from her mother.
"I ain't ever tryin' to make you feel left out," Soda says. "Your mom means the whole world to me, but did ya know you mean the whole world to me, too?"
Veronica shakes her head.
"Well, you better start knowin' it!" he says. "Now, can we get outta the bathroom? It ain't the best place to be, knowin' what goes on in here most of the time."
Veronica can't help but giggle again. She stands up and nods.
"Yeah," she says. "I won't be mad at you anymore."
"That's real nice, little lady. I appreciate it."
He pushes himself forward after resting on the sink, and Veronica gets a look at his arms. His skin has dents from where the sink was digging into it. She furrows her brow, and he gives her the same look.
"What's the matter?" he asks.
"Your arms," she says. "They get all marked up when you touch something for a long time. Just like mine."
Soda stretches his arms out and smiles at the indentations. Veronica doesn't know why, but she follows along, anyway.
"You're right," he says and wraps one arm around her tiny shoulders. "How about that?"
Veronica shakes the memory of Soda from her head and stands up. Her legs are marked up from the tiles, and she pretends not to care that she and Soda had the same skin – that Soda was her uncle. It's no use. She cares so much it turns her stomach. It's one thing to know that Sadie's her aunt, and Darry's her uncle. It's another to know she could have had Soda. She can't explain it, but she knows that would have been different.
It would have explained why his death in December is still fresh in May.
Perhaps it would make sense for Veronica to cry for the love she'll never know. She knows she probably should. All this time she's wanted to cry for Soda, and all this time, she hasn't had a reason. Now, even though she does, she still can't do it. She doesn't have the guts.
Besides, there's something she needs to do. She needs to smile.
Veronica grabs the sink with both hands and hoists herself in front of the mirror. She stares at her face until it doesn't look like a face anymore. Slowly, she breathes in and out and lets her lips form the smile they don't remember how to make. Once her grin all the way there, she sees.
Like all the Curtis cousins, she looks just like Soda when she smiles.
Her smile collapses. She feels herself make a fist and throw it in the air like she's going to punch the mirror, but she catches it before her knuckles can even tap the glass. She unfolds her hand and stares at her palm like she's never seen it before.
What was that?
Veronica doesn't know what comes over her when she reaches into her bra and pulls out a tube of lipstick. It's her favorite shade today, which feels good – fitting. She pulls off the cap and writes on the mirror instead of shattering it. It doesn't take her any time to figure out what she wants to say. She presses lipstick to glass and scribbles.
Am I still the moon?
After one step back and a cursory glance, Veronica decides it's good.
She caps the lipstick back up and walks out the door, leaving it open behind her. She's not sure where she wants to go next, but she can't stay here.
Title is a quote from the film Elizabethtown, which is the Orlando Bloom movie that Troy references in the first scene of this chapter.
As for the more obscure references: Troy's line about coming with Veronica is from The Fellowship of the Ring. "I Can't Get Next to You" is a song by The Temptations. The song Troy quotes when he talks about Evan is "The Unicorn" by The Irish Rovers. Burgermeister Meisterburger is the villain in Rankin-Bass's Christmas special, Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town. "Hot Honey Rag" is the last number in the Bob Fosse musical, Chicago. All My Children was a soap opera. Cheap Trick is a band, and the version of "I Want You to Want Me" that you know best is from their concert in Tokyo, where the song was a number-one hit. "Drunk on the Moon" is a song by Tom Waits.
Hinton owns The Outsiders. I own a bunch of new pastry-scented lotions that I bought as a slightly early birthday present to myself.