The Thomas-Brewers are the only real family I know. Real like families in books and on t.v. Real families are together, happy and laughing. They like each other and each others' company. They're loud and chaotic. And everyone is included.
Abby spends too much time at the Thomas-Brewers. I think my sisters and I do too. No one has ever said anything. No one ever would. They invite us over, insistently, and welcome us like their own. The Thomas-Brewers aren't perfect, but they are loving and wonderful in their own unique ways.
Maria and I walk over on Saturday afternoon, carrying a bowl of poorly made potato salad. Tiffany is working an eight-hour shift at Hot Dog On A Stick, like she does most weekends. I know she'll be sorry she missed this. Tiffany would never admit it, but she looks forward to the Thomas-Brewers' barbecues just as Maria and I do. And with the weather colder and the days darker, there aren't many more barbecues to look forward to.
The Thomas-Brewer household is still a full house, even with Karen and Andrew living full-time in Chicago with their mom and stepdad, and with Charlie away at Central Connecticut State in New Britain, where he's a senior. But the house is still loud and hectic even with just Watson, Elizabeth, Nannie, Kristy, David Michael, and Emily Michelle. And usually Abby. And Sam's typically around, hiding out from his wife, but Janet always tracks him down. They live with Janet's parents not far from our neighborhood.
Maria and I enter the backyard through the gate. We can hear Abby and Kristy shouting while David Michael yells "whoop whoop whoop!" I know there's already a soccer game in full swing. Even though their fall sport is volleyball, Abby's true passion still lies with soccer and Kristy's with softball. Abby's slowly converted the Thomas-Brewers into soccer fans, much to Kristy's dismay.
Maria breaks into a run around the side of the house. She's already out on the grass in the middle of the game when I reach the patio. Maria is usually only interested in swimming, but lately she's become fascinated with Kristy and Abby. She tries to dress like them, talk like them, and act like them (which, understandably, can be rather annoying). But she can never decide which she idolizes more. Today she must be leaning toward Kristy because she's racing across the lawn in jeans and a white turtleneck, her reddish brown hair tied back in a ponytail.
Almost everyone's involved in the soccer game - Kristy, Abby, David Michael, Emily Michelle, Sam, Watson, and even Nannie, who at seventy-seven shows no signs of slowing down. Only Elizabeth and Janet are sitting on the patio, a fair distance apart. They don't get along.
"Hello Shannon," Elizabeth greets me, warmly, standing up and taking the bowl from my hands. "You didn't have to do that."
"You won't thank me when you taste it," I admit and Elizabeth laughs, a lilting, motherly laugh.
"I'll go put this in the fridge," she says, starting for the back door.
Janet turns around in her chair. "Will you get the baby? It's time for her to get up from her nap."
Elizabeth hesitates, then says in a measured voice, "Yes. I can get your baby."
When Elizabeth is inside and the door shut, Janet turns back around and mimics, "Yes. I can get your baby," then mutters something I don't catch. She crosses her arms and slumps down in her chair, angrily blowing a long strand of dark hair off her face. It just falls right back and she has to push it away. Janet has a very pointy chin and sort of buggy eyes, a look further enhanced by all the dark eye make-up she wears. She still hasn't lost all the baby weight, which she carries mostly in her hips and rear. She isn't the girl anyone imagined Sam Thomas to end up with. Elizabeth is very disappointed. She and Kristy blame Janet for what has happened to Sam's life. Sam blames her, too.
I like Janet. But Kristy doesn't want to hear that.
I pull over a patio chair and position it an equal distance between Elizabeth and Janet. I'm used to being a buffer.
"Here she is," Elizabeth sings out, coming through the door with Amy in her arms. She instantly deposits Amy on Janet's lap. Amy's not quite two. She has a mess of wild dark hair and big blue eyes. She looks like Sam. Kristy and Elizabeth are thankful for this. "Aren't you going to play, Shannon?" Elizabeth asks me.
I shake my head. Soccer is the only sport I enjoy, although I'm not good enough for the school team. "No," I answer. "The teams are even. Four on four." I won't admit that sitting and sulking with Janet has more appeal.
Elizabeth knows. She pats my shoulder and leans down and whispers in my ear, "Boys come and go," then she walks to the other end of the patio and takes the cover off the barbecue.
Kristy told her mother! My insides grow hot again. I feel my cheeks, discreetly, hoping to tell by touch if they're red.
Janet spins around to face me. "So, what did the note really say?" she asks.
She told Janet, too! She must have told everyone.
"I'm sure Kristy quoted it accurately," I reply, stiffly.
"Wow. That's harsh."
I sit up very straight in the chair, crossing my legs and folding my hands over my knee. I stare out at the soccer game. I momentarily consider asking Janet about rejection. Everyone knows Sam doesn't love her, doesn't even attempt to pretend to. She must feel rejected every day, again and again, until it's ingrained deep and permanent, an ache that never goes away. I have never been rejected before. And now I have and it stings of humiliation and failure. I thought Mick loved me. I was a good girlfriend. I gave him his space and expected mine in return. I didn't call too much or nag or ask too many questions. I tried to be the perfect girlfriend. I tried and I tried and still came up lacking.
What is wrong with me?
I shrug my shoulders and respond, coolly, "It's not a big deal." It rolls easily off my tongue, as easily as if it were the truth.
Janet laughs. "Yes, it does." She has a rich, throaty laugh.
I shake my head, then shrug my shoulders again, like I'm shaking off my feelings.
Out on the lawn, the soccer game has halted so Nannie and Watson can catch their breath. Sam stretches his arms and turns in our direction. "Hey Janet!" he bellows. "Get me a soda!"
"Get it yourself!"
"The cooler's right by you foot!"
"I'm busy holding your baby!" Janet snaps back.
"Get me a soda, too, Janet!" David Michael shouts. He's never very nice to Janet either, following Sam's lead.
"Janet," Elizabeth calls from the barbecue, "will you just get up and get your husband a soda?"
Janet rises, mumbling something I can't hear. She hikes Amy onto one hip and kicks the lid off the cooler. Then she slowly carries a single soda can out to David Michael. "I can only carry one," she tells Sam, "because I'm holding your baby," then she walks slowly back to the patio. She takes another soda from the cooler and hurls it at Sam. She has a pretty good arm. Kristy should at least be impressed by that.
"That wasn't necessary, Janet," Elizabeth says.
I don't like everything about the Thomas-Brewers.
The backyard stays quiet, a rarity at this house, except for the dull thudding of Emily Michelle kicking the soccer ball against a tree. Watson joins Elizabeth at the barbecue and hisses something in her ear. She frowns and shakes her head. Nannie retreats inside the house with Janet following behind her.
"Come on out now, Shannon!" Kristy yells, waving me over.
Obediently, I stand and walk out onto the lawn. I wonder if I'd be a bad friend telling Kristy that her brother's a jerk.
Abby runs past and steals the ball from Emily Michelle, who begins to whine. Emily Michelle's six. An immature six, Watson and Elizabeth say. She only just began kindergarten this year. She's a slow learner, but a mostly good kid, if a bit whiny and spoiled. Abby passes the ball to me and I take it across the yard with Maria on my heels. The backyard grows noisy again. We play until Elizabeth calls out, "Five minutes till lunch!" and we agree to take a breather before eating.
Kristy and I lean against the fence. "Can you believe that Janet?" Kristy asks me, hotly. "I can't believe she's my...sister-in-law." Kristy cannot forgive Janet because back when Janet was still Janet Gates, she and a friend joined the BSC with the intent of ruining its reputation. That was before I knew Kristy, so I don't hold the incident against Janet. Plus, that was junior high. Things were different then.
I wipe the sweat from my brow. "Kristy," I say, ignoring her outburst. "I can't believe you told your mother about that note." I speak very calmly, the anger from earlier having subsided.
Kristy pulls the scrunchie from her hair and shakes her hair out. "Was it a secret?" she asks, gathering her hair again, wrapping the scrunchie back around it. "You never said not to tell."
"No, I didn't," I agree. It didn't occur to me. I know when to remain silent. I know when secrets are secrets, even when unspoken. But Kristy is not like me and I should know that. "You didn't have to tell Janet though."
"I didn't tell Janet! She overheard me telling Sam!"
Oh, that is so much better. My rejection and humiliation aired out all over Stoneybrook.
"I was upset about it," Kristy explains. "And my mom worries about you, that's all."
"No one has to worry about me."
"But she does."
"Hey, what's going on?" a voice calls out and when I glance up it's Tiffany coming around the side of the house. She's dressed in her horrifying work uniform. It's tiny spandex shorts and a shirt with white, yellow, red, and blue vertical stripes and a matching hat that stands a foot into the air. Her nametag is clipped to the front of the hat. Tiffany doesn't mind the uniform. In fact, I think she likes it. Sometimes I worry she'll be like Claudia Kishi, who dropped out of school in the middle of junior year. Now Claudia works in the mail room of her dad's firm. What if Tiffany does the same? What if she settles for a life at Hot Dog On A Stick, wearing a hideous uniform? At least Claudia works in an office.
"Just in time for lunch!" Watson tells Tiffany. "We made more than enough."
Kristy and I walk over to the patio, where Tiffany's standing. "I thought you worked until six," I say, checking my watch.
"I got off early. I caught a ride back with Marsha."
"Can I try on your hat?" Kristy asks, reaching up for it. Tiffany unhooks the bobby pins holding the hat in place and passes it over to Kristy, who plops it proudly on her head. "Cool. When does Hot Dog On A Stick do its Christmas hiring?"
Kristy would like that uniform. Tiffany and I eye each other, warily. We haven't really spoken since last night. Tiffany looks away and starts picking the rest of the bobby pins from her hair.
"Let me help you," offers Sam, coming up behind her. He pulls a bobby pin from Tiffany's hair. Kristy turns away and watches Abby demonstrate for Maria how to juggle rocks while I stare at Sam Thomas picking through my sister's hair like a monkey. I elbow Kristy sharply in the side. She cries out and gives me a funny look. I nod toward Sam and Tiffany, but Kristy only shrugs, not bothered at all.
"All right, you got them all," I say, loudly, stepping between Tiffany and Sam. I fluff Tiffany's hair and grab the bobby pins out of Sam's hand.
"You know who Tiffany looks like?" Sam asks no one in particular. "Stacey McGill."
"Oh good God," Janet groans, coming through the door with a pitcher of iced tea.
"They could be sisters," Sam continues, ignoring Janet. "Don't you think so, Kristy?"
Kristy glances over. "I guess," she says with a shrug. "Let's go get our plates, Shan. Abby! Time to eat!" Kristy turns and walks inside the house.
I grab Tiffany's wrist and pull her into the house. "Stay away from Sam Thomas," I hiss when we're inside and out of earshot.
"Why?" she asks, lazily.
"Because he's a creep."
"He's harmless," Tiffany replies. "Worry about yourself, Shanny. Leave me alone." She shakes off my grip and flounces into the kitchen.
After filling our plates, Kristy, Abby, and I settle at the old picnic table beside the fence. Maria, David Michael, and Emily Michelle join us. Maria makes sure to sit right next to David Michael. Even though David Michael's only eleven, I think Maria has a bit of a crush on him.
"Is that all you're eating?" I ask Maria, eyeing her plate. It's piled high with pistachio salad and nothing else, except a small chicken wing. "You need a vegetable. I'll go get you some corn on the cob." I slide off the picnic bench and hurry inside the house. I pass Tiffany on the patio, but she snubs me. I'm almost to the kitchen when I hear angry, raised voices drifting from that direction. I do a mental check of who was still outside. Kristy, Abby, Watson, Nannie...who was missing? Elizabeth and Janet! It's wrong to eavesdrop but I lean against the closed door anyway, listening.
"It's bad enough," Janet is shouting, "hearing about Stacey McGill every five goddamn minutes! Now he's harassing children!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Elizabeth replies, sharply. "No one's harassing anyone. You really need to learn to control your temper, Janet. Your jealous-streak - "
"I'm not the one with the problem! I'm not the one feeling up the neighbor girl at a goddamn family barbecue!"
"Janet..." Elizabeth says, voice softening its edge.
I leave my post at the door and hurry back outside. I knew it. If Janet's worried, I should be too. Much to my dismay, Sam's seated at the picnic table when I return. Sitting right next to Tiffany, pulling on her hair.
"Knock it off," I growl, sliding back into my seat.
Sam jerks his hand back and narrows his eyes at me, then turns back to Tiffany and resumes their conversation. "Don't mind the Ice Queen," Tiffany whispers to him.
"Where's my corn?" Maria asks me.
"I remembered you don't like it," I lie, scooping some potato salad with my spoon.
"Yes, I do."
"Sorry, I forgot. Eat your pistachio salad, please."
Abby gives me a weird look from across the table, then leans forward and stares down the table at Sam and Tiffany. She raises an eyebrow at me, then at Kristy, who isn't paying attention. I toss my hair back and continue eating, like I haven't noticed either, like it doesn't bother me.
"So..." Abby begins after a long silence. "Bart's parents are going out of town next week. He's having one of his parties."
Kristy groans. She and Bart used to date back in the eighth grade. Nothing too serious and they've remained friendly. Bart's really serious now about Polly Harper, who used to be one of my best friends. They spend most of their time together, alone, now. They're known for being pretty heavy into drugs.
"Bart's parties aren't our kind of parties," I say, speaking for myself and Kristy.
Abby leans forward, checking to make sure the kids aren't listening. "Bart's parties are awesome! Greer, Lindsey, and I are already going. You two have to come too!" Abby insists, then smirks. "Maybe you can stand beside the door all night, holding your fishbowl - again. Smart and Sober!" Abby laughs.
Kristy frowns. "The Smart and Sober club is not a joke."
The Smart and Sober club is an organization Kristy and I belong to at school along with seven other kids. We give presentations to elementary, middle, and high schools about drugs and alcohol. We also present at community health-related events. Kristy and I take the club very seriously. Abby and our friends think it's a big joke.
"And that fishbowl is for collecting car keys," Kristy tells Abby. "You know, so you don't get into a car accident."
Abby falls silent and starts picking at her macaroni salad. Her dad died in a car accident.
"When is this party?" Sam asks. "It's a Bart Taylor's house?"
Abby shrugs. "Some day next week," she says, quietly, slipping into a mood again.
We hear the side gate swing shut with a loud clang and everyone turns in that direction. Mrs. Stevenson's walking down the side driveway into the backyard. She's dressed in a steel gray pantsuit and very high heels. She probably just came from the office. She's probably been there for days. I don't recall when I last saw her around the neighborhood.
"Hey, Rachel!" Watson greets her. "Fix yourself a plate and pull up a chair." He gestures to the chair between him and Janet. They're all seated at the table under the covered patio.
"Yes, please join us," Elizabeth offers, standing up. "I'll get you an iced tea."
Mrs. Stevenson holds up her hand and smiles, but there's something odd behind it. Strained and distant. "No, no. Not today. I've just come for Abby. Abby!" she calls out to our table. Mrs. Stevenson waves for Abby. "Come on, Abby! It's time to come home!"
Abby has slumped forward over her plate, looking even unhappier than she did a few minutes ago. She slides slowly off the bench and picks up her paper plate. "Bye everyone," she mumbles and walks away without waiting for a response.
"Bye Abby!" Kristy and I call after her. Abby doesn't look back.
"I apologize if Abby's been spending too much time over here," we hear Mrs. Stevenson tell Watson and Elizabeth.
"Not at all. We love having her," Elizabeth insists.
Abby and Mrs. Stevenson leave then, Mrs. Stevenson's arm draped around Abby's waist, leaning in very close. I wonder what's going on.
When lunch is over, Kristy and I wash the dishes with Nannie while Maria continues the soccer game with David Michael and Emily Michelle. Tiffany goes off somewhere with Watson to look at his new gardening book. When Nannie declares our kitchen duties complete, Kristy and I go upstairs to her bedroom to listen to her new Smash tape and so we can try on the make-up Nannie just bought her. Kristy has been a kind of project for me and our friends. Freshman year, we convinced her to wear mascara. Sophomore year it was lipgloss. Junior year, eye shadow. For senior year, we're aiming for lipstick and eyeliner. We've gotten nowhere with Abby.
We're halfway through the tape when Elizabeth pokes her head into the room. "Shannon, your mom just called. She wants you and your sisters to come home immediately."
Kristy and I arch our eyebrows at each other. Immediately? I'm shocked Mom even figured out where we were. Kristy walks me downstairs, where we collect Maria and Tiffany, who are laid out in the living room watching a movie with the rest of the Thomas-Brewers. Except Sam and Janet, who must have already left.
"I won't tell anyone else," Kristy promises me, as we stand at the front door, "about Mick Stone breaking your heart."
"He didn't break my heart," I reply.
"We heard you punch the wall."
"I didn't punch the wall. I fell into it."
Kristy grins. "Okay, if that's the story you're sticking with!" She laughs.
Tiffany and I walk side by side across the street with Maria lagging behind, flipping through some book David Michael loaned her. I try to sound casual when I say to Tiffany, "You need to stay away from Sam Thomas."
The casual tone doesn't work on Tiffany. She throws up her arms. "You're not my mother!" she shouts. "And I'm not doing anything wrong!" She picks up her stride, so that she's several steps ahead of me.
Our mother is waiting for us on the porch. Both her and dad's cars are in the garage, parked alongside mine. I should take a picture. No telling when this will occur again. Mom's wearing a tiny black cocktail dress with black stiletto heels. She turned forty-five last March. Her birthday present to herself was a tummy tuck and breast augmentation. Now everything she wears is tight and low-cut.
"Where have you been?" Mom demands as soon as I turn up the drive. "You're going to make us late!" Mom steps aside so Tiffany can enter the house. "And why are you walking around in that atrocious uniform? All the neighbors can see you!"
"And they can hear you!" Tiffany yells back.
Mom ignores her, which Mom is an expert at. Mom returns her attention to me. "Look at you! You look terrible! Smudged mascara, dirty forehead! We're going to be late." Mom throws up her arms, just like Tiffany did earlier.
I step past Mom into the house. I knit my brow. "Late for what?" I ask.
Mom throws her arms up again. "Reg's party! It starts in twenty minutes!"
I cover my mouth with my hand. I completely forgot. Reg is Mick's grandfather and Mom's boss. He owns the real estate company she works for. "Well, I'm not going," I tell Mom. "Mick and I broke up."
Mom's mouth turns down, sympathetically, and for a moment she looks like the mother I once knew, the mother who loved and cared for me. "Oh, Shanny," Mom says, sadly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "So, he went through with it."
I freeze. He went through with it? "What do you mean?" I demand, backing away. My jaw drops. "You knew about this? You knew he was breaking up with me!"
"Reg told me last week. We hoped Mick would change his mind. That's why I didn't say anything," Mom explains, stepping toward me and fussing with my hair. "My poor baby."
I slap her hand away. My own mother knew I was getting dumped before I did! And she didn't say anything! "I can't believe you!" I exclaim. "I'm your daughter! Did you know he sent me a note and flowers? That's how he dumped me!"
Mom clucks her tongue. "Reg thought that would soften the blow. I knew it wouldn't."
My jaw drops even further. This is unbelievable. It's sickening. What kind of Mother do I have? I turn away from her and breathe deeply. In and out. In and out. I must remain composed.
"Now hurry up and get changed. You met Mick at one of Reg's parties, maybe you'll meet your next boyfriend at this one!"
I'm never dating anyone ever again. I turn back around, calmer than before. "I'm not going."
Mom rolls her eyes at me, then leans forward to gaze at herself in the hallway mirror. "Fine then, Shanny," she says, patting her layered blonde hair. She looks so much like Tiffany and I. The same blonde hair, blue eyes, and high cheek bones. How is this our mother? "Have it your way, dear. Everyone will think you're too broken up to come. They'll all tell Mick, 'oh, you broke Shannon Kilbourne's heart. Poor Shannon, she can't leave her house.' If that's what you want, that's fine with me. Dad and I will go without you."
I grit my teeth, biting back my anger. "Is Tiffany coming?" I ask in a steady voice.
Mom flicks her wrist, dismissively. "There's nothing about Tiffany I wish to show off." She doesn't even care that Tiffany's leaning against the doorframe into the kitchen, watching and listening.
I stand for a moment, regarding my mother. This imposter claiming to be my mother. I am not weak. I am not helpless or broken. No one will ever say I am. "Fine. I'll go to the party."
"Splendid!" Mom exclaims. "Now get upstairs and change!" She slaps my rear and sends me on my way.