Authors: Anonymous
Mom: Huh—?
Me: Can I go with Jill to Lake Powell when they go on vacation next week?
Mom (blinking): Oh. Oh, sure. Yes.
Jill: (SQUEAL)
Me: Mom, are you sure you’ll be okay?
Mom: Yes. Yes, of course. I’m fine. It’ll do you good to get out of the house.
I smiled and stood up. Jill threw both arms around my neck and jumped up and down, causing me to move with her, and as she squealed I couldn’t help it: I laughed, and for the first time since Saturday, I felt like maybe the world wasn’t coming apart at the seams.
Mom smiled at us jumping up and down in the living room. This was the first true smile I’d seen from her in four days. She glanced back down at the cottage cheese, then said, screw it, and dumped the container into the sink.
Who wants breakfast? she asked.
Mom grabbed her keys and a baseball cap she sometimes wears when she plants impatiens in the flower bed by the pool, then she drove us to IHOP and ordered chocolate chip pancakes for each of us.
To my complete and utter amazement Jill cleaned her plate.
Weight:
128
We’re leaving tomorrow. I’m excited, but nervous—about going, about staying, about Mom and Dad, about being basically
naked for a week on a boat with Jack. Jill says she always wears a bikini with shorts on the boat, and just slips off her shorts when she gets in the water. I’ve seen pictures from this trip. Usually they go with her cousins from Arizona, but this year her cousins are going to Mexico or someplace. When I asked Mom if I could have some money to go shopping for a couple new pairs of shorts and a bathing suit, she handed me her debit card and told me the PIN without looking up from the papers she was sorting through from the lawyer. I asked her if there was some sort of ballpark figure she’d like me to stay within for budgeting purposes. She looked up at me and blinked, then back down at the papers and said something about how my dad could afford it.
I walked down the driveway to get into the car with Jill. Jill was far more pragmatic about the situation and wore her “buy them both” face a number of times at a number of different cash wraps two days in a row. In the end, I have three new pairs of shorts, a new one-piece, and three new bikinis, two with trunk shorts, one with little ties on the sides. Jill insisted I get it. She said I’ve never looked better than I do right now. I was in the bathroom trying everything on when I got home tonight and weighed myself. I’ve been forcing myself to drink protein smoothies for the past week because my stomach is still too upset to eat anything. When I handed Coach Perkins
my printouts today she patted my shoulder and told me I was making a good effort, but I know I’m nowhere near close enough to the number of calories she wants us to be eating. I told her I’d be on the boat all this week and she said she thought that was a good idea.
Coach: Take a break from running.
Me: I’ll sort of have to.
Coach: Didn’t want you making laps around the lake or anything.
Me: I hadn’t thought about that.
Coach: Don’t. And eat lots of chips and pizza and laugh a lot.
Jill said she’s paring down her calories starting tomorrow because she won’t be rehearsing. She did say we could do her “aerobics routine” on the boat. Whatever that is. She said she’d show me, but the idea of dancing around in place drives me crazy. That’s the thing about running I love: I get to
go somewhere
.
Maybe that’s why I’m nervous. I’ll be stuck on a boat in the middle of a lake. With Jill’s mom, who is nice, but let’s face it, maybe a little . . . ice queen? She’s like one of those blond politician’s wives: hair always up, makeup always perfect, nothing out of place, eagle eyes—doesn’t miss a thing.
I feel sort of guilty for leaving Mom, but she hasn’t been
able to complete many sentences since the lawyer dropped off the divorce papers on Tuesday. She’s plowed through two different sets two different times, initialing, crossing out, underlining, writing notes in the margins. She told me we’re keeping the house. At least Dad isn’t going to make us move.
Thinking about that makes me want to leave right this second. I want to be out of here and away from all this. I have to go to sleep now. I’m not sure how I’ll do that. Jill and her family will be here to pick me up at 6 a.m.
It’s a nine-hour drive to Lake Powell. Jill’s dad rented an SUV so large I’m not sure how we’re going to make it without stopping for gas every twenty-nine miles. Rob and Jack were firmly ensconced in the very back seat when they rolled into our driveway this morning at 5:55 a.m. They were both wearing noise-canceling headphones, and their faces were obscured by flat-billed baseball caps with NBA logos and gold stickers proclaiming the size still affixed to the bills. They looked like extras from a music video.
Jill was comatose in one of the captain’s chairs. She gave a grunt and tried to smile when I opened the van door, but it was halfhearted at best. I’m pretty sure she was asleep again by the time her dad pulled out of the driveway.
Mom worked last night to get some overtime, so I tiptoed into her room and kissed her on the cheek at five forty-five. She stirred and muttered something about waiting twenty minutes after I ate to go in swimming. I giggled and whispered: I love you. I’ll text you when I get there.
Susan and James, Jill’s parents, are as awake as I am. Her dad smiled like a news anchor when he tossed my bag behind the seats where Rob and Jack are sleeping. He said Jill was really jazzed that I could come. Jazzed. I don’t think Jill has ever been “jazzed” about anything, or if she had indeed felt “jazzed” she would most certainly never have used that word. Still, I couldn’t help smiling when her dad said it. When we were all settled in, he leaned over and kissed Susan on the lips—maybe a little longer than was entirely necessary—then glanced into the rearview mirror and said, “Head ’em up, move ’em out,” as if he were a cowboy.
Jill groaned and readjusted her angle in the seat. The boys behind us remained silent, slack-jawed, and completely indistinguishable. Susan rolled her eyes and smirked, then turned back to me and sighed: Can you believe this guy?
I thought about my own dad. I thought about how clever and funny and charming he could be, and how more often than not, he was none of those things—like he was purposefully keeping it from us when my mom was in the room. It made my
stomach turn with a familiar wincing pang of longing, a longing for something I’m not sure my parents ever had. Did my dad ever kiss my mom for a little too long? I tried to remember.
Of course, my mom never looked like Susan. She had perfect makeup at 6 a.m. Not too much makeup like a Real Housewife, just precision eyeliner and mascara, and possibly some powder? Her skin was luminescent in the glow of the dome and dashboard lights. Her platinum-blond hair had been flatironed and twisted up. She looked a lot like the wife of that old guy who ran for president a few years back—lean and pretty, but somehow pointy around the edges. My mom’s edges are all soft and full, and usually straining at the fabric somehow. Susan’s entire essence appeared tailored to fit even (somehow) in a predawn appearance. She offered me a bottled water and quietly chirped about how I had my own climate control for the vents above me in the armrest to my right, and how we’d stop for a bathroom break and coffee and snacks around ten; told me to just let her know if I needed anything, and in the meantime to try to relax and get some sleep because we had a long drive ahead of us. It was not entirely unlike the speech a flight attendant gives before the plane takes off, and I almost expected her to explain how to fit the metal buckle of my seat belt into the latch, and what to do if we experienced an unintended loss of cabin pressure.
I tried not to compare her to my mom any more, but it was difficult. My mother’s instructions upon leaving for any sort of journey forth into the world typically consisted of the words “Hurry up, we’re late,” but Susan impresses me as someone who has never been late, or hurried, or wrinkled, or flustered, or held her breath to zip her jeans, or arrived with a shiny forehead ever in her life.
It’s no wonder James kisses her like he does.
The sun has turned the sky above the highway the color of a forest fire. Soon it will peek over the horizon. I’m finally feeling sleepy and the thrum of the tires against the pavement and the perfectly cooled air spilling out of the vents is soothing somehow, and I think I might be able to sleep for a little while. I feel my whole body beginning to relax. I guess I didn’t realize how tense I’ve been at home. There’s a warm ease about sinking into this leather seat. Somehow I know I can close my eyes here and be safe even though we’re speeding down the road at eighty miles per hour. As long as I’m here with James at the wheel and Susan riding shotgun, I don’t have to worry. Everything is very clearly under control.
We’re here! Finally. Lake Powell is the most amazing thing I have ever seen. I’ll write more about that later. Anyway, we
rolled in around 4:30 p.m. and went to the place where our houseboat rental was waiting. James signed some paperwork, and then we all loaded our stuff on board. Jill’s parents have the master stateroom on the lower level. Jill and I put our bags in one stateroom on the main deck, and Jack and Rob took the other, but Jill says the guys usually sleep on these big cushions on the upper deck under the stars. I just wanted to write that we got here. I’m not sure why, but I feel this anticipation in my chest, an energy I’m not sure what to do with. I’m trying to figure out if I’m scared or excited. Maybe both?
The motor just roared to life, and the boys started whooping. Jack poked his head in the door. He has changed into a striped tank top and board shorts, and says I should put down my pen right this second and come to the upper deck or I’d miss my first sunset on the lake.
Jack was right about not missing the sunset. I followed him up the stairs to the top deck. We stood at the rail next to Jill and Rob. The engine was loud and the vibrations made my feet hum as the wind whipped through my hair. Jill smiled at me and I pushed my sunglasses up on my nose.
Slowly, Jill’s dad maneuvered the boat out of the cove and
around the side of a sheer rock cliff that glowed the molten color of hot lava. As we made the turn, I saw the sun, blazing low on the water’s razor edge. Fiery beams shot toward us across the flat surface of the lake, smearing orange and red across a bright blue summer sky crowned with clouds the color of royalty.
It took my breath away. I felt the radiant heat flash across my face and bore into my skin. My eyes watered at the brightness and the beauty and Jill must’ve heard me gasp, because I felt her hand over mine on the rail. Rob stood on the other side of Jill, and I felt him brush my shoulder as he placed his arm around Jill’s shoulders. We watched in silence, the wind on our faces as the sun began to sink below the cliff line, almost as if someone had flipped a switch. As the four of us stood there transfixed I felt Jack’s bare arm brush lightly against mine. I caught my breath again but didn’t dare look at him. I felt my arm tense as he leaned against the rail, but he didn’t move away, and I relaxed into him ever so slightly.
As the sun dropped out of sight completely, we made our way into the middle of the lake and heard people on two other boats in opposite directions far across the water clapping and cheering nature’s fireworks. Rob and Jill joined in and we heard James whistling at the wheel one level below. Jack didn’t move his hands from the rail to clap, and I didn’t either. My heart was
beating fast as I stared out across the purple sky, bruised from the blistering glory of the sunset. The buzz of the engine that I’d felt in my feet spread across my entire body, emanating now, it seemed, from the muscles of Jack’s arm, taut and warm against my own.
No one was looking when he leaned closer and whispered two words into my ear: “So beautiful.”
I nodded, and started to tell him it was the prettiest sunset I’d ever seen, but when I turned to face him, he wasn’t looking at the sky.
I felt my cheeks flush, and I was suddenly glad I’d put on my sunglasses. Jack’s eyes were kind and full. I tried to will my tongue to work, but I couldn’t move or speak, until finally, Susan peeked her head over the top step of the upper deck and called to all of us, “Who’s hungry?”
Last night at dinner, we all helped Susan unload the coolers and boxes of food we picked up at the grocery store near the marina. She’d brought a few things from home and has the stocking and distribution of the boat’s tiny kitchen down to a science. She unloaded and directed and pointed and explained like a well-oiled machine until the food was put away and the coolers whisked out of sight. Rob and Jack were shown where their
stash of junk food was stored, along with a strict warning about breaking into supplies for family meals.
To that end, a menu has been posted on the refrigerator. It’s laminated. (Just saying. Susan is like one of those women who has her own cooking show.) It maps out food for the week and I saw we’d be docking at a couple of restaurants along the way for dinner. The menu also stipulates which meals Jill’s parents will be cooking and which ones will be “do it yourself” affairs. This mainly happens at lunch. Jill explained that those are times when we’ll all just make sandwiches out of deli turkey or salads from the fresh organic romaine Susan brought in a cooler from home. Jill also noted that Jack typically consumes his own body weight in Twizzlers and Lucky Charms.
(How do guys eat
so much
and not gain a
single pound
?)
Anyway, after we got the kitchen unpacked, James fired up the grill and Rob and Jack were put in charge of flipping burgers and turning hot dogs. It was your basic cookout except Susan and James had flutes of champagne while grilling and white wine with dinner. There were bottles of Pellegrino and Mexican Coke (“no corn syrup,” Susan said with a sniff) for everyone, and disposable silverware that was actually silver. Even the plates and napkins were thicker and more absorbent than the crinkly paper and Styrofoam my mom usually buys. We ate sitting on the top deck. There’s a table that folds up
next to the bench seats around the railing. I’m sitting on one of them now writing this, while Jill tans on one of the big cushions that stow away in cabinets but are big enough to sleep on. Jack and Rob slept up here last night. Jill was secretly thrilled when Rob tried to get her to sneak up after her parents went to bed: