Why don’t people plan something vegetarian when they have a dinner guest they don’t know? Why does the vegetarian always have to be the one who ruins the menu? I’m just about to tell her that I’m a vegetarian, when the front door opens.
“Hey there!” a woman calls down the hall. “Where are those beautiful blue-eyed boys?”
“More company?” I ask.
“My partner, Larissa.”
Oh, okay. I need a private little minute with that piece of information. So there’s no
he
at all? Well, of course they’re lesbians, because she surely doesn’t mean “business partner,” not judging by the kiss Larissa lays on her, dipping her like a ballroom dancer.
“Larissa, this is Hope. She’s saving our collective ass, so supper is in her honor. Crack a bottle of that Riesling, will you?”
Lesbians. Okay. Not a big deal. There were a couple of dykes who lived at the farm for a while. And then there’s Kyle, the old gay guy who shoes the horses, but other than that and the odd queer Woofer, I don’t know
many people like...like
that
. Larchberry is all Man-shall-work-the-fields-and-build-things-and-repair-all-that-breaks, while Woman-shall-also-work-the-fields-and-raise-babies-and-cook-and-clean-and-sew, and then together we shall smoke pot and sing folk songs and let our babies run around naked.
Larissa hands me a glass of wine. “Are you old enough to drink?”
“I told you, she’s a hippie kid.” Maira gives her a peck on the cheek. They don’t look like lesbians. But then, I don’t know what lesbians look like, except for the two at the farm, who just looked like each other: miserable, each with a long, dirty braid and a big butt. “You’ve had wine before, haven’t you?”
“Lots.” I nod. “We make it at the farm. Blueberry wine.”
Why, I wonder, do I have the urge to bolt out the door and never come back? I’m not against queers or anything. That isn’t it. Larchberry might be isolated, but it is as left wing as it gets, and all the parents work really hard to raise us as liberal freethinkers.
I have no problem with diversity, don’t get me wrong, but it’s like a heavy, unpleasant weight has parked in my stomach. Orion pops into my mind, and thinking about him always makes me squirmy. He was such a mistake. I try to think of something else, like picking blueberries, but instead I get a flash of one of the nights in the barn, with the candles and the blueberry wine. I cannot believe he lied to me about being married and then thought that giving me a puppy would make it all better.
“I missed you,” Maira says. She and Larissa kiss full on, and I get those sexy butterflies in my belly along with a flash of Orion and me kissing on the bluff above the river just before we’re about to jump in. Do I miss him? Is that what this is about? How can I miss him? He was all wrong. Maybe I’m just lonely. Well, not
maybe.
Am. I
am
lonely.
Maira goes back to preparing supper, and Larissa gets onto the floor with the babies, who are not quite crawling on a sheepskin rug in a patch of sunlight. The whole scene is like an ad for hardwood flooring in one of
those posh interior design magazines. I sit with my wine and wish I could go home. Not to Joy’s, but to Larchberry. I’ve had enough of Brooklyn and enough of me. I don’t get myself these days. I’m my very own stranger. And I miss everybody, mostly my parents. But even if I went home, they wouldn’t be there.
“So tell us how your visit’s been so far,” Maira says as she tops up my wine.
When I finish telling them, they’re both staring at me, wide eyes all sympathetic.
“It sounds awful. Do you want to stay here?” Maira points at the ceiling. “We have a million spare rooms up there.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got my sister.”
“But it sounds like a nightmare!” Maira tucks the lamb into the oven. “And I’m sorry, but
she
sounds like a nightmare.” My brain is so tired right now; I just don’t feel like telling her I’m a vegetarian. “You’re sleeping on a couch. That’s just not right.”
“Did you show her the nanny suite?” Larissa says.
“We didn’t do the third floor, no.”
“Come on,” Larissa says as she tops up our wine. “I’ll show you.”
The rooms are beautiful, of course. There’s a small bedroom and a sitting room and a little bathroom with a claw-foot tub and Victorian photographs of nude women on the walls.
“What do you think?” Larissa leans in the doorway, arms crossed. I can’t look at her, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because I’m more weirded out by the whole lesbian thing than I think? Or maybe because the photograph above her shoulder is rather suggestive. I wonder what the other nanny thought about all of this. Maybe it’s why she left.
“It’s all yours,” Larissa says. “If you want.”
“I don’t know.”
And I don’t. I’m supposed to be under the watchful eye of Joy, but I’ve hardly seen her since I got off the plane. There’s never any food to eat at Joy’s, and I still don’t have any money, and Thomas brings me a bagel and coffee every morning because he thinks I’m starving to death. And sleeping on the couch
does suck, especially because Joy and Bruce usually crash through the door near dawn, a loud drunken duo. And then Joy always calls Cecily and rehashes their entire evening—which they’ve just spent together—at the top of her lungs while perched on the edge of the very couch I’m trying to sleep on. The bed in the nanny suite is huge and pillowed and looks ever so sleepable.
“Well, it’s not going anywhere.” Larissa sits on the bed. “It’s yours any time.” She leans back, her hands on the bedspread. Suddenly I remember Orion and me on the four-poster in his room in the Big House. What is that about? I blush.
“I’ll keep it in mind.” I back toward the door. “Uh, thanks for the offer.”
The boys fell asleep while we were upstairs, so we tiptoe as we put supper out. The table set and candles lit—even though it’s not dark—Maira sits down and fills a plate with lamb and lemon rice and grilled asparagus and salad and hands it to me. I’ve had enough wine by now and am so perplexed by myself
that I just hold the plate and stare at it instead of taking it and strategically pushing the meat around, which is my usual tactic when confronted with dead animals on my plate.
“Something the matter?” Larissa asks.
“Sort of. I don’t eat meat.”
“Oh, sweetheart, why didn’t you say so?” Maira takes the plate. “I have a perfectly good block of tofu in the fridge. I could’ve done something with it.”
“Sorry.”
Maira gives the plate to Larissa.
“I was going to say something and then I just didn’t. I don’t know why.” I shake my head. “It’s weird.”
“What’s weird?” Maira fills another plate.
“Everything, to be honest.”
Maira sets the meatless wonder in front of me. She and Larissa look at each other with one of those “couple” looks. I guess lesbians have those too.
“Are you still interested in working for us?” Maira asks.
“Yes! It’s just that I—” It’s just that what?
It’s just that I’m having a panic attack right here at the supper table? My fingers are tingly, and a cold rush climbs my spine, settling into an icy ache across my skull, just like when Orion finally told me about his wife. His
wife
!
“Is it because we’re queer?” Larissa’s voice is deliberately even.
I close my eyes. That is part of it, my guts tell me so, but that’s not all of it. “I think I’m just homesick.” Uh-oh. The tears are preparing for mass exodus.
“She’s probably tired too,” Maira says, “sleeping on that couch every night...”
“...if she’s managing to sleep at all, poor thing,” Larissa says.
The way they finish each other’s sentences makes me miss my parents all the more. I want to have one of my mom’s earth mama hugs, and I want my dad to talk to. He always helps me sort out what my panic attacks are about. What would he say about this one? I’m not sure that I want to know. Something tells me this is a biggie.
“I just wish I could talk to my parents.”
The tears let loose. “I just miss them so much!”
Larissa and Maira share another look, and then Maira takes my wineglass and offers me a tissue instead. “Do you want us to take you home?”
“Home?” That, of course, makes me cry harder. “That’s just it. I want to go to my
real
home.”
Larissa rubs my back, which for some reason reminds me of how she’d patted the bedspread earlier, which makes me think of Orion again.
What
is going on? All of this is so confusing. “Do you want to go to your sister’s?”
I shake my head.
“Do you want to stay here for the night, upstairs?”
I nod. “But I have to go get Daisy.”
“Her dog,” Maira replies to Larissa’s look.
“Okay. All of this is manageable.” Larissa stands. “Come on. We’ll go get Daisy with the car.”
Larissa drives me back to Joy’s and waits
in the street, double-parked, while I drag myself up the six flights of stairs because the elevator is busted again. No one is home, as usual. I pack a bag, collect Daisy and her food and leave Joy and Bruce a note.
On the drive back we are stopped in traffic in front of Uncle Louie G’s. There’s Nat, talking with a girl behind the counter, while Clocker begs beside her. Nat pays for a cone and then gives the whole thing to Clocker, ice cream and all. She sees us and waves. I’m instantly all nerves.
“Larissa, hey!”
Larissa pulls the car over. I’m acutely aware of my red-rimmed eyes and snotty nose and general miserableness. “You staying out of trouble, Nat?”
“Of course I am.” Nat leans into Larissa’s window and sees me. “Oh, hi.”
“Hi.” I really don’t want anyone to see me like this, and, for some reason, especially not her. Daisy clambers over Larissa and slobbers all over Clocker, who’s stuck his smelly mug in the window.
“Thanks for the other day,” Nat says. “I really appreciated it.”
“No big deal.” I wish Larissa would put the gas pedal to use. “No problem.”
“Nat?” Larissa says in a singsong. “What’s going on?”
“She found Clocker the other day. That’s all.” Nat backs away, hands up. “Hey, I am staying out of trouble.”
“Good.” Larissa looks at me, then back at Nat. “Good to hear, Nat. Take care.”
Larissa drives, silent until she’s circled their block twice, looking for a parking spot. “So, you’ve met Nat.”
“Sort of.”
“She’s a piece of Park Slope color, you could say. Her and Clocker. Clocker wanders off so much everyone knows to look out for him and bring him back to the bike shop.”
“No one seemed to know him the other day in the park.”
“Well, not
everybody
. You know what I mean.”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
“She’s a good kid.”
I shrug again.
“She’d make a good friend for someone who might be in the market for one,” she says as she parallel parks in an impossibly small spot. “Do you want me to call her? Invite her over?”
“No!” I gather my things and fling open the door. “No, thanks, I mean. I’m okay. You don’t need to do that. Really.”
Part of me wishes she would, though. But the problem is that the weight in my stomach, the butterflies and the nerves have all sculpted themselves into one big thunk of a realization: I have a crush on Nat. A crush on a
girl
Chapter Six
Crush or not, I hardly have time to think about it. I don’t want to anyway, so I am thankful that a day with the twins is life in fast-forward times two. “Handful” does not even begin to describe it. Four whole days go by before I have a chance to sit still for more than a minute. I’m all about distractions, anyway. If I keep myself busy hanging out with the babies, walking the dogs at the vet, losing myself for entire hours in
the little garden, I don’t have to figure out the Nat thing. Besides, I’m sure it’ll pass.
That Saturday, Maira and Larissa invite me to come along with them to the beach the next morning, but I’ve gone from lonely to human overload, so I decline in favor of a day by myself. Daisy and I go to walk the dogs first. I’ve paid off my bill, but I still walk the dogs as a favor for Thomas.
“Your sister was in here looking for you,” Thomas tells me in place of a “hello.”
“She knows where I’ve been.” I gather the leashes.
“I don’t think so,” Thomas says. “She was pretty frantic. I told her you’re nannying, but I didn’t know the details. She wants you to call her.” Thomas hands me the phone. “Immediately.”
Joy is obviously hungover and obviously furious. “There is no note!” she screams at me when I tell her I’d left one. Her voice is groggy and scratchy. “You are such a liar!”
“There’s a note, Joy.” I take a deep breath. “I left it on the table, under the window.”
“What the hell...” I can tell Joy is getting out of bed to go look. “You are in big shit, kiddo. Mom and Dad called—”
“They did? How are they?”
“Well, understandably upset when I told them I had no clue where you were.”
“But I left you a note!”
“And here it is.” Joy laughs. “Right where you said it was. Huh. Go figure. Maybe you could’ve stuck it on the mirror or the door or a cupboard or something where we would’ve actually found it.”
“I can’t believe you told them that!” I put a hand to my forehead. “What did they say?”
“They canned the project.” Joy coughs. “They’re coming home to look for their precious little runaway.”
“But I didn’t run away!” I don’t believe this! They must be dying with worry over there! “I got a job and a real bed to sleep in! Some people would call that responsible.”
Joy laughs again, which makes her cough some more. When she recovers from her hacking fit, she covers the phone and mumbles something to Bruce. At least,
I assume it’s Bruce. With her you never know.
“Oh, Hopeless,” she says and then starts laughing again. “I didn’t tell them, are you kidding? I told them you were out. They’re going to call back on Tuesday morning. It was a joke. Ha, ha, you know?”
“You are such a bitch, Joy.”
“Ooo, hippie kid goes nasty.” Joy’s laugh turns into a cackle. “Call the press!”
“I’m hanging up now, and the only reason I’m telling you that is so you can’t say I hung up on you.”