“I think it’s time for bed,” someone said. I looked up and saw that it was Sandy, standing above me with her hand out. She took my plate of cake and helped me up. “Pretty soon it won’t be pretty.”
I had no idea how much time had passed. The party had thinned, but there were still strange adults everywhere — sitting on the couch, standing by the bookcase, falling into each other with their words. I glanced around for people I knew. Cornbread had apparently left. My mother was nowhere I could see. Two men danced to a slow song and everyone laughed. One of the men grabbed the other man’s butt and let out a scream. I looked down at my feet. I told myself I could always count on my feet. I know these feet. These feet are familiar.
Sandy pushed me through the crowd. When we made it into the dim border of the hallway, I heard something familiar. It was my mother’s voice. I stopped.
“I want to say good night,” I said.
“Yes,” Sandy said. “I think she might like that.”
She guided me to our tiny dining room, where we had swarmed to sing “Happy Birthday.” My mother was still sitting in her chair. There were three men standing over her, their shirts tucked under their fat belts. None of them were Rick, I saw, and I smiled. Sandy told me to go on, and I pushed through the men’s legs, heavy as church doors. Hey, one man said. Watch it. My mother had her head down, slouched, and was laughing into her cup. She sloshed around whatever was left before gulping it down. The men kept talking. One cleared his throat, lifted his pants by his belt buckle. No one saw me.
I tapped my mother on her knee. Her dress was even softer than it looked. “Mom,” I said.
Her eyes went big. They belonged to a pretty cartoon.
“Hey! There you are!”
“I’m going to bed,” I said.
One man said something and another laughed. My mother shooed them away. She put her arm around my waist, pulled me into her. “Was it a good time tonight?” she said, her thick breath lingering on my face. “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? I just wish your brother hadn’t done what he did. You’re not mad that Rick came, are you?”
I thought about it. I wasn’t mad that he came; I was just happier when he wasn’t around. Though if it made my brother mad, I told myself that it should make me mad too. Finally I shrugged.
“Good,” she said. “Good, good, good. Because I’m trying my best. I really am.” She put her hand to my cheek and rubbed my ear. “He’s not going to replace anyone.”
I nodded again and looked at my feet. The summer had just begun, but sandal tan lines were already starting to form. A line of white surrounded by light brown started at my big toe, climbed the face of my foot, and forked into two faint paths. I knew as the summer wore on and the sun grew warmer, the contrast would strengthen. Soon the difference between the brown and white would be much sharper, the choices of the paths that much clearer.
“Hey,” my mother said. “Hey, look at me. Look at your mother.” She raised my head with her hand, and I thought of Chris. “You know, you were God’s best surprise? Did I ever tell you that?” She grabbed my cheeks, brought me close, and gave me a kiss on the lips. Longer, wetter than usual. “Your dad and I, we didn’t know you were coming, but we’re both glad that you did.”
She licked her thumb and wiped my lips. I could feel the red on my mouth.
“OK,” Sandy said. “Visiting hours are over.”
My mother laughed, and I saw where the wine had stained her teeth. “Uh-oh, you better listen to the guard here. For your own safety.”
As Sandy pulled me away, my mother squeezed my hand a final time, her short fingers the same as mine.
“Good night,” she said. “Good night, my cute boy.”
* * *
I awoke from a pool dream. In the dream someone had taken my dad’s favorite tank top and thrown it into the pool. Why don’t you go get it, Dad? I asked. Just go get it. My dad chewed on the tips of his fingers before revealing that, the funny thing was, he never learned to swim. I reminded him about the lake and he said yes, but I never go in. I just drink beer. I got on the diving board and looked around. Where my brother was I did not know. He should be here. Where is he? He’s playing in the woods, my dad said. Get the shirt and we’ll go find him. Even in the dream I knew this was not a good thing. But it was a dream and I was not as scared. Standing on the diving board, I felt I belonged. I could live in the blue if I wanted, swim to any deep. I dove in. It was as easy as I thought it would be. The water didn’t push back against me. It didn’t pull me to the top, squeeze my lungs. I cut to the bottom, and when I opened my eyes, they didn’t burn. I grabbed my dad’s shirt and even though I knew it should have been heavy with water, it wasn’t. I swam back up, effortlessly, and the sun shone around me, spotlighting the boy who could do anything.
I woke up laughing. The confidence from the dream carried over. I sat up in bed, fully alert, sure I was the best swimmer around. I threw the covers off and stood up, wet with sweat. But the wet didn’t worry me. It made sense. I was a professional pool person. I was someone who wanted to be wet. Unlike others, I was better then.
I opened our bedroom door before I realized I was shirtless. I didn’t remember taking off my shirt before bed, but I took that as a sign. I stepped out and looked down our apartment hall. My mother’s door was open, which it never was when she slept. Her alarm flashed its red numbers at me, as if while I slept we’d lost power. As if a storm had passed unnoticed.
I snuck down the hall to peep into my mother’s room, to see if she was sick. Maybe that’s why she left the door open, in case she had to run to the bathroom and throw up the carrot cake. Her body wasn’t there, though, no lumps in the covers.
I returned down the hall, curious. Maybe my mother fell asleep on the couch, like my dad had. Maybe I could get a good look at her while she slept. Maybe she had a secret mark too, something that would reveal itself to me. Would she still be wearing makeup, or was that something she washed off before bed? Would her hair be back to its old self, or would silently I feel its new soft?
I walked faster down the hall and peeked around the corner, eager to catch my mother, to see what she was like now. But what I saw was two people on the couch. My mother was there, yes, but she was not alone: Rick was there too, his hand on my mother’s bare leg, a box of wine between them.
My mother sat in her bra. The top of her dress was pulled down to her waist.
“I can’t,” she said. “They’re right around the corner.”
She shivered, and Rick put his arm around her, brought her to him. “Is that it?” he said, and kissed her on the cheek. “Or is it something else?” He worked a finger under my mother’s bra strap, teased it from her shoulder. “I think you’re just not sure. I think that’s what it is. And I get that. I do. Shit, I know what it’s like to be alone.” He turned two of his fingers into legs and walked them down my mother’s thin arm. “But,” he said, “I also think you owe it to yourself. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?”
He moved his hand farther up my mother’s leg, until his arm disappeared completely beneath her dress.
“Stop,” my mother said. “Rick,” she said, “quit.” But Rick didn’t quit. He opened his mouth on my mother’s shoulder, nipping at her with his teeth, and eventually my mother gave in. She leaned back into the couch and sighed, and Rick moved his face to my mother’s, his back swallowing hers, eclipsing her body. I stood there and watched. I listened to them breathe through their noses, moan through shut mouths. I wanted to leave, but I also wanted to stay.
Rick pulled back and said something to my mother, gestured to someplace with his head. I could only see my mother’s face. It moved side to side to say no, though it did so with a slight smile. “C’mon,” Rick said. “I’ll be real quiet. They won’t hear a thing.”