Loving Emily (16 page)

“But this stuff with Chrissie affects her.”

It’s time to go to class. Jonathan stands. “This isn’t about her. It’s about Michael.” He slings his backpack over his shoulder.

“Just remember, man,” he says, “bros before hoes. Every time.”

He takes off, and I’m about to go, too, when my ring tone floats out of my shirt pocket. The display screen on my cell shows a number I don’t recognize at first.

“Ryan, it’s me, Yancy.”

“Oh, hi!” For a minute, I freak, thinking she’s found out about the baby. How can I explain keeping this little thing from her, the fact that she’s going to be a grandma?

“I have a favor to ask.”

I breathe easier. I grab my backpack and start walking to class while I talk.

“Miss Anderson from school called us about Michael’s locker. She needs somebody to empty it out.” Her tone is as smooth and easy as if she were asking me to pick up their mail for them.

It’s been four months since Michael died. A cold prickle goes down my back as I think of his locker sitting there all that time, with his stuff in it. It figures that Nat and Yancy never thought of it, just as they never thought of anything else Michael might have needed when he was alive.

“Nat and I are leaving for Rome, and you’re there every day. Would you just scoot by and throw the contents into some shopping bags? We can pick them up from you next time we come over.”

I can’t believe her. She’s acting all casual, like it’s no big deal.

“I don’t have the combination,” I say, not wanting to make it easier for her.

“Oh, I have it! Got a pen?” Then,”Take your time,” she says, making this big show of being patient, while I fumble for a sales receipt in my pocket, and repeating the numbers twice while I write them down, holding the receipt against a wall. She’s a regular fountain of generosity.

If Nat and Yancy can’t even pick up their dead son’s things from school, they don’t deserve to know about a grandchild. From now on, I’ve got no problem keeping Chrissie’s secret.

“All right, I got it,” I say, pocketing the number. My resentment spills over. “I’ll do it for
Michael
.”

A silence on the phone line, like she can’t speak.

“Thanks.” She chokes the word out and clicks off.

•   •   •

On the day of Chrissie’s doctor’s appointment, I run up the two flights of stairs on the outside of her building and arrive at Apartment 206 right on time. I’m mentally cursing my fate that I have to be here when Emily is hanging with Derek Masters.

“Wow, some car!” Chrissie says when she sees it.

I hadn’t realized how big her belly was: I have to pull back the passenger seat a couple of notches for her.

“Lord, I can hardly wait to get my shape back!” she says.

I’m not sure what to say to that. “So, what’s gonna happen at this appointment?”

She shrugs. “Nothin’ much. They wanna check on you all the time, just to make sure the baby’s behavin’ itself.”

“Don’t you have to eat special foods and take vitamins, and stuff?”

“You betcha. I eat all organic. I’m not infectin’
my
child with deadly toxins.” She breaks a Kit Kat bar out of her purse. “You want some?”

“Sure.” I take a piece and we chew in silence for a minute. I pull my car into the lot of her seedy medical clinic, and we go in and sit down to wait on plastic chairs.

I shift around on my seat as I think about how unfair life is. Not only have I never once gotten naked with a girl, but now I have to take a pregnant one to the doctor.

Somehow, I’ve managed to miss out on sex and go straight to its consequences.

I picture flashing lights and ringing bells as I enter the waiting room.
Attention, patients! First virgin ever to cross the threshold of an obstetrician’s office!

I drum my hands on my knees, shooting to my feet when Chrissie’s name is called.

“You’re stayin’ right here,” Chrissie says without missing a beat. I sink back down immediately, happy to sit in the waiting room.

I sit there, staring at the wall, and as has happened so many times these past months, I’m thinking about where Michael would be if I hadn’t killed him. He’d be here, in my place, I think. Or more likely, in the examining room with Chrissie.

Or would he? Michael had a way of quietly checking out when he came up against something unpleasant. I was always better than he was at doing the hard jobs.

After Chrissie’s done, she says she wants to take me to dinner. “It’s the least I can do.”

I check my watch. Emily’s rehearsal should have ended fifteen minutes ago. She’s probably with Masters right now.

“Hold on,” I say to Chrissie. I whip out my cell. Thumbs flying, I send Emily a text.
Hey baby what up?

Hi

That’s all she’s got for me?
How was rehearsal?

Fine

I can’t help myself.
Hows Derek?
She’s probably in his car right now.

Don’t be like this Ryan

Instantly, I feel bad.
Sorry. Its just that im crazy for you

I know

I’ll call you when I get home

Okay

Love u,
I write.

But she has already signed off.

Chrissie is waiting. “One more,” I say. I call home and tell Rosario I’ll be home late.

We go to Sal’s Diner. It’s one of those places where the waitresses wear fifties uniforms and each table has its own jukebox. We slide into a pink vinyl booth.

“A jukebox!” Chrissie takes a quarter from her wallet and starts leafing through the song list. “I’m gonna splurge and get a song!”

I’m moping about that text from Emily.
I know?
I say
I love you
and she says
I know?

“How about
Baby Love?
That seems fittin’.”

I watch her slide the quarter into the slot, taking care to punch in the right code, so she gets
Baby Love
and not the song next to it.

“Just think if I got
The Monster Mash
by mistake!”

“Hang on.” I say to Chrissie, pulling out my cell again.

“Checkin’ in with the little woman?”

I don’t answer. I text Emily.
U there?

Yes

Lets not fight

I don’t want to either

Ill be home soon.

Where are you?

Oops. I hadn’t planned to tell her about dinner with Chrissie.

Got delayed

Delayed???

Double oops.
Stopped for a quick bite

No response. I can’t take this.
Gimme a break Em. Tell me u love me

Of course I love u. but I disagree with what you’re doing.

But u luv me?

I already said I did. Gtg

She signs off.

My pride won’t let me text her again. “I’m up for some tunes!” I say. “You wanna pick them?” I dig in my pocket and spill a pile of quarters onto the table.

Chrissie gasps. “You bet!” She flips through the song list. “I’m gonna get all songs with “baby” in the title!”

The waitress, wearing a name tag that says “Ethyl,” arrives with our water. “Top o’ the marnin’ to ye,” Chrissie says to her.

Then, to me: “You don’t mind if I practice my Irish accent, do you?”

“Go right ahead.”

It turns out Chrissie can do a dozen accents, and has invented a cast of whacked out characters: a stoned out surfer astronaut who can’t drive his space shuttle; a new age yoga teacher from Brooklyn, and—in honor of her pregnancy—a Lamaze instructor from New Delhi. She begins hollering out birthing instructions in an Indian accent, making me laugh.

“You’re great at those voices.”

“You know who my idol is?” Chrissie says. “Lucille Ball. She’s my Instructor of Comedy.”

I remember the posters on her apartment walls. It turns out Chrissie can do a wicked Lucy impression.

“You sound just like her.”

“I should. I watched ‘I Love Lucy’ my whole life. Or at least, I did when we had a TV.” She says it so easily that I figure I’m allowed to ask.

“What do you mean? You didn’t always have a TV?”

“Honey, sometimes we didn’t have
food.
We used to pick dandelions by the side of the road and cook ‘em up for dinner.”

“Really?” I think of my uneaten hamburger, the one she took home, and shame sweeps over me again.

“Yeah. But then we moved in with Judge Mayfair and his family.” Chrissie is matter-of-fact about it. “My momma’s a Domestic Engineer by profession. Housekeeper,” she adds when she sees me looking at her.

“For six years I lived at the Mayfairs’ house with my momma. In their maid’s room.”

“That must have been interesting.” I signal Ethyl for the bill and check my watch. Emily should be home by now. Unless Masters has sweet talked her into running away with him.

“It worked out. I started helpin’ their cook, Jessie, all the time.”

“So you learned how to cook and play Lucy Ricardo?”

“
And
I learned how to play tennis. Beau taught me. The Mayfairs’ son. He’s two years older ‘n me.” Chrissie pulls a mirror and lipstick out of her purse and paints a pink mouth on herself.

“What happened to him?” Besides fathering a baby.

“Ole Miss and then law school. Meanwhile, I left home when I was eighteen to find fame and fortune in Hollywood!” She sweeps her arms out.

“But you don’t wanna get out there and act, Ryan?” she asks. “I mean, you’ve lived in LA all your life.”

“Not me.” I’d rather be shot execution-style than perform in front of people. I speak without thinking. “If I did anything in film, I’d go behind the camera.”

“Like how? You mean directing?”

I backtrack immediately. “Nah. I mean, I don’t really know.” It’s not something I think or talk about much. When your father is God, King, and Emperor all rolled up into one, you don’t usually assume you can follow in his footsteps.

“So what
do
you like to do?” she says.

That’s a good question. What I’ve done most of my life is drift around with Michael. After a minute, I say “I like to play tennis.”

“Yeah, you’re really good, too,” she says. “I’ve seen you.” After a minute she asks, “Ben Swanson told me you used to train with him. How come you stopped?”

“I dunno. Got tired of it, I guess.”

“You’d be incredible if you worked at it.”

Ethyl brings our bill, and I grab it.

“Hey, I asked
you!”
She’s digging in her purse for her wallet.

“I’ll pay.” I think of Chrissie’s hundred and forty nine dollars in the bank.

“Well, thank you.” Her hand comes out of the purse holding a piece of paper. It’s a grainy out-of-focus picture of something unrecognizable.

“It’s my ultra-sound picture. And look!” She points to a tiny nub protruding from this larger thing. “It’s a boy!”

“Really?” I had already decided that, but it’s nice to have proof.

“I’m naming him Michael.”

That chokes me right up. As we walk out, I try to stop the burning behind my eyes by blinking my eyelids a bunch of times. I drop her off saying, “I’ll be in touch.”

She’s naming him Michael. Wherever he is right now, I bet he liked hearing that.

B
y now, even my parents have figured out I have a girlfriend.

“So tell us a little about this young lady!” Dad booms. He and Mom stand in the doorway to my bedroom. Mom’s purse is over her shoulder, and Dad’s wearing a jacket, holding his car keys.

I put on my most sarcastic voice. “Don’t let me keep you from your important plans.”

Dad counters with his determined-to-ignore-my-sarcasm face. “We have a few minutes before we have to leave.”

They barge on into my room, Dad sitting in my desk chair while Mom perches on the edge of the bed.

“Spill the beans,” Dad prompts.

“Well, I’m getting good grades because of her.” I just got A’s on a Spanish quiz and a history assignment.

“I like this girl already!” Dad says.

I figure this is my chance to ask them. “She’s gotten me really interested in English history. As a matter of fact, there’s this summer program.” I describe it, stressing the intellectual discoveries and historical insights that await me in Merry Olde England.

“Ryan, what a wonderful opportunity!” Mom claps her hands, while her bracelets clank together. She’s wearing
leather pants.

Dad nails me with a look. “And this girl’s going to England, too?”

“Her name’s Emily.” I stare off into the distance.

“Okay, so you’re going to be… studying history… with Emily? In England?”

“Yes.”

I catch a knowing look in his eye.

“Alright, give us some information on this program, and we’ll think about it.” He’s onto me, but I can tell it’s a yes.

“And we’d like you to bring Emily around for dinner one night.”

“I’ll check our calendar and give you a date,” Mom says.

“No problem.” All right! England here we come. I wait for them to leave, but they just sit there.

“This is nice, having a chance to chat a little,” Mom says.

Spare me. I stare at my framed poster of
The Godfather,
my favorite movie of all time. It’s personally autographed by Francis Ford Coppola. He’s friends with Dad.
Ryan,
it says.
A chip off the old block. You’ll be giving me a run for my money one day.

Yeah, right. I’ll probably be an unemployed derelict, lying around on my ass.

“Well, I guess we’d better go.” Mom and Dad stand up. Of course, they’ll be gone all evening, while we stay with Ro.

“Bye.” I turn my back on them, and after a minute they leave.

•   •   •

Mr. and Mrs. Wintraub have won four theater tickets at a raffle, and they’ve invited me and Emily along. I arrive in a sports jacket and tie and stand, chatting with them in their entry hall, while we wait for Emily. Eleanor smiles at me. “It’s good to see you again, Ryan.”

I’m looking forward to an evening with Mr. Wintraub about as much as I would boot camp, or maybe oral surgery. I’m just hoping to get through the evening without pissing him off.