We Are All Made of Molecules (6 page)

I couldn't believe it.
You're acting like a toddler!
I wanted to shout.

It was pouring by now. I thought about calling my dad and telling on Ashley, but I knew he couldn't leave work, and anyway, I was pretty sure ratting her out wouldn't make her warm to me any sooner.

I was trying to think of innovative ways to break in when I spotted him.

Ashley's dad. He was opening the door to his laneway house.

I dashed across the yard and said hello.

I'D HAD SUCH A
crappy day. I failed a pop quiz in science. And Lauren had left me no choice but to spread the rumor about her bra-stuffing, but then somehow she tried to make it so it was
my
fault, and she wouldn't even talk to me when the bell rang. Plus she got Lindsay, Amira, and Yoko to not talk to me, either.

Maybe these seem like lousy excuses for not letting Stewart in when he knocked, but I don't know, I guess I also thought I should teach him a valuable lesson, which is “Don't forget your key.” I didn't notice it was raining. Honest-to-God-hope-to-die-stick-a-beetle-in-my-eye.

And when I went into his room, it wasn't to snoop or anything, like,
who cares
what the little dweeb has in his room. I just wanted to check up on Shopping Cart or whatever his
name is, and maybe pet him a little bit. You know, just a cuddle to cheer me up.

But once I was in there, I couldn't help seeing a bunch of stuff. I mean, it was all right in front of my eyes. First thing I saw were the photos. There must have been ten of them, hung in a row along one wall. Some were of him and his mom, others were of his mom and dad, and a few were of all three of them.

I'll admit I was totally one hundred percent shocked that his mom was pretty. She had a cute little pixie haircut and a nice figure. In all the photos, she had a really lovely smile, and you could tell by the look on her face that she thought Stewart was, like, a god or something. I heard one of my mom's friends say once that biology kicks in and clouds a mother's judgment, and obviously that was what happened in this case; she couldn't see that Stewart was one fugly child.

Anyway, it was kind of spooky looking at all those pictures of a dead person, so I started searching for Shopping Cart. I finally found him hiding under the bed. It was the first time I'd seen him up close. You know how they say dog owners start to look like their dogs? Well, I think Stewart looks a bit like his cat. They are both highly unattractive, and the cat has weird ears, just like Stewart. But I didn't want to give the cat a complex or anything, so I reached out to pet him anyway, and you know what happened? The stupid beast scratched me!

That made me feel really sad for some reason. Maybe because it had happened right after Lauren and my other friends ignored me, but it made me feel like everyone was against me, human
and
animal. And then that made me
start to wonder if maybe I was a teeny bit responsible, like maybe I'd gone too far telling people about Lauren's bra, because sometimes I do things that feel right and justified in the moment but that hours later don't feel so right after all. And I was just thinking I should text her an apology when I glimpsed something through the window that made me freeze in my tracks.

It was Stewart, sitting on the couch in the laneway house.

Having tea.

With my dad.

MR. ANDERSON—OR PHIL
, as he told me to call him once I had introduced myself—seems like a very nice man. When I explained my predicament, he sighed. “Oh, dear. That does sound like something my daughter would do. Come on in. I'll try to call her. But I can't promise she'll pick up when she sees my name.”

So I stepped into his laneway house. It is a tiny space—like a dollhouse, but for humans. Except Phil is bigger than most humans; he is well over six feet tall. In my opinion, he is too big for such a little house. “Here, sit,” he said, indicating the miniature living room that opened onto the miniature kitchen. He took off his coat, revealing an expensive-looking charcoal-gray suit underneath.

I don't really notice appearances all that much, but even
I could see that Phil is good-looking. When Phil and Caroline were a couple, they must have turned heads. My dad is a quality individual, but I don't think he turns heads. It actually made me feel rather happy, because it had to mean that Caroline had fallen in love with the person my dad is on the
inside
as well as on the outside.

While he hung up his coat, I glanced around his mini-house, which didn't take me very long. It was nicely furnished with smaller versions of things, like a love seat instead of a sofa, a tiny end table, a very skinny leather chair, and no kitchen table at all, just two bar stools pulled up to a counter. An abstract painting hung on one wall. But by far the most striking feature was a blue-and-white Trek road bike hanging from hooks on the opposite wall.

“Nice wheels.”

“Thanks. I took up road-biking last year.”

“I love bicycles. I'm building an electric one with my friend Alistair.”

“Really? Is it for a school project?”

“No, just for fun.”

“Well, that's pretty cool.” He picked up the phone to call Ashley.

“Did you just get home from work?”

He nodded as the phone started to ring.

“You work at an ad agency, right?”

“That's right. I'm the creative director.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I'm in charge of a few other creative types, and together we come up with ideas for various ad campaigns. TV and print.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It is, most of the time. We're working on one that's really fun right now, for a credit union.” He hung up, shrugging apologetically. “It went to voice mail. I'm afraid I was right. Would you like to wait here till your dad and Caroline get home?”

I looked outside. Mom and I used to make up words for all the different types of rain in Vancouver. There was
mog
(a combination of mist and fog),
strain
(a steady but not heavy rain), and
skyfall
(a torrential downpour). Today's rain landed somewhere between
strain
and
skyfall
. So I said, “Thanks. I will.”

“Can I make you a cup of tea?”

I don't like tea. But it was nice that he was offering, so I said, “Sure.” I realized I was starving because I hadn't eaten any lunch. “If you have any snacks, I wouldn't say no.” I sat on the love seat while he went to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water.

“Caroline's told me a lot about you,” he said. “And I've met your dad a few times.”

“Was it weird, meeting my dad?”

“How do you mean?”

“Knowing that he was going to be living in what used to be your house. Sleeping in what used to be your bedroom. Probably on your side of the bed.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You really cut to the chase, don't you? Yes, I suppose it was a bit weird. But I'm glad Caroline's happy. And I like your dad. I'd met him at Christmas parties over the years. I met your mom once or twice, too. I was sorry to hear of her passing.”

“She didn't
pass
,” I said. “She died.”

“Right.” Phil looked down at the floor, then up at me. “The word
pass
has become all the rage, hasn't it? It's like people don't want to think about death at all, so they won't even say the word. I'm sorry your mom died.”

It was the moment that cemented it for me: I liked this guy.

“You must miss her a lot,” he continued.

I felt my eyes misting over, but luckily the kettle started to whistle so Phil wasn't looking at me.
I miss her every day
, I said, but only in my head. Out loud I said, “Yes, I do.”

He poured the water into the teapot and started rummaging in the cupboards. “Is it weird for
you
?” he asked as he found a sleeve of cookies. “I imagine you must have mixed feelings, moving into a new house that comes complete with new people.”

I hesitated. “It's kind of like what you said about Caroline. I'm mostly just happy for my dad. He was sad for a long time.”

Phil brought the teapot and some mugs to the living room, a total of three steps. He put them on the little end table, along with a plate of chocolate-covered Digestive biscuits. “So,” he said as he sat in the skinny leather chair, “how's Ashley been through all of this?”

“I don't know her very well yet,” I replied, picking up three cookies. “But she doesn't seem very happy that we've moved in. She seems kind of…angry.”

Phil poured some tea into our mugs while I put a whole cookie into my mouth. “I think she
is
angry,” he said. “All I can say is, try not to take it personally. I'm the one she's mad at.”

“Because you decided to be gay?”

His tea must have been too hot because he almost spit out his first sip. “Let's back up a little, okay? I didn't
decide
to be gay. It's not something you choose.”

“That's what my teacher at Little Genius Academy said, too,” I replied. “We took a health class, and Mr. Moore said people are
born
with their sexuality.”

“Your teacher was right—”

“But what I'm trying to figure out is, if you're born gay, why did
you
only realize it two years ago?”

He nodded. “Ah. I get where you're going with this.” He put down his tea. “To quote Lady Gaga, I
was
born this way.”

“Then why were you married to Caroline for all those years? Did she know you were gay?”

“No, she didn't.”

I stuffed another cookie into my mouth. “So you lied to her,” I said with my mouth full.

“Well, yes. I suppose I did. But it wasn't on purpose. I was lying to myself, too.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn't want to be gay. I grew up in a very conservative and strict religious family…. Maybe it will sound strange, but I made myself believe I was straight. I just wanted a normal life. I wanted a family, kids….”

“Gay people have kids. A girl at my old school has two dads.”

“Yes. But I grew up in a small town where that was nonexistent. It just seemed like life would be so much easier if I played it straight. No pun intended.”

“Poor you.” Then I added, “Poor Caroline.”

He looked a bit offended. “I know this might be hard to believe, but Caroline and I had a great marriage for the most part. My love for her was very real. It still is.”

“Was she surprised when you told her?”

“At first, yes. But then…not really. Maybe she knew deep down.”

“And Ashley?”

He sighed. “Ashley was devastated. She still hasn't forgiven me.”

“For being gay? Or for splitting up the family?”

“Both, I suspect. I think mostly the latter.”

“But it's been way over a year.”

“Ashley is very good at holding a grudge.” He smiled. “Not that I blame her. We were very, very close…. She feels betrayed, like I was lying to her, too.”

“Well. You kind of were.”

“Yes. I kind of was.”

I stuffed another cookie into my mouth. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

He had a sip of his tea. “No, I don't. There is someone I'm interested in, a guy in my cycling club. But I have no idea if he's interested in me…. To be honest, I have no idea how to do this. I started rather late.” He smiled, but he looked kind of sad, and I suddenly got the feeling that he was very lonely.

“Do you know Alan Turing?” I asked.

“Sure. The British fellow who broke the Germans' Enigma code in World War Two. Changed the course of the war.”

“Yet in spite of everything he'd done for his country, they
charged him with gross indecency later on. Just because he was gay. He committed suicide by eating a cyanide-laced apple.”

Phil cleared his throat. “And you're telling me this why?”

“Because maybe you need to look on the bright side. It has to be easier for you today than it was for Alan Turing.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. At the same time I saw a flash of movement outside his window. It was Ashley; she'd opened the patio doors.

“Well, look at that,” Phil said. “She's letting you in.”

I stood. “I should go. I need to check on Schrödinger.”

“Schrödinger?”

“He's my cat.”

Phil started to laugh. “Schrödinger's Cat. Brilliant.”

I smiled. “I thought so, too. Thanks for the tea. And sorry for eating all your cookies,” I added, belching a little.

Phil and I shook hands. “Not a problem, Stewart. You're fascinating company. Come over anytime.”