I think it’s Zoe who says something to her, who coaxes her away to turn back to where Val and Hammond are standing with the other girls. And I think Walt asks me what I think of an all-girls camp, but I don’t bother answering. I’m halfway to the door before Zoe catches up, grabs my hand in hers, and I don’t give a fuck if it’s for show or not, I hang on to it.Just for a second,I tell myself.Until you’ve cleared the door.
Once we get outside, Idrop her hand.
Zoe says oneword: “Twins?”
“Yeah,” I say. And it’s all I say, for the rest of the night.
Chapter 7
Zoe
If this were a regular Sunday, I’d likely be sitting in one of four restaurants. Maybe The Outcast Diner, Kit’s favorite, even though I think the tables can be a tad sticky. Maybe Lula’s, also a diner, but with a bit less character and a lot more polish, catering to an upscale, professional crowd. It could also be this tiny bakery on Third, Greer’s pick, which serves the best Belgian waffles in town, but we always have to eat fast because there are barely any seats and people really start working their stink-eyes on you if you linger over your coffee. If it were a regular Sunday but we were feeling fancy, maybe we’d go to the Crestwood; we’d drink mimosas and eat too many of the sweet biscuits they bring, the ones that have a powdered-sugarCon top.
If it were a regular Sunday, I wouldn’t have a small serving of scrambled eggs and toast sitting in my stomach like lead. I wouldn’t be listening to Rachel pelt Val with questions about her presentation, every single one of them a master class in subtle antifeminism. (But do you worry about whether these girls would then have a hard time adjusting to the competition they’d face in their schools?) I wouldn’t be working so determinedly to keep from looking over my shoulder every two minutes to see whether Aiden will show up, wouldn’t be worrying about whether Lorraine can see the tense set of my shoulders, the circles under my eyes from a mostly sleepless night, me lying awake in my bunk, the ceiling two feet from my face, waiting up to see if Aiden mightsay something.
He didn’t.
If it were a regular Sunday, I’d be unloading to Kit and Greer.Twins,I’d say.How could I miss it?I’d once known the Aaron O’Leary file so well. I’d known his birthdate. And I’d seen Aiden’s a couple of weeks ago on the background check.You should have seen his face,I’d tell them, remembering the way Aiden looked down at that little girl, his shoulders actually recoiling, a little, in shock.
But no—if it were a regular Sunday, I wouldn’t be talking about Aiden at all. I wouldn’tknowAiden at all. I’d be doing what I’ve been doing for every brunch I’ve had since I quit my job. I’d be deflecting, talking to Kit about her house, or asking Greer about classes, or making a joke about my endless dating dry spell, even though I’m pretty sure all three of us know I’ve cast that particular spell myself. I straighten in my seat, drag myself back to attention. I have to be here. I have to be doing this, for Aidenand for myself.
“Well, I homeschool my girls,” Rachel is saying. “And they don’t seem naturally inclined to—”
Please don’t say math or science,I’m thinking, but when Val laughs I realize I’ve said it out loud. “Sorry,” I blurt. “I was—conversation interrupting. Ignore me.”
“No, no,” says Lorraine. “I’m glad you did. We shouldn’t be talking about this, not now. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company!”
There’s a beat of awkward silence, probably all of us understanding the truth of this moment, which is that right now we don’t have all that much in common except for this camp. Hammond and Walt have taken the kids outside the lodge to play, to burn off energy before their drives home, and Sheree and Tom left early this morning, Little Tommy crying and tugging on his left ear, his nose runny. Paul gave the kitchen staff the morning off, so he’s been doing the cooking. As for Aiden? He’d said he’d be right behind me, but there’s been no sign of him yet.
“Zoe, Iamsorry about last night,” says Val, that saccharine quality back in her voice this morning, and it’s disappointing, really, because I’d liked the badass, take-no-prisoners Val who went up to the front of this very room and talked about girl power. “I caught the tail end of what Hannah said to Aiden. You know how kids are. I’m sure you have nieces and nephews.”
I ignore that, because I see Hammond and Val are still exploiting Aiden’s and my outsider status on this point as part of their strategy. “Oh, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” I say, but it comes out a little sharper than I intend. How come I can’t get my voice to do that thing Val’s does? Maybe if I suck on one of thesesugar packets.
“I hope I didn’t make a mistake in telling Hannah and Olivia about Aiden,” says Lorraine, pulling our empty plates toward her and stacking them. “I know Aiden is still in a lot of pain about Aaron,” she says. Val shakes her head and does this tongue-clucking thing, sympathy straight out of central casting, and Rachel nods along with her. It’s clear that our quick exit last night was a topic of conversation, and I feel a spike of desperation.Stable and happy,Aiden had said, back at Betty’s. This is exactly what he doesn’t want, everyone thinking about his grief and how messed up he still is over it.
“He is in a lot of pain,” I say, because it’d be ridiculous to try to account for last night—thatlookon his face—by saying something else. I take a sip of my coffee and steel myself, because I’m about to lie half my own face right off. “But I think he needed some time with me, to—you know. Get centered again. Aiden and I—we sort of bonded early on about…” I have to pause here, swallow a lump in my throat. “About loss. We support each other.” As soon as I say it, I realize the half lie is as painful as the truth. What would it have been like, all those years ago, to have had someone who understood loss, someone I could lean on and build up, all at the same time? I’d looked for it, thought I’d found it once, but of course it’d been a mistake, a huge mistake that had made everything worse. By the time I’d found Kit and Greer, the kind of friends that keep caring about you even when you’re a total mess, I’d buried it all. I’d made myself strong enough, becamemy own support.
“Did you lose a sibling too?” asks Lorraine, her voice gentle.
“No. I lost my dad. But he was—we were really close,” I manage, wishing now I hadn’t gone down this path, wishing I hadn’t given up something of myself to help Aiden, who can’t even be bothered to show up to this fucking thing, who’s never going to get this camp unless he starts doing better. Beside me, Rachel takes a noisy sip of her orange juice, and I think about asking whether table manners are a part of that homeschooling syllabus.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” says Lorraine. “It’s good that you have Aiden, and that Aiden has you. Has he told you much about Aaron?”
“Oh—well. Yes, sure. Of course.” Because saying it three different ways is maximum convincing, obviously. But now that I’ve brought up my dad, I feel nervous, halfway to panic. I can recite twenty different facts about Aaron O’Leary, but they’re all the wrong ones. They don’t have anything to do with why Aiden looked at that little girl like he did.
I’m saved by the sound of delighted, giggling shrieks from outside. Val stands, her hands going immediately to her hips. “If Hammond gave them candy bars, I’m goingto befurious.”
“Our kids don’t eat sugar,” says Rachel.
“Yes, you’vementionedthat,” snaps Val, and Lorraine and I exchange a look—a friendly commiseration that makes me feel as close to her as I’ve been since I’ve met her.
We all head to the lodge’s door, file out onto the porch to see what the commotion is, and wouldn’t you know it, Aiden’s shown up after all. He’s pushing Hannah and Olivia in a swing made from one of the tires I’d spray-painted yesterday—I’ve still got bright yellow paint underneath my fingernails as a reminder. The younger Coburg kids are restless around him, waiting for their turn, and when he looks up and notices us all watching, he offers a sheepish nod inour direction.
“He must’ve dragged that all the way from the obstacle course,”Lorraine says.
“I hope neither of them throwsup,” says Val.
I’m hot in the face, at least three too many emotions to deal with all at once: I’m relieved to be out of that dining hall, out of that conversation. I’m grateful he’s shown up. I’m a little proud, too, not that I have any right to be, and not that he’d ever talk to me again if I actually said that. Frankly I’m also really appreciating the way he looks in that thermal and those worn jeans, though I don’t know if that’s a feeling I should be contemplating in the presence ofsmall children.
