Mom removes the cloth from her eyes and sits up. She pats the cushion next to her, motioning me to come over and sit. She reaches out an arm and draws me close. She feels cold, small, and thin. I guess that’s where I got those genes from. Dad’s not tall, but he’s not short either, and no one has ever called him skinny. Mom rapid-fires questions at me while Carole stalls for time shuffling around in the kitchen.
“How was your first day? Did you make any friends? Do you like your teachers? You need a haircut. Why haven’t you gotten a haircut?”
“School was okay,” I say matter-of-factly. “It’s a school. What’s there to say?”
“Come on, Simon, give me a bit more than that. I’ve been on my feet all day in the lab. It’s tedious work. Tell me something I don’t know. Something that will make me feel happy. What about the girls? Did you see any pretty girls you liked?”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, fine, there might have been a pretty girl or two.”
“Might you ask one of these young ladies out on a date?”
“Mom! Enough! Let me tell you about the feast Mags’ dad made tonight. OMG. You would have loved it. Mags said her father wanted to be a chef when he was younger, but his family didn’t approve. So, he became an accountant instead. Isn’t that sad? Anyway, he really outdid himself this year.”
Mom smiles and nods as I jabber on and on. Carole reappears with a tray laden with a teapot, a plate of stale Girl Scout Thin Mints, and three mismatched mugs. She takes the seat I was previously occupying, folding her legs under herself, as I continue blabbing on about the meal.
“Per usual the food was served family style. The table was covered in endless platters. There was only me, Neel, Mags, her parents, and her younger brother, but I’m not exaggerating when I say there was enough food to feed twenty people. We had noodles and dumplings and steamed buns. There was a platter of green vegetables that looked like spinach, but they called it Chinese broccoli. Did you know there is another kind of broccoli that doesn’t look like broccoli? Also, Mags’ dad remembered I love lotus root and made some just for me. Do you remember what lotus root is? It’s the vegetable with all the holes in it. It’s super crunchy and so fun to eat.”
“Yes, I remember; the whole feast sounds delicious. I hope you thanked Mags’ parents. I’m sure after a less than satisfying school lunch, this was an amazing dinner. What did you end up doing for lunch today?”
And there it is—the trap! I walked straight into it. Mom and I stare at each other for a moment. Carole looks down at the floor. I am busted. Through pursed lips, and in a tone reserved for special occasions, Mom fires one more terse question at me.
“Did you eat in the school cafeteria, or did you bring lunch?”
I try to get around it by saying I had soup for lunch, but that digs my hole even deeper. I’m falling fast.
“Is that right? Soup? Was it soup from the cafeteria?”
“Uh, no, I brought a can of soup from home.”
“I see. Did they have a microwave in the cafeteria to heat up your soup?”
“Um…”
“Uh huh. So, here is another question. Why did you bring the empty soup can back home and, more importantly, why are there dirty dishes in the sink? I didn’t think much about it at first, but now I’m starting to get a clear picture.”
There it is. The evidence. The jig is up! I’m done! What a dumb thing to do—leave dirty dishes sitting around. I should have washed them and put them away. I should have thrown out the soup can in the dumpster behind the apartment. This is common sense anyone would have used to cover their tracks. But, no, not me. Stupid, Simon, stupid.
“All right, mister, you need to tell me what’s going on right now! Why were you at home eating lunch and not at school?”
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. My eyes fill with tears.
“Lindsey, Simon was having a hard time today. He needs time to adjust, to get used to the new school.”
Mom turns bright red and sits straight up. That’s when shit gets real, fast. In an instant, Mom seems to forget all about me and turns her anger toward Carole.
“What the hell, Carole, you knew about this? Oh my God, you knew Simon skipped school today, and you didn’t tell me? You kept this from me? He’s my child, Carole!”
Tears welling, Carole yells back at Mom. “I thought he was our child!”
I join the shouting match. “Stop calling me a child. I’m not a child!”
Mom tells me to go to my room; I gladly comply. I pick up Sammy, storm down the hall, and slam my bedroom door. I throw myself on my bed, shaking again like I did this morning. Like I did last night. My heart beats faster, and I am lightheaded. I’m terrified there is something majorly wrong with me.
The shouting between Mom and Carole doesn’t last long, but it’s a lifetime to me. I hear a staccato burst of footsteps in the hallway before another door slams shut. It must have been Mom because I hear Carole yelling, “Lindsey, don’t walk away from me.”
Mom yells back through the closed bedroom door. “Leave me alone. You know I have another headache and don’t feel well.”
After a good amount of silence, I hear the clatter of Carole collecting the dishes from our tea party gone awry. She goes into the bedroom with Mom, and I hear them whispering, but I can’t make out what they are saying. Holding Sammy, and listening to his purr, restores some of my calm. But I am shaken again by a knock on my door. Sammy, also scared, jumps out of my arms, and runs under the bed. I reluctantly get up and crack open my door. To my surprise, it’s Mom. She is deathly white but smiles.
