I break eye contact first.
“Listen,” Felix says, and I reflexively tense. It sounds like he’s about to let me down gently.It’s not you, it’s me. I need someone with a higher GPA.“I didn’t like him, but that doesn’t mean I wanted anything bad to happen to him.”
I’m nodding before he finishes, grateful he put it into words so I don’t have to. “Same.”
“It’s not like I want bad things to happen tootherpeople,” he clarifies, though for once I haven’t been assuming the worst. “Especially not, you know, the ultimate bad thing.”
I nod again. There’s no need for either of us to say the D word out loud.
“I can’t even imagine hating another person so much you wish they’d… not be alive anymore. Especially now that—” Felix trails off, but I get it. Being in the same room with death changes your perspective. I hadn’t even been to a funeral before this, or at least not the kind with an open casket. There was a memorial open house for one of our neighbors a few years ago, but Mom and I only stayed long enough to drop off a casserole, and a photo collage doesn’t hit the same way.
I should probably say something comforting, but I can’t think of any helpful words, so I reach out and lightly touch his shoulder instead. It’s less knobby than I’m expecting. I’m pondering whether to do more of a pat-pat or a squeeze when we hear footsteps approaching. I have the irrational urge to hide, only there’s nowhere to go and no time. And we’re definitely notdoing anything shady—a fact I try to convey with my extra-bright smile as Malia comes into view.
“Oh!” She stops at the sight of us, one hand pressed to her chest while the other jerks behind her back. I guess she doesn’t want us to notice the trash bag she’s carrying. Maybe it’s one of those old-fashioned etiquette things, like not wearing white shoes after Labor Day. Don’t let other people look at your garbage; it’s uncouth. “I didn’t see you there.”
Felix offers a stiff wave, barely moving his arm.
“I’ll leave you to your, ahem.” She makes a circle with her chin. Whatever that means.
My smile is so fixed, I’ll probably have to soak it in warm water to get it off my face. We watch Malia go, shuffling sideways to keep her body between us and the white bag she’s still hiding.
“That was weird,” Felix mutters once she’s out of sight. “Do you think she thought we were—”
“Maybe,” I interrupt, because there’s no point giving the idea more oxygen. “Or she could have had something embarrassing in the trash.” Especially since she went all the way outside (presumably to the dumpster) instead of using the black cans in the kitchen.
“Like… for her period?” It sounds like Felix is trying to act mature and evolved, but the fiery blush tells a different story.
“She’s in her seventies.” When he continues to stare at me blankly, I sigh. “Have you ever seen a pregnant eighty-year-old? No. Because eventually that stuff stops happening.” To make an uncomfortable conversation even worse, I wave a hand at my abdomen.Right here, Felix! Menstruation central!
“Huh. They didn’t cover that in Bio II. Too busy explainingphotosynthesis. Again.” He shakes himself. “What do you think it was? In the bag?”
“Fish, maybe? Or a smelly cheese rind. But I guess it could be adult diapers.” Grandma Lainey says it’s important to find a balance between “constant vigilance” and “can’t be helped” by the time you hit fifty, because the human body is a fickle mistress, always ready to betray you in new and uncomfortable ways. Not that we need to talk more about bodily functions.
“I heard your mom got married,” he says out of the blue.
“Yeah.” I can’t decide if a shrug would be overselling, so I leave it at that. As much as I wanted a subject change, this is not it.
“You and your stepdad don’t get along?” Felix lowers his voice and looks away, like that will make his prying more tactful.
“It’s not a big deal. He’s fine, I’m fine, it’s whatever. No one’s going to make an inspirational movie about it.”
It would be more convincing if I sounded less pissy. The irony is that I’m being completely honest. If anything, I wish Mr. Ghabbour was more annoying, so I’d have an excuse to resent his presence in my life.
“Huh.” Felix seems disappointed, like he expected me to share a tearful revelation.
“Are you that interested in my home life?”
“No! I mean, kind of. It doesn’t all have to be about the… situation. What happened yesterday. We can talk about other things.”
“Lighten the mood with some messy family dynamics?”
The visibility isn’t great in the pantry, especially since we haven’t turned on the overhead, but I still catch the spark of amusement in Felix’s eyes.
“I didn’t know she was his stepaunt.” I’m thinking out loud, leapfrogging from one blended family to another. “I mean, she’s still present tense, but hewasher nephew. Stepnephew.”
“You mean, why was she freaking out so much if they were only distantly related? My grandfather says it’s unnatural for someone to die so young. Even if they weren’t super close, it feels extra wrong.”
“Yeah.” The truth of that hit me every time I woke up in the middle of the night and had to squeeze my eyes shut and think really hard about something else. Even Grandma Lainey was struggling, judging by the sound of the sliding glass door opening in the wee hours. She goes out there to sneak a cigarette on rare occasions, a habit I pretend not to notice so I won’t have to rat her out if my mom ever asks.
