together. Still. I was used to taking what I could get from my brother, and I would take this.
“Mom,” I said, fingering the sleeve of my worn jean jacket, “can’t you sleep with Dad?” My face flushed hard. “I mean, can’t you guys, like, sleep in the same room?”
Our parents looked at each other. My mother sighed, my father shrugged, and everyone seemed to soften; even the cabbage roses looked hazy and pretty for a moment. “Well …”
“You’re with me, Seth,” Stan said abruptly.
My mom bristled. “Come on, sweetie,” she said to me. Fran and her big suitcase disappeared into our room; I caught the door just as it was about to close.
I changed into my swimsuit while my mom showered. The rush of water against the plastic tub sounded like thunderous applause: Congratulations, Jacobs family, on remaining intact for another day! As I was adjusting the straps of my old Speedo and tugging it out of various cracks, Fran stepped out of the bathroom, naked and dripping, a towel twisted into a turban around her head. I saw my future in her large, sagging breasts, her bulgy middle, the fleshy tops of her thighs, and I felt a hot, tender shame for both of us.
“Oh, don’t look at me,” she said, laughing, as she stepped back into the underwear she had been wearing.
“Ugh, Mom, gross,” I said. I grabbed a towel, tucked it around my waist, and went to get Seth. Their door was ajar. My dad was already conked out on one of the beds. Seth was sitting on the edge of the other one, staring at the TV. There was a pillow over my dad’s face like a scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but I could hear his snoring—had heard it from the hallway—so I knew there had been no mercy suffocation. “Hey, come on,” I said to Seth. “Let’s go.”
He looked at me, then turned quickly back to the television—he was watching a European soccer game, but on mute, so it looked surreal, the enormous stadium packed with silent fans in bright shirts, people on their feet, arms waving, mouths open. Seth turned to me again and sneered. “I’m not going swimming with you,” he said. Not with you. My brother could break my heart a thousand times a day. He could tear me in two. He could burn a hole in me with his eyes. He was a superhero of scorn.
“Okay,” I said, my eyes stinging. I thought about my mother in the next room, bent over naked, stomach pocked, breasts swaying, pulling her light pink underwear up over her legs. Little blue veins decorated her calves, her thighs. She was one of the slimmer, more-well-kept moms, among the middle-aged mothers I knew. Still, she was ravaged. “Fine,” I said to Seth. “Whatever.” I wished I had wrapped another thin motel towel around my shoulders. I braced myself for what he would say next. It might have been anything.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. “Maybe later,” he said to the TV. “Maybe I’ll go swimming with you later.”
In the car, on our way back home, after our walking tour of Philadelphia, after our visit to the campus and my parents’ meeting with the financial aid officer, my father would tell Seth not to get his hopes up. “Lower your expectations,” he would say, and Seth, headphones still clamped to his head, would act like he hadn’t heard.
We could have rescued one another—the four of us, together, or any combination. But we didn’t. We left each other alone, and for a long time after we stayed that way.
Chapter Twelve
I spend my days watching Ben and Jane become a couple, and I will myself to happiness. I make myself a scientist of them, an expert in my narrow field, a Ben-and-Jane-ologist. How close can I get without compromising my subject? Move closer, a little closer.
One Saturday in the middle of March, we go bed shopping. We try out the extra-firm mattresses at the Box Springs Eternal Bed and Furniture Warehouse, roll around like little kids in a bouncy castle on the
“Mom,” I said, fingering the sleeve of my worn jean jacket, “can’t you sleep with Dad?” My face flushed hard. “I mean, can’t you guys, like, sleep in the same room?”
Our parents looked at each other. My mother sighed, my father shrugged, and everyone seemed to soften; even the cabbage roses looked hazy and pretty for a moment. “Well …”
“You’re with me, Seth,” Stan said abruptly.
My mom bristled. “Come on, sweetie,” she said to me. Fran and her big suitcase disappeared into our room; I caught the door just as it was about to close.
I changed into my swimsuit while my mom showered. The rush of water against the plastic tub sounded like thunderous applause: Congratulations, Jacobs family, on remaining intact for another day! As I was adjusting the straps of my old Speedo and tugging it out of various cracks, Fran stepped out of the bathroom, naked and dripping, a towel twisted into a turban around her head. I saw my future in her large, sagging breasts, her bulgy middle, the fleshy tops of her thighs, and I felt a hot, tender shame for both of us.
“Oh, don’t look at me,” she said, laughing, as she stepped back into the underwear she had been wearing.
“Ugh, Mom, gross,” I said. I grabbed a towel, tucked it around my waist, and went to get Seth. Their door was ajar. My dad was already conked out on one of the beds. Seth was sitting on the edge of the other one, staring at the TV. There was a pillow over my dad’s face like a scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but I could hear his snoring—had heard it from the hallway—so I knew there had been no mercy suffocation. “Hey, come on,” I said to Seth. “Let’s go.”
He looked at me, then turned quickly back to the television—he was watching a European soccer game, but on mute, so it looked surreal, the enormous stadium packed with silent fans in bright shirts, people on their feet, arms waving, mouths open. Seth turned to me again and sneered. “I’m not going swimming with you,” he said. Not with you. My brother could break my heart a thousand times a day. He could tear me in two. He could burn a hole in me with his eyes. He was a superhero of scorn.
“Okay,” I said, my eyes stinging. I thought about my mother in the next room, bent over naked, stomach pocked, breasts swaying, pulling her light pink underwear up over her legs. Little blue veins decorated her calves, her thighs. She was one of the slimmer, more-well-kept moms, among the middle-aged mothers I knew. Still, she was ravaged. “Fine,” I said to Seth. “Whatever.” I wished I had wrapped another thin motel towel around my shoulders. I braced myself for what he would say next. It might have been anything.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. “Maybe later,” he said to the TV. “Maybe I’ll go swimming with you later.”
In the car, on our way back home, after our walking tour of Philadelphia, after our visit to the campus and my parents’ meeting with the financial aid officer, my father would tell Seth not to get his hopes up. “Lower your expectations,” he would say, and Seth, headphones still clamped to his head, would act like he hadn’t heard.
We could have rescued one another—the four of us, together, or any combination. But we didn’t. We left each other alone, and for a long time after we stayed that way.
Chapter Twelve
I spend my days watching Ben and Jane become a couple, and I will myself to happiness. I make myself a scientist of them, an expert in my narrow field, a Ben-and-Jane-ologist. How close can I get without compromising my subject? Move closer, a little closer.
One Saturday in the middle of March, we go bed shopping. We try out the extra-firm mattresses at the Box Springs Eternal Bed and Furniture Warehouse, roll around like little kids in a bouncy castle on the
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