framing the two of you as grand old chums. This meant doing things like taking you gym shoe shopping at Old Orchard Mall.
Over greasy waffle fries in the food court, she said you could tell her “anything.” In a bed at Northwestern Memorial Hospital down the road, your mother was reading magazines and waiting to die, and your father was somewhere over Asia.
“And I do mean anything .” Karen patted your hand across the table. She looked a little like your mother, only she was pretty, but that might have been nothing more than a combination of youth and aerobics classes. “Sex, drugs, whatever. I want you to know, I’m here for you, Ollie.”
“Sure,” you said, running a fry through a puddle of cheese sauce and ketchup. Never in a thousand years did you contemplate telling her about Alicia Washington and the catalogs you’d put back under your bed and still used some nights. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Karen looked at you, amber eyes so wide and earnest, you felt guilty. It was clear that she was genuinely trying to help.
“I’ve been wondering about birth control,” you finally said, even though you hadn’t been. Braden had found his father’s Trojans in the bathroom, and the two of you had examined them thoroughly, despite the fact that you hadn’t even kissed a girl and wouldn’t meet Phoebe Fisher for another four years. “What do you use?”
Lips curling into a knowing smile, Karen leaned even closer, the ends of her long red hair brushing your paper plate, said she’d wondered all about those things when she was your age.
“Mark and I waited to make love until I was sixteen, but I was really nervous about how the condom was to going to work,” Karen began … and continued with stories about other boyfriends and blowjobs and a pregnancy scare.
It was way more information than you’d ever wanted, and was slightly creepy, but it was also the first real conversation you’d ever had with her, and it led to many more. When Karen left for college in Arizona eighteen months later, you were surprised by how much you missed her.
On Sunday nights she’d call and tell you about each new Mark or Ron or Bob and finally Gary, whom she married her junior year. You never told her about Braden trying to kiss you or Phoebe blowing raspberries on your stomach, certainly not about your stepmother, but it was still nice to have someone to talk to.
The day before your father and Maura’s wedding, you picked Karen up at O’Hare. She’d left her baby girl with her husband in Salt Lake City, and when she hugged you, you felt the swell of baby number two.
“So this is nuts, right?” Karen began. “This woman is, like, young enough to be our sister.”
You agreed, even though Maura was only ten years your father’s junior. At forty she was twice your age at the time.
“Don’t you think she’s uncannily pale?” Karen asked. “It’s like she’s an albino or something.”
Maura always seemed perfectly pleasant, but that obviously wasn’t the response Karen was seeking. “She might be a vampire,” you offered.
“I know, right?”
The luggage carousel jerked to life, and Karen asked about school. “I can’t believe you didn’t want to get out of Evanston; you couldn’t have paid me to go to Northwestern.”
Karen hadn’t actually gotten into NU, but you didn’t mention that, just explained again that they had a strong engineering program.
“And that girl never returned your calls?” Karen asked of Phoebe.
You shook your head. “How are Gary and Maxi?” you asked, bending over the rotating belt to pick up Karen’s blue roller suitcase.
“You’d know if you ever came out to visit,” she said.
* * *
Your best friend:
Braden Washington had been your best friend since Mrs. Stewart’s kindergarten class, but by sophomore year of high school, the muscles in his chest and arms had swollen, and you occasionally hated the defined V of his torso, the girls who asked you
Over greasy waffle fries in the food court, she said you could tell her “anything.” In a bed at Northwestern Memorial Hospital down the road, your mother was reading magazines and waiting to die, and your father was somewhere over Asia.
“And I do mean anything .” Karen patted your hand across the table. She looked a little like your mother, only she was pretty, but that might have been nothing more than a combination of youth and aerobics classes. “Sex, drugs, whatever. I want you to know, I’m here for you, Ollie.”
“Sure,” you said, running a fry through a puddle of cheese sauce and ketchup. Never in a thousand years did you contemplate telling her about Alicia Washington and the catalogs you’d put back under your bed and still used some nights. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Karen looked at you, amber eyes so wide and earnest, you felt guilty. It was clear that she was genuinely trying to help.
“I’ve been wondering about birth control,” you finally said, even though you hadn’t been. Braden had found his father’s Trojans in the bathroom, and the two of you had examined them thoroughly, despite the fact that you hadn’t even kissed a girl and wouldn’t meet Phoebe Fisher for another four years. “What do you use?”
Lips curling into a knowing smile, Karen leaned even closer, the ends of her long red hair brushing your paper plate, said she’d wondered all about those things when she was your age.
“Mark and I waited to make love until I was sixteen, but I was really nervous about how the condom was to going to work,” Karen began … and continued with stories about other boyfriends and blowjobs and a pregnancy scare.
It was way more information than you’d ever wanted, and was slightly creepy, but it was also the first real conversation you’d ever had with her, and it led to many more. When Karen left for college in Arizona eighteen months later, you were surprised by how much you missed her.
On Sunday nights she’d call and tell you about each new Mark or Ron or Bob and finally Gary, whom she married her junior year. You never told her about Braden trying to kiss you or Phoebe blowing raspberries on your stomach, certainly not about your stepmother, but it was still nice to have someone to talk to.
The day before your father and Maura’s wedding, you picked Karen up at O’Hare. She’d left her baby girl with her husband in Salt Lake City, and when she hugged you, you felt the swell of baby number two.
“So this is nuts, right?” Karen began. “This woman is, like, young enough to be our sister.”
You agreed, even though Maura was only ten years your father’s junior. At forty she was twice your age at the time.
“Don’t you think she’s uncannily pale?” Karen asked. “It’s like she’s an albino or something.”
Maura always seemed perfectly pleasant, but that obviously wasn’t the response Karen was seeking. “She might be a vampire,” you offered.
“I know, right?”
The luggage carousel jerked to life, and Karen asked about school. “I can’t believe you didn’t want to get out of Evanston; you couldn’t have paid me to go to Northwestern.”
Karen hadn’t actually gotten into NU, but you didn’t mention that, just explained again that they had a strong engineering program.
“And that girl never returned your calls?” Karen asked of Phoebe.
You shook your head. “How are Gary and Maxi?” you asked, bending over the rotating belt to pick up Karen’s blue roller suitcase.
“You’d know if you ever came out to visit,” she said.
* * *
Your best friend:
Braden Washington had been your best friend since Mrs. Stewart’s kindergarten class, but by sophomore year of high school, the muscles in his chest and arms had swollen, and you occasionally hated the defined V of his torso, the girls who asked you
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