Objects of My Affection by Jill Smolinski Page A

this sort of thing. It’s normal. I did my fair share of partying in high school,” I told Daniel later that night while we were cooking a stir-fry for dinner—I chopped, he stirred and fried. “I used to sneak out in the middle of the night. Only my parents didn’t have a clue. Sometimes I wish Ash would try harder to hide it.”
    â€œBut now that you found it, you have to do something,” he said.
    â€œLike what? I hate to say it, but it’s one tiny baggie of pot. I’m not condoning it, but I don’t want to get freaked out about every little thing.”
    â€œTell him you were looking for something he borrowed and you stumbled across it.”
    â€œThen what?”
    He stared at me incredulously. “Then you take something away from him. Like his iPod or his computer. I’ll back you up. You know I will.”
    I shook my head. “He’d never go for that. He’ll get stuck on how I found it.”
    â€œHe shouldn’t get a choice on whether or not you punish him.”
    I started chopping furiously. “Yep. Everybody’s a perfect parent when they don’t have kids.”
    I regretted the words as soon as I said them, even before Daniel muttered, “Luce, that’s not fair.” He was right—it wasn’t fair. I was so lucky to have someone such as Daniel, who seemed to appreciate Ash as he was, right down to my son’s sarcastic sense of humor and quirky taste in music and movies. Yet, as grateful as I was, sometimes I couldn’t shake my feeling of the need to protect Ash from Daniel. Even the most ordinary dustups that might occur with two men in the same house required me to referee. Daniel would say something perfectly reasonable like “Hey, Ash, you left the light on in the garage all night,” and I’d bristle, as if Daniel were attacking me, via my son. As if what he were really saying was Why couldn’t you raise a son who knows how to flip off a light switch? So when Ash’s problems started getting bigger, and Daniel’s prodding for me to handle them more direct, truth was, I didn’t want to hear it.
    Now I wonder if I’d listened to Daniel and cracked down on Ash, kept my eyes open to what was going on, if he’d be in college now, instead of where he is.
    Or maybe Marva had a point: They’re going to be what they’re going to be.
    I sigh. As tempting as it is to buy into that, I’m not going to let myself off the hook that easily.
    Nor will I let Marva.
    I toss the cigarette ashes into a trash can and then head to Marva’s bedroom. Her door is open, and I hear the TV. I lean in and say, “Do you have a second? I have a quick question.”
    She’s sitting in a theater chair, having removed the IV, and hits mute on the remote. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me watching some mindless television—sometimes I can’t resist. It’s the only vice I have left.”
    For a woman who only has one vice, she certainly does have a lot of them. “I realize I didn’t get an answer earlier,” I say. “Why does the job need to be done May fifteenth?”
    â€œI didn’t answer?”
    â€œNo, you didn’t.”
    â€œIsn’t that funny, I could have sworn I did.” She picks up the remote as if she’s going to unmute the TV.
    I’m done falling for that trick. “Then please be so kind as to tell me again. Why the fifteenth?”
    Her hand drops to her lap. “If you must know, I’d like the house to be in order before my birthday.”
    â€œOh! That’s wonderful! What a great birthday present to yourself!” Seems hard to believe she’d avoid such a simple answer. “Is the fifteenth your actual birthday?”
    â€œA day before, but I’ll need the day to prepare.”
    â€œPrepare for what? Are you planning a party?”
    â€œOf sorts.” Her mood darkens, and it occurs