Things You Should Know by A. M. Homes Page B

from, Ray?”
    â€œPhiladelphia.”
    She is thinking Main Line, that would explain it. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t care about anything, maybe money means nothing to him, because he already has it, because if he needs it, there is always enough.
    â€œAnd what did your family do in Philadelphia?”
    â€œThey were in business.”
    â€œWhat sort of business?” she asks.
    â€œDresses,” he says.
    Not Main Line. “Do you have many friends in the area?”
    He shakes his head. “I am not so easy, I don’t like everybody.”
    â€œDo you have a family?” she asks.
    â€œI have myself,” he says.
    â€œAnd what do you want from us?”
    â€œYou and I have only just met.”
    â€œMy parents are very generous, simple people,” she says. It sounds as though she’s making him a deal, an offer. She stops. “I noticed you on the floor with the cymbals. Are you a guru, a swami of some sort?”
    â€œI have been sitting for many years; it does me good, just noticing what I feel.”
    She is noticing that she feels like hitting him, hauling off and slugging him. The unrelenting evenness of his tone, his lack of interest in her investigation, his detachment is arrogant, infuriating. She wants to say, I’ve got your number; you think you’re something special, like you were sent here from some other place, with little cymbals on your fingers— ping .She wants to say, pretending you’re so carefree, so absent of emotion, isn’t going to get you anywhere— ping .
    â€œDo not mistake me,” he says, as though reading her mind. “My detachment is not arrogance, it is hard won.”
    If she hits him, he will not defend himself—she knows that. He will let her hit him; she will look like an idiot, it will look like proof of how crazy she is, it will look as though he did nothing to provoke her.
    â€œThis is just what you think of me,” he says, nodding knowingly. “I am not anything. I am just here. I am not trying to go anywhere.”
    â€œI’m watching you,” she says, walking out of the kitchen.
    Â 
    The door to her parents’ room is closed. She knocks before entering. Her parents are sitting on the bed, reading.
    â€œWe’re spending some time alone together,” her mother says.
    â€œShould I not bother you?”
    â€œIt’s okay—you’re not here very often,” her mother says.
    â€œWhat’s Ray doing?” her father asks.
    â€œRearranging the shelves in the kitchen, throwing clay pots and firing them in the oven, and koshering chickens for tomorrow.”
    â€œWhat makes you always think everyone else is getting more than you?” her mother asks.
    â€œYou’re hiding in your bedroom with the door closed and he’s out there—loose in the house, doing God knows what. He’s completely taken over, he’s running the show, don’t you see?”
    â€œWe’re not hiding, we’re spending time alone together.”
    She sneezes four times in quick succession. “Cat,” she says.
    â€œDid you bring anything to help yourself?”
    â€œWhat the hell makes him so special that he gets to come and live here with his cat?”
    â€œThere’s no reason not to share. In fact it’s better, more economical, and he’s very considerate,” her father says. “Ifmore people invited people in, it would solve the housing shortage, use less natural resources. We’re just two people. What do we need a whole house for? It was my idea.”
    â€œWhy don’t you just open a shelter, take in homeless people and offer them free showers, et cetera?”
    â€œDon’t go completely crazy,” her mother says. “There are no homeless people in Chevy Chase.”
    She looks around the room. “What happened to Grandma’s table? It used to be in that corner.”
    â€œMini-storage,” her