Ann Beattie - Falling in Place

He tried to put on his madras shorts, but they wouldn’t zip up all the way. He put on a pair of cut-off denim shorts that didn’t button, but that zipped and that had a reliable zipper. He put on a white shirt with a rip down the back, from snagging himself when he was getting out of the tree. His mother never mended things that were ripped. She’d approve of his choosing this shirt to go berry-picking in.

“Why are you so blue today?” she said when he came downstairs.

“I’m not. Lay off.”

“I can’t even inquire about how my children are feeling without being told to lay off?”

“I thought we were going out,” he said.

“As soon as I find a bag to put these containers in.”

“What’s for lunch?” he said.

“I don’t know. Tiffy’s bringing a picnic.”

“Chicken,” he said. “I’ll bet you.”

“It probably is chicken. Will that be all right with you?”

He held the door open for her. She walked out, swinging the bag she was carrying, humming a song. The car was hot inside from sitting in the sun. She opened her door, then went around to his side and unlocked it and opened that door. Heat poured out of the car.

“You never told me what you did in New York,” she said, getting in her side, throwing the bag into the back seat. He got in and closed his door. His shorts were tight across his stomach.

“Nothing much,” he said.

“Nothing much. New York City. If you want some suggestions, I can offer a few the next time you go in.”

“I’m sick of New York,” he said. “It’s too hot in the summer.”

“Take the boat out to the Statue of Liberty. Remember when we all did that last summer? Or the summer before, I guess. I love that ride. It’s not too long, and it’s so cool. I was telling your father that we ought to go to Nantucket this summer and rent a boat for a week. Would you like that?”

“Sure. I guess.”

“Tell him,” she said. “If we gang up on him, he’ll take us.”

“Isn’t he taking a vacation?” John Joel said.

“Of course he’ll take a vacation. But we’re going to have to persuade him to take it in Nantucket.”

“Maybe he’s going on vacation alone,” John Joel said.

His mother was turning on the air conditioning, steering with one hand as she rolled up her window.

“Why do you say that?” she said.

He shrugged. “Maybe he’d go alone.”

“Did he say that to you?”

“No, he didn’t say it. I just thought that since you’re separated he might not take a vacation with us this year.”

“Yes he will,” his mother said. She didn’t sound sure. The air conditioning was already making his knees cold. He drew up his legs.

“Are you going to tell me about the fight you had with Parker?”

“I told you. It wasn’t any fight. He’s just stupid.”

“I’m not too crazy about him myself. Did something happen in New York with Parker — is that why you don’t want to go back?”

“I’m going back next week. I’ve got to get braces, don’t I?”

“I mean for fun. And yes, you have to get braces. I know you don’t like the idea, but you wouldn’t like crooked teeth when you grew up, either.”

“I wouldn’t care.”

“You’d care then.”

“I wouldn’t care,” he said again.

“God,” she said, sighing. “Maybe you wouldn’t. You’re a pretty blasé kid.”

“What does that mean?”

“Blasé? It means you let everything roll off your back like water.” She smiled. “I didn’t realize what an old-fashioned expression that was,” she said. “I guess it is.”

She always came to a full stop at stop signs. It drove him crazy. A dog was running at the side of the road. He waited for her to say something about her dog. She looked, but didn’t say anything.

“I’ll tell you one thing Parker did. We went to the museum and he told me his mother would pay me back if I showed her the tickets, and then he—” He broke off, and decided it would be better to hedge on the truth. “Parker tore up the ticket stubs.”

“On purpose?”

“Sure, on purpose.”

“What was the point of that?” she said.

He shrugged. “He’s stupid.”

“The other thing that surprises me is that you went to a museum. What did you see?”

“Where’d you think we’d go? Some porn movie?”

“I do have some faith in you, John Joel. I just didn’t think the two of you would go to a museum. I think it’s wonderful that you did.”

“Nick took me the week before,” he said.

“Really? And you liked it and went back?”

“I sort of liked it. It was these plaster people.”

“Oh,” she said. “You saw the Segal show at the Whitney.”

He shrugged.

“Well, tell me about it,” she said.

“I read what he wrote about one of the things, and he said it was his friends. One of them was all blue, and it had a face like a goat.”

“I’d like to see that,” she said.

“Some of it was dumb,” he said. He decided not to tell her about the people naked in bed, or the women’s bodies.

“Do you like Nick?” she asked him.

“Sure. He’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

“I don’t love him or anything.”

“Your father does. Your father worships him.”

John Joel shrugged. “He’s a nice guy,” he said.

“Maybe I’m just jealous,” she said. She turned down the air conditioner. They were passing the reservoir, with the geyser of white water shooting up.

“Nick’s got a pretty girlfriend,” he said.

“A lot of them,” she said. “Was this one black or foreign? Or white for a change?”

“She had huge eyes and she was pretty. She worked at some department store. Nick was surprised to see her, when she showed up outside the museum. Dad was late. He finally showed.”

“Nick finds a new one every week,” she said.

“Her name was Nina,” he said. “I just remembered.”

“Nina who works in a department store. Let me guess: Bloomie’s?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Bloomie’s. And she was twenty-five, right?”

“You would have liked her,” he said.

“Right?” she said.

“About,” he said.

“They don’t come over twenty-five. That model gets discontinued.”

“You sound like you’re talking to Dad.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I envy those lunches — flirting with somebody nice, all of it paid for with an expense account.”

“You want to flirt with somebody?” he said.

“Oh, you know what I mean. Or maybe you don’t.”

“You shouldn’t dislike Nick,” he said. “He’s okay.”

“So I hear. Constantly.”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk about him,” he said.

They were going up the steep hill that led to Tiffy’s house. Another dog, out on a lawn; this time it was a German shepherd, the kind his mother’s had been, and he would have bet all the money in his wallet that she’d say something. He would never forget being out on the front lawn with his mother the day Mr. Blue was hit by a car. His own scream had sounded like a woman’s, and his mother had opened her mouth but made no sound at all. The paper boy — there had been a new paper boy, and he would throw the paper onto the lawn from the other side of the street… his mother’s dog had been standing at the side of the house, and it had seen the paper boy raise his arm with the rolled-up paper, and suddenly the dog had gone bounding into the street because he thought the paper boy was playing “get the stick” with him. He had lunged into a car with a heavy thump. Now, John Joel looked at his mother. She was looking in the rear-view mirror and had seen the dog, but wasn’t saying anything. She said: “This is pretty in here. It’s quiet, too — off the main road.”