We arrive twenty minutes late for dinner. The first ten minutes can be blamed on Ella, because she ended up changing her outfit twice before deeming herself appropriately dressed. The second half can be blamed on Tyler. He held us up over the simple fact that he wasn’t getting to take his car. Dad and Ella planned on taking the Lexus and the Range Rover, saying there was no need for Tyler to take a third car. After all, he’s grounded. And eventually he gave up the fight and dragged his slumped body into his mom’s car. The entire time, I wondered how being forced to sit in a Range Rover could be considered a punishment.
“Here you are, Mr. Munro,” the classy waitress at the classy restaurant says in a classy accent as she leads us to a classy table with classy cutlery. Classy, classy, classy. Five years ago, Dad would have taken Mom and me to a greasy burger joint.
He thanks the waitress and we all sit ourselves down. Dad, Ella and Chase are across the table; Tyler and Jamie are on either side of me. The restaurant is large, yet there are only a small number of tables, which are extremely well presented and spaced out. Nothing is worse than being in a restaurant surrounded by other tables all within inches of each other.
“This is nice, having us all together,” Ella comments once we finish ordering our drinks. I go for water and Tyler unsuccessfully tries for a beer. “We should do this every Sunday.”
Dad nods, glancing sideways at her with a familiar expression in his eyes. Once upon a time, he used to look at my mom that way. “Agreed.”
“Disagreed,” Tyler throws in. He smiles, bows his head, and then folds his arms across his chest. Neither Ella nor Dad pays attention. By now, they’ve probably figured out that he’s always going to have something negative to say every so often, so there’s no point even acknowledging it. I’m starting to do the same.
The drinks arrive and we order. I end up pointing to the first option I see. Everything is far too sophisticated and bizarre-sounding to comprehend. I’ve probably ordered a whale’s testicle.
“How long do we have to sit here for?” Tyler asks five minutes later, interrupting our parents’ conversation and staring at them from across the table, his face blank. He loosens his black tie, undoing the top button of his white shirt. “I’ve got better things to do.”
“Stop being so moody,” Ella murmurs, and then she clears her throat and her voice becomes solemn. “Did you take your meds today?”
“Mom,” he says sharply, quickly glancing sideways at me just before his eyes narrow back on Ella. “I’m gonna go get some air.” Pressing his palms on the table and pushing himself up to his feet, he slides his chair away and heads for the door.
“Just leave him,” Ella says, sighing as she places a hand on Dad’s arm. He looks as though he’s about to charge after him.
“You say that every single time,” he huffs. To begin with, I understood why it was so easy to get irritated by every single thing that Tyler did, but by now it’s apparent that Dad quite simply dislikes the guy. Period.
Ella momentarily frowns but then forces a smile onto her lips and rubs Dad’s back. “Just cut him some slack.”
I want to ask about the medication she mentioned, but I bite back the urge, not letting my curiousity get the better of me, and instead I silently wonder about it—although it’s really none of my business. It could be treatment for erectile dysfunction or something equally private and as personal, but given the way Tyler and Tiffani are all over each other, I highly doubt it.
Ella decides to move the subject away from her eldest and most reckless son, focusing on Jamie instead. “Jay, how’s that biology project coming along?”
“It’s okay,” says Jamie. He shrugs and stares sheepishly down at his lap. “I still need to finish the osmosis diagram.”
“I hated diffusion and osmosis and active transport,” I say, forcing myself to get involved in the so-called “family” meal. “Just wait until AP Biology. It gets worse.”
Dad smiles in approval because I’m making an effort to join in, but then nods to Jamie. “Can you go and find your brother? The food will be here soon.”
“I’ll go,” I blurt without thinking, and I’m surprised at myself for even offering. “It’s really hot in here. I need some air too,” I lie, and then get myself out of there as fast as I possibly can. Perhaps I’m still curious.
When I get outside I scan the entire lot, but there’s no one around. Only a car pulling in and another pulling out. It’s the middle of the afternoon, so the sun is hot against my back, my eyes squinting through its brightness. I zero in on the Lexus and the Range Rover, which are parked side by side. Ella struggled to get the Ranger Rover into the small space and Tyler ended up having to park it for her. It’s then that I notice a figure sitting in the driver’s seat.
Without a single question or even a word planned to say, I head over there, but cautiously. Tyler’s the type of person who would slam the vehicle into reverse and kill me instantly, so I feel slightly anxious when I eventually reach the window and gently tap my knuckles against the glass.
His head snaps around, his features sharp as he furrows his eyebrows. A few long moments pass before he decides to roll down the window. “What?”
“Are you coming back inside?” I bite my lip and take a step back. After I say it, I realize how pointless it was to even ask.
“Screw that bullshit, I’m not heading back in there,” he mutters, and then turns away from me.
I press my lips together, tilting my head. I mirror his glare. “You’re kind of melodramatic, don’t you think? It wasn’t that big of a deal. She only asked you a question.”
His eyes widen, but his frown remains. “Are you stupid? For real—are you? You don’t understand SHIT, goddamn Eden Munro.”
“There you go again,” I say, rolling my eyes, my voice rising in agitation, “overreacting about every little thing. I’m trying to understand what the hell is wrong with you, but you treat me like shit every time I talk to you, so forget it. Now I’m going back inside, because I’m not a self-centered douchebag who throws tantrums when things don’t go my way.” Resting my case, I spin around and head back across the lot.
But I hear Tyler softly call my name, and when I glance over my shoulder, he looks more relaxed. “Come here,” he says, but I don’t budge. There’s no reason why I should listen to him. “Come get in the car and I’ll be honest with you and then we’ll go back inside.”
Tyler offering to tell me the truth for once is too good to miss. And if it helps to get him back inside, then I ought to listen. I heave a sigh and turn around, marching back over to the Range Rover and pulling myself up into the passenger seat without letting my guard down. “Okay, what?”
With his tie hung over the back of his neck and one hand resting on the steering wheel, he stares at me for a long minute. I wait for him to speak, but instead I watch his lips curl into a smirk. “Alright, you want honesty? Okay. I’m being totally honest right now when I tell you that we’re getting the hell out of here.”
Before my mind can even process his words, he shoves the car into drive and slams his foot on the gas, and there’s a horrendous screeching as it spins its way across the lot. He doesn’t even look before pulling out onto the street, and we fly out of the parking lot in a frenzy, forcing the cars around us to slam on their brakes.
“Are you SERIOUS?” I yell, reaching for my seatbelt and yanking it on as quickly as I can. Right now, I fear for my life.
“Not serious,” he says. “Just honest.”
“Take me back,” I demand. Sitting sideways with one hand on the dashboard and the other on my seatbelt, I frantically glance between Tyler and the road: Tyler because I’m shooting him death glares, and the road because I don’t trust his driving skills.
“You really want to go back?” The car swerves from side to side. “Look me straight in the eye and tell me that you want to go back to that place and eat that gross food and sit with your dad for an hour. Tell me that you honestly want to do that.” He stares at me, only occasionally stealing a quick glance out the windshield.
“No,” I admit. “I don’t. But I know I have to, so go back before they kill us both. Are you even allowed to drive this?”
In between his hard braking and rapid acceleration, he manages to reply, “Are you even allowed to look like that?”
I throw my hands up in exasperation. I’ve just about had it with him. “Okay, there’s no need to insult me.”
“It wasn’t an insult, Jesus Christ,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair and slamming on the brakes just before we roll into the back of the Porsche in front of us. “We aren’t going back. We’re going home to the house so that I can get a beer and tell you that Jake’s playing you, okay?”
“Thank you, Tyler,” I say acidly. “Thank you for getting me into even more trouble.”
“Last night was on you,” he argues, while growing frustrated with the length of time that the lights are remaining red. “Sure, I took you out, but it was you who chose not to come home, so don’t try and call me out for that one.”
I give in. “Fine. But new problem: Your mom is going to flip out when she sees that her car is gone. How’d you even get the keys?”
He laughs as the lights flicker to green, and he over-revs the engine. “Chill out, they’ll all fit in your dad’s car. And I still had them from when I was parking. Now stop distracting me, I’m trying to drive.”
I press my lips together, staring at his clenched jaw as he finally decides to actually focus on the road. “Try harder.”
It takes us twenty minutes to finally get back to the house, and I’m surprised that we make it there in one piece. Tyler called Ella on the way to tell her that we “couldn’t care less” about eating with them and that we were heading home. He hung up before she could say anything back.
“Go to my room,” he instructs as we get out of the awkwardly parked car and head toward the front door. Thankfully, he has his keys on him. “I’m gonna grab a drink and then we’re gonna discuss that asshole you’re so keen on.”
I hesitate behind him at the door as he swings it open. “I don’t want to discuss anything with you,” I say. He has no say over my decisions, and I can’t figure out why he thinks that he does.
He just sighs nonchalantly. “Go upstairs and go to my room. I’ll be up in two minutes.” He saunters down the hall toward the kitchen as I make my way to the stairs.
As I’m heading up them, I call down, “Just to clarify, I’m going upstairs to my room, not yours.”
“I’ll be in your room, then, in two minutes,” his voice gently yells back, and I find myself shaking my head in defeat as I reach my door. For someone who doesn’t care about much, he can be very persistent.
I kick off my shoes and quickly shove my mound of dirty laundry into the bathroom and shut the door. Other than that, my room isn’t too messy. Tyler doesn’t notice anything when he wanders in with a bottle of beer clutched tightly in his hand.
“Okay, where to start,” he muses to himself. He pauses to take a swig of the beer and then holds up his hand. “Let me simplify it for you: Jake Maxwell is the biggest player of the year.”
“Funny,” I say, “I thought you were.”
Tyler looks almost offended. He clears his throat, shaking his head. “No, there’s a big difference between Jake and me. Girls want me; Jake wants girls. You know, I don’t purposely go out of my way to find other girls. I just kind of bump into them at parties or whatever, maybe flirt a little, sometimes kiss them if I’m drunk and Tiffani isn’t around. That’s it.” He watches my confused expression for a moment while he takes another long drink, and then he finishes off with a sigh. “Jake, on the other hand, is a player. He leads chicks on for weeks and sometimes even months, sleeps with them, and then never talks to them again. Guy does this with like three girls at a time.” He laughs, but it’s a somewhat solemn laugh. “I can guarantee you that the second you put out, he’ll disappear. He always does. Pulls out either the ‘Sorry, I’m not feeling it anymore,’ or the ‘I can’t talk to you anymore, because my mom’s super strict and says I can’t date until college’ card.”
I stare at him. He’s going to such lengths to scare me away from Jake, but so far Jake’s been the one who’s treated me much nicer. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I am,” Tyler says.
“That’s not a valid reason.”
He only smiles. “Neither was my reason for leaving the restaurant.”
* * *
As expected, Dad and Ella are livid when they get home that evening. Not only did they have to pay for two wasted meals, they’re also extremely “upset” that we ruined our first family event, according to the pair of them. Tyler is reminded that he’s grounded, and I’m banished to my room for the night. And it’s a long night.
I video chat with Amelia for a while and she fills me in on all the Portland gossip. Our English Lit teacher, Mr. Montez, was apparently caught shopping for rubbers in Freddy’s the other day by some seniors. Mr. Montez is in his fifties, so this information makes me feel nauseated, yet Amelia doesn’t stop laughing for at least five minutes. But other than our teacher’s personal life, there’s not much other news, so we end up discussing college. Amelia’s all set on studying biochemistry at Oregon State University, an hour south of Portland, in Corvallis. Unlike her, I can’t wait to get the hell out of Oregon. I start babbling to her about how great the University of Chicago’s psychology program is, but the chat disconnects while I’m mid-sentence. The Internet connection has cut out. I stare at my laptop for a few minutes while it tries to reconnect, but it only buffers endlessly and hopelessly. That’s when I hear someone knocking on my wall—the one separating my room from Tyler’s. There are three taps.
With an eyebrow arched suspiciously, I push my laptop to the side and crawl across the floor, cautiously edging my way toward the wall. I don’t know if the knocks are accidental or on purpose, but either way I find myself tapping back. I knock once and wait. Four knocks come back.
I don’t know what the hell Tyler is doing, but I highly doubt he’s learning Morse code, so I figure he’s just determined to irritate me even more than he already has.
“Can you stop?” I ask, my voice loud enough for him to hear me through the walls but quiet enough for Dad not to notice.
“I turned off the Internet,” Tyler’s muffled voice says back, and it sounds almost like there’s laughter stuck in his throat. “Your conversation was giving me a headache. ‘God, Amelia, isn’t Chicago just so freakin’ awesome? School is my favorite thing in the entire world! It’s so great! I love psychology and homework and studying!’”
I glare at the door to my bathroom as I cross my legs and press my back to the wall. “I didn’t even say that.” To express my annoyance, I elbow the wall.
And so he knocks back again, this time repeatedly rapping his knuckles against the plaster for a good fifteen seconds before he pauses to say, “I could do this all night. I heard no one gets any sleep at college, so this is good practice for you. I’ll turn you into an insomniac in no time.”
“Has anyone ever told you how frustrating you are?” I fold my arms across my chest and roll my eyes in aggravation, but somehow I’m almost smiling. I can’t figure out why, to begin with, but when he talks back, I realize I’m smiling at his playfulness. It’s not often that I get to hear it.
“Hmm, I don’t think anyone ever has,” he tells me. I wish I could see past the wall, see his face. Is he smiling like I am? Is he laying on the floor or standing up or sitting down? What do his eyes look like right now? “How am I frustrating? Enlighten me, college girl.”
He sounds like he’s grinning, but I can’t be sure. I just tilt my face up to the ceiling and press my ear to the wall, so that I can hear his soft voice better. His friendliness is rare. “For starters,” I say, “you disconnected the Internet and now you won’t stop knocking on my wall.”
“Technically, it’s our wall.” He knocks again. Just once.
“Either way, it’s extremely annoying. Please stop.”
“No can do,” he tells me. He starts to tap his knuckles against the wall again, relentlessly and loudly.
I punch the wall then, creating a thud, and Tyler finally laughs.
I return back to my bed after that, shut down my laptop, and get under the comforter. I can’t help but wonder what Tyler is doing on the other side of the wall. Is he laying in bed staring at the ceiling too? Is he texting his friends? Is he looking for a good movie to watch?
It’s beyond midnight when I finally fall asleep, after thinking too much about Jake and what Tyler said about him, and reminding myself of the way Jake’s mom treated me in the morning. She acted as though I was a statistic, just another girl in her son’s room. She wasn’t surprised. And so I can’t help but wonder if what Tyler said was true.
