| 3.
I’m five years old, playing on the runway after one of
Mom’s shows in Paris. It’s late. Really late. There
are clothes everywhere and people are hanging around talking in
sharp accents. The place smells like smoke and perfume, and my ears
are still ringing from the pounding music.
No one has noticed me in a long time, but it’s okay because
I’m busy imitating all the models, remembering the spectacle
I watched earlier from behind a curtain with some woman who kept
whispering, shhhh, as if I didn’t know how to be quiet for
a show. But now I don’t have to be quiet, so I stomp real
loud, taking extra long strides like Mom does. I pull my shoulders
back and stick my chin up. I even suck in my cheeks.
Then people do notice me, and I pick out the words I recognize –
the ones that are in English or French.
“Oh look at him!”
“Good God, Sarah, he’s drop dead GQ. He looks just like
you.”
“Ohhhhhh, couldn’t you just eat him up?”
There’s laughter and a group of models throw kisses up at
me. Mom is watching me from her position draped over a chair below
and she’s got these soft, half-closed eyes, but she’s
smiling. She looks really happy, maybe even proud, and I haven’t
done anything special. So I vamp it up, but in a five year old way.
I run down the runway as fast as I can and I think I will leap off
the stage and fly into her arms and she will catch me, only it doesn’t
happen that way. Mom just watches me fall into a pile of chairs.
When I open my eyes Mom is standing
over me, staring at her crumpled mess of a son. I’m still
on Dad’s desk and every part of my body aches. Sunlight streams
in through the office window, so I squint. My face is hot, and I
feel sick. I sit up very carefully, then slowly slide off the desk
into Dad’s office chair. The movement makes my head throb.
Mom hands me a mug of coffee, then she sits down in the oversized
chair next to Dad’s bay window. For a moment it’s silent,
and I wish it could stay like this forever, but I know that it can’t.
“Oh Liam,” Mom whispers at last. “Why do you do
these things? Why do you have to upset your father? Were you trying
to make him kick you out? Is that it?”
It sounds like she’s attacking me, but Mom’s not like
that. She just wants to understand.
“No,” I say. “I didn’t mean to get . . .”
The words stick like cotton in my mouth. Up until Mom said it out
loud, I’d been hoping that Dad kicking me out was part of
a horrible drunken fog. “He hasn’t changed his mind
yet?”
Mom looks at me sadly, but she doesn’t answer.
“How much did you drink at the party?” she asks instead.
“A few beers.”
“I’m guessing that’s an understatement,”
she snorts. “Drugs?”
“Ma. No.”
Mom nods because deep down she knows I wouldn’t do that. In
a strange, twisted sort of way, she trusts me.
“And the girl?”
“Delia? What about her?”
“Do you even like these girls?”
I think how I almost hated Delia as she was taking my clothes off,
but that doesn’t sound right out of context, so I shrug, and
Mom shakes her head.
“You’re such a little shit,” she says, and for
a second she’s truly pissed, but then her face softens. Mom’s
got the kind of features that you can’t help staring at. When
she smiles it starts in her eyes, then spreads across her entire
face and makes the room light up. That’s part of the reason
she was a fabulous model. She didn’t just make people look
– she made them linger.
I wish she’d smile now, but of course she won’t.
“Your father’s serious this time, Li. He means for you
to leave. I’m not going to lie and say I stood up for you,”
Mom adds. “Your father wants you gone by the end of the week.
He’s called your grandparents and arranged everything.”
For the first time I sit up straight.
“Mom, he can’t! Gram and Gramps hate me. You know that.
Besides, I’m his kid. And it’s my senior year. Isn’t
there something . . .”
She holds up one hand.
“You’re right about your grandparents,” she says.
“If it makes you feel any better they hate me, too. You’ll
end up with them over my dead body.”
“But you won’t tell Dad he can’t kick me out?
Where am I supposed to go?”
She breathes out and I can tell she’s exhausted, but Mom is
always exhausted.
“I’ve been on the phone all morning,” she says.
“I found someplace else for you to stay. It took some convincing
but your uncle Pete will take you in for a while. Just don’t
tell your father it was my idea. And be careful how you break the
news because he won’t be happy about it.”
She stands up as if she hasn’t just changed my entire life.
“Mom . . .” I start, but there’s too much to say.
“Your uncle’s number is on the coffee table. I told
him you’d call to sort out the details once you were feeling
better.” She pauses. “He’s enthused.”
She laughs a small, airy laugh at her casual lie, and she looks
so sad standing there that I want to shake her. I remember how she
looked on the runway with her perfect posture and the tall, regal
way she carried herself.
“Ma, please! Can’t we talk about this some more before
. . .”
“No,” Mom says. “Your father wants breakfast.
Don’t come downstairs.”
Then she walks out the door and disappears.
Chapter 4 can only
be found in the book!
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