Page 82 of We Could Be So Good
“What am I, chopped liver?” calls Emily.
“You jilted me,” answers Andy. “I’m only dancing with people who haven’t jilted me.” He blows her a kiss and she sticks her tongue out at him. He catches Nick’s eye over Linda’s shoulder, and he’s looking fondly between Andy and Emily, and something gives way in Andy’s heart, some final defense he hadn’t known he still had.
When Andy graduated high school, his parents made a rare exception to their policy of never seeing one another, never mentioning one another, and encouraging Andy to participate in the delusion that the other parent didn’t exist. They both attended his graduation and even went so far as to jointly take him out to lunch afterward. They both clearly hated every minute of it and it was a miracle the meal hadn’t ended with the table being overturned, but for that hour Andy had gotten to have both of his parents, the only family he had ever had, in one place. He had been almost overwhelmed with it, hardly able to believe that this was normal for most people, that this was how most people experienced family.
The idea that he could have that, or something like that, opens up inside him and takes root.
The room is warm despite the open windows and there’s a sink full of dishes Andy will have to deal with later. The record is playing too loudly and it’s only a matter of time before Mrs.Wojcik from downstairs has something to say about it. But meanwhile, Andy gets to be in a room with his favorite people, dancing with someone who might be a worse dancer than he is, and he’s happy.
He and Linda careen into the sofa.
“I have to lead,” Linda says. “Sorry, went to an all-girls school and I was too tall to follow. And right now I’m too stoned to learn new things.”
Andy puts aside his worries about twisted ankles and adjusts so his left hand is on Linda’s shoulder and braces himself for the worst.
“Guess we’re going to die,” he says when she starts moving.
“Man up, Andrew.” She twirls him around with surprising competence and Andy promptly trips over his own foot and smacks his face into her arm. He starts laughing, because it’s ridiculous, because it’s silly, because this might be the first time dancing has ever been fun.
“Do it again,” he says.
This time he manages to duck under her arm when he’s supposed to. Or, rather, he manages to let himself be pulled along where she wants him. It’s exhilarating, and, sure, some of that is the wine talking, but the rest of it’s just Andy having fun while doing something badly. The song changes to something faster and unfamiliar, and he’s doing more stumbling than actual dancing, but somehow it doesn’t stop being fun.
“I’m cutting in, you oafs,” says Jeanne, tapping Andy on the shoulder. Andy isn’t sure when Jeanne stopped dancing with Nick, but now Nick is dancing with Emily, and someone has opened a fourth bottle of wine. Andy turns away from Linda to dance with Jeanne, but apparently he’s gotten it wrong because Linda and Jeanne are waltzing right into the kitchen.
He collapses onto the sofa and watches. It’s only natural for him to watch Nick now, right? What else is he supposed to do? And Nick is looking back at him with a small secret smile that doesn’t belong in public, but maybe this isn’t public. This is their home, and maybe they’re safe. Realistically, everyone in this room already knows about them—if Emily knows, then Jeanne probably does, too. And Linda lives next door and has seen them often enough to draw her own conclusions. Linda is also dancingcheek to cheek with another woman, and girls’ school or no, that’s mighty interesting.
So he lets himself enjoy the sight of Nick moving, the way he leans close to whisper something to Emily while never taking his eyes off Andy, the way he can almost imagine Nick’s big hands on him instead.
When the record ends, Jeanne looks at her watch and shrieks. “It’s past midnight.”
“Pumpkins,” Emily says somberly.
“Little talking mice,” Linda agrees.
Andy levers himself to his feet and participates in the hunt for purses and cardigans and cigarette cases.
“I’ll walk them downstairs and put them in a cab,” says Nick, leaning close to Andy’s ear. “You look beat.”
Andy kisses and hugs both sisters good night. There’s a general round of futile late-night attempts to plan another gathering and then they’re gone, leaving Linda and Andy alone in the kitchen.
“I won’t say a word,” says Linda as she watches Andy fill the sink with water and dump in some dish soap. She sounds deadly sober.
Andy doesn’t pretend not to understand. “I trust you.”
“I trust you, too,” Linda says.
Families might usually be bonded by blood, but maybe sometimes they’re bonded by shared secrets, by a delicate mixture of caution and faith, by the conviction that hiding together is better in every way than hiding alone.
Chapter Twenty
Andy is piling dishes in the sink when he hears the door open and close, then the slide of the bolt in the lock. There’s the familiar sound of Nick kicking off his shoes, and then a minute later he hears the window sliding closed and the curtain being drawn. Music starts playing—not the record they had played earlier, but something else.
“Come here,” Nick says, hooking his chin over Andy’s shoulder. “Leave the dishes.”
Andy dries his hands on his pants and turns in Nick’s arms.
“Earlier,” Nick says, “I wanted to dance with you.”
