Just as Long as We're Together Read online

  “Aa-aa-aa,” Roddy sang back.

  “So what’s tonight’s catastrophe?” Charles asked, with a nod in Tarren’s direction. He grabbed a kitchen towel and wiped his face.

  “A speeding ticket,” I said.

  “She thinks Mom can fix it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Lots of luck,” Charles said. Then he waved at Roddy and left.

  This is what it must be like to have a regular brother, I thought. Someone you can laugh with, someone who talks to you naturally, without being sarcastic or cruel. Someone you can face every day without feeling you are walking on eggs. Why can’t Charles be that kind of brother all the time?

  Tarren looked less anxious when she came back into the kitchen. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Aunt Nell.” She hugged Mom. “You’re the most supportive person in my life. I hope someday I’ll be more like you.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Mom said. “You can handle whatever life throws your way. Remember … obstacles, not problems.”

  “Right,” Tarren said. “Obstacles.” She reached for Roddy.

  “You are about the luckiest girl alive,” she told me. “You have the most wonderful mother in the entire universe!”

  It’s funny how people think life would be perfect if only they had different parents.

  Jessica has hardly been home this week. She and her friends are looking for summer jobs. I saw them downtown this afternoon, while Steph, Alison and I were shopping for shorts and T-shirts. Jess and Kristen were inside Ed’s car. They seemed to be having a heavy discussion, so I didn’t wave or anything.

  Later, when we sat down to dinner, Dad asked Jess how the job hunt was going. Jessica put down her fork. “I’ve been all over town. I’ve answered every help-wanted ad in the paper and I always get the same reaction. They take one look at my skin and say, ‘Nothing available now.’ One woman even whispered, ‘Come back when your skin clears up, dear.’ Can you believe it! I mean, is that discrimination or is that discrimination? I’m thinking of suing.”

  Jess caught the look that passed between Mom and Dad. “Well, why not?” she asked them. “You can sue for sex discrimination and race discrimination and other discriminations, so why not skin discrimination?”

  Mom said, “It’s a temporary condition, Jess. Painful, but temporary.”

  “Does that make it okay for people to treat me like a freak?” Jessica asked. “Maybe my skin will never clear up. Maybe no one will ever hire me for anything. Maybe I’ll just wear a face mask for the rest of my life!”

  “An interesting idea,” Dad said, and we turned to him. “I mean,” he said quickly, “the idea of discrimination based on a skin condition.”

  Jessica sat up, her eyes bright.

  “Or could it be viewed as a disability?” Dad asked Mom.

  Mom mulled that over while she chewed, then swallowed whatever was in her mouth. “The law says you can’t discriminate against someone because of a disability,” she said. “If we could prove that acne is a disability …”

  “So you’ll take my case?” Jessica asked Mom.

  “As a judge I wouldn’t be able to represent you, Jess.”

  We all stopped midmouthful and turned to Mom, who flushed.

  “You heard?” Dad asked.

  Mom nodded. “Today.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I asked.

  “I was waiting for the right moment,” Mom said.

  “Well,” Dad said, “this calls for a special toast.” He poured himself half a glass of wine and held it up. “To Nell Babcock Robinson, who will bring her sense of fair play and justice to the bench!”

  Jess and I joined Dad in his toast, raising our water glasses to Mom. “Will you still have to finish your big case?” I asked.

  “Yes, but this will be my last one as a trial lawyer.” Then she said, “It’ll mean a substantial cut in income.”

  “We’ll manage,” Dad said.

  I love you, Mom mouthed at him.

  I love you, too, Dad mouthed back.

  “Does this mean we’re not going to decide about my lawsuit?” Jess asked.

  Mom snapped back to reality. “What I started to say, honey, is … as a judge I wouldn’t be able to handle your case. Dad can talk to his friends at the Employment Rights Project. They might have some ideas for you.”

  “But not you!” Jess exploded. “Not my own mother, the greatest trial lawyer who ever lived. I’ll bet you’d help Tarren, though, wouldn’t you?”

  Mom winced.

  “Jessica …” Dad said, touching her hand.

  “What?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Exactly!” Jess said.

  Mom started to say, “Don’t you think I know …”

  But Jess got up from the table and marched into the kitchen with her plate.

  Mom’s face tightened but she continued to eat, taking very small bites.

  Dad tried to reassure me. “She’ll be all right,” he said, knowing I was thinking about Jess. “She’s just upset over not getting a job.”

  I nodded, trying not to show how close to tears I was, trying to eat the rest of my dinner exactly like Mom, cutting my food into tiny pieces so I barely had to chew.

  On Friday night Stephanie invited Alison and me to her house for supper. Steph’s mother came home from work with two pizzas—one plain and one with the works. She put them into the oven in their boxes, then went upstairs, calling, “Be down in a jiff.”

  Mrs. Hirsch is a lot younger than Mom. Her name is Rowena and she has permed hair and big eyes. She dresses in clothes that look like costumes. One day she’ll wear a long peasant skirt—the next she’s in western gear. She used to look more like your basic working woman, but since she and Mr. Hirsch split up she’s become more exotic.

  Steph’s house is cluttered, with piles of magazines and papers waiting to be read, and odd pieces of furniture that don’t make any sense, like the sink in the foyer. Mrs. Hirsch has taken off the cabinet doors in the kitchen, so everything, including cereal boxes, is right out in the open. Steph’s father is the complete opposite of her mother. You wonder how they got married in the first place but not why they’ve split up.

  Stephanie’s brother, Bruce, is ten. He’s a worrier, like me. He should have been my brother. “What’s new?” I asked him, as we sat around the kitchen table.

  “Only good news, Bruce!” Stephanie warned. “Nothing about the rain forest, endangered species, global warming or the homeless. We don’t need any of your gloom and doom tonight.”

  Bruce thought that over and finally said, “The Mets beat the Cards ten-zip.”

  “You call that news!” Stephanie said.

  “Yeah, I call that news,” Bruce told her. “I call that very good news.”

  “I wonder if my brother’s going to be a baseball fan,” Alison said.

  “Your brother’s going to be a baby,” Steph said.

  “I wish you’d stop saying that!” Alison told her. “I was talking about when he’s older.”

  Mrs. Hirsch came back into the kitchen wearing tight jeans and a lacy top. She pulled the pizza boxes out of the oven. They were beginning to smell like burned cardboard. She set them on the table and told us to help ourselves.

  “Yum …” Alison said, taking the first bite.

  As much as I enjoy pizza, I can’t eat it without thinking about Jess and those obnoxious boys who call her Pizza Face.

  As if Mrs. Hirsch could read my mind, she suddenly asked, “How’s Jessica?”

  “She’s trying to get a job,” I said, “but so far she hasn’t had any luck.”

  “Tell her to give me a call,” Mrs. Hirsch said. “I’m looking for someone intelligent and responsible.” Mrs. Hirsch owns a travel agency in town. It’s called Going Places.

  “Jess is very intelligent and responsible,” I told Mrs. Hirsch.

  “I know that,” she said. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from your family, Rachel.
” She turned to Alison. “And how’s it going with your mom? Is she feeling okay?”

  “She says she feels fat,” Alison said. “She can’t see her toes in the shower.”

  Mrs. Hirsch laughed. “When is the baby due?”

  “July eleventh.”

  “Tell your folks if there’s anything I can do, just give me a call,” Mrs. Hirsch said. “Now, who’s ready for a second slice?”

  We all answered at once.

  When we’d polished off both pizzas, Stephanie carried a plate of brownies to the table. “Well …” her mother said, “as long as you’re all here together, I may just run out for an hour or two.”

  “Where to?” Steph asked.

  “To see a friend.”

  “What friend?”

  “Really, Steph …” Mrs. Hirsch said, with half a laugh.

  “Really, what?” Steph asked, shoving most of the brownie into her mouth at once.

  “If you don’t want me to go out, I won’t,” Mrs. Hirsch told her.

  “Did I say that?” Steph looked around the table. “Did anyone hear me say that?”

  None of us answered.

  “I just want to know what friend you’re going to see,” Steph continued. “And I want a number where I can reach you. You said we should always have a number, just in case, remember?”

  “Yes,” her mother said, “I remember.”

  Alison and I exchanged glances as Mrs. Hirsch pulled the phone book out of a drawer and thumbed through it. She jotted down a number and handed it to Steph. Steph looked it over, then asked, “Who is Geoff Boseman?”

  “A friend,” Mrs. Hirsch said.

  “I never heard of him.”

  Mrs. Hirsch sighed. “He’s a new friend.”

  “You mean this is a date?”

  “Not unless you call two friends having coffee together a date.”

  “I do if one is a man and one is a woman.”

  “You’re overreacting, Steph,” Mrs. Hirsch said. She dropped a kiss on Bruce’s cheek, but when she tried to kiss Stephanie, Steph ducked and Mrs. Hirsch wound up kissing air. She gave Alison and me a kind of embarrassed smile. “I’ll be back in two hours, at the latest. Keep everything locked.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the kitchen door.

  When she was gone, Stephanie said, “You think I was overreacting?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Then Steph looked at Alison, who nodded and said, “She’s separated. She’s allowed to have dates. But even if she was still married, she could meet a friend for coffee, or even dinner.”

  “A friend that Bruce and I have never heard of?”

  “I’ve heard of him,” Bruce said.

  “You’ve heard of Geoff, with a G, Boseman?” Steph asked him.

  “Yeah. Isn’t he the guy Mom met at the gym?”

  “The gym!” Steph said. “She’s having coffee with some guy she met at the gym?”

  “On the StairMaster,” Bruce said.

  “The StairMaster?”

  “I think that’s what she said.”

  “I can’t believe this!” Stephanie said to the ceiling.

  “Lighten up,” Bruce told Steph. Exactly what Steph is always telling me.

  “Yeah,” Alison said, “stepfathers can be the best. Look at Leon.”

  “I don’t need a stepfather!” Stephanie said.

  “Isn’t this conversation premature?” I asked. “I mean, one cup of coffee does not necessarily lead to marriage.” As soon as I said it, I realized my mistake. Natural Helpers are supposed to listen carefully, not just to the spoken but to the unspoken. We’re supposed to acknowledge feelings. But did I acknowledge Stephanie’s feelings? No, I did not. And did I size up the seriousness of the situation and offer support and encouragement? No. If I’m going to be a Natural Helper, I’m going to have to learn to be a better friend.

  At eight, Steph and I sat down to watch Gena’s TV show. It’s called “Franny on Her Own,” and it’s the only show on TV I watch regularly. Actually it’s not as bad as most half hour comedies. It doesn’t have a laugh track and it’s not stupid. Gena plays an intelligent woman who comes to live in the city after years in the country. It’s a kind of city-mouse, country-mouse story. They finished shooting for the season before she looked pregnant. Alison says Gena would rather stay home with the baby next year, but it’s hard to give up that kind of salary.

  “This is so embarrassing,” Alison said as the show began. “I don’t see why you want to watch it.”

  “Because your mother is the star!” Steph explained. “We know her.”

  “Why don’t you tape it instead?” Alison said. “Then we could do something interesting.”

  “It’s just half an hour,” Steph told her. “You can read or something if you don’t want to watch.”

  “Or play computer games with me!” Bruce said. “I couldn’t care less about your mother’s TV show.”

  “You’re on!” Alison told him, and the two of them ran up to his room while Steph and I laughed over “Franny on Her Own.” It felt good to laugh with Steph again. According to Psychology Today, laughter is the best medicine.

  Jessica got the job at Going Places. She’ll be working full-time over the summer but just three afternoons, plus Saturdays, for now. After her first day of work she was bubbling with excitement, not just about the job but about Mrs. Hirsch. “Rowena … isn’t that the most romantic name?” she said on Monday night. She was on the living room floor surrounded by travel brochures. “She’s so warm.”

  “Who is?” Charles asked. He was passing through with a copy of Stephen King’s latest book. Stephen King is his hero. Maybe he can go live with him in Maine!

  Jessica looked up at Charles. “I was talking about Rowena Hirsch, my boss.”

  Mom came through then, with a mug of coffee. “What about her?” she asked.

  “I was just saying how warm she is,” Jess repeated. “How sincere. She’s completely different from anyone I’ve ever known.”

  Mom raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment.

  “I’m thinking of becoming a travel agent,” Jess said. “I mean, not right now, but later, when I finish college. I’d love to travel.”

  “Travel agents don’t get to travel,” I told Jess. “They arrange for other people to travel.”

  “Rowena doesn’t travel much because she has kids at home,” Jess said. “But there’s another agent at her office who travels all the time. She writes a newsletter, reporting on hotels and stuff like that.”

  “You’ve only been working one day,” Mom reminded her.

  “You can tell a lot in one day,” Jess said.

  “A travel agent,” Charles said. “That suits you, Jess.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Jessica asked, suddenly wary.

  “I mean I can see you as a travel agent. You’d be very … competent.”

  Jessica didn’t answer him. It’s always hard to know when he’s coming in for the kill.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed your first day on the job,” Mom said, “but shouldn’t you be working on your English paper now?”

  “It’s not due until Friday.”

  “That doesn’t give you much time.”

  Jess gathered up her travel brochures.

  “And you’ve got the SAT’s on Saturday morning,” Mom reminded her. “I hope you’ve explained that to Rowena.”

  “I have … but they’re just for practice.”

  “Still, you want to do your best, don’t you?”

  Jess muttered something under her breath and headed upstairs.

  Charles tsk tsked. “It’s not easy running your children’s lives, is it, Mom?”

  Mom gave him a look but didn’t answer his question.

  After Jessica’s second day of work it was, “I love the way Rowena dresses. She has such style.” The two of us were in the bathroom, brushing our teeth before bed. “And she built the business on her own. She’s a real role model for today’s young women.”r />
  “She’s not that great,” I said, annoyed at the way Jessica was gushing.

  “I guess you really don’t know Rowena the person, Rachel. You only know her as Stephanie’s mother.”

  “You can tell a lot by how someone treats her children,” I said. Not that I’ve ever seen Mrs. Hirsch treat Steph or Bruce badly, but she’s not as perfect as Jessica thinks, either.

  By the end of Jessica’s first week of work we were all sick of hearing about Rowena and we’d pretty much tuned her out until she said, “And Rowena thinks I should be taking Accutane now.” Mom and Dad were at the kitchen table finishing their coffee and going over the household bills. Jess and I were drying the pots and pans from dinner. “She doesn’t see any point in waiting and neither do I. She even gave me an article about it. Here …” Jess said, pulling a folded page from a magazine out of her pocket and shoving it under Mom’s nose. “Her nephew’s acne cleared up six weeks after he started taking it. Six weeks! And he hasn’t had any side effects at all.” She looked from Dad to Mom, then continued, “And with my salary I can pay for it on my own. Rowena even said she’d give me an advance, if I need it.”

  “Where did you get the idea we can’t afford Accutane?” Mom asked.

  “Well, it’s expensive,” Jess said. “And you’ve been making such a big thing out of your substantial cut in income now that you’re going to be a judge.”

  “It’s the serious side effects that concern me,” Mom said, “not the cost. Our insurance would cover the cost.”

  Jess exploded. “The truth is, you don’t want me to take it. You’ve never wanted me to take it!”

  “Jessica, that’s just not true,” Mom said. “Accutane isn’t a drug to take casually. Maybe Rowena doesn’t know that. I’m going to call and straighten this out right now!”

  “Nell …” Dad said.

  “Don’t Nell me,” Mom told him, storming out of the kitchen. Dad followed her into the living room.