The Museum of Heartbreak (5 page)

He snorted.

Emboldened, I continued. “Remember that time she scolded me for using the phrase ‘killing two birds with one stone'?” I mimicked her prim reprimand: “ ‘Um, as a vegan, I prefer the phrase “feeding two birds with one seed.” It's more humane.' Whatever. Doesn't stop her from wearing her stupid expensive suede boots.”

I was just getting warmed up.

“Or that time she was grossed out because there was cat hair on my coat and she said it was unhygienic?” I said, reflexively wiping my clothes for any stray cat hair before continuing. “As a
vegan
, you think she'd be a bit kinder about animals.”

On fire!

“Remember that time she brought a whole box of fancy chocolate back from Paris, and then as soon as I had a second piece, she lectured us on the dangers of fat and the virtues of willpower? Who does that?”

I was unstoppable!

“At least she finally knows my name now. I think Audrey had to introduce her to me like eleven times before she could remember it. But I'm still convinced she knew it and was pretending not to remember. . . .”

Eph wasn't saying anything.

“Why aren't you saying anything?” I demanded.

He shrugged. “I don't know . . . maybe Audrey's right.”

“What? About Cherisse?”
My voice came out in a disbelieving squeak.

He scoffed. “No fucking way. I meant about the circle socials.”

“Social circles.”

“Whatever, you know what I mean.”

“I like my social circle! I have you and Audrey. Why would I need anyone else? We make a perfect social triangle, right?”

He didn't respond.

“Wait a minute, are you guys trying to dump me?” I tried to sound jokey, but I hated the note of vulnerability that crept in.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,” he scoffed. “Stop being absurd.”

Even though he was actually saying something nice, his response was so simultaneously dismissive and patronizing, I immediately wanted to burst into tears and kick him in the knees.

Luckily for all parties involved, at that second my mom called out, “Time to eat!”

As our moms entered the room, I fell into a seat across the table from Eph, scowling.

Every time he and I made eye contact, he'd laugh quietly to himself, like he thought it was hilarious how absurd I was being, like I was the biggest absurd person in Absurd Town, like I was the freaking President Emperor Queen-Elect Grand Absurd of Absurd Town.

Jerk.

Ellen began spooning pasta onto everyone's plates, while my mom brought in a big steaming bowl of tomato sauce.

I settled back in my chair, pointedly ignoring Eph, watching as
our dads entered the dining room, deep in museum talk.

As usual, my dad had this distinctly Nutty Professor–like vibe, running his hand nervously through his thinning hair, scattering more dandruff on his black cardigan, his glasses crooked on his nose.

Eph's dad, George, however, was all handsome, restless, long-limbed energy. I had a crush on him when I was in first grade—a crush that lasted until I asked Eph if I could be his mom when Ellen died. That didn't go over well. My crush was kaput now, but on occasion he was so debonair, so much like an old-time movie star that I had to avert my eyes, like he was the sun.

“Penelope, so nice to see you,” he said, leaning around and giving me a kiss on the cheek. I dropped my head, trying to hide my blush.

“Mrs. Marx, can I have some bread?” Eph asked, and Mom handed me the bread basket. I took my time choosing a slice, then waited until my mom wasn't looking and passed it the opposite way.

He rolled his eyes.

“Ellen, how is your new glass studio? It's in Bushwick, right?” my mom asked politely. She had already confided to me no less than a dozen times that she was worried Ellen would get mugged, going that far out in Brooklyn.

“It's amazing,” Ellen replied. “I have so much more space . . .”

At that point I became aware of the table vibrating, a slight rattle of silverware, drinks shaking, drinks sloshing, and my mind immediately went to an earthquake or huge alien-overlord ship hovering above the city. Eph met my eyes and nodded his head toward my dad, the source of the kinetic energy. He was shaking his leg so
hard under the table I thought the whole room was going to start inching itself out of its foundations.

I could tell Mom was trying to suss out the source of the vibrations while still pretending to listen to Ellen, so for my mom's sake (but
not
for Eph's, who'd called me absurd), I bit the bullet.

“How was your day, Dad?”

He exhaled deeply, relieved to let out all that bottled-up energy. “Willo's coming, darling daughter!”

As if the declaration freed him, he reached for a hunk of bread and began happily gnawing on it.

“Who's Willo?” Ellen asked.

“I'm glad you asked, Ellen,” my dad started, his mouth still full of half-chewed bread. Mom patted him gently on the leg, shaking her head.

“If I may, Theo?” George asked my dad. My dad frowned, eager to expound further but reluctantly held back by my mom's good table manners. George spread his napkin over his lap with a flourish. “We're mounting a major exhibit on dinosaur physiology. Were they fast, were they sluggish? Were they closer physiologically to birds or reptiles? Willo was—”

There was a buzz and George paused, grabbing his cell phone out of his pocket and lowering his dark-rimmed glasses to squint at the number. “Oh, I have to take this.” He pushed his chair back.

“George,” Ellen said, touching his elbow, inclining her head at the rest of the table.

“It can't wait—I'm sorry.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, then turned to my mother. “Jane, please excuse me. I promise I'll be
back for more of this amazing meal,” he said, winking at her before he left the room.

Ellen grabbed her glass of wine and put the whole thing back in one gulp.

My mom's face knit in disapproval, whether from the wine or George's departure I couldn't tell. I knew she wasn't crazy about these dinners: I had overheard her telling my dad more than once that she worried that Ellen drank too much, that she didn't like the way George got all handsy at the end of the evening, that she thought George and Ellen shouldn't leave Eph alone for so long when they traveled for George's exotic museum-curating trips.

I loved her, but I wished she wouldn't worry so much.

“Who's Willo?” Ellen asked.

My dad gulped down a mouthful and leaned forward, chewing as he talked. “Willo was a dinosaur. And what's remarkable about him, you may ask?”

“Funny, I
was
going to ask that,” I said.

“Actually, he's
not
remarkable!” My dad laughed at his joke, officially reaching Peak Dad Humor. “But here's where it gets interesting.” My dad leaned forward, his voice lowering to a moderately loud whisper. “Back in 2000, scientists in North Carolina began to examine Willo's remains more carefully. They peeled away all this dirt and fossilized bone in his chest, and they made what at the time they thought was a huge discovery. Can you guess what it was?”

“A baby dinosaur?” my mom said.

“A second brain?” Ellen said.

“Amelia Earhart's remains?” I said.

“A heart?” Eph said.

“Ephraim for the win!”
my dad yelled, high-fiving Eph while holding a fork full of pasta, splashing red sauce on his own shirt in the process.

Eph mouthed
I win
at me. I stuck my tongue out at him.

“It was the first dinosaur heart anyone had ever found! I mean, they had all but given up on finding one. Can you imagine actually
seeing
the organ that pumped blood through those creatures? God, it's amazing. And I haven't even gotten to the big part yet. Are you ready? Their findings suggested it was
four-chambered 
! Can you believe it?”

We all stared at him.

“That would mean that dinosaurs were closer to us than we ever thought, that they were
like
mammals! A four-chambered dinosaur heart!” He grinned at us.

“Wow, that's really something, Theo,” Ellen said graciously.

Eph turned to my dad. “So is Willo's heart going to be here?”

“Well, you see, Ephraim, that's the funny thing. After all that press and hubbub, another group of scientists took a look at Willo. And much to everyone's chagrin, they've suggested it's not a heart—it's a deposit of sand instead,” my dad said, sitting back, his eyes bright.

Mom straightened up, familiar with that posture and tone of voice. He was settling in for a lengthy story—one that would probably run longer than the Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous periods combined. She held up her hand. “Honey, we haven't even had a chance to ask the O'Connors about their last trip. Why don't we save this for another time?”

My dad, visibly and instantly deflated, muttered, “Sure, sure.”

“Mr. Marx, maybe next time I'm by the museum you can show me Willo,”
Eph said, and just like that, my dad's demeanor swung to cheery again.

“The exhibit is opening later this fall, Ephraim!”

I was still feeling grudgy about our earlier conversation, but I had to admit: Eph was infinitely more patient with my dad than anyone else I knew.

George strolled in, smoothing his hair back, his face flushed, and I wondered how much he'd drunk already.

“So, guys, tell us about Kenya,” my mom said, passing the bowl of salad around for seconds.

“Jane, it was glorious,” George said. “You should see the sunsets there, the way the whole sky is on fire. And you should see this one standing in front of them.” He put his arm around Ellen and stroked her hair. “More beauty than a man deserves.”

Eph let out an irritated sigh, so quick I might have missed it if I didn't know him better. “Excuse me,” he said. “I'll be back.” He dropped his napkin on the chair and stalked out of the room.

Ellen ducked out from under George's arm and reached over for more wine.

“The fossils we found—prime, undamaged specimens. One of the best trips we've had in years. Oh, and the people were so welcoming.”

Ellen chimed in. “You should have seen all the arts and crafts! I found some bead workers—simply stunning. In fact, I keep forgetting . . .” She leaned down to get her purse and took out two small bags. After peeking in one, she handed it to my mom, the other to me.

“Ellen, this is beautiful,” my mom said, holding a delicate blue beaded bracelet up to the light.

“I thought you'd like it,” she said.

Mine was a chunky red-orange beaded bracelet, matching the necklace Ellen was wearing.

“It's awesome,” I said, trying to fasten the clasp.

“I've got it, Penelope,” George said, leaning over, and my heart fumbled around. A wave of his cologne made me feel swoony.

“So, Penelope, are you starting to think about college? Going to follow in the footsteps of your dad, another museum genius in the family?” George asked.

I shoveled some spaghetti around on my plate. “I'm thinking more English or journalism. Words, I like them?” I ended uncertainly.

Dad looked proud but vaguely confused, but I saw Mom smiling gently at me.

“Ephraim told us the other day he's thinking of art school. Art school.” George scoffed. “He's going to have to get a lot more serious about his work if that's what he wants to do. And being an artist is hardly a way to make a living. Ellen knows that.”

She smiled uncomfortably, knuckles white on her wine glass.

“More salad, anyone?” Mom said abruptly, holding out the bowl.

“About Willo . . . ,” my dad started.

I frowned at my plate and fiddled with my new bracelet, feeling protective of Eph's drawings.

“What'd I miss?” Eph asked, rounding the corner.

“Theo and I have to get going,” George said, holding up his watch. “We're going to be late for the staff meeting.”

Dad groaned and dramatically pushed his chair out, grumbling under his breath about budgets and morons, stalking out of the room even more disheveled than when he came in, bread crumbs up and down his sweater, the red sauce stain on his collar.

Mom sighed, a weary but affectionate sigh full of years of displaced crumbs and dinosaur lectures.

“See you later, Mr. Marx,” Eph called out.

Meanwhile George slid on his blazer, bent down, and whispered something to Ellen in French, followed by “See you at home, El?” She nodded stiffly, and he gave my mom a kiss on both cheeks, and the smile on my mom's face was all weird and awkward.

“Thank you for the amazing dinner, Jane.”

“You're welcome,” she said in a too-loud voice.

Eph grunted toward his dad, and I waved.

•  •  •

After another half hour of Kenya talk (safari stories) and reports on my mom's class of fourth graders (sixteen boys and only five girls this year) and brownies (my specialty, with extra chocolate chips baked in), Ellen seemed more at ease and definitely tipsier.

“We should head out soon too,” Ellen said, reaching over to ruffle Eph's hair.

“Mom,” he groaned, ducking under her hand.

Ten minutes later I was handing Ellen her vintage green pleather coat (also totally badass and amazing), and my mom was giving Eph two packed Tupperware containers.

She hugged him and moved to Ellen. Eph, meanwhile, looked at me and scoffed again. “Like I'd dump you. Absurd.”

“I'm not being absurd.”

“By the way, you've got something back here,” he said, balancing both pasta tubs in the crook of one arm and leaning closer.

“If you belch in my face, I will murder you,” I muttered.

But instead I felt the touch of his hand in the soft spot behind my ear, like he was going to pull out a magic quarter, the calluses rough against the unknown parts of me—and all the hair on my arms stood up, an involuntary shiver, blood singing.