We Only Know So Much (22 page)

fifty-one

O
tis’s dinner date at Applebee’s does not go quite as he imagined it, given that his entire family is in attendance. Otis loves his family but was hoping for more of a
date
date. In his mind it was not unlike his fantasy of the apple tree, but with tables and mozzarella sticks and maybe a violin player like he’s seen on TV. He hadn’t supposed he’d be so lucky to somehow get dropped off there with Caterina, but had hoped maybe they could sit at a separate table.

There’s not a lot here we haven’t seen before at a Copeland family dinner, but there’s a lot Caterina hasn’t seen. It’s not as though they’re any weirder than her family, they’re just differently weird. And you know how it is. Caterina doesn’t really even know, won’t add it up for a few more years, that her own family is weird. She doesn’t know that it’s not okay to watch
Nip/Tuck
when you’re nine. She doesn’t know that it’s not normal for your mom to drink wine with breakfast, or that it’s unusual to wake up in the middle of the night for a glass of milk and find your dad and his best friend kissing on the couch. Two people kissing is no big deal compared to what they do on
Nip/Tuck
, and it’s not like that fazes her. Differently weird is just plain weird. Nevertheless, the weirdness level at Applebee’s tonight is definitely dialed up.

We may have misspoken when we said there was nothing we haven’t seen before. The Copelands are friendly enough, at least Mr. and Mrs. Copeland are, asking Caterina about her family (although Mr. Copeland kind of asks too many questions, Caterina thinks); Priscilla gets up to take a phone call; Vivian tells the story about her first
special little friend
, when she was just around Otis’s age. Otis doesn’t quite know what to do. He’s thrilled that he’s spent time almost every day with Caterina, but he’s worried that this dinner could be their undoing.

Gordon, examining the menu, asks the table if they’d like to share an appetizer sampler, waits for responses but mostly gets blank stares and shrugs, though Caterina asks if it comes with potato twisters. Gordon looks at the menu again.
It doesn’t seem so, but we’ll just order that, too!
Jean, Priscilla, and Vivian have gotten used to Gordon ordering appetizers without asking for their input, which is part one of the weirdness that’s taking place right now. It’s nothing to get upset about, it’s a good thing, right, but still it’s a thing they’re not used to. Part two is that they’re even at Applebee’s in the first place. Gordon’s let it be known many times in the past that his palate is far too sophisticated to dine at a mid-priced chain restaurant like this.

Part three: after the drinks are ordered, Gordon raises his glass.
I’d like to make a toast
, he says.
First, to Otis and Caterina.

Priscilla closes her eyes. Is her father seriously toasting the relationship of two nine-year-olds? She tries to shake her head negative subtly enough so her dad will see, but no luck. Has he forgotten what it was like to be nine?
Was
he ever nine? Of course he wasn’t. If he was, he was the fortiest nine-year-old ever to live. If he had been, he’d know you don’t call attention to these things. Bad enough they’ve all been forced to tag along here. Her poor little brother.

But Otis and Caterina both like to cheers, so neither is particularly uncomfortable at the outset of the toast.

We are delighted to have you here with us, Caterina
, Gordon says.
I wish the two of you a long and lovely friendship.
Priscilla exhales in relief; cheesy, Dad, but good call on “friendship.”
I’d also like to toast to my beautiful wife
, he continues. It’s here that Gordon begins welling up; these days he’s never more than two words away from crying, but no one’s used to it yet. They’re sure it’s a phase, it hasn’t been that long since his father died, it’s probably normal for anyone else, but never having seen Gordon cry one single time, it’s not something anyone else in the family knows how to deal with. Least of all Vivian. This embarrassing display is providing her with some extremely unwanted déjà vu, as she has not forgotten that phase her son went through in his later years, standing up wet-eyed at every meal, it seemed to her, to express his love and gratitude to his wife and family. Time and a place, she thinks; had she not taught him this? And now here her grandson was, doing the very same thing. Honestly. Vivian does not need any more reminders of what’s happened.

The loss of my father has brought into my view some things I have not seen with clarity. Jean, I don’t think I’ve been a very good husband to you.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, Jean thinks. I mean, it’s true, how long has she waited to hear him say such a thing, but now? At Applebee’s? And yet no words are coming out of her mouth to stop it.

Though it’s true that I provide for the family in the traditional sense, I see now that I have not availed myself to each one of you as I should have. Jean, you have worked tirelessly to care for me and our family, and I have not expressed my gratitude. You are a loving mother, and you have gone over and above your vows in allowing my father and grandmother to remain in their home and caring for them as you have.

Grandmother, I am truly sorry for your devastating loss.

Vivian is not pleased by Gordon’s use of the word “devastating” here.

No matter how old, a parent should not have to live to see the death of her child.

Surely her grandson isn’t implying
she
should be dead, is he? Because that’s what it sounds like to Vivian.

Gordon now has a steady stream of tears down his face, and in between words he’s making some noises that we can all agree are slightly nonhuman-sounding.
You raised a wonderful son
, he says,
and father
. Gordon has to take a good long moment before he can speak again. He’s entirely unaware that he’s pouting like a little boy at this moment, lower lip trembling, but everyone else sees it quite clearly.

Priscilla, I have failed you, and yet I see your emergence happening in spite of my failure. I raise my glass to you as well.

Jean takes a deep breath, Priscilla simply has no idea what her father has just said besides
fail
, though she has a thin sense he’s trying to pay her a compliment.

Otis, you are a wonderful boy with your mother’s good heart. I don’t know what if anything I have given to you, but I believe the world is lucky to have you. Caterina, my son has shared with me his strong feelings for you, and I trust his good judgment; it appears that his choice in mates was as providential as mine due to nothing apparent I have done.

By the time he’s finished, Otis is baffled enough to whisper to his sister.
Priscilla, what is Dad talking about, why does he keep crying so much?
Priscilla isn’t much more sure than Otis is, but her sisterly qualities seem to be rising in her.

Old people just croak, it totally sucks, you’re supposed to be sad.

Why are Mom and Dad acting so weird then?

They always act weird, Otis. Seriously, they were, like, born that way. Don’t worry about it.

Otis’s main takeaway from this exchange:
My sister called me Otis.

fifty-two

M
ake your own reality. It’s been running through Priscilla’s head for days now, quite a few more times even than her mother calling her a bitch. Priscilla has called her mother worse things behind her back—no big, really. Make your own reality, though, that’s, like, metaphysical. Seriously, what does that even mean? It’s three words away from make trouble. It’s a self-help book. Right? Gag. But. She wants to be, could for sure be, the next superstar celebrity stylist. People will forget Rachel Zoe ever even existed.

Priscilla pops open her laptop, turns on the webcam, and starts talking. She’s done this once or twice before, tried to keep a video diary, back when she was fifteen, didn’t keep it up. Up until now she hasn’t had much to say, and when she’s played the videos back she’s kind of wanted to barf. But right now she’s got some wind in her sails. She’s supposed to be on fucking TV. She slams down her laptop again, goes to the closet, pulls out something better to wear, quickly fixes her makeup and hair, starts over.

Welcome to ‘Make Your Own Fucking Reality,’ Bitches. Episode One: My Family Is Batshit Crazy.

Okay, so a few weeks ago I was at the mall eating a Cinnabon with my friends and these dudes came up to us and they were like, “What’s up, want to be on a reality show?” and we were like, “Uh, yeah,” and so we went and interviewed, and apparently I said all the wrong things and my friend Taylor said all the right things, because she got called back like sixteen times and I did not. In the end, she got rejected, too, otherwise I seriously doubt I could pretend to her face that I wasn’t devastated, not to mention I could not understand why she didn’t step aside, knowing it meant so much more to me than it ever did to her, but whatever. After this, as you can imagine, I became kind of totally despairing, feeling that I was doing life, like,
fully wrong,
do you know that feeling?
It’s a shitty one
.
Like, after I realized I could almost have been a reality TV star, I really began to think, What am I doing with my life? Why am I still here in this town where seriously nothing happens, where the best job is at Target and even that’s in the next town over, where there’s not even some great guy to sweep me out of here, a town populated with dickwads like Kyle Woolrich
—
yes, I just said his name
—
and oh my god do not even get me started on Kyle Woolrich, but just in case you’re interested? His dick? Kinda puny.

So, you know, adding this all up, I’m just thinking, if this is my destiny, then my destiny sucks it. And then my mother walks in and tells me I’m a bitch, which was totes shocking
—
can you imagine? who does that to their kid?
—
and even if she’s right so the fuck what, you’d be bitchy, too, if you were me.

I haven’t even told you about my family yet. Let’s see, where should I start, okay, well, my dad is some weird crying Picasso suddenly, and Mom’s talking to Jesus now or some shit, came home with some random giant drooly dog one day out of the total blue, my sweet grampa bit the dust while no one was looking, my great-gramma gets on my case cause my freaking knees are showing?
And wants to take me for a makeover?
Priscilla makes a face, almost laughs.
Her hair is freaking
purple
, people. Plus if I hear one more time about my Ivy League twenty-eighth cousin twice removed I think I’ll seriously jump off a bridge.
Like, my little brother is seeming like the normal one lately.
That’s
my
reality, bitches.
Oh. Em. Effing. Gee. She totally has a catch phrase.

Priscilla has been talking for eight minutes and forty-six seconds by the time she’s done. She posts the results on YouTube and links it to her social network page. She means to get around to talking about fashion, but that’ll have to be episode two. She had some things to get off her chest today. She doesn’t know what will happen next, but she knows it will totally be something.

fifty-three

C
aterina and Otis do not end up living happily ever after in the apple tree. They have two and a half somewhat weird, somewhat great weeks together. But they don’t even make it through the birthday party before she breaks up with him. He puts the crossword in a manila envelope, wraps the envelope with Ariel birthday wrapping paper, ties the apple pencil into the ribbon, writes on it to caterina from otis with a red Sharpie, which doesn’t show very well over the design.

This is how it goes down: She gets a better present from another boy. That’s it. An American Girl doll. It has ribbons like Caterina wears, but her hair is in braids, Caterina never wears braids, and the doll’s hair isn’t even the same color. This kid doesn’t know her at all, Otis thinks.
He’s my boyfriend now, sorry
, is what Caterina tells Otis. No, seriously, that’s it. Don’t you remember being nine? There’s no working things out. There’s no couples counseling. It doesn’t even matter that she and this boy will break up exactly two weeks later, or even that Otis will be witness to this event when it happens on the playground. Getting to see Caterina cry because some boy did to her what she’d done to Otis brings him no comfort or pleasure. The opposite. Nevertheless, Otis will think a lot about all this, for sure—the crossword, the doll. His mother had suggested another present, but Otis had to go and
make
his present, a crossword puzzle all about Caterina. Is Otis’s life ruined? You’d think so, right? He’s not happy. He goes home and the first thing he does is eat the jalapeño jelly bean. He eats it in one bite; it gets stuck in his back teeth. It’s as close as Otis will ever come to saying Fuck you to Caterina, or anyone, ever. And the bean tastes so bad. A caterpillar would have been better, he’s sure. It’s predictably terrible, the bean, a gummy spicy mess, a flavor that should never have been considered in conjunction with sugar, and he feels a mix of things, including that he deserves to feel this misery in his mouth and he deserves to throw away the precious gift Caterina had given him that day. But the thing is, for two and a half weeks, for a glorious, heaven-sent seventeen days, Caterina was Otis’s girlfriend. The power bestowed on him by Caterina that day with the righteous word “boyfriend” is the stuff of legend, it gave him his cape, the power to leap buildings, fight crime. This alone will last him until his next girlfriend, nine years from now.