Piece of Mind Read online

  Nate glared at him. Maybe the beer was expensive, or he was worried I’d get drunk. There was that one time in Mexico. That was last summer, our last trip together, the only time we’d left the country. At first Dad had wanted to take us to Israel, somewhere with spiritual significance, but Mexico was closer and cheaper, and ancient civilizations all had something in common, he told us, before he promised that we’d end up seeing the rest of the world eventually, that we’d start by making a bigger trip the following year, which would have been this year, which probably wouldn’t have happened since we didn’t have any money for trips. But we didn’t know that then, which made all of the stories about the Aztecs and the pyramids and the iguanas and jalapenos all the more exciting.

  On the boat ride to Isla Mujeres, Dad and Nate sipped cervezas while a man in a cheap Superman costume came around to our table and insisted on squirting shots of 7 Up and tequila into each person’s mouth.

  Superman stayed with me for a while because I kept closing my mouth too soon, and the shots kept dribbling down my chin and onto my shirt.

  Since everyone thought this was so funny, he kept trying. I didn’t mind because the tequila tasted sweet, and I was laughing too, maybe because the effects of the alcohol started seeping in. I refused to shut my mouth to more pours after that, and I was so nauseous by the end of the boat ride that it wasn’t clear whether my heaving was because of the alcohol or the motion sickness.

  But before I got sick, I had experienced what I imagined was the perfect buzz. And for a moment, as the satisfying mixture trickled past my lips, everything seemed perfect.

  I was thinking about that while Byron was saying something about the hipsters ruining another perfectly good dive bar. When he noticed I was looking at him, he stopped talking to address me.

  “We’re being jerks,” Byron said. “Why don’t you tell us what you did today.”

  “Me?”

  I considered telling them about the date, but what would Byron think? There wasn’t enough to tell. And what did he know?

  I’d met Bryon briefly a couple of times before. Once was at the funeral. But the first time was about a year before that; Nate brought him to the house for dinner on a long weekend. When he told me it was nice to meet me like it really was nice and shook Dad’s hand with a firm grip, I assumed it was all for show. Another one of Nate’s superficial friends. Maybe this one was studying theatre, I had thought, or sales.

  But then Byron let Dad fix him a scotch the same way Dad liked it—with tons of ice and sloppy lemon. And then when Dad offered him a second, and Nate suggested they couldn’t because they were heading back to the city, Byron had said sure, he’d love another round. He had said they’d always have the city, but how often did they get to hang out in a warm house with a cool dad?

  So they stayed, the three of them up late playing cards and watching baseball.

  That kind of night meant everything to Dad.

  But how much had Nate told Byron about me? Really told him. I wondered what people could tell just by looking at me. Maybe one night when they were out drinking—maybe even that night—Nate had said something like, “Just so you know, she’s fucked up. In the head. Be nice.”

  Or maybe he hadn’t said anything. Maybe just, “My sister will be there,” like I was a regular sister.

  “She’s in a transition period,” Nate said in response to Byron’s question.

  “Like all of us,” Byron said. He gave me a little wink then, which would have seemed cheesy if he wasn’t one of those instinctive winkers; you could tell he didn’t have to think before he did it.

  “I tried to get temp work in an office, but it was weird, you know, for me,” I said.

  “For anybody. Office work sucks. That’s why I like to dip my hands in a bunch of projects at once—so I don’t get sucked in. Diversify the options, keep things fresh.”

  He locked my eyes like I was the most important person he knew, so much so that I had to look down. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing that. I was feeling the alcohol and wanted to say his name.

  “Byron.” I had said it out loud, apparently.

  “I know,” he said. “It sounds like I’m bullshitting. People sometimes mistake my enthusiasm for bullshit. But work shouldn’t feel like work all the time. That’s all I’m really saying.”

  “Sometimes I can talk to animals,” I said. “Think there’s a job in that?”

  “Could be,” Byron said.

  “According to a survey I took a few years ago, my shamanistic spirit animal is a horse, which is known for having interspecies communication skills.”

  “Very cool,” Byron said.

  “The other day, I went to the zoo, and there’s this polar bear, Gus, who smiled at me,” I said.

  “No. Shit.”

  “And Harry. Have you met him? He’s shy around new people, but when it’s just us, we have these conversations where he listens. Like, he’ll give me this look, and I’ll know what he’s thinking. That he wants to be left alone, or that he wants to play, or that he needs a treat. And sometimes he’ll read my mind, in a similar kind of way. Have you ever seen a cat do that?”

  “I’m not big on pets,” Byron said. “But if I could talk to them, I’d keep them all around me, like build an ark or something. Nate, did you know Lucy was Dr. Fuckin’ What’s-His-

  Name?”

  “Doolittle,” I said. “I’d love that, being surrounded by animals all day. I’ve thought about how great that would be, like if I could work in the zoo or something. That definitely wouldn’t feel like work.”

  “Well, you should do it then.”

  “What?”

  “Work in a zoo.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “Why not? We all have dreams, right? Why shouldn’t yours come true?”

  I had never really thought about it that way before. I’d just sort of existed for so long, fighting against Dad’s impractical job talk. But I guess I had sort of dreamed of Gus, the first dream I’d had since my fleeting fantasy of an art gallery. Maybe that meant something.

  “Nathaniel,” Byron said. “You might be able to make some money off of that. Talking to animals. We could set up a pet psychic line.”

  Nate laughed. “Right after my first album drops.”

  “You know you guys have the same face,” Byron said. “You’re just inside out.”

  I panicked as I gazed down at my dress. The tags were in place.

  “Nate, he’s kind of like glass when you think about it, all clean and polished,” Byron said.

  I checked myself for stains. Nothing glaring.

  “The guy can bench press like a machine, but put enough weight on there, and watch out for shattered pieces.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nate said.

  “Look at your sister, man,” Byron said. “She’s like rubber or something. Put the weight on, and she’ll bounce it away so it won’t touch her.”

  “I am? Thanks, I think. Is that a compliment?”

  “Of course it is. Your aura’s all strength. I can see that in people.”

  “Actually, the horse is also known for power, stamina, and endurance,” I said.

  Nate rolled his eyes.

  “I know Nate doesn’t buy it, but whatever,” Byron said. “I’ve been able to see it for years. You see animals. I see auras. Your sister’s got it, Nathaniel. You’re the one I worry about.”

  “Interesting,” Nate said. “Since you’re the one who can’t get a date.”

  Byron smiled. “Only the suckers get locked down.”

  It took me a second. I looked at Nate, who wasn’t looking at me.

  “Wait, you have a girlfriend?” I said. “I mean, of course you do. You always do.”

  “It’s nothing serious, Luce. Don’t worry,” Nate said.

  “Why would I worry? I mean, good for you. People in relationships are supposed to be happier, right?”

  Byron laughed. “Doubtful.”

  Nate
didn’t say anything.

  “So this has been going on a while?” I said.

  “Not that long,” he said.

  “She wasn’t at the funeral.”

  “She was in Thailand.”

  “Is that where she’s from?”

  “She’s from Vermont.”

  “It’s just weird that you never mentioned her.”

  “I’m mentioning her now.”

  “By accident.”

  He sighed.

  “Who’s up for some poker?” Byron said.

  I wondered what else Nate was hiding, if he spent his nights underground, or his weekends on an apple farm, raising chickens and growing a beard.

  “Are you keeping secrets?” I said.

  Nate sighed again.

  “Deal,” he said to Byron.

  “Fine,” I said, retreating to my sofa. “I guess the beer made me tired. Good night is what I should say. See you.”

  I flipped off the light and left them in darkness.

  “Luce,” Nate said, turning on the kitchen light. “What the hell?”

  “Come on,” Byron said. “Play cards with us.”

  I thought about it. I knew I could win, but I didn’t feel like playing games.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said.

  “We’ll try to keep it down,” Byron said.

  “Luce,” Nate said.

  “Yeah?”

  He paused for a second. “Why don’t you take the alcove tonight?”

  “Your bed? Are you sure?”

  “You won’t be able to sleep otherwise.”

  I retreated behind the wall, but I didn’t sleep. We had tested the sound level when I first moved in. If I had the TV on by the couch, Nate couldn’t hear it below a certain level when he was on the bed. With earplugs, he couldn’t hear anything. But I didn’t like the feel of things in my ears, and I had abnormally good hearing, so I took the opportunity to listen to their hushed tones.

  “You okay?” Byron said when it was quiet.

  “What?” Nate said.

  “It’s your move. It’s been your move.”

  “No shit,” he said. “I’m just thinking.”

  “About what? Your hot girlfriend?”

  He laughed. “That’s all I should be thinking about.”

  “So what’s the issue?”

  “I don’t know. She’s basically perfect. She’s so nice to everyone, and earthy and grounded, and smart.”

  “So what’s she doing with you?”

  “That’s the thing. We have this crazy chemistry, but sometimes I think—I feel like I wasn’t supposed to meet her yet. Like what if I met my soul mate prematurely?”

  “You worry about the stupidest shit,” Byron said.

  “It’s a real concern.”

  “You really believe in that? One soul mate for life?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re just overthinking the best thing you have right now.”

  “Yeah, but I mean come on. We didn’t meet too long before all this crap went down. That’s pretty shitty timing, when you think about it. What am I supposed to say now when she says she needs more of me, when she says I need to let my guard down, when she says there’s no point in being in a relationship with me? What do I offer her right now?”

  “Does she say that?”

  “She doesn’t have to. And the thing is, I have no defense. She’s right.”

  “You can’t worry about something that hasn’t happened yet.”

  Nate was quiet.

  “You’re falling asleep on me, man,” Byron said after a while. “You have to sleep more. It’s essential to maintaining the body’s balance.”

  “Who has time to sleep?” Nate said.

  “That’s like saying who has time to eat. It’s stupid. If you don’t eat, you starve.”

  “You don’t get it, By. I can’t sleep.”

  “You can take something for that.”

  “There’s nothing I haven’t tried.”

  “Have you tried natural remedies? Herbal teas? Because that’s a lot healthier than the poison you’re taking.”

  “It’s not like before. It’s not like if I fail this test, I can make it up on the next one. This is real life. There is no security blanket, nobody to bail me out, so I have to keep going. Hell of a way to begin my twenties, huh? Running a household.”

  “Who’s to say your twenties are supposed to be easy?” Byron said. “Maybe your easy comes in a few years, a little out of order. You just need to relax, man. Want to jam a little before I go?”

  Nate didn’t say anything, so Byron grabbed his guitar and started playing. Don’t worry about a thing. ’Cause every little thing gonna be all right.

  “You don’t even know how to play,” Nate said.

  “So you play. Have you been playing at all?”

  “I haven’t had time.”

  “Bullshit. You have time now. C’mon, man. This is supposed to be your dream. Save the world from corporate evil by day and play in a band by night.”

  “I can’t believe I ever dreamed that.”

  “Why?” Byron said. “You can’t give up on everything.”

  Nate didn’t respond, but after a minute, he started playing so softly I could swear his guitar was singing. I hadn’t heard him sing in years. He was good—melodic, soulful, a little sad.

  Then Nate’s voice began to tremble the tiniest bit, and he stopped.

  “This is dumb,” he said. “I need to go to bed.”

  MUCH LATER THAT NIGHT, when I got up for the bathroom, I found Nate whistling the same tune as he was scrubbing at the makeup in the sink.

  “Did a clown explode in here?” he said.

  “Shoot! I was going to clean when I got back, but then you guys were here, and—I’ll clean it up tomorrow. I promise. I don’t want you to have to do everything.”

  He stopped for a second and looked at me through the mirror. “How was it?”

  “What?”

  “Was it a date, or what?” he said.

  “Frank? I don’t know. Actually, yeah, I think so. He kissed me.”

  “What?” He turned around. “Who is this guy?”

  “He’s nice.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “I don’t know. He’s cute I guess. Small, like my height, I mean. Five feet? But much thinner than me. And pale.”

  I found a dishrag, and I tried my best to help clean up. I wasn’t strong enough to scrape the way he did, but at least I didn’t make things worse.

  “And he’s nice?”

  “Yeah, he is. He’s really nice.”

  “But . . .”

  “He’s damaged.”

  “What kind of damage?” Nate said. “He has a job, right?”

  It was stifling in that bathroom. The heat was bubbling from my pores, and Nate was hogging the sink.

  “Yeah, he has a job.”

  “And you didn’t sit in silence the whole night?”

  “No, I talked. A lot.”

  “So what else do you want?” he said. “We all have our baggage.”

  “Right,” I said. “Does your girlfriend have baggage?”

  Nate acted as though he didn’t hear me as he washed the sweat from his forehead.

  “Are you going to use all the water?” I said.

  “Yep.” He boxed me out from the faucet as I tried to get near.

  “Nate, come on! Does she even know you have a sister?”

  “Sabine?” He got out of the way then. “Of course she does. Actually, she suggested a brunch next weekend. I told her that probably wasn’t your favorite meal, but—”

  “I can do brunch,” I said. “I like brunch.”

  “Great,” he said. “Bring Frank if you want.”

  20

  BRUNCH WAS THE FIRST THING I MENTIONED WHEN I SAW Frank the next day.

  “Are you interested in that meal?” I said through a line of people.

  The customers in front of me turned around.
<
br />   “I’ll wait my turn,” I said.

  When I got to the counter, I told him it was okay if he didn’t want to go. “I still want a cup of the Ethiopian, and I can pay.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t want you to pay. You’re supposed to try all the different brews. Didn’t you say you would?”

  “Did I?”

  “I told my dad about shade-grown beans. He wasn’t interested. But I’ll keep trying.”

  “Great, so you don’t want to go to brunch?”

  “I can’t right now. I have to work.”

  “No, I meant Sunday. Isn’t that a thing? Sunday brunch? We’d be going with Nate and his girlfriend, Sabine. Not that we’re supposed to be equal to that. I know we’ve only been on one date, assuming it was a date, but we don’t have to address that now. I’d like you to come. If you want to. On Sunday.”

  “I’d be honored to meet your brother.”

  “Is that a big deal?” I guessed it was. I hadn’t thought of it that way. “I mean it shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not, really.”

  “Oh,” he said.

  I searched for Enid, but there were no signs that she was anywhere near, and so I wondered: What if she had already located a superior artist, someone who could communicate with Belle from the dead, with cards and tea leaves, who could bring her back to life, someone who could reclaim lost souls? If only I could do that.

  “I’m ready to taste the coffee anytime,” I said. “If the offer still stands.”

  I got to about five pours from Frank before my legs began to tingle, and I could feel the caffeine swishing through me in hot bursts. My hand was trembling when Enid poked me to say hello.

  “Hi!” What time was it? I needed to remember this. “Do you always come to the shop now?”

  “I come whenever I feel like it,” she said.

  “I’ll take the ginger green,” she said to Frank. “Nature’s youth elixir.” She stuck her thumbs in her belt loops.

  “You want to know something?” She leaned in to whisper. “When I get a real yen for a cup of joe, I go to the shop four blocks down. You have to walk up three steps to get there, but it’s half the price! You should tell that boyfriend of yours.”

  “Who, Frank? He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Well, it might help if you powdered your face and batted your lashes once in a while.”

  She pushed open a gold lipstick container to reveal a fuchsia tip. I was worried she was going to press it on me, and that traces of her saliva would propel me into the aging process, or old people’s ailments like shingles or liver spots. But she slid a coat onto her own lips.