I was grounded for a week.
Russell told me after Mia left late Wednesday night. No television. I was to come straight home after school, and I had better be there when he called the house. Outwardly, I was contrite, but it was only with much effort that I was able to hide the inward spread of joy that threatened to spill over into a smile. Being grounded was a form of absolution, certainly, but to me it was another sign that I was being absorbed into Russell's house like the cat, like more furniture, like his pots and pans. He might as well have told me that he was so upset that he wasn't letting me leave ever.
Bonnie wasn't convinced. "But you're not even his kid! Who the hell does he think he is?"
"The
person I want him to be," I said. We stared at each other.
"Anyway," I said, "it's fine. I screwed up."
"But he's not even your dad."
"Bonnie," I said. "Pretend like neither of your parents ever cared about you. Pretend like you're average enough in school that to your teachers, you were always another face in the crowd, even in elementary school, and that's not like a choice you're making. Then tell me it's not nice to have an adult turn around and at least care enough to ground you instead of kicking you out."
"Do you even know what dignity is?"
I didn't remind her that I'd often panhandled barefoot in the city. "Look, never mind. I found out who Emily was, though."
"'Was?'" She leaned forward.
"Well, is. He had a kid. Who's my age now. With his first wife."
"And let me guess, the bitch took her and moved away?"
"Well." I paused. The facts, as I understood them, were difficult to reconcile with the Russell I knew. "I don't know. He was like twenty or something when they had her. He told me he didn't want a kid. I don't know if that means she kept asking him and he gave in or if she tricked him or whatever. So maybe he just didn't want anything to do with her."
"You should have asked him," Bonnie said. "When he told you to ask questions."
"I was too afraid to."
She leaned back in her chair. Coward, her eyes said. I looked away. There were limits to what I could make her understand. "What would you have done?"
"Asked him."
"You know how scary he is when he's upset?"
"Em, I'll give you scary. You come over to my house and watch my mother in action."
"I can't," I said. "I'm grounded."
"I didn't mean really. Anyway, Mom would think you're a bad influence."
I snorted.
"No, really! She'd be like, 'Where your friend's parents,' and she'd want to meet your mom and there wouldn't be one."
"I'm a bad influence because I don't live with my mom?"
"Basically. Everyone's a bad influence unless they come from the perfect Christian family with both parents and no one is the least bit dysfunctional."
"She must have very few friends," I said.
Bonnie shrugged like it didn't matter. Like she'd never stopped to think about it.
*****
Mia had been nice. Distant. It was obvious to me that she didn't want me there, but we were even: I felt the same way. I watched the two of them at dinner, the shame of my transgression only hours old, and thought that I had better stop screwing up. They clearly loved each other, or at least liked each other a whole lot, and I hoped that if they took things further... well, that there would still be room for me at the end of it.
She enjoyed some influence over Russell, I found, and to my delight she exercised it over the matter of my sleeping on the couch. Russell explained to me that the idea made her uncomfortable and that she thought I ought to have a place to sleep and read and do my homework in privacy. What Mia really meant, though, was that she wanted a place for me to be so that she and Russell could be alone in the living room together. I saw right through it but I didn't complain - certainly they deserved some privacy of their own. Mia's evening here had been all kinds of awkward, and the festivities ultimately wound up with the three of us sitting around the living room, watching the winter Olympics in silence.
On Saturday morning, Russell woke me up with eggs and bacon, and we began moving furniture out of his office and into the living room, which we arranged so that everything fit. We sat down on the couch, sweating, and I noticed that the window threw a glare right across the television, so we had to get up and do it again. When we were finished, Russell looked at me and said, "Peanut, I don't know if I can do any more of this."
My face fell. This entire endeavor was, of course, preparation for my move into Russell's office. We were supposed to finish off the morning with a trip to Palo Alto to pick out a bed, along with sheets and other incidentals. I would have been happy to sleep on Russell's couch forever, or at least until I'd forgotten what it was like to sleep on the floor of a parking garage, but I had to admit that having my own room was attractive in its permanence.
"I'm kidding," he said, and after we'd both had showers, we got into his car and drove to Ikea. The bed we came home with was a beautiful light walnut, and on the ride back I talked to him about how well I thought a green comforter would go with it. He sent me into the Target on Serramonte with some money while he waited in the car with the bed, and I returned hugging a hunter green quilt set and beige sheets.
We put the bed in the corner where Russell's desk had been. His bookshelves still stood on the wall they'd occupied before the move. The entire house might have been Russell's, but the books were the only thing that were him, in that they, collectively, described his personality and his preferences. I was happy to assume stewardship over them. Other than that, the room was mine. After we had finished, I fell backward on the bed and spread my arm up over my head and looked around. Pleased. No, more than pleased - I was over the moon. And I hadn't even thanked Russell. I got up and went into the kitchen.
He was making coffee. Though it was still daytime, the afternoon was waning and the sun had disappeared behind a heavy cloud cover; the darkness lent the kitchen a peaceful ambiance. As though anticipating my appearance, he had prepared two cups, and stirred two teaspoons of sugar into one. He handed it to me.
"Russell?" I said. The cup was warm in my cold hands.
"Yeah."
"Thanks." For the room, he probably thought, but I meant for everything. Either way it was painfully inadequate.
