The next day was a blur.
Her dad complained that she’d eaten all the yogurt. ‘I didn’t eat it, I gave it to Matt.’
Her dad only had seven dollars in his wallet, so that’s what he gave her. When he was ready to take her home, she said she had to go the bathroom. She went up to the hall closet, found three brand new toothbrushes and shoved them into the front of her pants, along with a bar of Dove soap. Donna might have seen her (she was right there in the bedroom), but she didn’t say anything.
Eleanor felt sorry for Donna. Her dad never laughed at anyone’s jokes but his own.
When her dad dropped Eleanor off at her house, all the little kids ran out to see him. He gave them rides around the neighborhood in his new car.
Eleanor wished she had a phone to call the cops. ‘There’s a guy driving around the Flats with a bunch of kids hanging out of a convertible. I’m pretty sure none of them have seat belts on and that he’s been drinking Scotch all morning. Oh, and while you’re here, there’s another guy in the backyard smoking hash. In a school zone.’
When their dad finally left, Mouse couldn’t stop talking about him. After a few hours, Richie told everybody to put their coats on. ‘We’re going to a movie,’ he said, looking right at Eleanor. ‘All of us.’
Eleanor and the little kids climbed into the back of the truck and huddled against the cab, making faces at the baby, who got to sit inside. Richie drove down Park’s street on the way out of the neighborhood, but Park wasn’t outside, thank God. Of course, Tina and her Neanderthal boyfriend were out. Eleanor didn’t even try to duck. What was the point? Steve whistled at her.
It was snowing on the way home from the movie. (Short Circuit.) Richie drove slow, which meant that even more snow fell on them, but at least nobody flew out of the truck.
Huh, Eleanor thought. I’m not fantasizing about being thrown from a moving vehicle. Weird.
When they drove by Park’s house again in the dark, she wondered which window was his.
Park
He regretted saying it. Not because it wasn’t true. He loved her. Of course he did. There was no other way to explain … everything Park felt.
But he hadn’t meant to tell her like that. So soon. And over the phone.
Especially knowing how she felt about Romeo and Juliet.
Park was waiting for his little brother to change clothes. Every Sunday, they got dressed up, in nice pants and sweaters, and had dinner with their grandparents. But Josh was playing Super Mario and wouldn’t turn it off. (He was about to get to the infinity turtle for the first time.)
‘I’m going over,’ Park yelled to his parents. ‘I’ll see you there.’
He ran across the yard because he didn’t feel like putting on a coat.
His grandparents’ house smelled like chicken-fried chicken. His grandma only had four Sunday dinners in her repertoire – chicken-fried chicken, chicken-fried steak, pot roast and corned beef – but they were all good.
His grandpa was watching TV in the living room. Park stopped to give him half a hug, then went into the kitchen and hugged his grandma. She was so small, even Park towered over her. All the women in his family were tiny, and all the men were huge. Only Park’s DNA had missed the memo. Maybe the Korean genes scrambled everything.
That didn’t explain Josh’s hugeness, though. Josh looked like the Korean genes had skipped him altogether. His eyes were brown and just barely almondy – almond-flavored. And his hair was dark, but not even close to black. Josh looked like a big German or Polish kid whose eyes kind of crinkled when he smiled.
Their grandmother looked nothing but Irish. Or maybe Park only thought that because everyone in his dad’s family made such a big deal
about being Irish. Park got a ‘Kiss Me, I’m Irish’ T-shirt every year for Christmas.
He set his grandparents’ table without being asked, because it had always been his job. When his mom got there, he hung out in the kitchen with her and his grandma, and listened to them gossip about the neighbors.
‘I heard from Jamie that Park’s going steady with one of those kids who live over with Richie Trout,’ his grandma said.
It shouldn’t surprise Park that his dad had already told his grandma. His dad could never keep a secret.
‘Everybody talking about Park’s girlfriend,’ his mom said, ‘except for Park.’
‘I heard she’s a redhead,’ his grandma said.
Park pretended to read the newspaper. ‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip, Grandma.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have to,’ his grandma said, ‘if you’d just introduce us to her.’
He rolled his eyes. Which made him think of Eleanor. Which almost made him feel like telling them about her, just so he’d have a reason to say her name.
‘Well, my heart goes out to any child living in that house,’ his grandma said. ‘That Trout boy has never been any good. He smashed out our mailbox while your dad was in the service. I know it was him because he was the only one in the neighborhood with an El Camino. He grew up in that little house, you know, until his parents moved someplace even more redneck than here. Wyoming, I think it was. They probably moved to get away from him.’
‘Tishhhh,’ his mom said. Grandma was a little sharp for his mom’s taste sometimes.
‘We thought he’d moved out west, too,’ she said, ‘but now he’s back with an older wife who looks like a movie star and a whole house full of red-headed stepchildren. Gil told your grandpa that they’ve got a big old dog living there, too. I never …’
Park felt like he should defend Eleanor. But he wasn’t sure how.
‘It doesn’t surprise me that you have a thing for redheads,’ his grandma said. ‘Your grandfather was in love with a redhead. Lucky for me, she wouldn’t have anything to do with him.’
What would Park’s grandmother say if he did introduce her to Eleanor?
What would she say to the neighbors? And what would his mother say?
He watched his mom mash potatoes with a masher as big as her arm. She was wearing stonewashed jeans and a pink V-neck sweater, with fringed leather boots. There was a gold angel charm hanging around her neck and gold crosses hanging from her ears. She’d be the most popular girl on the bus. He couldn’t imagine her living anywhere but here.
Eleanor
She’d never lied to her mother. Not about anything important, anyway. But on Sunday night, while Richie was at the bar, Eleanor told her mom that she might go over to a friend’s house after school the next day.
‘Who’s that?’ her mom asked.
‘Tina,’ Eleanor said. It was the first name she thought of. ‘She lives in the neighborhood.’
Her mom was distracted. Richie was late, and his steak was drying out in the oven. If she took it out, he’d be pissed that it was cold. But if she left it in, he’d be pissed that it was tough.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’re finally making friends.’
