believe you’re saying this to me.”
“Why not? Dad and I have suffered enough through all your fads. I don’t think we should have to live with someone who doesn’t bathe.”
“You!” My mother stood up so quickly her chair fell over and hit the floor with a bang. She shoved her pointer finger in my face and leaned down so her angry mouth was in front of my eyes. “You are a disrespectful, unsympathetic, shallow brat who has no idea what it’s like to be searching for something.
Searching for some kind of truth , some kind of path to be on in this life. All you care about is whether you get dessert and whether you can borrow the car and whether some boy is going to call you.”
“I want truth,” I said, because her words stung. “I want a path. I just don’t want to talk to you about them.”
“What? Why not?”
“You’re a crap listener.”
“I am a wonderful listener! Ask anyone. Ask Dad.
Ask Juana.”
“You’re not!” I cried. “You’re such a bad listener you have to pay Doctor Z to listen to me instead. How many parents have to do that?”
Meghan kicked me under the table again, hard this time.
“I am working extra hours copyediting to pay for that doctor,” said my mother. “Do not give me attitude about that.” She picked up a piece of tea-smoked duck with her fingers and shoved it into her mouth, talking while she chewed. “And do not give me attitude about my choices, either. I want to eat smoked duck now? I eat smoked duck. It is not any of your business to be commenting or criticizing what I choose to eat or how I choose to live.”
“I live with you!” I cried. “I have eaten raw food for breakfast and dinner every day for months and months. How am I not going to react to that?”
“You’re supposed to show respect for what I’m doing,” Mom said.
At this juncture in a classic Ruby/Elaine argument, Dad would typically be intervening and saying that yes, it was healthy for us to be sharing our deep feelings, but he thought that maybe we could benefit from some mediation and could he just hear each person’s point of view voiced calmly? Only he didn’t.
“You don’t mean respect,” I told her. “You mean you want me to be quiet and let you boss me around the way you boss Dad.”
“I do not boss your father,” said my mother, teeth gritted.
“I’m allowed to say if I want dessert! I can to ask to borrow the car! That’s just basic conversation when you live with someone.”
“Take it back!”
“What?”
“About your father. Take it back.”
“Take it back? We’re not in fourth grade here.”
“Take it back, Ruby. I do not boss him.”
“I’m not taking anything back,” I said.
I knew I was being mean.
I knew I had picked a fight and done it in a completely public place, which was horrible.
completely public place, which was horrible.
And I knew I must seem shallow to my mother.
But still, I felt right. She was a crap listener. A boss.
A foll ower of fads. She was all those things —and just then, at least, it seemed desperately important that someone point that out to her.
“I don’t need to take anything back,” I said.
“Because everything I’ve said is true.”
“Kevin, get the car,” my mom said, grabbing his arm and practically yanking him up from the table.
Dad fumbled for his wall et as if wondering how much the meal would cost.
“Don’t give her money!” barked Mom. “I can’t believe you’d stop to give her money after the way she’s acted.”
She snatched the wall et from him and marched out of Snappy Dragon. My dad shrugged on his jacket and followed her, mumbling an apology to Hutch.
I stood at our table, choking with rage and embarrassment and wondering how on earth I was going to pay for what must be a seventy-dollar meal with the twenty dollars in my bag.
Then I realized that the figure dressed in black, standing by the cash register, was Noel.
Meghan spotted him when I did and in typical
“Why not? Dad and I have suffered enough through all your fads. I don’t think we should have to live with someone who doesn’t bathe.”
“You!” My mother stood up so quickly her chair fell over and hit the floor with a bang. She shoved her pointer finger in my face and leaned down so her angry mouth was in front of my eyes. “You are a disrespectful, unsympathetic, shallow brat who has no idea what it’s like to be searching for something.
Searching for some kind of truth , some kind of path to be on in this life. All you care about is whether you get dessert and whether you can borrow the car and whether some boy is going to call you.”
“I want truth,” I said, because her words stung. “I want a path. I just don’t want to talk to you about them.”
“What? Why not?”
“You’re a crap listener.”
“I am a wonderful listener! Ask anyone. Ask Dad.
Ask Juana.”
“You’re not!” I cried. “You’re such a bad listener you have to pay Doctor Z to listen to me instead. How many parents have to do that?”
Meghan kicked me under the table again, hard this time.
“I am working extra hours copyediting to pay for that doctor,” said my mother. “Do not give me attitude about that.” She picked up a piece of tea-smoked duck with her fingers and shoved it into her mouth, talking while she chewed. “And do not give me attitude about my choices, either. I want to eat smoked duck now? I eat smoked duck. It is not any of your business to be commenting or criticizing what I choose to eat or how I choose to live.”
“I live with you!” I cried. “I have eaten raw food for breakfast and dinner every day for months and months. How am I not going to react to that?”
“You’re supposed to show respect for what I’m doing,” Mom said.
At this juncture in a classic Ruby/Elaine argument, Dad would typically be intervening and saying that yes, it was healthy for us to be sharing our deep feelings, but he thought that maybe we could benefit from some mediation and could he just hear each person’s point of view voiced calmly? Only he didn’t.
“You don’t mean respect,” I told her. “You mean you want me to be quiet and let you boss me around the way you boss Dad.”
“I do not boss your father,” said my mother, teeth gritted.
“I’m allowed to say if I want dessert! I can to ask to borrow the car! That’s just basic conversation when you live with someone.”
“Take it back!”
“What?”
“About your father. Take it back.”
“Take it back? We’re not in fourth grade here.”
“Take it back, Ruby. I do not boss him.”
“I’m not taking anything back,” I said.
I knew I was being mean.
I knew I had picked a fight and done it in a completely public place, which was horrible.
completely public place, which was horrible.
And I knew I must seem shallow to my mother.
But still, I felt right. She was a crap listener. A boss.
A foll ower of fads. She was all those things —and just then, at least, it seemed desperately important that someone point that out to her.
“I don’t need to take anything back,” I said.
“Because everything I’ve said is true.”
“Kevin, get the car,” my mom said, grabbing his arm and practically yanking him up from the table.
Dad fumbled for his wall et as if wondering how much the meal would cost.
“Don’t give her money!” barked Mom. “I can’t believe you’d stop to give her money after the way she’s acted.”
She snatched the wall et from him and marched out of Snappy Dragon. My dad shrugged on his jacket and followed her, mumbling an apology to Hutch.
I stood at our table, choking with rage and embarrassment and wondering how on earth I was going to pay for what must be a seventy-dollar meal with the twenty dollars in my bag.
Then I realized that the figure dressed in black, standing by the cash register, was Noel.
Meghan spotted him when I did and in typical
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