Mrs. Fletcher Read online

  The damage he’d suffered was subtle and hard to pinpoint. Other people marveled at what an impressive young man he was and how well he’d weathered the divorce. Eve was delighted by the praise—it meant everything to her—and she even believed it, up to a point. Her son did possess a number of good qualities. He was handsome and popular, a gifted athlete who never lacked for female attention. He’d done well in school, good enough to be admitted to Fordham and Connecticut College, though he’d ultimately settled on Berkshire State University, partly because it was more affordable, but mainly, as he cheerfully informed anyone who asked, because BSU was a party school and he liked to party. That was how he presented himself to the world—as a big, friendly, fun-loving bro, a dude you’d totally want on your team or in your frat—and the world seemed happy to take him at his word.

  To Eve, though, he was still the bewildered boy who couldn’t understand why his father had left and why they couldn’t just make him come home. For the first couple of months after Ted moved out, Brendan had slept with a picture of his dad under his pillow, and more than once she’d found him wide awake in the middle of the night, talking to the photo with tears streaming down his face. He’d toughened up over time—his muscles turned wiry and his eyes got hard and the picture disappeared—but something had gone out of him in the process, all the boyish softness and vulnerability that had touched her so deeply. He just wasn’t as nice a person as he used to be—not nearly as sweet or as kind or as lovable—and she couldn’t forgive herself for letting that happen, for not knowing how to protect him, or how to fix what was broken.

  *

  They hit a traffic jam on the edge of campus, a festive convoy of incoming freshmen and their families. Inching toward the Longfellow Residential Area, they were cheered along the way by clusters of upperclassmen in matching red T-shirts who were apparently being paid to greet the newcomers. Some of them were dancing and others were holding up handmade signs that said, Welcome Home! and First Years Rock! However mercenary its origins, their enthusiasm was so infectious that Eve couldn’t help grinning and waving back.

  “What are you doing?” Brendan muttered, still grumpy from his nap.

  “Just being friendly,” she said. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “Whatever.” He slumped lower in his seat. “Knock yourself out.”

  Brendan had been assigned to Einstein Hall, one of the infamous high-rise dorms that made Longfellow look like a public housing project. Eve had heard alarming things about the party culture in this part of campus, but the vibe seemed reassuringly wholesome as they pulled into the unloading area and were swarmed by a crew of cheerful and efficient student movers. Within minutes, the movers had emptied the van, transferring all of Brendan’s possessions into a big orange bin on wheels. Eve stood by and watched, happy to be spared another round of sweaty labor. A scruffy kid whose T-shirt identified him as Crew Leader shut the hatch and gave her a businesslike nod.

  “Okay, Mom. We’ll take this fine young man up to his room now.”

  “Great.” Eve locked the van with the remote key. “Let’s go.”

  The crew leader shook his head. Despite the ninety-degree heat, he was wearing a knitted winter cap with earflaps, the material so sweat-stiffened that the flaps curled out like Pippi Longstocking’s pigtails. “Not you, Mom. You need to move your vehicle to the Visitors Lot.”

  This didn’t seem right to Eve. She’d seen lots of other mothers heading into the dorm with their kids. An Indian lady in a lime-green sari was accompanying her daughter at that very moment. But even as Eve began to point this out, she realized that the other mothers must have had husbands who were taking care of the parking. Everyone seemed to agree that this was the proper division of labor—the men parked the cars while the women stayed with their kids. Eve softened her voice, pleading for clemency.

  “I’ll just be a few minutes. I need to help him unpack.”

  “That’s great, Mom.” An edge of impatience had entered the crew leader’s voice. “But first you have to move the vehicle. There’s a lot of people waiting.”

  I’m not your mom, Eve thought, smiling with excruciating politeness at the officious little shit. If she had been his mother, she would have advised him to lose the hat. Sweetie, she would have told him, you look like a moron. But she took a deep breath and tried to appeal to his humanity.

  “I’m a single parent,” she explained. “He’s my only child. This is a big deal for us.”

  By this point, Brendan had tuned in to the negotiation. He turned and glared at Eve.

  “Mom.” His voice was clipped and tense. “Go park the car. I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The crew leader patted her on the arm.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “We’ll take good care of your baby.”

  *

  The Visitors Lot was only a short drive away, but the walk back to Einstein took longer than she’d expected. By the time she made it up to Brendan’s room on the seventh floor, he was already in full-tilt male bonding mode with his new roommate, Zack, a broad-shouldered kid from Boxborough with a narrow, neatly trimmed beard that hugged his jawline like a chin strap, the same ill-advised facial hair that Brendan had sported for most of senior year. They were wearing identical outfits, too—flip-flops, baggy shorts, tank tops, angled baseball caps—though Zack had spiced up his ensemble with a puka shell necklace.

  He seemed nice enough, but Eve had to work to conceal her disappointment. She’d hoped that Brendan would get a more exotic roommate, a black kid from inner-city Boston, or a visiting student from mainland China, or maybe a gay guy with a passion for musical theater, someone who would expand her son’s horizons and challenge him to move beyond his suburban comfort zone. Instead he’d gotten paired with a young man who could have been his long-lost brother, or at least a teammate on the Haddington High lacrosse team. When she arrived, the boys were admiring their matching mini-fridges.

  “We could dedicate one to beer,” Zack suggested. “The other could be for non-beer shit, lunch meat and whatever.”

  “Totally,” agreed Brendan. “Milk for cereal.”

  “Arizonas.” Zack fingered his puka shells. “Might be cool if we stacked one on top of the other. Then it would be like one medium-sized fridge with two compartments. Give us more floor space that way.”

  “Sweet.”

  Eve went straight to work, putting sheets and blankets on Brendan’s bed and organizing his closet and dresser just the way they were at home, so he wouldn’t be disoriented. Neither boy paid much attention to her—they were strategizing about maybe lofting one of the beds and moving a desk underneath, freeing up enough space for a couch, which would make it easier to play video games—and she told herself that it was completely natural for a mother to be ignored in a situation like this. This was their room and their world; she was an outsider who would soon be on her way.

  “Where would we get a couch?” Brendan wondered.

  “People just leave ’em out on the street,” Zack explained. “We can go out later and pick one up.”

  “Is that sanitary?” Eve asked. “They could have bedbugs.”

  “Mom.” Brendan silenced her with a head shake. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

  Zack stroked his beard like a philosopher. “We could cover it with a sheet, just to be on the safe side.”

  It was almost five thirty by the time Eve got everything unpacked. She saved the area rug for last, positioning it between the two beds so no one’s feet would be cold on winter mornings. It was a nice homey touch.

  “Not bad,” she said, glancing around with satisfaction. “Pretty civilized for a dorm room.”

  Brendan and Zack nodded in that subdued male way, as if they could barely rouse themselves to express agreement, let alone gratitude.

  “Who wants dinner?” she asked. “Pizza’s on me.”

  A quick, wary glance passed between the roommates.

  “You know w
hat, Mom? A bunch of guys from the floor are going out in a little while. I’ll probably grab some food with them, okay?”

  Jesus, Eve thought, a sudden warmth flooding her face. That was quick.

  “Sure,” she said. “Go ahead. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “Yeah,” Brendan added. “This way you won’t have to drive home in the dark.”

  “All right, then.” Eve scanned the room, searching fruitlessly for another task. “Looks like that’s it.”

  No one contradicted her.

  “Okay.” She smoothed Brendan’s bedspread one last time. She had a slightly dizzying sense of being overtaken by time, the future becoming the present before she was ready. “Guess I better be going.”

  Brendan walked her to the elevators. It wasn’t an ideal place to say goodbye—too many kids milling around, including a crew of student movers pushing an empty bin—but there was nothing they could do about that.

  “Oh, by the way . . .” Eve fumbled in her purse and found the cash she’d withdrawn that morning. She pressed the bills into Brendan’s hand, then gave him a fierce hug and a quick kiss. “Just call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She hugged him again when the elevator arrived. “I love you.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “Me too.”

  “I’m going to miss you. A lot.”

  “I know.”

  After that, there was nothing to do but climb aboard and wave to her son until the doors slid shut. For a few seconds, the elevator didn’t move. Eve smiled awkwardly at the other passengers, all of them students, none of whom responded in kind. They were chatting excitedly among themselves, making plans, bubbling over with enthusiasm, utterly oblivious to her presence. Eve felt old and excluded, as if everyone else was going to a party to which she hadn’t been invited. It’s not fair, she wanted to tell them, but they were already going down, and nobody would have believed her anyway.

  Meat Bomb

  I was still a little dazed when we headed out to dinner, headachy from my daylong hangover—tequila shots will do that to you—and a little freaked out by my new surroundings, the high-rise buildings and unfamiliar faces. It was hard to believe I was finally in college, after all the endless build-up, a whole year of tours and tests and applications and interviews, the drama of choosing your future, graduating high school, saying goodbye to your friends and family and coaches, all that weepy shit.

  It was exciting, I guess, to have the freedom I’d been dreaming about, the ability to do what I wanted when I wanted, no one to answer to but myself. But it was kind of a letdown, too. The truth is, I would’ve been just as happy to spend another year at Haddington High, where I knew everyone and everyone knew me, where I could be a varsity starter in pretty much any sport I chose, and get straight Bs without breaking a sweat. I had a slightly queasy feeling walking into town—the same feeling I got in airports and train stations—like there were way too many people in the world, and none of them gave a shit about me.

  At least the fresh air did me some good. It had gotten pretty claustrophobic up in the dorm room, my mother doing that manic thing of hers, fixing everything up, offering all kinds of advice nobody had asked for, like it was rocket science to do your laundry, and she was the head of NASA. When she finally got on the elevator, I felt a deep sense of relief, which isn’t the way you want to feel toward your mom at a moment like that.

  Zack put his arm around me, very casually, as we walked, like we’d known each other for years. It reminded me of my friend Wade, who used to do all kinds of homoerotic shit like that in the hallways. Sometimes he would even kiss me on the cheek or the side of the head, or give my ass a little squeeze, which was only funny because we were lacrosse players and everybody knew we weren’t gay.

  “Bro,” he told me, “we are gonna have mad fun this year. Alcohol will be consumed in massive quantities in Room 706.”

  “Weed will be smoked,” I said. “Parties will be had.”

  “Dicks will be sucked!” he added, in such a loud voice that these two Asian girls walking ahead of us turned and gave us a look, like we were a couple of assholes.

  “Not by me,” Zack assured the girls, quickly withdrawing his arm from my shoulder. “But you ladies should totally go for it, if that’s your thing.”

  The girls didn’t crack a smile. They just turned and kept walking.

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “No one’s judging you. Lots of people come out in college.”

  “Eat me, douchebag.”

  “That’s hate speech, dickhead.”

  “Douchebag is hate speech?”

  “Yeah. It’s offensive to douchebags.”

  “Huh.” He nodded, like that made a lot of sense. “Then I apologize.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “We’re here to learn and grow.”

  *

  There were only supposed to be four of us at the pizzeria—me and Zack, plus Will and Rico, these chill dudes from our floor—but unbeknownst to us, Will had invited his camp counselor buddy, Dylan, and Dylan had brought along his roommate, this annoying kid named Sanjay.

  I mean, it wasn’t like there was anything wrong with Sanjay, and no, I’m not prejudiced against Indian people or anyone else. It was just awkward. The rest of us were jocks and hard partiers, and Sanjay was a skinny nerd who looked like he was about twelve years old. And that’s fine, you know? Go ahead and be a nerd if that’s what makes you happy. Go design your app or whatever. Just don’t ask me to give a shit.

  “Sanjay’s in the Honors College,” Dylan informed us. “Majoring in Electrical Engineering. Talk about badass.”

  I guess you have to give Dylan some credit. He was trying to be a good roommate, doing his best to include Sanjay in the conversation and make him feel comfortable. It was just a waste of time, that’s all. Sanjay wasn’t going to be friends with us, and we weren’t going to be friends with him. You could take one look at our table and know that for a fact.

  “Nice,” said Rico, who was a white guy with curly blond hair, a former high school wrestler. His real name was Richard Timpkins, but the Spanish teacher called him Rico, and his friends thought it was hilarious, so the nickname stuck. “I thought about Engineering, but I kinda suck at math. Plus I smoke way too much weed.”

  “Maybe there’s a connection,” said Will, an ex–football player whose neck was wider than his head. “Just putting it out there.”

  “It’s possible,” agreed Rico. “Bong hits and calculus are not a winning combination.”

  “Actually,” Sanjay said, “I’m thinking about switching to Architecture. That’s my first love.”

  I glanced across the table at Zack, but he was already reaching for his phone, swiping at the screen and tapping away with both thumbs. His text arrived a few seconds later:

  My first love is architecture!

  I texted back: My second is sucking cock!!!

  Zack snorted and we bumped fists across the table.

  “Guess what Sanjay got on the Math SAT?” Dylan asked.

  Nobody wanted to know, so the question just sort of floated away. Sanjay looked as relieved as the rest of us.

  Will glared at Dylan. I don’t think he was mad. He just had one of those faces that looked pissed off a lot of the time. You couldn’t really blame him, I guess. He’d been one of the best high school linebackers in the state, heavily recruited by Division 3 schools, but he blew out his knee in the season opener of his senior year, and that was that. Full retirement at age seventeen.

  “How come he’s not living in the Honors Dorm?” he asked, as if Sanjay couldn’t speak English and needed Dylan to translate.

  “It’s too elitist,” Sanjay explained. “I don’t think we should have a separate dorm from everyone else. We’re all one community, right?”

  My phone buzzed again. I figured it was Zack, but it turned out to be Becca.

  Hows it going college boy

  Out w the guys, I texted back.


  Miss me?

  I was tempted to tell her the truth—nope, not at all—but I took pity on her.

  Sure

  Can we skype later

  going to a party

  What time

  Ten

  How about 9:30 you owe me for this morning!!! Ha ha

  I knew this would happen. That was why I’d dumped her in the first place, so I wouldn’t have to deal with this long-distance shit in college. But then last night I’d drunk-sexted her, begging to get with her one last time before I left town. She told me to fuck off, which I definitely deserved. I didn’t remember any of it until she showed up at my house in the morning, and totally ambushed me, in the best possible way. It’s your going-away present, she’d said, kneeling down in front of me and tugging on my boxers. And it was a great blowjob, too—way better than usual—but I didn’t think that meant we were back together, or that I owed her for anything, though I could see how she might feel otherwise.

  Fine 9:30

  Luv ya!

  *

  The pizza arrived—one large pepperoni, one large sausage, and one large cheese—and of course Sanjay turned out to be a vegetarian. We started giving him shit for it, until Dylan explained that it was a religious thing, which meant, according to PC regulations, that you weren’t allowed to joke about it.

  “I forgot how much I love pizza,” Will told us. “I didn’t eat any all summer. Couldn’t even look at it.”

  “Why not?” Rico asked.

  Will shrugged. “I had a bad experience. You don’t want to hear about it while you’re eating.”

  But we did, so he told us. The day after graduation, Will had gone to a party at this rich girl’s house, in the biggest McMansion he’d ever seen, with an indoor pool, a home gym, and something like eight bathrooms. The girl had been very clear that there wasn’t going to be any alcohol at the party, so Will had hit the pregame hard, multiple shots of Jack plus a THC-infused lollipop donated by someone’s uncle who suffered from chronic shoulder pain and had an understanding doctor. He had the munchies pretty bad when he got to the party, and it was like he’d walked into heaven—there was this amazing spread of fried chicken, lasagna, barbecue, an honest-to-goodness ten-foot-long sub, tons of great stuff. He’d already sampled a lot of it when the doorbell rang, and a delivery guy walked in with a stack of a dozen pizzas. A crowd had gathered around the buffet table, and one of Will’s buddies bet him twenty bucks he couldn’t eat a large pizza by himself. And not just any pizza. The one they call the Meat Bomb. Will said, Bring it on, bitch!