"Limin' on Long Island"

“What are you my therapist?” I ask. I am suddenly shaking uncontrollably. Meeka is the first person to rip off my armor and tug at my heart.


“Maybe,” she says. It isn’t until she hugs me that I’m aware of the tears leaking out from the corners of my eyes. It is the first time since my dad died that my body betrayed me with tears.


There are footsteps on the gravel and I yank away. I am too tender, too vulnerable to show another soul my pain. It is Seth. I roughly wipe the tears against my shirt and pretend something is caught in my eye.


“Sorry I took so long, ladies. A couple of my friends called me.” Gratefully, Seth isn’t making eye contact with me. We both know he is one big fat liar who doesn’t have any friends. His freshly gelled hair and reeking cologne tell me the truth: the only socializing Seth McGee’s done is with his own reflection!


“Can I come too?” Jack asks from our front door. He is wearing a long-sleeved Polo shirt (knock-off, of course!) with the buttons opened at the top to reveal a hairless chest. Emotionally, puberty has arrived early.


Seth sighs and tries to think of a nice way of saying no when my mother pops her head through our kitchen window. “Jack, come inside sweetie. It’s bedtime.”


Jack twists his mouth to the side and fumes at some unknown distance. “Fine,” he says. It is the first time I can remember him without diarrhea of the mouth; it is the first time since After that my brother isn’t pleased with our mother’s decision. Some changes are good, I suppose.


“Mrs. Fluchter, thank you so much for having me,” Meeka says and throws the backpack over her shoulder.


“Our pleasure, please come over anytime.”


“Yes, anytime—anytime you want to that is,” Jack says before reluctantly trudging back inside.


“Thanks for limin’ with me,’ Meeka says.


“’Limin’—I love it!” Seth tilts his head back and laughs. It is a game-show host kind of laugh—all rehearsed and polished.


Meeka and Seth are making their way to the parking lot when I call after her, “Hey, what’s the deal with the ballet slippers, anyway?”


“Oh, your mother’s nail polish color. I absolutely love it!”


I remain on the top step listening to Meeka’s last words echo in my head. It is only sitting alone now that makes me miss being annoyed by Meeka’s bony knees. The sky changes from a pale pink to various shades of blue until the colored leaves on the trees look gray against an inky sky. Sam Fluchter didn’t paint her nails—not Before or After.


If my mother’s nails were long enough to paint, something was seriously wrong.