City of Boys by Beth Nugent Read Free Book Online Page B

lightly over the top of the grass.
    —So, she says. —You can come over tonight if you want. My parents are coming to your party.
    —I guess I’d better stay home, I say. —You know, to help out.
    —We have ice cream, she says. —And cookies. We can watch anything we want.
    —I have to help my mother right now, I say. —She’s making ice.
    —Oh, Annie says, —okay.
    I go back in my house, but she stays in the yard looking down at the grass all around her.
    My parents are getting dressed for their party. My father carries my mother her drink and looks at her in the mirror as she holds an earring to her ear. Their eyes meet and quickly separate. Downstairs the living room is set with bowls of food no one ever touches at these parties: peanuts and potato chips and olives. From my mother’s window, I see Annie’s parents emerge from their house and cross thestreet side by side, like two dogs on a leash. They are right on time, but at least half an hour earlier than anyone is expected; aside from that, I can tell by the way they’re dressed that this is their first cocktail party. Annie’s mother is wearing a skirt and sweater, and her father wears a jacket but no tie; their clothes are the same color as their skin, a kind of light beige, and they will stand out like little sandy spots in a sea of dark suits and dresses. Annie’s mother has had her hair done into a stiff blond bubble around her head, and she pats at it mechanically as they come up the walk. Behind them, their house looks dark; somewhere inside Annie and Tommy have the evening to themselves. When Annie’s parents knock, my mother looks toward her bedroom door and my father goes to answer.
    —Jesus, my mother says. —Who would come so early? She clips her earrings on, and with a long, pink fingernail traces the line of lipstick around her mouth.
    —Won’t this be fun, honey? she says to me.
    By the time I follow her downstairs, more guests have arrived. Annie’s parents stand quietly by the coffee table; they hold their drinks uncomfortably and only taste at them with their tongues as they look around our house.
    —You have a very lovely home, they both say, separately, to each of my parents as my mother smiles and my father gently removes their drinks from their hands to make fresh ones. I help carry them back and Annie’s father beams at me.
    —Anne is a very good girl, he says to my father, who looks at him blankly, until he remembers that this is Annie’s father.
    —Yes, he says, —she certainly seems to be.
    —You must be very proud of her, Annie’s mother says, and my father looks around, confused, then realizes that they are talking about me.
    —Yes, he says and looks at me oddly, as if it is possible that my name actually could be Anne and he has been getting it wrong all these years.
    —Yes, he says again, —I suppose we are.
    They smile uneasily at me and at each other, and my father cannot stop himself from reaching for the drinks he has just given them, to freshen them up. I wander around the party holding out little plates of crackers and cheese to the party guests, who look down at me and smile briefly, then go back to their conversations. When I return to the coffee table, Annie’s parents have moved to the couch, where they sit side by side, eating the peanuts and potato chips from the bowls on the table. Annie’s mother bends to look at the olives, and touches one warily with the tip of her finger, then pulls her hand back. They hold their drinks carefully, still hardly touched, and as they eat, they look up and around them at the other guests, all of whom are standing, laughing and talking to each other as though they have all been friends for years. Annie’s parents must wonder where all these people live, and why they’ve never seen them at the grocery store, or the gas station. Under the clatter of ice and glass and talk, there is music playing, something quiet and easy to listen to. A few women sway to it