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Do people really talk like this?
I glance at Emmy, whose cheeks have reddened three shades since this conversation started. At least I’m not alone in this verbal assault.
“You know,” Mom says, looking at me. I can see by the widening twinkle in her eyes that she has conveniently removed that filter that stops her from saying the most ridiculous things. “I always thought you and Emmy would make a cute couple.”
Emmy, mid-drink, spurts a mouthful back into her glass.
“Emmy?” Mack turns to our mom and repeats it. “My Emmy?’
“I’m sorry, Mack. I didn’t realize you owned her,” Mom says. “Yes, Emmy. That beautiful girl sitting beside you.” She smiles.
Mack looks at me, then at Emmy, then at me again. “Are you crazy?”
“She and Owen were friends, too, you know.” Mom takes a bite nonchalantly, like this is a perfectly normal conversation to have.
“Mom, Emmy and Owen were never friends.” Mack scoffs as she says this, like it’s the stupidest thing she’s ever heard.
“Emmy is the reason your brother graduated high school,” Dad says.
I dare a glance at Emmy, who looks like she is playing a solo game of freeze tag.
My sister blasts me with a look I can only describe as “accusatory.” “Is this true?”
I shrug, honestly surprised Emmy never told her. But then, knowing Mack’s opinion of me and how wrong I am for “nice girls” I suppose it does make sense.
Then, to Emmy: “So, wait. This is blowing my mind. You were, what, like, his tutor?”
Emmy squirms a bit, and says, “Well, yeah, he needed help, so. . .”
Mack looks around the table in disbelief. “How did I not know this?!”
“She was his friend,” Mom says. “And she was a good influence. She’s the reason Owen cleaned up that spray paint on Marco’s hardware store after the boys had their stupid spray paint party. She’s the reason he didn’t get arrested.”
Mack holds up her hands as if to hit pause on this whole moment. “What?!”
I really don’t understand why this is that big a deal.
Mack narrows her eyes and looks at me, then at Emmy. “So, you guys were like. . .real friends?”
Emmy looks at me. I raise my eyebrows and shrug.
“Owen needed help with a few classes, and I was there,” she says. “That’s all.”
Mom looks up and frowns.
Mack softens a bit, coming down from DEFCON 1. She’s so dramatic. “You never told me,” Mack says to Emmy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mack and I have always had a true brother/sister relationship, complete with the teasing and the overprotectiveness and the late night heart-to-hearts. But she’s possessive, and with my pre-Lindsay track record and my many—and historic—horrible choices, she never wanted me near Emmy.
But we’re all adults now. Surely, my sister isn’t actually offended by this?
“I asked her not to,” I say, after a long pause. “Nobody wants to admit they need a tutor. Least of all me. You think I wanted to announce to everyone that I was stupid?”
Emmy looks at me, and though she says nothing, I see the gratitude—and the chastisement—in her eyes. Emmy never let me call myself stupid. That hasn’t changed.
Our friendship was hard to navigate back then, and while neither of us ever said so, somehow it felt best to keep it a secret.
Mack stares at me for a moment, then finally says, “Well, that’s dumb.”
