Excerpt: Get a Clue

Somehow I got through the rest of the day. I could hardly wait to get home and tell my mom about this two moms thing, watch her eyes crinkle as she laughed and assured me that it doesn't matter what other people think. That's my mom. Half the time she moves through the world in a foggy, dream-like state, weaving stories in her head and barely aware of what's on her plate for dinner. She certainly doesn't give one second of worry to what's going on in other people's heads. She's much too wrapped up in her own.

I got home, dropped my heavy book bag on the table with a sigh of relief, and opened the freezer door. It was my night to cook supper. Ugh. Nothing in there was inspiring. I needed a ride to the grocery store. I went looking for a person with a drivers' license.

Alex was sprawled on the couch in the living room reading a book, totally concentrated, black hair falling half over her face, and I noticed with startling clarity that she was incredibly beautiful. I had never thought that before. She was just calm, collected Alex.

I stopped in the doorway and studied her.

Until she caught me doing it. "What?" she asked. "Something happen at school or do I have something on my face?"

I thought about how to answer. The nice thing about Alex is that she gives you time to think before expecting you to talk, and it never feels like she's impatiently waiting.

"I don't know yet," I finally said.

"About my face or school?"

I couldn't very well say it means I'm wondering if she's having sex with my mom, so I just shrugged.

"School. Might be something, might be nothing. Too soon to tell. So in the meantime, could I get a ride to the store? I'm cooking tonight."

Total score on that one. Alex liked to cook, so getting her to help was easy. One discussion on what sounds good tonight, and one ride to the grocery store, and she was in. We moved around each other in the kitchen pretty easily, without the need to fill the silence with chatter. We set a pan of onions and butter on the stove to brown, and I cut chicken while she chopped peppers. Eventually she turned on the radio, and swayed to the music, humming while she worked. Every now and then she'd flash me a wink and a smile.

We have never quite understood each other, Alex and I. Even when I was little, we let there be wide spaces between us... never entirely comfortable. It's improved over the years, of course, but I am loud and boisterous and like to get my way, and have no inhibition about throwing a tantrum to get it. Alex has never bought into that sort of behavior. She has always firmly demanded respect from me. It never does any good to throw a tantrum for her sake. She just gets this whole staring-at-an-ugly-bug look on her face, and then she walks away.

Mom peeked her head into the kitchen. "Mmm, smells lovely. I love it when my girls feed me."

She goes to Alex for a hug first. And now I am watching for... what? Signs, I guess. Are they more than friends? Is it true that I have two moms?

While there are wide spaces between Alex and I, there is no space between Alex and Mom. I know this, and I have always known it. If they are within touching distance, they are touching. Arms around waists, a hand on a shoulder, a ruffle to the hair.

Mom walks into Alex's space, and Alex turns and hugs her. It's a tight hug, a full body press, but again, not unusual. I have seen it hundreds of times.

"Hey, Mom. How many pages today?" It's November, National Novel Writer's Month, and she'll write fifty thousand words before it's over. A first draft of a novel in one month, and both Alex and I know to pretty much leave her alone until she shows her face.

"Ten or twelve," she answered.

"Awesome, sweetie," Alex says, and I echo her, "Yeah, awesome. That's a lot."

"It's shaping up nicely," Mom says. "My story people are coming alive. You guys help me so much by taking care of the house, the cooking, and yourselves all month long. I couldn't do it without you."

Umm, yeah, she could. But it's nice to be appreciated.