London Is the Best City in America

I looked at her in disbelief. “Are you crazy?”

“Are you two hours late?”

I wasn’t sure there was anything to say to that.

“Now, on your way upstairs would you mind stopping in the basement and checking on the Moynihan-Richardses for me? I just need you to make sure they’re doing okay down there. People are getting here. Do you understand what I’m saying?” She was leaning in my ear, whispering. “I really don’t want any more incidents involving fowl.”

“I’m on it, Mom,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said. “And Em? It wouldn’t hurt to put on a little makeup for the photographs,” she said. “Just a little right on your cheeks. Even your dad’s wearing some.”

“He is not.”

She nodded. “A little rouge,” she said.

“Mom, he isn’t.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “But the point is, he would if I asked him to.”

When Josh and I were little, we used to like playing with rings of keys. Every Sunday, in fact, my father would take us to the hardware store right at the Five Corners, and we were each allowed to pick out one key to put on our respective key rings. Then we’d go home and run around with flashlights downstairs in the basement and laundry room, pretending we were on some type of covert operation and our keys could open any door we needed them to unlock.

This memory came to me as I started down the stairs to check on the Moynihan-Richardses, and I could tell that the main light wasn’t on down there. The light wasn’t on and the air wasn’t on, and upon closer inspection, it didn’t seem like anyone was even down there. I flipped on the switch just to be sure, but I didn’t see the Moynihan-Richardses anywhere. I didn’t even see evidence of the Moynihan-Richardses anywhere, except for a small black suitcase, which was standing upright, clothing plunging out on the sides, totally packed.

I imagined them sneaking off into the night, with only their keys, thinking better of subjecting themselves to the scrutiny of all the unspoken questions certain to fly their way later this evening—everyone wanting to understand why two relatively successful professors chose to give up a child for adoption. The way Meryl had explained it, they just didn’t believe they would have been good at rearing a child. Something told me they probably weren’t entirely wrong on that front.

“Dr. Moynihan-Richards?” I said, calling out into the strange emptiness. “Mrs. Moynihan-Richards?”

I got no reply.

“My mom just wanted you to know that you’re welcome upstairs at the party. Whenever you’re ready to come upstairs.” This was great. I was talking to no one. “Or, whatever you want to do. Your decision,” I said.

I headed back up the stairs, closing the door tightly behind me, but not before I turned the light switch off again—brightness disappearing behind me—in case that would make them ready to come out.

In my room, I found Meryl standing in front of the one wall mirror, four wide, round curlers in her hair, putting her makeup on. Her dress was already on: a short, black lacy thing that fell mid-thigh. She looked gorgeous. Josh was sitting on the bed behind her, watching her in the mirror, his hands folded on his lap. She was concentrating really hard on the lip gloss application, and—I thought—she didn’t notice me.

I started to creep back out of the room, undetected, but then—when I had one foot still in the doorway—Meryl turned toward me.

“Hey, you,” she said, holding her lip gloss midair. “You running away without even saying hi to me? I know I’m not exactly the world’s fanciest bride here, but still. Don’t I deserve a little attention?”

“Of course,” I said, curling my hands behind my back. “Of course you do. I wanted to say hi to you. I just have to go to the bathroom. I have to go the bathroom pretty badly.”

I looked over at Josh, who was looking at me so apologetically that I almost forgave him for making me a part of all of this. Then I turned back to Meryl, who looked—even in curlers, even half-ready—so polished, so graceful. She had tried over the years to impart to me all those things that came so naturally to her: had shown me how to wash my hair in horse shampoo, how to let the guy lead when you slow-dance, how to eat oysters on the half-shell. Anything she could do to offer up the things that having a big sister did for you. How had I repaid her today? By being, at the very least, untruthful? At the most, disloyal? Questioning, even now, if this was where Josh belonged? It was too much for me. I started hopping from foot to foot, remembering my lie about having to pee.

“We’ve been in the car forever,” I said. And as soon as the words were out, I could feel my eyes opening wide, worrying that I’d slipped—that Meryl didn’t know we’d been driving, but she just opened her arms to signal me in for a hug. I really thought I was going to be sick.

I moved toward her anyway.

“Josh was telling me what happened on the way back here with Officer Z,” Meryl said when she pulled away. “Is that really his name? Sounds like you two had a little road-trip adventure today.”

I looked over at Josh, confused. Why was he telling her about Officer Z? Certainly not because he had disclosed what we were doing in Officer Z’s territory to begin with. I wondered, though, if it made him feel better to tell her things somewhere near the truth. If that made the lying seem smaller. I tried to piece together in my mind where he’d told her we were. Maybe Rhode Island, still, but for me—not him. Maybe Josh had said he had there with me today because something troubling was going on with me.

“I’m just sorry, Meryl,” I said. “That we’re so late. We didn’t want to be. We didn’t mean to be.”

“My God,” she said. “Don’t apologize. I was just hoping you would have gotten back earlier, so we could have watched some of your tapes together. I want to see a little of all this research we keep hearing about. I bet you’re getting somewhere amazing with all this.”

I looked into the corner of my room where I had left them—the tapes—but the garbage bag wasn’t there anymore. I felt a panic start to rise. But before I could go anywhere with it, Meryl followed my eyes to the same corner spot.

“Oh, I moved them. I’m sorry. I should have told you right away that I moved them. People have just been coming in and out of here, and I didn’t want anything to happen to them. I put them in the corner of your bathroom to keep them safe. I figured there would be less ground traffic in there.”