The Other F-Word Read online

  “Listen to this,” Milo said when JJ called. “‘Regardless of socioeconomic status, donor offspring are twice as likely as those raised by biological parents to report problems with the law before age twenty-five.’”

  “Huh,” JJ said.

  “‘They are more than twice as likely to report having struggled with substance abuse. And they are about 1.5 times as likely to report depression or other mental health problems—’”

  “Dude.”

  “I know. Who are these people? Don’t they think about the kids who might be reading their blogs? I mean … come on. Don’t they feel any—”

  “Dude.”

  “Yeah?”

  “How long have you been reading that crap?”

  “I don’t know. A while.”

  “Stay where you are.”

  “What?” Milo said.

  But JJ had already hung up.

  Twenty minutes later, he appeared on Milo’s front stoop. “This is an intervention.”

  “I don’t need saving,” Milo said.

  But JJ ignored him. JJ brushed right past him and into the kitchen, where Frankie was sitting at the counter, doing the New York Times crossword puzzle, and Suzanne was pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “Hey, Milo’s moms,” JJ said. “I’m taking Milo skating.”

  Frankie looked levelly at JJ. “Skating?”

  “Ice-skating. At Rockefeller Center.”

  “Well,” Suzanne said, taking a sip of coffee. “That sounds like fun.”

  “Good clean fun.” JJ nodded. “No controlled substances.”

  Frankie shot him the hairy eyeball.

  JJ held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  Oh, God, Milo thought. Not Scout’s honor. He braced himself for Frankie’s rant about the Boys Scouts of America and their historically ass-backward stance on homosexuality, but Suzanne made the save. “JJ,” she said. “Frankie and I have been meaning to invite your parents over for dinner. We’d like to get to know them.”

  Frankie shot Suzanne a look.

  “Cool.” JJ grinned.

  Suzanne squeezed Frankie’s shoulder. “We’ll give your mom a call and find a night that works. Right, babe?”

  Frankie gave a noncommittal grunt.

  On their way out the door, JJ said to Milo, “I’m growing on them. Admit it.”

  * * *

  JJ rented Milo skates. He held Milo up by the hood of his sweatshirt because Milo couldn’t stand without falling. JJ used to be a hockey player. He showed Milo moves.

  “Whoa,” Milo said, watching JJ spray ice through the air with a fancy stop. “You’re good.”

  “I used to play for the NYC Cyclones,” JJ explained. “Premier league. Right wing.”

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “I got kicked off the team.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged again.

  “Weed?”

  “Something like that.”

  It occurred to Milo that JJ could be living a completely different life if he weren’t a pothead. He’d still be at the Buckley School. He’d still be playing hockey. He’d probably have a girlfriend, because—not that Milo had been checking him out or anything—JJ was a good-looking kid. He wasn’t dumb either. His grades definitely didn’t reflect his potential; they reflected his propensity to get high every day after school.

  “Not to sound like your dad,” Milo said, “but do you think you should lay off the ganja?”

  “You don’t sound like my dad.”

  “No?”

  “My dad has no clue.”

  Milo nodded, but nodding threw him off balance and he had to grab the handrail.

  “We don’t really talk, you know? Or when we do he just … doesn’t get it.”

  “Right.”

  “Anyway,” JJ said, “you don’t have to worry. Hollis already talked to me.”

  “Hollis talked to you?”

  “Yeah. We made a deal.”

  “You made a deal … with Hollis.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Am I missing something?” Milo said.

  Which is when JJ explained how Hollis had called him last night and they had talked for a long time, and how he had called her this morning and they had talked for an even longer time. And how they had discussed, among other things, “numbing” their feelings—JJ with weed, Hollis with Gunnar Mott, the football player she’d been hooking up with for the past month.

  “Gunnar Mott,” Milo repeated.

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s getting busy with a guy named Gunnar Mott?”

  “I know. I said the same thing. Anyway, we made a deal. She’ll stop hooking up with him and I’ll stop smoking weed.”

  “Just like that?” Milo said. He was dubious, not because he questioned JJ’s word, but because he remembered learning about drug withdrawal in health class. Going cold turkey was no joke.

  “We’re making a plan,” JJ said.

  “A plan.”

  “A four-week de-numbing plan. We’re sponsoring each other.”

  “Huh.”

  This whole time, they had been skating. Correction: JJ had been skating; Milo had been wobbling painfully along the perimeter of the rink, clutching the handrail for dear life. There were four-year-olds skating with more grace. Why hadn’t his mothers ever taught him how to skate? Or bowl? Or master anything remotely athletic?

  “So?” JJ said.

  “So?” Milo clutched the rail.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you have a crush on Hollis.”

  JJ spun around suddenly and started skating backward, grinning like an idiot. “I think you’re right.”

  Hollis and JJ, Milo thought. It made sense, in a way. They were both a little odd. They were both a little broken. If being odd and broken together helped JJ stop smoking weed and Hollis stop hooking up with a guy whose name sounded like a soap opera character, who was Milo to argue?

  JJ was looking at him, eyebrows raised.

  Milo thought, He wants me to approve. He wants me to give my blessing. Milo nodded. “Cool.”

  “She’s a whack-a-doo.” JJ did a spin move, spraying ice through the air. “But so am I.”

  “Yes you are,” Milo said.

  “And she’s smart. God, is she smart. She was telling me about all the books she’s read.”

  “She’s a big reader.”

  “I dig her, man. I know it’s too soon to tell, but I think she might dig me, too.” JJ’s grin widened. “She’s calling me tonight.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  * * *

  When he got home and saw Suzanne and Frankie curled up together on the couch, Milo realized something. Everyone had someone but him. Suzanne had Frankie. Hollis had JJ. Noah and Abby—even if the relationships with their siblings were complicated—had Josh and Becca.

  “How was skating?” Suzanne said, smiling and patting a spot on the couch. “Tell us about it.”

  “It sucked,” Milo said. Then, “Why didn’t you ever get me skating lessons? I was the only person in all of Rockefeller Center who couldn’t skate.”

  This was immature and also untrue. There had been at least a dozen Indian college students in NYU sweatshirts, wiping out all over the ice. But Milo was suddenly consumed with self-pity. He flopped onto a chair opposite the couch and dropped his messenger bag—with its stupid EpiPen and Benadryl inside—onto the floor. Why did he have to be allergic to everything? Why did he have to be so skinny? Why did girls like Hayley Christenson never notice him unless guys like JJ Rabinowitz waved her over and asked her for help on their stupid science projects? Milo’s stomach churned.

  “You want skating lessons?” Frankie asked.

  Milo snorted. “Yeah. Because I’m six.”

  “Hey,” Suzanne said, looking at him. “What’s with the voice?”

  “It’s the only voice I’ve got, Suzanne.”

  “Since when am I ‘Suzanne’?”
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br />   “Mi,” Frankie said gently. “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. I just had a crappy time.”

  It wasn’t even true. He’d had an okay time; he was just in a crappy mood because he was jealous. Okay, there. He’d said it. He was jealous of JJ and Hollis because—sometime in the past twenty-four hours, before Milo had even had a chance to respond to Hollis’s text—the two of them seemed to have made a connection that didn’t include him. Was it juvenile? Yes. Did it make any logical sense? No. But there it was.

  “Want to talk about it?” Frankie said. She was using her My heart is open voice, her social worker voice. “We’re here for you.”

  Milo said nothing. Of course he didn’t want to talk about it. When did he ever want to talk about anything with his mothers?

  “You’ve got a lot on your mind,” Suzanne said. “We get it.”

  “No, you don’t,” Milo said. The words came out so low even he didn’t hear them.

  “What, honey?” Frankie said.

  “You don’t get it.”

  “What don’t we get?”

  “What if he doesn’t write back?” Milo said. He didn’t mean to say it; he wasn’t even consciously thinking about it. The question just slipped out. “What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me?”

  “Oh, Mi,” Suzanne said softly.

  He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have sent that letter. It was stupid.”

  “It wasn’t stupid,” Frankie said. “It was brave. I think it’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Frankie was probably just saying that. Trying to make him feel better. Because, come on, how brave was it to write a letter and stick it in the mailbox for someone else to deliver? It wasn’t like he’d appeared on William Bardo’s front porch and rung the doorbell. It wasn’t like he’d picked up the phone and called him. Still, Milo felt slightly less sorry for himself. Even though he didn’t have an athletic bone in his body. Even though he didn’t have a Someone. When Suzanne asked if he wanted meatballs for dinner he said yeah. Meatballs sounded good.

  HOLLIS

  “Let me see your toes,” JJ said.

  “My toes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Just let me see them.”

  Hollis pulled off her socks and propped her feet on the desk in front of the computer.

  JJ squinted. “Mm-hmm.”

  “What?”

  “See how your second toe is shorter than your big toe?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Look at mine.”

  JJ disappeared from view for a minute. Then his freakishly large feet appeared and completely filled the screen.

  Hollis laughed. “All I can see is your heels.”

  “Hang on.” He backed up. “Can you see them now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See how my second toe is longer than my big toe?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Genetics, baby. Longer second toe is dominant. Shorter second toe is recessive.”

  “Huh.” She stared at JJ’s feet. “What size are those bad boys?”

  “Fourteens.”

  “Do you have to shop in a special store? Do you have to have your own team of elf shoemakers?”

  “You know what they say about men with big feet…”

  “Don’t even—”

  “Big hearts.”

  Hollis tried not to smile but couldn’t help herself.

  It was Wednesday afternoon and they were FaceTiming. It wasn’t their first time. They’d tried it a few nights ago, in the middle of one of their marathon phone calls. “I want to see your face,” JJ had said. And Hollis said, “Why?” And he said, “Because I do.” So they’d FaceTimed each other from their separate bedrooms, which somehow felt way more intimate than talking on the phone. They toured each other around. They showed each other their stuff. Like JJ’s vintage hockey posters (chosen by his mother’s decorator, which Hollis thought was weird) and his solar system mobile (built by JJ during his fourth-grade astronaut phase, which Hollis thought was cute).

  Hollis told him about the books she loved. He told her about the TV shows he was hooked on. (How had she not seen a single episode of Breaking Bad? Blasphemy!)

  Hollis didn’t know why talking to JJ was so easy. Was it his lack of pretention? His goofiness? His angst? My mother gave me away. I was an ugly baby. Whatever it was—whatever walls had been knocked down over the past week to allow them to confide in each other—it was a tender thing. Like a newly hatched butterfly or a mung bean sprout. Hollis had a distinct memory of sprouting mung beans with Pam. It had taken a long time. There were many steps. It involved some kind of a cloth bag.

  “Agh, my legs are cramping.” JJ lifted his feet and lowered them to the ground. “I have the flexibility of a ninety-year-old.”

  “You should do yoga.”

  “Do you do yoga?”

  “No. But I am extremely flexible.” Hollis was about to demonstrate her flexibility by pulling a foot behind her head when her cell phone pinged. She picked it up.

  Did u c the email?

  “Tell me that’s not Gunnar Mott,” JJ said.

  Hollis shook her head. “It’s Milo. He wants to know if I saw the email.”

  “What email?”

  “I don’t know.”

  What email? Hollis texted. Her stomach felt funny. Had Milo heard back from William Bardo? Was this actually happening? Crap. She wasn’t ready.

  Her phone pinged almost immediately. Abby’s.

  Abby’s. Hollis exhaled. Didn’t c it. Sup?

  She found where he works. There’s a bio on the site.

  Hollis took another breath.

  “Everything okay?” JJ said.

  “Abby found where he works.” She hated the tremulous note in her voice.

  “Your donor?”

  Hollis nodded. “Milo says there’s a bio.”

  “Did Abby send a link?” JJ said.

  “I don’t know.”

  Is there a link? she texted.

  Yup, Milo texted back. Check it out.

  Hollis’s chest felt tight, like someone was sitting on it.

  “Are you okay?” JJ said.

  “Yes.”

  “Breathe.”

  “I am.”

  “Do you want to check your email?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want me to check your email?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t we call Milo?” JJ suggested. “He can fill us in.”

  Hollis closed her eyes. She tried to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

  “Or I could go … and you could call him yourself. Maybe it’s better if you two—”

  “No!” Her eyes snapped open. “Stay. Call him.”

  “Okay.” JJ picked up his phone and tapped the screen. “Hey,” he said as soon as Milo answered. “I’m FaceTiming with Hollis. She got your text and she’s wondering if you could tell her about Abby’s email…” Silence for a second. “Because she seems to be having a little trouble breathing.”

  “I can breathe fine,” Hollis said sharply.

  “She says she can breathe fine. Hang on—” JJ said. “I’m putting you on speaker … okay, you’re good.”

  “Can you hear me?”

  Hollis could hear Milo’s voice coming out of JJ’s phone, which JJ was holding up to the computer screen like a lighter at a rock concert. It was bizarre. This whole thing was bizarre.

  “Hollis?” Milo said.

  “I can hear you.”

  “Okay, so he’s a teacher.”

  A teacher. It felt as though her insides were being squeezed through a very tiny hole.

  “He works at a Montessori school,” Milo continued. “The Eden Prairie Cooperative Learning Center. Abby found the website … Do you want me to read you his bio?”
/>   “Yes,” Hollis said with more conviction than she felt.

  JJ nodded encouragingly from the computer screen. He looked warm and rumpled in his plaid shirt: Paul Bunyan relaxing after a day of log rolling. Even though he wasn’t actually here, Hollis was glad she had him to look at while she listened.

  “‘Hi. I’m Will,’” Milo began.

  “Will?” JJ cut in. “What kind of a school—”

  “Shhh,” Hollis said.

  “Sorry.”

  “‘I’m Will,’” Milo repeated. “‘This is my eighth year teaching Language Arts at the EPCLC. I grew up in a small town outside Indianapolis, Indiana, and received my BA in English from Macalester College in Minnesota. I have an MA in Education from Minnesota State University, Mankato. Before I went into teaching, I was an Outward Bound instructor at Colorado Outward Bound in Denver, which is where I met my wife, Gwen—’”

  “He’s married?” Hollis blurted.

  “He called her his wife,” Milo said, “so yeah.”

  Hollis didn’t know why this surprised her. Maybe because, ever since she saw the Macalester yearbook, she’d been picturing William Bardo as a college student. But of course, that was sixteen years ago. He’d be—what? Thirty-eight by now? Thirty-eight wasn’t an unreasonable age to be married.

  “Can I keep going?” Milo said.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay … ‘which is where I met my wife, Gwen, who teaches biology and outdoor ed right down the hall. We both love it here. The Eden Prairie Cooperative is a lovely learning community, both environmentally and socially conscious…’”

  Hollis almost snorted. Lovely learning community? But somehow she managed to contain herself and let Milo finish.

  “‘… which meshes with our philosophy that a teacher’s job is not just to teach children how to read and write and solve equations, but also how to make the world a more humane and sustainable place. Gwen and I have a little house just a few miles from the school, with a yard big enough for three Nigerian Dwarf goats, a dozen chickens, and a wolfhound named Max. In my spare time I like to read, mountain bike, noodle around on my saxophone, and play Ultimate Frisbee. I look forward to getting to know you this year and learning what makes you tick. Sincerely, Will.’”

  “He actually sounds it,” JJ said.

  “What?” Hollis said.

  “Sincere.”

  “Yeah,” Milo said. “He seems like a decent guy.”