“He said you needed dates.”

  “How kind of him,” I say.

  “Now that I see you, I can’t see how you need dates,” he says.

  “Thanks.”

  A man comes onstage and places a shiny silver alto saxophone on an instrument stand at the front of the stage. He comes back and places two bottles of water on the piano bench.

  A tall waiter comes to the table and asks Robert something I can’t hear. An old man carries a double bass across the stage. The older couple at the table next to us is staring at Robert.

  “Here you go,” the waiter says, and puts two filled cocktail glasses in front of us.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  Robert says thank you to the waiter and turns back to me. “Jack Daniels and Coke—it’ll loosen you up.”

  When I excuse myself to the ladies’ room, I take both my purse and my coat. Robert is so busy loosening up, he doesn’t question it.

  Postmarked November 2, 2024

  Picture of the Haystack Rock

  Hi guys! We got two days off and we went to the Oregon coast where it rained for both days, but we did take some walks on the beach anyway and we got some good pictures of the band in the freezing cold surf. I miss you all very much. It’s been so long since I toured, I forgot how tiring it is and boring at times. David has a cold, so he’s sleeping and staying away from the rest of us. He and Davy from Anvil have become close—like brothers. I will make sure to send a picture soon! I love you all! Hug each other for me. Hug Vernon twice! Love, Mom

  Suitor #24: Todd from the Library

  “A boy who reads!” Gemma says. “I mean, he could be the one,” she says, completely serious.

  “I’m sixteen,” I say.

  “Still—a symphony seems like a very classy first date. You never know.”

  “I’m not going to get married, Gem. At least not for another fifteen years,” I say.

  “Fifteen years! You’ll be over thirty!”

  “Are you a Victorian android?”

  “Busted.” Gemma puts her hands up.

  I spin in my dress in front of my standing mirror. The hem of my dress rises. “I would say I look fresh tonight. Very feminine,” I say. “It almost isn’t working.”

  “True. Dresses don’t suit you. You’re more of a skirt person.”

  “I’d like a suit,” I say. “A tweed suit like David Bowie. Three-piece.”

  “I’ll get on that. Right away,” Gemma says.

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” Gemma says.

  “He’s here,” I say.

  We do the usual parade down the staircase.

  Todd is gorgeous. I’m not even kidding. He’s over six feet, has dark hair and his eyes are big, and I think his eyelashes are an inch long. When he sees me come downstairs, he raises his hand in a small wave, and I smile and am genuinely excited about a symphony, which is, to be fair, not in my character.

  “What’s a pop-up?” Vernon asks Todd. I must have interrupted.

  “It’s not a long, drawn-out concert in a large venue,” Todd answers. “It’s the full orchestra, but they arrive and tune and get settled and then play for about thirty minutes and then they get up and leave as we leave. A pop-up.”

  “Outdoors?” Vernon says.

  “Yes. At the park. In the bandshell. They only announced it two days ago. I thought it was perfect for what you’d proposed.”

  Proposed.

  We drive in Todd’s electric car to the park. When we get there, we sit in the car for a while with the heating on high. Todd says, “I have blankets for us.”

  “I didn’t know it was outside. I wish I’d have worn something warmer.” It’s under fifty degrees out there but I see they have portable outdoor heaters scattered around the seating area.

  “I think the dress looks great,” he says.

  “What symphony is it?”

  “Number forty in G minor. Mozart,” he says.

  I have never wanted to tell a boy I love him before. But there, in that electric car, with the heat blowing my hair around, I almost do.

  “Do you not like Mozart?” he asks.

  “I love Mozart,” I say.

  “Oh, good,” he says.

  We watch as the musicians fill the stage. About two hundred people start to get out of their cars and walk toward the bandshell. Todd carries the blankets in one hand and puts his other hand on the small of my back, to help us stay together in the crowd. We land in the third row from the front, in the aisle next to one of the portable heaters. After a minute or two of tuning, the music begins.

  The music is beautiful and the blankets are warm. I look at Todd periodically and he is smiling, and I can’t believe I’m experiencing this. I know every note of this symphony. Mother played it a lot when I was a child.

  Vernon hates Mozart. Todd is lucky he didn’t tell Vernon what symphony it was. He has his hands under the blanket that we’ve wrapped over our laps. His hand finds mine and just like that—I am holding hands with Todd from the library.

  During the minuet, the third movement, Todd leans into me a bit and I rest my head on his shoulder. I can’t stop my mind from thinking like Gemma does. Maybe this is the one. And then Todd very suddenly moves his hand from mine and cups and gropes my crotch. I mean—vise-grip gropes.

  I inhale sharply. The people near us all look at me.

  Todd keeps his eyes on the orchestra and his hand on my crotch, pressing hard against it and trying to find a way in under my dress. He pinches my labia between his fingers until I can’t hold it in.

  “Ouch!” I bark.

  I move the blankets off my lap as fast as I can, shove them in his lap, and start walking toward the park exit.

  I didn’t think Todd followed me until I hear, “Hey! Hey!”

  I turn around, more for safety than anything. He’s not running—looks genuinely concerned.

  “I didn’t mean it!” he says. “Your dad told me nothing was off-limits!”

  Rather than leave the park, I hide behind a row of shrubs until Todd from the library thinks I’m gone. I watch as he walks back to where we were sitting and sits back down. He looks very upstanding and normal. I’m sure I look like the lunatic—like Mother in 2019 during The Great Ignoring.

  I focus on the music. The fourth movement has already started. The violin is dancing around the notes. I picture Mother the last time she played this symphony for me four years ago—her in the capsule inside the System, and me in the study, wearing pajamas because I had a cold. She and Vernon had been so worried—pandemic times and all—that I had something far worse. But it was just a cold. So, they allowed me to rest and Vernon allowed the music.

  The more I think about it, the more I see how little she did to deserve the reputation Vernon has gifted us. All she’s done is love us and try to be a great mom and bring home money for us. Or not. I do know that Safe House went platinum. Vernon says he never got any money from Mother for it because she gave the money to charity. “As if anyone really cares about periods in the third world.”

  As the final movement comes to an end, I emerge from behind the bushes and find my way to the sidewalk of the cute town where the pop-up concert is now ending. It’s quaint. Tourist shops. A pub. A fountain on Main Street.

  Postmarked November 5, 2024

  Picture of the Seattle Space Needle Building

  We made it to Seattle and we didn’t sell out either night, but we had a good show last night. Jane—I played that punk version of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” that we used to play on the ukulele—remember that? I wonder, are you getting these postcards at all. I hope so. If you don’t have time to call me, ask Vernon to text me anytime you want to say hi! Love you! On my way to the top of the Space Needle so I thought this postcard was fitting. I love you all! Mom

  Suitor #25: Andrew from My Old Camp

  Gemma didn’t lie. She got me a suit. Tweed. Just like David Bowie.

  And when I put it on, all three pieces, I say, “How is this tailored? No one measured me or anything.”

  “I know your body,” Gemma says.

  I melt.

  “That’s kinda hot,” I say.

  She laughs. I melt ten more times.

  She says, “Andrew will love it.”

  “You’re just pretending I don’t say anything not-straight, aren’t you?” I ask.

  She raises her eyebrows.

  “You ignore it every time,” I say.

  “Well,” she says, then stalls to figure out the rest. “When you put the most important woman in a girl’s life inside a plastic tube, you’re bound to make her a little curious about women, I suppose.”

  I don’t know how to feel about this. She’s wrong. I’m not gay because my dad locked my mom inside the tubes. I’m gay because I just—am. And yet, I start to doubt everything about myself because she said it with such surety, and yet I feel like a fraud when Gemma and I head down the stairs. I feel like me in this suit should tell everyone everything they need to know about me. However, Vernon believes the suit is “Breathtaking! Jane! You’re a trendsetter in that! Holy smokes!”

  Andrew smiles the way he used to in the dining hall at summer camp. Like he doesn’t even have to try. I’m sad for him. A lot has changed since we last saw each other on the ropes course when we were ten.

  One: He did not grow nearly as much as the other boys, so it’s hard to notice how much has changed for him, poor dear. And two: I am no longer a lost ten-year-old girl who crushes on any boy who looks at me. I have standards, and based on my last twenty-four dates, no man will meet them. So—good luck to Andrew who apparently doesn’t speak.

  Due to the camp theme, Vernon fills the room with scouting stories of his youth.

  “One time we were at a camp in upstate New York and it rained so much the place flooded while the scouts slept. We’d been getting rather drunk on account of us being leaders, and when I went outside to relieve myself, it was dark, and I heard the sound of a river, but thought I was imagining it. Only when we came out an hour later did we see what was about to happen. I ran from tent to tent to tell the boys to get up and get their things,” he exclaims, as if this is some kind of African safari story. “We lost a lot of our gear, but we’re lucky none of them were drowned!”

  “Ah yes. The drowning-scouts-while-you-were-drunk story. Charming,” I say. “Hello, Andrew. It’s nice to see you again.”

  He smiles and nods, but that’s it.

  “Still not a talker, eh?” I ask.

  He laughs but says nothing.

  “Don’t pressure him,” Vernon says. “Some young men save their energy for the words that count, right, Andrew?”

  “Yes sir,” he says.

  “So—yes sir counts but you look great tonight, Jane does not. Noted,” I say. I grin and he grins and Vernon looks as if he’s about to scold me when Andrew speaks.

  “You look great tonight, Jane.”

  We were slated for dinner at the Mexican place in town, but when I got in the car, I said, “Drive me to the most remote location you can so we can watch the meteor showers.”

  Andrew follows directions. Still doesn’t talk, though. The whole way to the field, nearly an hour in the car, he just plays music—mostly crappy eighties heavy metal. I attempt to turn the volume down and he puts his hand out and says, “Whoa.”

  “Am I a horse?” I ask.

  “Stereo is off-limits to girls,” he says.

  If I could open my car door and roll out now, I would, but it would hurt the suit. Instead, I wait for him to park up on the shoulder. We walk through woods to the field, me holding the blanket he keeps in his trunk for emergencies. It smells like a dog threw up on it, but I don’t care. I don’t plan on sitting on it.

  “Hold my hand,” he says, slinging his right arm back as he walks a step ahead of me.

  “I’m good. Need to balance.”

  He stops. “You don’t want to hold my hand?”

  I walk into him and my momentum causes us to stumble and hold on to each other. His hands are strong and I’m pretty sure he’s bruised my arm. But he also stopped me from falling.

  “Well?” he asks.

  “Can we just get to the field? I don’t want to miss the meteors,” I say.

  He steadies himself and starts walking again.

  When we get to the field, I hand him the blanket, and he says, “Why don’t you just admit it to yourself so your dad stops setting you up with guys?”

  “Admit what to myself?”

  “You’re probably gay.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “So?”

  He doesn’t know what to say now. I think he’s used to girls proving to him that they’re not.

  “Stop looking at me and look up! They’re everywhere!” I wrap my arms around myself and feel the tweed tight on my arms. This suit is probably the best thing that ever happened to me.

  He lays down on the blanket and looks up. He pats the space next to him, and says, “I won’t bite. I promise.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I say. “I have to pee.”

  Postmarked November 11, 2024

  Picture of Palm Trees in Los Angeles

  Dear Jane and Henry,

  I’m sorry for the week away. David got so sick he had to go to the hospital and we had to cancel two shows but he’s okay now. We thought it was COVID-19, but it’s just a really bad cold. We’re in Los Angeles today and we sold out tonight’s show. Jane, I’m wearing that T-shirt you always loved with the big red star on it. Henry, I’d love to know what you dressed up as for Halloween! Everything else on the road is pretty boring. I miss you all. Love, Mom

  How to End a Shitty Date

  What you do is you get up and start walking.

  Inside of ten minutes someone will pick you up. First on the country road where the movie theater is. Then on the city road where the jazz club is. Then Main Street in that cute town. And now, the country road near a lake I used to canoe on when I was ten. Someone always picks me up.

  The someone is always Milorad.

  I may as well be in prison.

  He no longer opens the window and calls my name. He just drives up beside me and I can hear the doors unlock and then he drives a few meters ahead and stops. There’s no point in running, so I get in.

  “Your father is getting tired of this game,” Milorad says.

  “Is he paying you to parent me?”

  “I can see his position. You need to stop running away.”

  “How would you know?” I ask. “Last week I ran away for good reason. And the date before. And the date before that!”

  “Andrew is a nice boy,” he says.

  “To you, maybe. But to me, he’s the same as any other—racing for entry.”

  Milorad clears his throat with discomfort.

  We stay quiet until we get close to the house. I ask, “Maybe I can move into the pool house with you, yes? You’d make a great dad.”

  He laughs. “I am not father material.” ASK MILORAD WHY HE IS NOT FATHER MATERIAL SOMETIME.

  “I see how you take care of Brutus,” I say.

  “He is a rat. You are a girl. Very different things.”

  “I bet you’d pick better suitors for me.”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “I bet you’d pick better suitors for Brutus, then,” I say.

  He laughs again. “Maybe this is why he escapes so much! Maybe he needs suitors!”

  As we drive the familiar blocks of Spruce Street toward home, I consider where the microchip could be. I have three guesses. The scar I’ve had since I was a child, right behind my mastoid bone on my scalp—Vernon says I was dancing with a pencil. The scar on my knee from summer camp—there was glass in the ropes course mulch. The only filling in my mouth—suspicious to me because the dentist said it wasn’t a cavity yet, but he was going to fill it before it became one.

  Vernon is waiting in the driveway when we pull in front of the house.

  “I sure wish I was Brutus right now,” I say.

  Milorad answers, “Tell him the boy wasn’t suitable and that you are tired.”

  Vernon walks over to my door.

  “I really don’t want to talk to him at all,” I say. My voice cracks.

  “Do not cry. You know what happens,” Milorad says.

  I look at him. We lock eyes for a moment. Everything changes. Milorad becomes my father. I become his daughter. I do not cry.

  BRUTUS’S LAUGHTER

  What does Jane want? Jane wants everything.

  This is too confusing. Too much. Jane wants one thing, then another. Jane doesn’t know what she wants. Jane cannot do what I do. Jane cannot scurry around and see everything. She is a young, learning human. I am an omniscient rat.

  Everyone laughs at the Janes of the world. Girls with dreams. Girls who don’t know everything. Girls who want their fathers to love them—to pay attention. Girls who want their mothers close but far enough away to hate. Laugh at Jane for not having anything she wants. Laugh at Jane for failing at being Vernon’s perfect daughter. Laugh at Jane for not being everything. For not knowing everything.

  Poor Vernon has no idea what he’s doing. The nights he sits in Milorad’s old smoking chair moaning about his life—he looks at me in the cage and says he wishes he were me. He has no idea, same as you have no idea. You don’t know a cockroach from a bluebird. You don’t know a zebra from the receptionist at the family doctor’s office. You don’t understand magic like me. You don’t know why I’m here. No one does.

  So, ignore your doubt and laugh at Jane. It’s easy. She is sixteen and stupid and she hasn’t been laid and she’s never filed taxes and you will always be superior to her because you are taught to think life is a baseball game and the bases are things like sex, money, and what kind of car you drive.