The Leftovers

patient and unreadable.
    “You know. College, next year, the rest of your life…”
    Her mouth puckered with distaste. “Oh, that.”
    “Yeah, that.”
    She dipped a french fry into a little pot of ketchup, then popped it into her mouth.
    “I’m not sure. I don’t even know if I want to go to college.”
    “Really?”
    She shrugged. “Tommy went to college. Look what happened to him.”
    “You’re not Tommy.”
    She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. A faint flush had crept into her cheeks.
    “It’s not just that,” she told him. “It’s just … we’re the only ones left. If I go you’ll be all alone.”
    “Don’t worry about me. You just do what you need to do. I’ll be fine.” He tried to smile, but only got halfway there. “Besides, last time I checked there were three of us living in the house.”
    “Aimee’s not part of the family. She’s just a guest.”
    Kevin reached for his glass—it was empty except for the ice—and brought his mouth to the straw, vacuuming up a few stray droplets of moisture. She was right, of course. They were the only ones left.
    “What do you think?” she asked. “Do you want me to go away to school?”
    “I want you to do whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy.”
    “Gee, thanks, Dad. You’re a big help.”
    “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
    She brought her hand to the top of her head, pinching absent-mindedly at her stubble. It had grown noticeably thicker and darker in the past few weeks, much less severe without the pale scalp shining through.
    “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “I’d rather just stay home next year, if that’s okay with you.”
    “Of course it’s okay.”
    “Maybe I could commute to Bridgeton State. Take a few classes. Maybe get a part-time job.”
    “Sure,” he said. “That would work.”
    They finished their food in silence, barely able to look at each other. Kevin knew that a less selfish parent would have been disappointed—Jill deserved way better than Bridgeton State, everybody’s college of last resort—but all he felt was a relief so intense it was almost embarrassing. It wasn’t until the waitress took their plates that he trusted himself enough to speak.
    “So, uh, I’ve been meaning to ask what you want for Christmas.”
    “Christmas?”
    “Yeah,” he said. “Big holiday? Right around the corner?”
    “I haven’t really thought about it.”
    “Come on,” he said. “Help me out.”
    “I don’t know. A sweater?”
    “Color? Size? I could use a little guidance.”
    “Small,” she told him, grimacing as if the information were painful to disclose. “Black, I guess.”
    “Great. What about Aimee?”
    “Aimee?” Jill sounded surprised, even a bit annoyed. “You don’t have to get anything for Aimee.”
    “What’s she gonna do, sit there and watch us open presents?”
    The waitress returned with the check. Kevin glanced at it, then reached for his wallet.
    “Maybe some gloves,” Jill suggested. “She’s always borrowing mine.”
    “Okay.” Kevin took out his credit card and set it on the table. “I’ll get her some gloves. Let me know if you think of anything else.”
    “What about Mom?” Jill said after a few seconds. “Should we get something for her?”
    Kevin almost laughed, but stopped himself when he saw the serious expression on his daughter’s face.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “We’re probably not gonna see her.”
    “She used to like earrings,” Jill murmured. “But I guess she can’t wear them anymore.”
    *   *   *
    THEY WERE standing at a pedestrian crosswalk right outside the diner when a woman rode by on an orange bike. She called out to Kevin as she zipped past, a terse greeting he couldn’t quite decipher.
    “Hey.” He raised his hand in a delayed salute, addressing the space she no longer occupied. “How’s it going?”
    “Who’s that?” Jill’s eyes followed the cyclist as she headed down the street, rounding the bend toward Pleasant Street, flowing at the same speed as the car that hemmed her in.
    “No one you know,” Kevin said, wondering why he didn’t want to say her name.
    “That’s hard-core,” Jill observed. “Riding a bike in December.”
    “She’s dressed for it,” he said, hoping it was true. “They have all that Gore-Tex and whatnot.”
    He spoke casually, waiting for the emotional disturbance to pass. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Nora Durst since the mixer, the night they’d danced