“Now, sweetie, don’t say that,” their mom chided her. “I’m sure Grace and Theo have a sweet little romance.”
Grace ignored them. Arguing was futile once Hallie got a notion in her head, so instead, she pulled out the real-estate section she’d marked earlier, and deposited it on the table.
“We only have a couple of weeks left,” she reminded them. “I circled some apartments to check out. You can call the Realtor tomorrow.”
Hallie glanced at the first page. “Oakland? Emeryville? Grace, you can’t be serious!”
“We can’t afford to stay around here.” Grace sighed, for what felt like the hundredth time.
“But these places . . .” Hallie screwed her face up as she scanned the page. “Above a Chinese restaurant . . . Fourth-floor walk-up . . . Two bedrooms?” She gasped. “I need my own room!”
“You need a pull-out bed for when you’re home from college,” Grace corrected her.
“But what about my studio?” Their mom frowned. “I need good light, and space too. Maybe we can find somewhere with an annex in the garden. . . .” She flipped through the listings. “Ooh, this one sounds nice: three-bedroom cottage, wood floors, a conservatory out back . . .”
Grace looked over her shoulder as she passed. “Gee, and only four thousand dollars a month.”
“That’s not too bad.” Their mom circled it with a pen.
“We can’t afford that!” Grace cried, but it was as if she’d never spoken.
“And what about this one?” Hallie bent her head closer to their mom’s, pointing out a new listing. “Charming Victorian, wraparound porch, original fireplaces . . .”
Grace stifled a groan. “Please, be serious . . .”
“Oh, go call Theo.” Hallie rolled her eyes. “Maybe a few hours making out with him will get you to lighten up.”
“For the last time,” Grace cried, “there’s nothing going on!”
“Sure there isn’t, sweetie.” Their mom patted Grace’s arm absently. “But be careful. Use protection.”
Grace tried to forget Hallie’s teasing. For years, her sister had been on a diet of weighty Russian literature and heartbroken poetry; obsessed with the idea of true love. She was forever seeing secret romances where there were none to see: Mrs. Martinez (their aging housekeeper) and Kingston (neighbor, midforties, g*y); their (happily married) principal at school and the barely out of college math teacher; and now, it seemed, Grace and Theo.
But she couldn’t shake it. Toting Dash around Fisherman’s Wharf with Theo the next afternoon, Grace couldn’t help but wonder: if Hallie thought Grace had a crush on him, did that mean other people did too? And — oh, God — what about Theo himself?
“You want me to take him?” Theo interrupted her panicked thoughts. “You’re looking kind of flushed. He gets heavy, I know.”
“Oh, right, sure.” Grace passed Dash over, and took possession of the empty stroller in return. Theo settled the baby easily on one hip.
“Time to stop wearing Auntie Grace out,” he told Dash. “You’re too chunky.”
“Just chunky enough,” Grace corrected quickly, opening a granola bar snack. “We don’t want him growing up with an eating disorder.”
Theo laughed. “This kid? No way. He’ll be sneaking candy behind Portia’s back as soon as he’s old enough to walk.”
They paused by a guardrail overlooking the bay. A middle-aged tourist couple was taking photos with Alcatraz in the background, and stopped to coo over Dash; neon fanny packs strapped around their waists. “Your son is adorable!” The woman beamed.
Grace choked on her granola bar.
“Thanks,” Theo replied, straight-faced. “We’re very proud of him.”
The couple moved off; Grace smacked his arm. “Why did you say that?” she cried, flushing. “They probably think I’m some kind of teen mom!”
He grinned. “Hey, that’s not a bad career move. You could get a reality TV show, get in some magazines . . .” Theo stopped, seeing Grace’s expression. “I’m sorry. I figured it was the easiest way to brush them off, you know? If we’d said he wasn’t ours, they’d have asked where his parents were. . . .”
“No, you’re right.” Grace tried to relax. She shouldn’t overreact, just because Hallie had been teasing her. And what was it they said about protesting too much? “It was just weird. I mean, us, together!” She gave an awkward laugh.
As they strolled back toward the street, Grace’s gaze slid over to Theo. Hallie was wrong about his hair. It was cute the way it always stuck out slightly, as if he’d absently run his hand over it in the wrong direction; better than those boys in school with their side-swept bangs they were constantly brushing across, like they were trying to be a teen pop superstar. And his glasses weren’t that dorky either, she decided: plain gold wire rims that framed his brown eyes, a kind of absentminded professor look. She could picture him in twenty years in a patched tweed jacket, hiding out in a book-lined study grading papers.
“How’s the apartment hunt?” Theo ventured. Grace had shared some of her frustrations when it came to her family and their rose-tinted view on reality, but the topic was still edged with tension; Portia always lurking, unspoken, at the back of every conversation. “Have you found anywhere you like yet?”
“No.” Grace sighed. “I don’t know what Mom and Hallie expect to happen: that some fairy godmother’s going to conjure a place out of nowhere. I’ve started packing up our stuff,” she added. “It’s such a big house, I don’t want to leave it to the last minute.”
“I could help,” Theo offered immediately. “I’m a master packer. Trust me, I was the envy of the whole school come the end of the year. Advanced special awareness.”
“Fancy!” Grace bit her lip, thinking. “There is a lot to do. I’m not even halfway through the lounge yet. . . .”
“Then I’m in,” Theo declared. “I’ll come by on the weekend, bring some takeout. Make a party of it.”
“Either you’ve been to some lame parties, or Portia won’t let processed foods in the house.” Theo looked bashful. “Knew it!” Grace laughed.
“It’s all organic, raw stuff. I’m wasting away!”