BooksBarbecue
Back The Infinite Noise Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  70. Newsletter Sign-up

“Look, I know that, but that doesn’t help me. I don’t want to hang out with someone like me. And that’s sort of the point, isn’t it? I don’t even like me, why the hell would anyone else?”

“Adam.”

Fuck. Why did I say that? Now she’s got her Very Concerned voice on. She puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face her.

“I like you.”

“You’re my mother, you have to like me—”

“I like you and your father likes you”—she talks over me—“and anyone who gets to know you will like you. Sometimes that’s enough. We don’t always have to love ourselves in order to receive love from others. Sometimes that’s how we learn to love ourselves.”

“Okay, Mom, I get it.” I shrug her hands off my shoulders and turn back to the sink, where I pick up a sponge before remembering that I’ve done all the dishes already. I toss the sponge back and start wiping my hands on the dish towel, pointedly not looking at her. I know this conversation is probably far from over but I really, really don’t want to be having it.

“Adam, I just don’t want you to—” she starts, and, yep, this is exactly the last thing in the world I want to be discussing.

“I know, Mom. But I’m fine.” I turn around to face her as I say this, knowing I need to sell it. I can see the growing panic in her face. If I’m not careful, she’ll go DEFCON 1 on me—call in the therapists, start checking my bathroom for sharp objects, keep tabs on where I am at all times … that’s a hard pass from me.

“Really, I’m good,” I reiterate, looking her unblinkingly in the eye. She looks skeptical and I reach for the emergency lever on Mom-Calming. “I actually sort of made a friend today.”

Um, what?

I remember reading something once about enhanced interrogation techniques (a nice term for “torture”) and how if anyone is interrogated for long enough, they’ll eventually say something, even if it isn’t true. That’s what getting a stare-down from Rebecca Hayes is like. I always crack. Even if it means creating more problems for myself, I’ll tell her what she wants to hear. I would bug my mom a lot more about her work—especially after that conversation with my dad—if I thought I’d ever get anywhere.

“Really?” Her whole face lights up and my stomach plummets in guilt. Why, oh why, did I say that?

“Um, yeah, sort of,” I mutter, throwing the dish towel on the counter and moving around the kitchen trying to find something else—anything else—to do.