A second later, our son appeared wearing a light-blue T-shirt and khaki shorts. His wavy blond hair looked messier than usual, and his whole appearance suddenly seemed to be cultivated, preppy sloppy.
“Hey,” he said, heading straight for the refrigerator with only a glance our way. He opened it and stared inside for several seconds before pulling out a bag of sliced roast beef. He peeled off a few pieces, then tossed the bag back in and pushed the door shut with his elbow.
“Aren’t you going to make a sandwich?” I asked.
“Too much trouble,” Finch said.
“How about a plate?” I said, anger bubbling inside of me. “Can you at least put that on a plate?”
He shook his head, grabbed a paper towel from the roll, then headed for the family room, stuffing roast beef in his mouth as he went.
“Where’re you going?” I called out after him.
“To watch TV,” he replied without looking back.
“Come back here, please,” I said, circling the counter to stand alongside Kirk. “Dad and I need to talk to you.”
I glanced at Kirk, who wore a casual expression as he drummed his fingers on the edge of the counter. I nudged him with my elbow and made a mean face.
“Listen to your mother, Finch,” he said. “We want to talk….”
Finch turned around, looking more confused than worried, as I wondered how much he’d had to drink. “What’s going on?” he said, putting the last of the roast beef in his mouth and talking as he chewed.
“Will you please come here and sit down?” I said, pointing to one of the barstools.
Finch did as I asked but wore an expression of defiance.
“How was your night?” I said.
He shrugged and replied that it was fine.
“What did you do?”
“Went over to Beau’s.”
“Did he have a party?” I asked.
“No. Not a party. He just had some people over. Why? What’s with the third degree?”
I elbowed Kirk again, and he issued a perfunctory “Don’t talk to your mother like that.”
Finch mumbled “Sorry” as he ran his hand through his hair.
I waited for him to look back at me before I asked my next question. “Were you drinking?” I said, uncertain of what I wanted the answer to be. Would that make it better or worse?
“Yeah,” Finch said. “I had a few beers.”
“How many?” I asked, wishing that Kirk and I had been stricter about drinking. We’d never come out and given him our permission to consume alcohol, but we had looked the other way on a beer here and there. It was, after all, why we allowed him unlimited spending on Uber.
“I didn’t really count,” he said. “Maybe three or four?”
“That’s too many,” I said.
“I didn’t drive.”
“Well. Isn’t that great,” I said. “You deserve a medal.”
Finch heaved a sigh and said, “Why’re you so pissed off, Mom? You know I drink.”
“We’re both very, very upset, Finch. But it’s not just about the drinking,” I said, then took a deep breath, pulled my phone out of my purse, and found the image saved to my camera roll. I slid it across the counter and watched him look down at it.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
My heart sank.
“Mrs. Parker showed it to Mom. At our event tonight,” Kirk replied.
Finch glanced at me as I nodded. “Yeah. So let that one sink in….But, honestly, is that really what you’re worried about here? Where I got it?”
“I was just wondering,” Finch said.
I took a breath and said, “Did you take it?”
“Mom, it’s a long story…and it’s not as bad as it looks….I bet she wouldn’t even be that mad….”
“Who is she?”
“Just some girl,” he said.
I turned the words over in my head, feeling absolutely sickened. “Does this girl have a name?” I asked him.
“Yeah. It’s Lyla Volpe….Why?”
“Why? Because you posted a photo of her half naked, Finch. That’s why,” I said, feeling myself become hysterical.
“It wasn’t posted. It just got sent to a few people. And she wasn’t half naked, Mom.”
“I saw her nipple, Finch,” I said. “That counts as naked to me.”
“Well, it’s not like I took her clothes off….”
“Well, that’s a relief,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because that would make it assault.”
“Assault? C’mon, Mom. You’re overreacting,” he said with a weary sigh. “Nobody assaulted her. She drank too much and passed out. That’s not my problem.”
“On the contrary, son, this is your problem,” Kirk said, as if the gravity of the situation was finally setting in for him. “Many people have seen this photo. It’s out there.”
“And…green card, Finch? Really?” I said.
“It was just a joke, Mom.”
“It’s racist,” I said. “You took a photo of a half-naked girl who was passed out, and then made a racist joke about her.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his eyes and voice.
“That you did it? Or that you got caught?” I asked.
“C’mon, Mom. Please. Stop. I’m really sorry.”
“What were you thinking? I mean, actually what was going through your mind?” I said.
Finch shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? Nothing?” I said, floored by his answer, though maybe it was better than if he had set out to hurt someone. Still, the result was the same. The injury wasn’t any less.
When he didn’t reply, I got more upset. “How could you do this, Finch? I just don’t get it. It’s so…cruel! This is not the way your father and I have raised you!”
“And beyond that, do you realize what you’ve risked here?” Kirk asked, finally raising his voice, too. “How stupid and irresponsible this was? You could be expelled!”
“C’mon, Dad, that’s crazy,” Finch said.