I lingered in the shower, enjoying the heat of the water running down my back and the scent of the shampoo. Somewhere between applying conditioner to my hair and shaving my legs, I wondered if it was the medicine making me feel so light-hearted. But the feeling was awesome, so I decided that I didn't care where it came from--just so it lasted a long, long time.
After showering, I wrapped my hair in a towel, threw on the one pair of sweatpants Sam left behind and my favorite Ocean City sweatshirt. I plopped onto my bed and booted up my computer to check my e-mail one more time before heading out to meet Tom. We decided to go together to this party after I made it clear the "just friends" code had to be maintained. He begrudgingly agreed.
The normal spam clogged my inbox, and I clicked "delete" down the list until one new message froze my fingers. My eyes fixated on a short email address confined to a single line of my inbox, but flashing brighter than the Las Vegas strip. At that moment, if the apartment was on fire, I would have fried. If someone screamed help from the hallway, I wouldn't have heard a sound. Immobilized, I could not comprehend anything, especially the sudden tremor of my hands and the name Nick DeCarlo lighting up my screen. Eventually, I clicked open the message. It linked to Facebook.
Hi, Maggie, Steph's status said she was traveling to Pittsburgh to attend your law school graduation ceremony. I just wanted to say that I always knew you would make it. You will amaze the legal establishment of Pittsburgh with your brilliance and stun them speechless with your beauty. Congratulations -- Nick
Every cell in my body quivered as I reread the message. I couldn't pull my eyes away from the letters N-I-C-K. I sat and stared, waiting for my heartbeat to drop from stroke level to possible survival. How? Why? Should I write back? Incredulous, I sat. Then, as if possessed, my fingers started to type, and I watched.
Hi, Nick. How are you? Thanks for taking the time to write the note. What a surprise, getting a message from you. Honestly, I'm shocked you still remember me. Did you follow your plan and go to medical school? Hope you are well. -- Maggie
Hitting the Send button exploded a dam of regrets. Why did I put in that medical school question? Now he'd feel obligated to respond. Smacking my forehead and leaning back in my chair, I mentally reprimanded myself for not simply typing the words thank you. I'm an idiot. Reaching up, I clasped my head between my hands and rocked slightly, but my body tingled, and dormant parts woke up. Shit. I thought.
***
Dinner floated hazily past my eyes. Tom repeatedly asked me, "What's wrong?"
I assured him everything was fine except for the first glass of wine, which went straight to my head. That comment elicited a sleazy smirk and eyebrow lift. I reminded him of the just friend's agreement. After what felt like hours, the cocktail hour ended and dinner was served. Tom was seated on my left, and a girl named Mary Ann on my right. I had seen her in the hallways, but we never had a class together. She attempted to make conversation with me, but I think she grew bored with my short answers. At some point between the salad and the entrée, she switched her attention to the guy seated on her other side. The buzz of voices around the table sounded more distant with each course and toast. I wanted to keep the Nick thoughts at bay, but I failed miserably. Once the evening ended, I ran into my apartment, booted up the computer and hoped for a reply. There wasn't one. I didn't sleep well--visions of Nick's face kept me up half the night.
My mom woke me absolutely too early, singing a graduation song to the tune of "Happy Birthday to You." My mom couldn't sing. She couldn't even croak. The whole call was painful. Then she reminded me that she would be at my apartment to walk to graduation with me. I hung up, rolled over, and went back to sleep for an hour.
***
The graduation candidates entered the auditorium of Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Auditorium in two processional lines. Spanning the entire wall behind the stage was the focal point of the room, Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. The silence of the audience testified to the solemnity of the setting and occasion.
It did not take long to reach the final point in the ceremony where the graduates stood and moved the mortar board tassels from the right to the left. I ran the silky tassel through my fingers as I moved mine.
Diploma in hand, Tom rushed to my side, wrapped his long arms around me, and squeezed, lifting me two inches off the ground. Blurry-eyed, I said to him "Friends beyond law school, right?"
"You know it, Maggie," he whispered.
The moment ended when his mother started snapping pictures and telling us to smile. After the appropriate introductions and well wishes, I left them to enjoy Tom's first moments as a lawyer together.
Locating my family was easy because my mom stood on her toes, furiously waving her arm, as she plowed her way through the crowd. On the other arm, she dragged along poor Ed. Fifteen feet behind her slogged the rest of the family, slowly navigating through the crowd. When we finally united, they crushed me with hugs and kisses. After hugging, Aunt Mildred, Aunt Rose, and my brother, it was Amy's turn. She whispered in my ear, "I know how much harder it was for you. You're amazing."
I squeezed her. "I never would have made it without you. Thank you."
Someone asked for a tissue. My mom passed around one of those little travel packs and shooed people toward the doors. "Let's go over to the Cathedral for the reception."
The gothic cathedral that personifies the University of Pittsburgh rested on a large lawn that spanned two bus stops on Bigelow Boulevard. The building didn't really belong in Oakland. It appeared to be waiting for the bus back to medieval Europe.
En masse, we toured the Nationality Rooms, located along the perimeter of the first floor. In the Scottish Room, Amy snickered and pointed to the portrait of Robert Burns above the fireplace. "Look at him, obviously, bipolar."
We both covered our mouths and turned our backs to the rest of the family for a few moments. Regaining self-control, I turned and faced the room. Aunt Rose and Aunt Mildred huddled near the beautifully carved fireplace, engrossed in a private conversation. The rest of the family stood close to the door, looking slightly bored and ready to move to the next room. After seeing the final room, we walked to the cavernous lobby area and sat down on the medieval-style, high-back benches. My mom pulled off her black pump and rubbed her foot. Aunt Mildred propped her legs across an entire bench. Obviously, her orthopedic shoes didn't do their job. We chatted about the rooms for a few moments and then Mark and Amy announced their babysitter could only stay until ten o'clock. They said good night to everyone and walked hand-in-hand to the main door.
The Ellwood crew decided in advance they didn't want to drive at night, so a block of rooms was booked at the hotel Amy recommended. I hugged my mom and Ed. And then Steph and I walked Mildred, Rose, and Max to the car and pointed them in the direction the Parkway. We watched them turn west on Fifth Avenue, optimistic they were headed in the right direction.
"Well?" Steph said, spinning on her heels to look at me. "Where's the next party?"
Exhausted, I looked at her. After the long day, I wanted to sit on my sofa and watch a movie. "Steph, there isn't another party. All of my friends are spending the evening with their families. It's just you and me. Let's go home and watch a chick flick. There will be more partying tomorrow."
She became silent and thrust out her bottom lip. "Are you nuts? We are not going to sit in that apartment and act like old ladies on the night of your graduation. Where's the closest bar? We're going to make our own party, and do you think that you could ditch the gown? Wait, scratch that, and leave it on. It will attract attention, male attention."
"Ughhhhh," I moaned under my breath and pointed toward Forbes Avenue. Within minutes, we were sitting at the bar in Hemmingway's ordering wine. The place was pretty empty for a Friday night, so I broached the subject that needed to be discussed. "Steph, I got an interesting message on Facebook."
"From whom?" she asked while leering at the bartender's backside.
"Nick."
"Get the hell out," she exclaimed without shifting her eyes from the bartender.
"Yeah, I was shocked to see the message. He found out about my graduation from your Facebook status."
Finally turning to look at me, she said, "What's so shocking about that, Maggie? I wanted people to know I was in Pittsburgh for the weekend. The point of updating your status is to let people know what is going on in your life."
"Duh." I sneered at her. "Yes, but only friends can see your status."
"Maggie, if you need a Facebook 101 class, now is not the time. Nick is my friend, therefore, he sees all of my status updates. That is why you become friends with people. To keep up with what is going on in their lives. Hence the word, friend." She huffed. After saying the word "friend," she spun the bar stool around and re-engaged in ogling the bartender.
"Hey, Stephanie, look at me. How long have you and Nick been friends?"
"I sent him a friend request after our last girls' night with Amy. Of course, he accepted. We spent a lot of time bonding while you served greasy fries. Besides, I wanted to know what was up with Sarah. She isn't on Facebook."
Fuming, I sat in my chair trying to think of a reason to yell at her when a soft male voice from behind whispered suggestively in my ear, "Buy you a beer, gorgeous?"
I whipped around on the barstool and found myself face-to-face with a gleeful Tom. Laughing and doing my best seductive leg cross, I said, "Hey, Handsome, I don't drink beer, but I'll let you buy me a glass of wine."
For a moment, Tom and I pretended to flirt, and I forgot about Steph. She made sure the moment didn't last very long. "Hey, Maggie, who's your friend?" she asked, while blatantly scanning Tom from head to toe. He did not seem to be upset by her eye motions.
"Tom, this is my cousin Stephanie. Stephanie, this is my favorite future politician, Tom."
Tom said hi, and Steph gave him her most seductive smile. All hope of continuing the Nick discussion collapsed at that moment. I dissolved from their field of vision and interest. Within a few moments, the rest of Tom's group, a few friends and a cousin, huddled around us. After a half-hour of drinking and laughing, Tom and Stephanie ditched us for the back table. I spent the rest of my evening chatting and laughing with my four new friends. One very persistent second-year law student spent most of the night trying to convince me to give him my phone number or email address.
As closing time approached, people started to wander off and the bar became more subdued. I headed toward the private booth that Steph and Tom occupied, dreading the thought of breaking up a heated make-out session. I stood at the end of their table and did one of those really loud, fake throat clears. They both stopped and looked at me. They weren't kissing, just totally engrossed in a conversation that involved a lot of cocktail napkin drawings.
I exhaled. "Steph, I think it's time to leave."
"Maggie, did you know that Tom's undergrad degree is in architecture?" Steph asked, looking at me as if she was sharing the most exciting fact in the world. Before I could answer, her gaze returned to Tom, and every muscle in her body and face contorted into her usual I-am-falling-in-love-or-lust position.
"Actually, Tom never mentioned that. Steph, do you want to walk home or grab a cab?"
"I'll drive you home, Maggie," Tom interjected. "I stopped drinking a while ago."
When we reached my apartment, I hugged Tom and reminded him he was expected to be at the party on time. Then I walked alone toward the front door. Sneaking a glance back, I could see him and Steph locked in a pretty passionate kiss. A smile spread across my face, my friend and my cousin, that would be nice. My next thought was, If she hurts him, I'll kill her. I waved to Alexander the Great, whose image hung on a tapestry over the lobby fireplace, and walked toward the elevator, wallowing in warm feelings.
CHAPTER 19
A Tombstone for Ella
"Get up, c'mon, Steph, get up. We have to get to Mark's house to help Amy. I can't let her do all the work alone," I said, jostling her sleeping body.
Steph groaned and crushed the pillow over her head. "Amy is fine. I need sleep. Lot's more sleep. You go. I'll take the bus."
"There is no bus. Get up."
"I'll call a cab. Please, Maggie, just three more hours," Stephanie begged pathetically.
"You're broke," I said, yanking the pillow from her head and whipping the blankets from her body. "Here." I handed her a lidded cup filled with hot coffee. "Drink, shower, brush, and dress--now."
"Bitch," she snarled, while grabbing the cup from my hand.
A half-hour later, awake and focused, Steph began babbling about the wonders of Tom.
"He's your friend, Maggie. Did it look like he was into me?"
"Stephanie, I don't think that good-night kiss would have happened if he didn't like you."
Without stopping for breath, from the moment we walked out my front door until she reached to open the passenger-side door of my car, she continued to bombard me with questions about Tom.
It relieved me to hear she seemed honestly interested, because in the past--recent past, like a week ago, I suspect--Stephanie viewed guys as mountains to be climbed, each one her own personal Everest. She approached a bar or club the way mountain climbers approached the Himalayas, with wild eyed excitement. Unfortunately, a guy who seemed too interested too quickly would be dumped before reaching base camp. It didn't take much to see that pulling Tom into her web would not be difficult.
"Please don't lead him on, Steph. He's a nice guy, and he's my friend. So don't you dare hurt him," I said with unfounded authority.
"Well, if he's so great, how come you never went after him?" she quickly countered.
I shifted my eyes from the road to her face, knowing full well she would be able to read my expression.
"Maggie, Sam's a jerk and you are starting to look stupid for hanging on. That wimp of a human being doesn't deserve you. Why would you want someone who's afraid of a little mental glitch? If you ask me, he's the one with mental problems--all of those lists and control issues. I hope he marries someone totally normal--and borinnnnng."
"I will always love Sam. You just can't understand," I said, which incited a tirade of foul words and insults against my intelligence.
I tried to explain why I could never love anyone else, but she interrupted my defense by dramatically shoving her fingers down her throat and making disgusting noises. How did you explain true love to a girl who matched her men to her wardrobe? Black shoes for the guy with black hair, a blue sweater for the one with blue eyes. And a tie-dyed sweatshirt would get you a date with a guy sporting multi-colored dreadlocks. She believed in mixing and matching.
"Let's drop the subject for the day, okay?" I asked.
"I totally agree," she said, raised her legs, and flopped her spiked boots onto the dashboard.
"So graceful, Steph. Why don't you pull off the boots and polish your toenails?"
"Too many potholes in this town for that. Let's talk about Tom and Nick, instead. Infinitely, sexier than Sam," she chirped.
"That's not what I had in mind. Can we talk about something that doesn't relate to men?"
"Why in the hell would we want to do that?" she replied.
She continued talking. I drove.
As we walked up to the front door of the house, Kelsey's nose pressed to the glass.. When she saw us, she did this little jump move that involved only one foot actually leaving the ground. I scooped her into my arms.
"Hey, it's my turn to hold her. You get to play with her all the time," Steph objected as she gently pulled her from my arms.
Quickly realizing that Kelsey's fluffy dress covered significant amounts of baby weight, Steph put her down and, giggling, they walked hand-in-hand toward the family room.
Eager to help Amy, I hung my coat in the hallway closet and walked into the kitchen. She didn't need my help, but it was a good excuse to get here early and spend some private time with her. Our last kitchen conference had been weeks ago.
&
nbsp; Friends and relatives already packed the kitchen, "helping." Amy appeared frazzled and on the verge of yelling, "Get the hell out of my kitchen."
My well-intentioned mother blocked the workflow of the kitchen by standing at the sink, scrubbing pots and pans. Aunt Rose and Aunt Dori sucked up all the space on the kitchen table arranging cookies on a platter. Aunt Mildred hovered around the stove, questioning every ingredient Amy put into a sauce pan. Julie leaned against the counter with a glass of wine in her hand, not even pretending to be useful. When I entered the kitchen, Amy gave me a look that said either, "Not you, too," or "Help me." It was difficult to discern, so I backed out slowly and went to find someone else to talk to.
The weather decided to cooperate. The sky was cloudless, a glorious May afternoon. The sun radiated warmth, and the temperature was perfect for being outside. Uncle Roy stretched contentedly on a lounge chair on the back patio. I pulled up a lawn chair and parked next to him. "Hi, Uncle Roy. What's new?"
"Not much, Maggie." After a swig of beer, he grinned. "At my age, nothing new is a good thing."
We chatted about law school and the bar exam for a while and then somehow the subject turned toward my grandma and Aunt Ella. He had no idea that she was buried in the same cemetery as my dad. I repeated everything that Aunt Rose told me about her. Then suddenly I heard the words flow from my mouth. "I'm going to buy her a tombstone with my first paycheck. I'm going to make sure it has daisies carved all around her name, and it will read: Ella Mae Ingram 1921-1986, Beloved Daughter, Sister and Artist."
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