Defective

by Susan Sofayov

  Making love with Sam was warm and sweet--like pancakes on a cold winter morning. Nick was a tsunami that drained every ounce of energy from my every limb and left me begging for more.

  "See Maggie, we're perfect together," he whispered in my ear.

  He rolled on top of me, his kiss stifling every thought in my head and electrifying every single nerve ending in my body. God, I'd missed this.

  Later, with his leg thrown over my thighs, we both stared at the ceiling. He broke the silence. "You can't begin to imagine..." His voice trailed off.

  Rolling over, just to look at his eyes, my finger languidly roamed across his perfect features until they reached his silky black curls. Quickly kissing him again, I said, "We got the sex out of the way, time to talk. Nick, could you start at the beginning and explain the how and why you are in my bed?"

  "Well, you wouldn't know this, but UPMC has an excellent orthopedic department, hence the residency here," he said.

  "Why didn't you call when you first moved here?" I asked propping myself on to my elbow.

  "That was my original plan, but then you created a Facebook page, and I saw your status--'in a relationship.' Man, was that a punch in the gut. You can't believe the control it took driving past this building every day on my way to work. More than once, I parked the car with the intention of just banging on your door until you let me in. Then one day, your status changed."

  I punched his arm playfully. "Hey, its sounds like you spent a lot of time creeping on me."

  "Yeah, I did. I wanted to drive over here and bust through your door that day, but I waited--waited for what felt like forever. I didn't want to contact you if you were still getting over him, and I didn't want to just be a rebound. Then one day, out of the blue, I got a message and friend request from Steph. She didn't say, 'Hey, Nick, how's life? What are you doing?' None of that mundane polite stuff for Steph. She got to the point. I memorized it. 'She loves you, just too stupid to recognize it. Don't be an asshole, go get her.' Have to love that cousin of yours," he said.

  "Oh," I said. "She's a charmer."

  "When Steph posted she was going to your graduation, I thought, what the hell, you never know until you try."

  "But I still don't understand why you didn't tell me you lived in Pittsburgh and in my neighborhood?" I asked, flopping onto my back.

  He started kissing my neck, and I felt the vacuum cleaner start to suck the air out of my lungs, yet again. Mustering a bit of control, I pushed him away. "Talk now--kiss later."

  "Talking is so overrated." He flopped onto his back and began to answer the question. "I really did want to tell you the truth. In the beginning, I didn't because I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me. After we had been chatting for a while, I realized you were much more open when you typed. I know you're a little shy by nature, but sometimes when you were quiet, I didn't see shyness in your eyes. I saw fear, and I didn't know why. So I didn't tell you about being in Pittsburgh because I didn't want to lose the new talkative Maggie."

  I stared at the ceiling.

  "But the main reason I didn't tell you was this." His hand started roaming across my stomach. "This would have happened. It's always been this way with us. Typing was a way for me to keep my hands to myself and still be with you. Maggie, I've loved you since our first night together, but I was afraid you wouldn't be interested in trying again. Then I worried about restarting something, and you keeping me at a distance. I thought if we stuck to just talking for a while, it would remind you of how much fun we had together, and I hoped that one day you would make the first move to see me."

  My mind reeled at his words. He said he loved me. I knew I heard it, and I felt his eyes on my face before I looked into them.

  "Maggie, say something. Please."

  My eyes remain fixed on the ceiling. "Nick, I don't know what to say. I told you, I truly believed I was a fling for you. I never understood why someone like you was wasting time with me. Remember, the first night you showed up at the shore? I was beyond shocked and when you left that Sunday, I never imagined you would come back. But you did. Nick, you're perfect, smart, funny, sweet, and a hundred times prettier than me. You can have any girl you want."

  He wrapped his everything around me--arms and legs engulfed me. Between kisses, he spoke. "That would be you, forever and ever. I want a whole life with you, Maggie--the kids, the dog, the suburbs, the matching Range Rovers. I spent years dreaming about you before I even got to kiss you. I love you."

  I couldn't respond. Thoughts exploded in all directions: children, defective, bipolar, ineffective drugs, bad DNA, Sam, Sam, Sam. I'm supposed to marry Sam. This was a huge mistake.

  CHAPTER 22

  Slamming Doors

  I could tell he was struggling to remain quiet. I knew what I had to say, but that didn't make it easier. It was my turn to speak. "Nick, I'm not sure if what I feel for you is love, but I do know this. You will have your dream someday. It just won't be with me. All of those things are not in the cards for me--bipolar, remember?"

  In a snap, he was sitting up with eyes so intense I had to look away. "Maggie, I don't give a shit if you're bipolar, tri-polar, or a leper. What will it take? Do you want a diamond that covers your hand? I'll buy it tomorrow. I'll tattoo your name on my chest or write, 'I love you, Maggie' across Mt. Washington. Who better for you to be with than me, a doctor. I understand that shit."

  "Nick, you think you understand it, but you've never seen me during a bad time," I replied, and I could hear sadness cloud my voice.

  "Come on, Maggie. You know I understand the mental shit. I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was nine years old. I can't sit through a movie without ditching to the bathroom a few times. Do you think my mom sent me to drum lessons so that I would become a famous drummer? Hell, no. She wanted me to stop destroying her house. Every step of medical school was a struggle, especially focusing on text books that required laser beam concentration. So, Maggie, drop the perfect shit. It doesn't exist." He leaned over and kissed me. "And if you knew what I was thinking right now, you would throw the word out the window."

  As he kissed my lips, a thought flew through my head--This is wrong. This should be Sam not Nick. Nick is a drug addiction--Sam is true love. Why am I doing this and why can't I stop?

  Abruptly, the kissing stopped and he pulled back. I could see the harsh look in his eyes. "It's not the bipolar crap, it's him. You still love him? Don't answer that."

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and held his head between his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. Over a year ago, Sam sat in the same position. Silent tears streamed down my face. I could not and did not answer the question. Silence polluted the room as he dressed. I didn't want him to leave, but I couldn't say the words he wanted to hear. He stopped in the doorway and turned to face the bed. "You lied. Obviously, I can't have any girl I want."

  The sharp sound of the front door closing stabbed my heart. My dreams that night blurred. Sam at the end of the bed, Nick walking out. But most of the night, my mind saw Ella, alone in a white room.

  I groaned, rolled over, and looked at the glowing light of my alarm clock--7:00 a.m. Who would be banging on my door at this hour? I yelled down the hallway, "Stop banging. I'm coming."

  I opened the door to a grinning, dressed-up, over-lipsticked Mrs. Livingston and her walker. Without as much as a "Good morning," she maneuvered her body and walker through my front door and into my living room. Her eyes roamed from the living room, to the kitchen, and finally down the hall. "I only have a few minutes, Maggie. The casino bus leaves at seven-thirty, sharp, and the bus driver doesn't wait an extra second." She scanned my apartment and made a face.

  "Mrs. Livingston, did you lose something in here? Or are you looking for something?"

  As much as I loved her, I just didn't have the patience to deal with her this morning. Last night hung raw--images of Nick, sitting on my sofa and standing in my kitchen, haunted me.

  She stopped scanning and huffed at me.
"Of course, I'm looking for something--Dr. Nick. Preferably, a naked Dr. Nick or one wrapped in a very small towel."

  A huge Cheshire cat grin spread across her red-rouged face and her eyes sparkled. "Oh, Maggie, you picked a good one this time. When you go fishing, you really know how to fish. I'm just disappointed you didn't tell me about him. But, I'll forgive you and when I have more time, you'll tell me the entire story. Come over here and let me give you a big hug. Where's Dr. Nick? Is he still sleeping or in the shower? I want to hug him, too. Rubbing my body against that boy's will definitely boost my luck at the casino."

  "Mrs. Livingston, Nick's not here."

  "What?" she said and the entire stock of cosmetics in a Maybelline warehouse couldn't hide her disappointment.

  "He only stayed for a few hours. There's no one here but me."

  "Are you stupid, Maggie? You let him leave? You should have ripped off his clothes and held him hostage. What's wrong with you?" She didn't wait for an answer. "I got all excited for nothing."

  "Mrs. Livingston, I've known Nick for years, and I am not going to hold him hostage. And you know I'm still in love with Sam, not Nick."

  "Maggie Hovis, why in the hell would you sit alone in your apartment waiting for a vanilla ice cream cone, when a triple fudge banana split with extra whipped cream knocks on your door?"

  "Are you comparing Sam to a vanilla ice cream cone?" I asked.

  "You're damn right, I am. He's not even a two scoop cone."

  "I thought you liked Sam? You always talked to him and smiled when you saw him in the lobby."

  "Of course, I liked Sam. There is nothing wrong with a vanilla ice cream cone. It's just who wants it when there is a banana split calling your name. Maggie, sweetheart, you really need to have your head examined. Dr. Nick gives me hot flashes, and I'm almost dead! But I have to go, dear. We'll continue this discussion at our next gin game."

  She turned her walker and hobbled out my front door. She, too, slammed it.

  ***

  Night after night, I sat on my balcony and gazed at the leaves on the few visible trees. When their vibrant green changed to the flamboyant colors announcing their impending death, I locked the balcony door. By Thanksgiving, the branches looked as cold and alone as I felt. There were no more text boxes cheerfully popping up on my screen.

  The only things that made the days bearable were my job and planning for the setting of Aunt Ella's tombstone. I invited a few members of my family to attend. At the last minute, Aunt Rose got bronchitis and couldn't make it. Amy had been battling a weird stomach virus and there was no way Mark was going to give up football on a Sunday afternoon.

  I drove to the cemetery alone. Before walking to her grave, I stopped by my dad's and talked to him for a few minutes. I told him about Sam leaving me and how much I missed him. I told him about the new medicine and what a shame it was that he didn't get to have it. I couldn't bring myself to tell him about Nick. I dried my eyes, told him that I loved him, and started walking along the road toward Ella's final resting place.

  Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice the silver minivan approaching until it was almost next to me. An arm flailing from the window finally caught my attention. Julie pulled over to the curb and parked.

  "Wait for me, Maggie."

  She stepped behind the van and popped open the hatch. In what appeared to be one fluid movement, she pulled out a stroller, snapped it open, and pushed it over to the side of the van. The automatic side door slid sideways, exposing little Kyle begging to get out of the car seat. Winded when she finally reached me, she said, "I hate lugging all of this baby stuff. Anyway, Amy called this morning. She didn't want you to be alone for this. I was happy to come. I never knew about your Aunt Ella."

  "Neither did I until about a year ago."

  "Well, I'm sure Ella would be happy that you are doing this for her."

  "I hope so, Julie."

  We walked in silence for a few moments. Kyle babbled at the toy attached to the side of the stroller. The sun tried to break through the clouds without much success. But the somewhat warm air made it easy to forget it was the end of November. We trudged down the road and onto the grassy rows of the cemetery, the final apartment building, each unit marked by its individual tombstone. At least, now Ella would have her own front door.

  I'd waited a long time to do this and wanted to make the day special, if not for Ella, then for me. I wasn't depressed. I knew depression, and this wasn't it. Penitent was a better term, for the lies of my family and the hurt it caused everyone. Mental illness didn't just hurt Ella, Uncle George, me, or Justin. Its evil grinning face spit on everyone who loved us. Uncle Roy's demon repeatedly tortured Aunt Dori. My grandfather suffered with my grandma. All of them, even Sam, but he was smart. He got out before it could destroy his life. Today was a symbolic attempt to right a history of wrongs committed by my family. But atonement did not wipe away the damage, and it didn't give dead people a second chance.

  In spite of my morose mood, I was grateful to have Julie next to me. She broke the silence. "From the look on your face, Maggie, I guess the news finally reached you. I'm really sorry. I know I suck as a friend, but I just didn't know what to say to you. I think everyone wanted to hang onto the dream of you and Sam someday getting back together and having beautiful little babies."

  Feeling my face scrunch with bewilderment, I asked, "Julie, what news?"

  The dour tone of her voice made me fear Sam had died.

  There was facial expression people got when they realize they just screwed up--big time. Julie's expression engulfed her body as she leaned over, banging her head on the handle of the stroller. "You don't know. Shit, my big mouth. I found out three days before your graduation party. Sam's engaged and, I hear, the date is set for May."

  I looked at her and listened to the screams in my head that my mouth refused to let out. "No, Julie. It's impossible, really. Sam loves me, not her. It's a mistake." The cemetery started to blur. In front of me was the new stone.

  Ella Mae Ingram

  1921-1986

  Artist * Daughter * Sister

  Hearing the thump of my garden shovel hit the ground did nothing to bring back my focus. Strength abandoned my legs as I collapsed onto Ella's grave. I must not have looked very good because I heard Julie saying, "Maggie, are you okay? I have a bottle of water in the back of the van. Do you want it? Please, say something."

  What the hell did you say when you were sitting on the grave of your mentally ill aunt, hearing your ex-fiancé, the love of your life who left you because of your own craziness, was marrying someone else? What the hell did you say? Nothing. You said nothing, because words vanished from your brain.

  "If he was my ex-fiancé, I would want to beat the living shit out of the new woman and chop off one of his major body parts. Such a jerk." She sat down next to me and took my hand in hers. "I think your aunt would understand if we leave. You can come back another day and do this properly. Let's go to my house for coffee, and I'll dump a few shots of Bailey's in it."

  Just so I could lean on something, she let me push Kyle. Once again, Julie didn't want me to drive. We left my car in the parking lot and drove together to her house. The wind kicked up, and the skeletal bones of the bare trees thrashed back and forth with the gusts. I stared out the window...

  ***

  "Hi, Maggie. This is Sam Hutchinson. I have to drive to Ellwood this weekend. So if you want to go home, I can give you a ride."

  Julie was nagging me to come home and Christmas shop with her. So maybe riding with him wouldn't be such a bad idea. If I could survive the Thanksgiving ride home, I could survive another. "Thanks, Sam. I'd love a ride. Let me know what time you want to leave campus."

  He picked me up outside of my dorm at 4:30. The ride home began exactly like the Thanksgiving ride. He drove, and I read until we reached the Ellwood exit from Interstate 79. Suddenly, he smacked the steering wheel with both hands. "I don't get it. Why won't you talk to me?"

&nbs
p; My head jerked up from the sudden noise, and my book dropped from my lap to the floor with a thud. For a moment, I just stared at him, not even blinking. Blushing profusely, I replied, "I thought you didn't want to talk to me."

  He quickly shifted his eyes from the road to my face. "Maggie, why would I offer you a ride if I didn't want to talk to you?"

  My throat felt very dry and sweat began to form on the back of my neck. Quickly, I reached down and snagged my paperback from the floor. Finally, the words sputtered from my mouth. "It never crossed my mind that you would want to talk to me. Reading was my way of sparing you from feeling obligated to make conversation. It seemed less awkward than total silence."

  "Maggie, I've always wanted to talk to you, and you've ignored my existence since the sixth grade."

  My head jerked around to face him and chills ran from my throat to my feet. "What? I don't understand. Why would you say that? I didn't ignore your existence."

  "Every time I tried to talk or smile at you, you turned your head. I gave up all hope by ninth grade. I just couldn't figure out what I did to make you hate me, and I definitely didn't have the courage to ask you."

  His eyes remained on the road, but I could tell, by the set of his jaw and the tone of his voice, he wasn't teasing me. His words were sincere. No longer trying to avoid talking, I groped for words. Finally, "I don't hate you," came out of my mouth.

  He turned his head toward me and gave me a half smile. "Good." Then he shifted his eyes back to the road. After a few seconds, he said, "That makes me feel much better."

  I looked down at my book, still stunned. Hate him? Why would he think that?