by Carrie Pack
I try to picture it. Sleeping in Marty’s mom’s van, eating gas station burritos at four in the morning. Listening to Kate drone on about her latest cause. Trying to keep Venus from murdering Marty in her sleep. “Yeah, sounds like a blast,” I deadpan.
“Well, it won’t be glamorous or anything, but it sure beats hanging around Decker all summer.”
That does add to the appeal. Mom always works a lot in the summer. People tend to be looking for new houses when school is out. And since she started dating Dan and I started going out with Jackie, we hardly see each other in the evenings. It’s not as if she’d miss me.
“What would we do for money?”
Jackie shrugs. “I’ve got some saved up. And we could sell merch or maybe your zine.”
“Zines aren’t meant to be profit centers,” I remind her. “It’s just for fun.”
“Yeah, well, even if you only charge a dollar, it might keep us fed on the road. I’m sure most of those towns have a Kinko’s.”
It’s not a bad idea. I wonder if I can convince my mom to let me go. Jackie’s eighteen and on her own, but I’m not so sure Margaret Denton will be too keen on her sixteen-year-old traipsing across the Midwest on a multi-city tour.
“I thought we were going to try to save up for college or whatever. I just started at the mall.”
“We have plenty of time for that,” Jackie says. “But now we have a chance to be free and do whatever we want. Don’t you want to spend the summer with me?”
“The tour’s only three weeks.”
“You know what I mean.” She ties off the braid and releases my hair. “Just think about it, okay?”
I nod, and she kisses me.
Drunk on affection, I wander into the house after Jackie leaves to find Sparky sleeping on the kitchen floor in front of his bowl. I look at the clock. It’s well past his usual feeding time. I open the cabinet, and his ears perk up immediately. By the time I scoop out some kibble, he’s wide awake and panting excitedly. The food disappears as quickly as it falls into the bowl. I don’t think he chews some of it.
“Sorry, buddy,” I say, scratching him behind his ear. “I guess I lost track of time.”
As if it’s responding to Sparky’s boisterous crunching, my stomach growls loudly. “Guess I forgot to feed myself too.”
I get a box of mac and cheese out of the pantry and fill a pot with water. When I turn the burner on, I hear the front door open.
“Sorry I’m late, but I brought pizza!” Mom sounds strange.
I switch the burner off and follow the sound of my mom’s voice into the living room. She’s sitting on the couch, leaned back with an arm covering her face. She has one shoe off and her purse is lying on the floor next to the coffee table. She usually puts it on the table in the entryway.
“You okay?”
She looks up, and her eyes are rimmed with red. Almost all of her eye makeup has rubbed off. “Oh, Tabitha, I wasn’t sure you were home. I brought pizza.” She points halfheartedly at the coffee table.
I try to ignore the tantalizing smell of melted cheese and tomato sauce wafting from the box and ask again, “Mom, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, honey,” she sobs and drops her head into her hands. “I feel so stupid. Dan said he wanted to see other people. I thought we were serious.”
I sit next to her on the sofa and put my arm around her. “It’s okay, Mom. It’ll be okay.” I try to rub her back, but she leans on me, and I’m thrown off balance. I don’t know what to say. Moms aren’t supposed to cry on their kids’ shoulders, are they? Her body shakes with sobs, so I continue to stroke her back and hope she says something soon. I don’t know what to say. Should I ask what happened? Why isn’t there a guidebook for stuff like this?
“He was so good to me,” she says between sobs. “And handsome. Didn’t you think he was handsome?”
Ew. Gross. “Well, um…”
“And he had his own business, his own life, and I messed it up.”
“I’m sure you didn’t mess it up.”
“I asked him to move in with us,” Mom deadpans. “And he said he didn’t want anything serious. He said he’s been dating two other women.”
“You did what?” I cannot believe she’d do that without talking to me. She barely knows the guy and she asked him to move in to our house? What on earth possessed her to do something like that?
“I know. It was so stupid. But I thought he felt what I felt, and it’s been so long since a man paid attention to me like that, Tabitha. I guess I got a little carried away. But now, thanks to my big mouth, he’s gone.”
I have to remind myself that he’s not actually moving in with us and my mom is upset. I make an attempt at levity.
“Did you really want to be in a relationship with a man who was dating two other women? I mean, there is such a thing as an STD. Heard of AIDS? Jeez, Mom, you might have dodged a bullet there.”
She tries to laugh, but it turns into a sob. “Oh my God,” she says. “I have to go get tested. Tabitha, hand me my purse. I need my address book to call Dr. Baker.” She holds out a hand and wiggles her fingers.
I push her hand back into her lap. “Mom, calm down. It can wait until tomorrow.” I reach behind me and grab the box of tissues from the bookshelf. “Here. Take these.”
She pulls a tissue out and dries her eyes, taking the last remnants of her eyeliner with the tears. “When did you get to be so grown up?” A watery smile breaks through.
“Well, I do have my own experience with heartbreak. So I’m a pro now.”
She laughs, just a little, but it’s enough.
“Why don’t I get some plates, and we can dig into this pizza and then we can watch one of those ridiculous old musicals you love.”
“Even Thoroughly Modern Millie?” Through her tears, her eyes light up. It’s always been one of her favorite movies.
“Yes, even that incredibly weird one.”
“Hey, it’s supposed to be weird. It’s aware of its quirks. That’s part of the beauty of it. Ignore the horrible Asian stereotypes, and we’ll be fine.”
I playfully pat her knee. “Whatever you say.” I stand up. “Go ahead and put it in. I’ll be right back.”
On my way into the kitchen, I grab the phone and dial Jackie’s number. Venus answers.
“Hey, Vee. Is Jack home yet?”
“Not yet. Want me to have her call you?”
“No, I’ll call her later. Thanks. Hey, can you tell her that my mom had a relationship crisis, so it might be kind of late?”
“Sure,” Venus says.
I promise myself that I’ll talk to my mom about the tour as soon as she’s over Dan. I still have a few weeks before Jackie will expect a response.
I grab some paper plates and make it back to the living room in time for the overture.
When I wake up it’s dark and the TV is a blur of snow and crackling white noise. I stand up and stretch and glance at the clock. It’s just after two-thirty. Too late to call Jackie. So I turn off the TV and cover Mom’s lower half with a blanket. She sniffs and rolls away from me. I trudge up the stairs and flop on my bed. It smells of Jackie, and my heart lurches. I hope she doesn’t think I forgot about her. I hope she got my message.
I toss and turn, debating the risk of dialing Vee’s house in the middle of the night. I don’t think her parents would get too mad. They tend to be pretty laid back. I pick up the handset and start to dial and then hang up. Her parents may be laid back, but I’m pretty sure Venus would kill me. It can wait.
I lay back on the pillows and think about Mom. She made it through Thoroughly Modern Millie okay but halfway through An Affair to Remember, she started sobbing again. Dan may not have been perfect, but I liked that he made Mom happy.
I’ve never seen my mom cry before. Even when Dad left, she held her head high and hid h
er emotional outbursts from me. I had started to think she didn’t cry, although I knew logically she probably did. Doesn’t everyone? But knowing your mom cries and having her teardrops fall on your shirt while she sobs into your shoulder are two different things.
Summers, when I was a kid, Dad used to take me to get ice cream after dinner while Mom stayed home and did the dishes. I once asked him why she didn’t come with us and he said, “Your mother doesn’t like ice cream.” When I was twelve, I saw Mom eat an ice cream sandwich at a Fourth of July picnic. It was then that I knew my parents were human. Dad lied, and Mom ate junk food. That should have been my first clue about both of them, especially Dad. Tonight I learned that behind my mother’s confident, professional façade is a scared little girl who wants to be loved. In retrospect, the clues were there all along, but I suppose everyone’s blind where their parents are concerned.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying in the dark but I’m still awake when the blackness outside begins to lighten. I fall asleep listening to birds beginning their morning song.
The next time I wake, it’s late afternoon. The light streams in my west-facing window, making a cross-hatch pattern on my floor. The sound of knocking pulls me fully out of sleep.
“You awake?”
I yawn and stretch as my mom eases open my door.
“I am. Sorry I slept so late.”
She waves it off. “Don’t be. I let you sleep. I know I kept you up late last night.”
I scoot toward the headboard, and Mom sits beside me on the bed.
“You feeling any better?” I ask.
“I’m starting to,” she says. “Thanks for indulging me. I’m sorry I was such a mess.”
“Mom, you were not a mess. Breakups are hard. You have a right to be sad.”
She smooths imaginary wrinkles from the front of her pants. “Well, I appreciate it anyway.”
“You’re welcome.”
Mom stands and pulls my curtains back, letting in more light. “Jackie called earlier. I told her you were still in bed, but she wants you to call her.”
Damn. “I was supposed to call her last night.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand, honey.” Mom leans over me and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Are you hungry? I can make pancakes.”
“Yeah, I’ll be down in a few.”
The phone seems to ring forever before a breathless Jackie says, “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
Silence.
“Jackie?”
She clears her throat. “I’m here.”
“Sorry I didn’t call last night. Mom broke up with Dan and she needed some serious comforting. I fell asleep on the couch. You’re not mad, are you?”
“I’m not mad.”
She’s trying to sound upbeat, but I can hear the lie in her voice.
“Jack, you don’t have to lie to me. I know you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset.” It’s obvious she’s gritting her teeth. I can picture the hard line of her mouth and the sparkle in her eyes when she gets emotional. I can’t help but smile.
One of the things I admire about Jackie is her passion. I know it sounds strange, but I think it’s because of Kate. The thing is, Kate’s passion is self-righteous, just like her activism. She’s trying to prove she’s better than everyone else. But Jackie. My Jackie? She’s passionate because she’s trying to prove she’s as good as everyone else and she’s pissed as hell that the world doesn’t always see it. Kate sees injustices and holds a protest. Jackie sees injustices and does something about it. Both are admirable, but Jackie’s response is more real to me. So anytime we argue, I fall a little more in love.
“Well, I really did fall asleep on the couch and then when I woke up and realized how late it was, I stayed awake all night worried that you’d think I forgot to call. Did Vee give you my message?”
“Yeah.”
“I promise I didn’t forget about you.”
“Okay.”
She’s still tense. I wish we were having this conversation in person so I could hold her. Instead I soften my tone, trying to make it sound as much like a hug as a voice possibly can. “You can yell at me if you want. You don’t have to be tough.”
“I don’t want to be tough.” Her voice is barely audible, as though she doesn’t want to be heard. “I want to be girly and sweet.”
I let her words hang in the air. My out and proud Jackie still wants to be feminine.
“You are girly and sweet… and tough. And I love all of those things about you. You can be angry. You can be sad. You can be butch or feminine. You can be whatever you want to be, and I’m still going to love you.”
“You love me?”
Shit. Maybe we’re not there yet. My heart races as I try to come up with a way to back out of my admission. “Jackie, I—”
“I love you too,” she whispers. Her blinding smile is audible, and I’m suddenly giddy.
Neither of us says anything, but I can tell Jackie is still on the line because I can hear her breathing. It’s shallow and rapid. I’m sure she’s feeling the same crazy, stupid excitement I am.
“Mom’s making breakfast, but I’ll come over later if you want.”
“Sure,” she says, sounding breathless.
When I hang up, I engage in a totally undignified giggle as I lie on my bed and kick my feet excitedly. I love Jackie and she loves me. When did my life get this awesome?
Chapter 12
“Tabitha, could you come here please?” Teresa calls me over with a wave of her hand. She’s scowling, as per usual.
Teresa is my manager at The Place and she has a way of speaking to me that’s more condescending than not. Whenever she beckons, I know I’m about to get chastised.
“What’s up?” I ask innocently.
“Do these shirts look okay to you?” She practically towers over me, which only adds to the intimidation factor.
I study the stack of shirts she’s pointing to. They’re neat but not perfect. “I guess not.” I know the answer she’s looking for so I offer it without hesitation, even though I had planned to fold them after my break. I figured there was no point in doing it now with the store so busy.
She smirks and crosses her arms over her ample chest. “If it’s not too much trouble, do you think you could fold these properly?”
“Sure, Teresa.” I try to hide my face from her view because I know my expression is anything but pleasant. I’ve never had a good poker face.
“And when you’re finished with that, someone’s bratty kid left one of the dressing rooms a wreck.” She practically skips back to the register where she chats with a customer while I set about re-folding a stack of already neatly folded shirts.
I’m almost finished when I hear an all-too-familiar voice in the front of the store.
“I need to get something for this weekend. Brad’s taking me to Donovan’s and I need to look hotter than hot.” Heather’s voice carries and is echoed by Molly’s shrill giggle. Trailing behind the duo, as usual, are Adina and Jen.
As Heather comes into view around an end cap, I quickly fold the last two shirts and duck into the dressing room. The room is absolutely disgusting: clothing strewn all over the floor and small bench, empty hangers on every surface and a layer of something unidentifiable and sticky streaked across the mirror from the floor to about waist high. I easily take care of the unwanted merchandise, but to clean the mirror, I’ll have to get the glass cleaner from the storeroom, and that means going into the store where Heather and her minions are. I swallow heavily around a lump in my throat, and I hear Jackie’s voice in my head.
“You don’t deserve to be treated like a doormat,” I tell my reflection in the sticky mirror. “Stand up for yourself. They’re on your turf.” Turf? What am I, an extra in West Side Story? I roll my eyes at my sti
cky twin and square my shoulders. I swing the dressing room door open wide and it strikes something hard.
“Ouch!”
It’s Molly. Great.
“Ugh, watch it, Flabby.” Molly rubs her arm while managing a sneer of disgust. “Look, Heather, it’s Tabitha the Whale.”
Adina laughs, followed by Jen. Then Heather appears, her arms full of clothing, and I brace myself for more teasing. Molly and Jen are still giggling and Adina’s laugh has tapered to a snicker as they wait for Heather’s reaction. But she just stands there, looking at me with a neutral expression that I can’t figure out. “Hi, Tabitha,” she says solemnly.
“Hi,” I say, but I’m absolutely dumbfounded. No snide remarks? No jokes? No laughter? Just “Hi”? What the hell? Molly is as confused as I am. She’s staring at Heather with her mouth agape. Jen and Adina glance back and forth between the two of us, trying to decide what their reactions should be.
Finally, I give up and squeeze past them. “I’ve got work to do,” I say. I walk away as if they’re not even there. I’ve got a sticky mirror to clean. Someone else can help these girls with their shopping adventures.
“Not even an apology. Can you believe that?” Molly says, her voice loud enough for Teresa to hear. As expected, her head whips around and she’s back near the fitting rooms before Molly can say another word.
“Can I help you ladies?” Teresa says in her best customer service voice.
I roll my eyes and duck into the storeroom before I can get myself into any more trouble. I’m sure Molly is weaving an expert tale of how awful I am, so I’ll get an earful later. But when I come back out with the glass cleaner and some paper towels, the girls are nowhere to be seen, and Teresa is back at the register. I exhale a sigh of relief and walk toward the fitting rooms.
Without looking up, Teresa says, “Your friend’s in the dressing room. See if she needs anything.”
My friend? Surely she can’t mean Heather, or worse, Molly. I hedge my bets that it’s not Jen or Adina. I hadn’t even spoken to them. But I drag my feet, because no matter who is in there, I have no desire to “help” them with anything. Except maybe off the edge of a cliff.