Testimony from Your Perfect Girl

by Kaui Hart Hemmings

  “Can I get the vest?” the daughter asks. She has long straight hair with bangs and looks like a folk singer.

  “How much is it?” the mom asks.

  “One seventy-five?” the daughter says, and uses an expression that is highly familiar—a cringing, cute face that harkens back to baby days, which are long gone. It works every time with my mom, and my dad never even asks how much things are. He just hands over the card.

  “Absolutely not,” the mom says. “For that? It doesn’t even have sleeves.”

  “Mom, come on, just—”

  “You have an allowance.” The mom continues to flip through clothes, done.

  The girl puts the vest back. That’s it? I would have pushed it a little further. I pick up the vest—it is cute—along with a pair of high-waisted jeans, a cable-knit sweater, and a few of the same shirts in different colors. I choose clothes for my new self—I will be a sexy, trendy, cute girl now. I will wear fringe and look festival-ready. The shopgirl, who is wearing these great lightning bolt earrings, offers to take my things, freeing my hands for more. I go up to the girl who wanted the vest, something I’d never have done before.

  “Sucks about the vest,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes. “I know, right?”

  She’s pretty, with dark skin and long lashes.

  “Next time ask for something more expensive and have what you really want as backup. Then it looks like you’re making a generous compromise.”

  She smiles. “That’s funny.”

  “Then try it on and say that it just makes you feel so confident, like you’ll fit in. Moms can’t help but want their daughters to avoid social problems.”

  “Thanks,” she says. “I’ll try.”

  * * *

  • • •

  When I’m done in the dressing room, I walk to the counter and get rung up. There are handmade soaps and candles at the counter, so I add some of them to the pile because they’d make good gifts. My mom has a closet full of gifts for friends, housekeepers, etc.

  I hand over my credit card to the older lady at the register. She looks at my card, then at me, and I open my wallet to get my license, since she’s going to be all skeptical.

  “You related to Jacob Tripp?” she asks, and the question startles me. She has a gray bun and black-framed eyeglasses. She doesn’t seem like a trendy boutique type, but maybe she owns the shop or makes the soap. She looks like a soap maker.

  I’ve been asked if I’m related to Jacob Tripp before, but something tells me she’s not asking out of admiration. So this is what my parents were talking about. We really do need to hide and chuck our last name, and this realization gives me a shock of shame. My normal self would talk back, own it, and be defensive, but now I just say, in a cool-girl, teen voice, “What? Who?”

  “Jacob Tripp. The developer,” she says, folding my jeans. “The one in the news.”

  “Um, no?” I say, and this makes me feel guilty and sad.

  “He really messed up some lives,” she says. “Screwed over my friend’s stepsister.”

  She sounds funny. I took her for an artsy hippie, but she sounds like she should work in a real coal mine. Maybe she’s the canary.

  “Never heard of him,” I say. “I must be part of another Tripp lineage. We’re from Chattanooga.” I sign the receipt, not looking at the total, then get the hell out of there, feeling like I’ve stolen something. What would she have said if I’d told her I was his daughter? Chase me out of the store with soap? Lecture me? I almost want to yell at her. It’s not like I’ve done anything wrong, and if her friend’s stepsister—or whoever—invested, she was probably rich to begin with, and rich people take risks, take losses. It’s part of the game. But I know how bad that would sound, and for the first time I’m realizing that I don’t know what game my dad is involved in. For the first time I feel like I’m on the wrong side.

  On Main Street I walk with my head down, breathing hard. Damn this high altitude. I’m dizzy. I need water. I need to acclimate to this height, to this life. I spot an ATM across the street. I don’t want to use my card again, don’t want to feel this way again. I withdraw just three hundred. My hands shake, and my face is hot.

  “Annie,” I hear, and look up to see Jay walking from the gondola with his board. His goggles are pushed up on his forehead.

  “Snow’s no good,” he says. “Want a lift home?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Home home.”

  “What did you buy?” he asks as we walk down Main.

  “Clothes,” I say. “Frickin’ soap.”

  Stuff I don’t even know if we can afford anymore. Jay carries his board behind him so it sometimes hits my back. I’ve always felt good walking with my brother, something I’d never admit to him even if he was dying.

  “I miss Mom and Dad and Sammy,” I say when I look into a shop and see a family eating lunch.

  I expect ridicule, but instead he says, “I know.”

  I hand him the itinerary. He looks it over and laughs, and then we walk to his car and go to the home that’s not ours, filled with the strangers we know.

  8

  It’s freezing out, and yet here we are, in the backyard at night, waiting while Nicole stages the dinner table and Skip sets up Skype. Everyone looks blue. I pull my beanie down over my ears and think of the people who believe my dad has deceived them. I wish they could know the real him, and then hope that all I feel I know about him is true.

  “I followed it to a tee,” Jay says to Nicole. He’s talking about my itinerary. He’s so damn pleasant. When we got home, he went out and did all the things I was supposed to do, while I stayed in my room and tried on clothes. I imagine him at the top of a hill with an inner tube, waiting his turn to fly down, and I’m filled with envy and a deep admiration.

  “You did not do everything,” Nicole says, laughter blooming from her.

  “I did!” Jay says.

  Nicole folds a napkin and places a fork on it. “Even the museum?”

  “Yup,” Jay says, then follows her rhythm, folding a napkin, placing a fork on it. I could help, but I want to keep my seat warm.

  “Barney, the black baron of Colorado.” He holds a fork in the air. “Escaped slavery on the Underground Railroad. Became a hotel and restaurant tycoon. Really interesting man.” He continues around the table. “Then I went on the sleigh ride. Annie, you gotta go. People were singing. It was hilarious.”

  “Annie, what did you do today?” Skip asks, exchanging a look with Nicole.

  I try to include everything so I sound just as adventurous. “I took the shuttle up to the lodge, then walked around town. Made you guys dinner. Bought this vest.” I twist one of the buttons.

  “That’s great,” Skip says. “Glad you guys had such great days.”

  “What is that, caribou?” Jay asks.

  “No.” I glance down at the vest.

  “Are you a furry now?”

  “I could shoot you in between the eyes, asshole.”

  Nicole laughs.

  Skip says, “Whoa,” and then, “Okay, I got it to dial.”

  “Why are we out here?” I ask.

  “Best connection,” Skip says.

  “That’s odd,” I say.

  “Come on over. Hon, it’s dialing, but I need to get to work, so I’ll just duck out—”

  “Everyone sit down!” Nicole says. “Get close.” I walk over slowly and sit down next to her.

  Skip kisses her on the head, but she takes his hand, holding him still. “Just stay for a sec, please,” she says, and begins to serve the salad to the plate in front of me. When my mom comes up on screen, Nicole acts like it’s a big surprise.

  “Oh, hi!” she says. “We’re all just eating dinner together. Annie made it for us. She’s been cooking up a storm.”

  My mom looks like she’s in spa
ce. “Hi, Mom,” I say. “The screen’s so dirty,” I say to Nicole.

  “Hi, honey,” my mom says. “Hi, Jay. How are you guys?”

  “Good,” we both say. Jay stands in back of me.

  “Yeah, real good,” Jay says. “Fun day. I did stuff. Annie bought stuff. The usual.”

  My mom just sits there smiling, and I wonder if she heard. I feel like I’m talking to a news reporter in Syria.

  “I needed some essentials,” I say, wanting to see if she’ll tell me that we shouldn’t be spending money.

  “Oh, good,” she says, not revealing anything. “I want it to be livable, for you to feel comfortable and—”

  “It’s perfectly livable,” Nicole says lightly, but her jaw is set hard.

  “Where’s Dad?” I ask. Jay sits down next to me.

  “He’s just finishing a call,” my mom says. “Jay, your elbows.”

  Jay takes his elbows off the table, as if that matters right now.

  “This whole Skype thing,” my mom says. “I can’t see—”

  “It’s like she’s looking over our heads,” I say.

  “How did everything go today?” Nicole asks.

  “Kids.” My dad enters the picture, patting his forehead with a cloth. He looks like he’s floating, even when he eventually sits down. His forehead is red and sweaty. His face comes real close and then drops back. It’s like they’re talking to us from space. I can’t really read their expressions.

  “Dad,” Jay says, “what’s going on? Can I help with anything on this end?”

  “Hey, guys, sorry,” Skip says. “I’ve really got to run, but catch me up when I get home.”

  “Still working nights, huh?” my dad says.

  “Yup, since it’s a restaurant.”

  “Good for you,” my dad says. “This world needs people like you.”

  “Right. Thanks.” Skip awkwardly kisses Nicole good-bye, and you can tell they probably don’t normally kiss each other good-bye. Everyone waits for him to leave before continuing.

  “How did today go?” I ask.

  “Just like we expected,” my dad says. “We did really, really well.”

  “Will that mean people like Joanie aren’t going to lose their money?” I ask. “What are they saying?”

  “It’s complex,” my dad says after a long beat. Probably the connection.

  “Can we be at court?” I ask. “That may help—to show people you have a family?”

  “That’s sweet,” he says, as if I’ve said something charming instead of strategic.

  “I bought some clothes today,” I say, “but switched to cash after the clerk asked if I was related to you.”

  Not so charming. Everyone is silent. Jay clears his throat.

  “This is why I said to keep a low profile,” my mom says, her voice rising, as if I’m the one who has done something wrong.

  My dad places his hand on her shoulder, and she flinches. “I’m sorry that happened,” he says. “I’m sorry for anyone who’s hurting right now. That’s why I’m here. Defending myself and the other investors who gave it their best shot.”

  He looks down, and I feel bad for making him think about more than he needs to right now.

  “It’s good to see you guys doing okay under the circumstances,” my mom says. Her gaze drifts off behind us. “We’ll let you get back to your dinner. Are you outside? Isn’t it cold?”

  “They’re fine,” Nicole says. “There’s a heat lamp.”

  My dad looks at his phone. “We’ll talk again.”

  “Why would Cee’s dad be testifying?” I ask before he can go. “He’s your partner, basically.”

  My dad looks up from his phone. “He just . . . There’s been a little confusion over a consulting company we’ve been using out in Delaware.” He gives me a smile. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get it cleared up. Look. Let’s check in after tomorrow, okay?”

  “Bye, kids,” my mom says.

  Nicole disconnects before proper farewells and looks at me and Jay like she feels sorry for us and pissed at them, or maybe it’s the other way around. We start to eat. Jay puts his elbows back on the table.

  I chew the cold salad, feeling useless, wishing I could do something to help.

  “It’s frickin’ freezing out here,” Nicole says. “Let’s go in.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I help Nicole clean up the kitchen, something I never do, but find that I don’t mind doing it. It’s like meditation or tai chi—circles with the sponge, running my hands through water.

  Jay walks out of his room. He’s wearing a collared shirt and jeans.

  “I’m heading out, if that’s cool.”

  Nicole looks up from the sink. “What’s your curfew?”

  “I’m free-range,” he says.

  She looks at me as if for confirmation, and I raise my eyebrows. “Yup.”

  “I wish your mother had told me what you’re allowed and not allowed to do,” she says.

  “You could just ask me,” he says, and puts on his jacket.

  “I want to go,” I say, and run my hand through my hair.

  “Yeah,” he says, as though I’m being sarcastic, and he turns toward the door.

  “I really do,” I say. I want to get out of here. I want to do something new.

  “Go on,” Nicole says. “Take your sister.”

  I look at her, surprised.

  “Her curfew’s eleven,” Jay says.

  Nicole’s brow furrows. “And you have no curfew? That’s not fair. You guys be home by midnight together.”

  I tuck in my lips to hold down a smile, then I throw a clean, wet wooden spoon at him, which hits him on the back. “Ow,” he says. He picks it up and whips it back to me, but I catch it like a badass.

  “Wow,” he says. “Good one.”

  “Where are you going, anyway?” Nicole asks.

  “Meeting some friends to play pool.” He bounces on his heels. “Joffrey and Eric,” he says to me.

  “They’re coming all the way here for you?” I ask, and wish I hadn’t.

  “Yup,” he says. “Let’s go, then.”

  We go to a bar called Cecilia’s and somehow get in because Eric knows the bouncer. His parents have a condo in Breckenridge, and I guess he comes here a lot. The place is thumping with pop hip-hop, the kind of music that makes it okay for girls to dance all slutty while making pouty kissy faces. That’s what they’re doing out there on the dance floor, and instead of judging them, I’m glad I bought clothes today that help me blend in. My vest doesn’t make me look like a furry, and my fitted jeans are on point. Even Eric and Joffrey do a double take.

  I watch them play pool while scoping things out.

  Joffrey, a tall, skinny dude, is scoping things out, too, while chalking his stick.

  “This place is D-bag central,” he says. “And I’m the only black dude here. Or ethnic dude, even. Or wait, I see an Asian dude, but that doesn’t count.”

  “Dude, you’re always the only black guy,” my brother says. “You love it. This place is kind of lame, though.”

  “So what?” Eric says. “Bunch of hotties up in here.”

  They all look at the table next to them, where a girl is smoking a cigar, really sucking and doing up the phallic symbol of it, as if to say, One day this could be you.

  “I can get into it,” Joffrey says.

  Eew.

  “Speaking of things I can get into,” he says. “I’ll take care of Sadie while you’re gone. I’ll eat her snacks. Why’s she always bringing people snacks?”

  “She wants to be loved,” my brother says. “And they’re good snacks.”

  “She’s been moping around,” Eric says. “It’s like you’ve gone to war. I’m going to tell her you went to war, then I’ll com
fort the shit out of her.”

  My brother leans over the table to line up his next shot, ignoring them.

  “You guys are like scholarship kids,” Joffrey says. “You live all far.”

  “Buy the next round, then,” I say, and they all turn to look at me like they forgot I was here.

  “I think you guys should buy,” Eric says. “Since your dad seemed to make it out just in time.”

  “Snap,” Joffrey says, snapping his fingers then taking his shot.

  “What?” Eric says. “Too soon?”

  “Way too soon,” Joffrey says, but he’s speaking lightly, I notice, whereas there’s a dark glimmer in Eric’s eye, an iciness in his tone.

  “What are you talking about?” my brother says, his voice calm and similar to Joffrey’s.

  “Just listening to my dad’s shit,” Eric says.

  My eyes go back and forth between the three of them, not wanting to miss an expression or a secret glance.

  “Can’t blame a man for knowing when to pull out,” Jay says, and takes his shot. He misses it—not the shot, but the exchange of glances between his friends. He moves by me to line up his next play, misses, and says, “And whatever, they’re friends.”

  Eric stands there, not taking his turn. “Dude. My dad invested in his shit. They’re not friends anymore.”

  My brother shrugs, but he’s clearly annoyed. “Whatever, it’ll work out.” I can tell he’s undone by confrontation, both ashamed and defensive of our family as I was earlier today at the store.

  After two shots of something wicked Joffrey foisted upon me, I head out to the dance floor with the boys, and we dance ironically to Biggie. But as the songs go on, I find myself just dancing and being a good listener—I obey the lyrics by bending my knees, touching the floor, and getting low. At one point I even grab a shorty and make my pelvis act like a ladle against his thigh. I shake my head so my hair whips my face.

  “What’s your name!” the guy I’m dancing with yells.