Tell Me Everything

by Amy Hatvany

  “That’s really nice of you,” Ben said. “I appreciate it.” He lifted a hand as a farewell, and then headed toward the entrance of the store.

  I made my way to my own car, and then home. Part of me hoped that Jake’s car would be in the driveway—that he’d changed his mind about going to Kevin’s house and decided to come home to me. But the driveway was empty, and so I parked inside the garage—there was only enough space for one of our cars in it, and Jake had always insisted that I use it so I would never have to run from my car to the house with the rain that fell in Seattle almost six months a year. He was the best man I’d ever known; how could I have done anything to possibly lose him?

  I was still exhausted as I unpacked my groceries, blinking heavily as I made sure the crab was well-picked over before I began forming it into small, cylindrical cakes that I would later coat in egg and panko breadcrumbs. I never used any filler in this particular dish, like most restaurants did. The sweetness of the seafood was accented by the creamy, tangy spiciness of the Thai chili sauce I served alongside it, and I usually made a crunchy Romaine salad tossed with apple cider vinaigrette to complete the meal.

  After I whipped up the sauce, I made the tart, discovering that I accidentally had doubled the recipe for the lemon filling. I quickly made another batch of tart dough, while the first one baked. Within an hour, I had crab cakes prepped in the fridge, ready to fry later, when Jake came home, and two lemon tarts cooling on the counter. I then threw together a pasta dish with some meatball marinara I already had in the freezer, and enough salad to go along with it. Without pausing to think much about what I was doing, I grabbed my phone and called Tiffany. I was certain I was going to voicemail, but at the last second, she picked up.

  “Hi,” I said, after she greeted me. “I’m sorry to bother you again, but I wanted to see if it would be okay for me to bring over some dinner for you guys. I saw Ben at the store, but I can’t imagine either of you are going to feel up to cooking today.” I held my breath, waiting for her to tell me no, to launch into a diatribe about the posts Andrew had put up about me, chastising me for setting such a horrible example for the girls in Queens Ridge, including Lizzy.

  But instead, I heard her breathe a sigh of relief. “Really?” she asked, tremulously. “I fed the boys cereal for lunch, but Ben came home and asked what I was going to make for dinner and I didn’t know what to tell him.” Her voice broke. “I keep trying to talk with Lizzy, but she won’t unlock her bedroom door. I’m just sitting outside, waiting.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I said. Distraction was what I needed; the last place I wanted to be was alone, inside my own head.

  I packed up the pasta and the salad in big Tupperware containers, and then carried them, along with the second lemon tart, out to my car. I left Jake another note, so he would know where I’d gone in case he decided to come home, and ten minutes later, I stood in front of Ben and Tiffany’s elaborate, double front doors. My hands were full, so I used my elbow to ring the bell, and a moment later, Ben welcomed me inside.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” he said, taking the containers from me. I’d balanced the tart on top, and once we were in the kitchen, he set the entire stack carefully onto the counter. I looked out the window to the backyard and saw the twins standing on the grass in their swim trunks, spraying each other with Super-Soakers. Their blond heads were darkened and damp, and their tan skin glistened in the mid afternoon sun. When the water from the bright plastic guns hit them, they shrieked and laughed.

  “I know,” I told Ben. “But I wanted to. You guys have had a rough night.”

  He paused and gave me a meaningful look. “So have you.”

  I blushed, furiously, and dropped my eyes to the ground. Shit. I had hoped he hadn’t seen the posts.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I figured I should address the elephant in the room.” He chuckled, awkwardly, and reached down, below the pudge of his beer belly, to heft up his shorts. Change jingled in his pockets. “I say let your freak flag fly. Screw what anybody else thinks.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said. Despite the awkward delivery, the latter part of what he’d said was good advice, though I wasn’t sure I’d be able to take it. “Where’s Tiff?”

  “Upstairs, outside of Lizzy’s room. She hasn’t left there since I got back from the store.” He waved, and headed outside to join his boys.

  I quickly put the dinner I’d brought into their fridge—Ben had left the food out on the counter—and then made my way back into the living room and up the stairs.

  “Tiffany?” I said as I rounded a corner, and then I saw her, sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest. I almost didn’t recognize her. She was pale and her face was bare.

  “Hi,” she said, rising to greet me. She wore black leggings and baggy T-shirt; her blond hair hung in straggled pieces around her narrow face.

  I hugged her, thinking it would feel awkward since we’d never done it before, but instead, she leaned in, her skinny fingers clutching my back, and held onto me for a long moment.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said, when we parted.

  “Who’s that?” Lizzy called out from behind her closed bedroom door.

  “It’s Jessica, Ella’s mom,” Tiff replied. “She was nice enough to bring over dinner. Come out and say hi.” She kept her eyes on the door as she spoke, her expression equally pained and hopeful.

  Lizzy didn’t respond.

  “Hi, Lizzy,” I said, in the same slightly-louder-than-normal voice that Tiffany had used. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.” She wasn’t sick, exactly, but I couldn’t imagine that the after-effects of alcohol poisoning were all that pleasant.

  “I’m sorry you fucked a bunch of strangers!” Lizzy replied, sarcastically.

  “Elizabeth Mitchell!” Tiffany said in a sharp tone.

  I put a hand on Tiffany’s arm. “That’s okay,” I said. “She’s upset.”

  “No, it’s not,” Tiffany insisted. She took a step closer to the door and set her forehead upon it. “You apologize to Jessica, right now.”

  A moment later, there was a clicking sound, the door unlocking, and it flew open, causing Tiffany to stumble forward. Her arms flew out, catching herself on the door jamb right before crashing into her daughter.

  Lizzy stood in front of us then, one hand still on the door knob, looking as though she actually was sick. Her skin held a ghostly pallor, and her blond hair was matted all around her head. The thin skin under her blue eyes was stained purple, which only highlighted the word SLUT that was written on her forehead in jagged black lettering. I could tell that someone—probably a nurse at the hospital—had attempted to scrub it away, but it was still legible. Seeing it made my heart ache.

  “I saw what you wrote,” Lizzy said, in a defiant tone. “And the pictures.”

  “That’s none of our business,” Tiffany said, but then I interrupted her.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty horrible, having everyone see all of that. Someone hacked my account because they were angry at me. I’m pretty humiliated right now.” I kept my gaze on Lizzy, trusting my instincts to be honest with her, as I had been with my own kids. If I’d learned anything from parenting Ella, it was that teenage girls could smell bullshit a mile away.

  Lizzy searched my face, an appraising look in her eyes, and then, seemingly satisfied with what she saw, she stepped back and opened the door, wide. “She can come in,” she said. She squinted at Tiffany. “Not you.”

  Tiffany looked hurt, but then quickly rearranged her face into a more passive expression. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll be in the family room.” She glanced at me, and pointed past the stairs. “Down the hall, and to the left.” Their home was similar to, though much larger than, ours, with two family rooms—one right off the kitchen, and another upstairs.

  I entered Lizzy’s room, and she closed the door behind me. I looked around the space that was almost as big as the master I shared with Jake, taking in the
pale turquoise paint and white accents. She had a queen-size canopy bed, which I didn’t even know they made, and a wall that was made up entirely of shelves, filled with what had to be several hundred books.

  “You like to read?” I asked, turning to look at her. She had dropped onto her bed, leaning on the stack of fluffy pillows that were set against the headboard, her legs outstretched.

  “Yeah,” she said. She grabbed another pillow and hugged it tightly to her chest.

  “What’s your favorite book?” I reached for the chair that was tucked under a white desk and then sat down about five feet away from the bed.

  She shrugged. “I don’t really have one.”

  I waited, unsure why, exactly, she wanted me there. My eyes were still heavy, and my body cried out for my own bed, but the events of the last twenty-four hours had led me to this point, and I felt like I needed to see it through. Anything was better than sitting alone in my empty house, without Jake or the kids, wondering if my husband was going to come home.

  “I like to read because I can pretend I’m the characters instead of me,” she said, quietly. Her gaze landed on her bookshelves, and then me, expectant.

  “I get that,” I said, because it was true. “I’d sure like to be someone else right now.”

  “Why did you write those things to other guys?” she asked. “You’re married.”

  I sighed, and crossed my legs, setting my hands loosely in my lap. “It’s complicated, but Jake and I have a more...adventurous sex life than most people. What I wrote was extremely private, and not meant for anyone else to see.” I thought about how I hadn’t meant for Jake to see the texts or pictures I’d sent Andrew, either, and a twitch began to pulse under my right eye. What if he really didn’t come home tonight? What would I do? The muscles of my throat thickened, and I swallowed hard to keep from crying in front of Lizzy.

  “See, you get it,” Lizzy said. “I like sex, too, but everyone else just thinks I’m a slut.” Her blue eyes glossed with tears, and she wiped at them, angrily, and then rubbed the palm of her right hand vigorously back and forth over her forehead, as though trying to erase the word that someone had written.

  “It’s okay to like sex,” I said, measuring my words carefully. I didn’t want her to feel like I was judging her, too. “I really liked it when I was your age, too.” I told her about Ryan, and how my parents had walked in on us. “I didn’t really even like him all that much. I just wanted to do things with him so I would know what it was like.”

  “I’ve already had sex,” Lizzy said, carefully, scanning my face for any hint of condemnation. “Like, a lot.”

  I nodded, but didn’t comment; again, not wanting her to feel judged. “I lost my virginity when I was a junior.” I told her. “It wasn’t the greatest experience. He was my boyfriend, but I felt like he didn’t really care if I enjoyed it. It almost was like I wasn’t even there.” I thought back to that night at my boyfriend’s house. We were alone for a few hours—I’d lied to my parents about studying at the library with friends—and when we were making out, I told him I wanted to have sex. A few minutes later, the condom was on and he was inside me. About ten seconds after that, it was over, and I was pretty overwhelmed with disappointment.”

  “That’s how I felt,” Lizzy said, and tears shone in her blue eyes. “So I was like, what’s the big deal?”

  “Oh honey,” I said. “You should know that it’s totally different when you’re in a committed, adult relationship like the one I have with Jake. The sex we have is reciprocal. We give to each other and share how good it feels. There’s an emotional connection and so much trust.” Trust that I’d broken, I thought. Lizzy’s eyes were fixed on mine, listening. “At your age, boys, especially, are only looking for physical relief for themselves. They don’t necessarily have the ability to form the kind of respectful, loving relationship that makes sex so good between two people. A lot of the time, girls want that connection and then end up feeling used when a boy just wants sex.” I paused, and gave her a compassionate look. “Have you ever felt that way? Like a boy has used you?”

  She stared at me in silence for a moment, and then nodded as she frowned. “But it also feels good,” she said. “Sometimes I like it.”

  “Of course you do,” I said. “Sex is supposed to feel good. But it feels even better when you share it with someone who really cares about you, and who wants it to be a great experience for you, too—not just for them.” I got up, then, and went to sit next to her, on the edge of her bed. “You deserve to have someone care about you like that, Lizzy. I know it can feel really special when a boy you don’t know very well flirts with you and kisses you and wants to have sex with you. I know that feeling. I promise you that I do.” My mind flashed to Andrew’s face—the way he’d looked at me and I felt like I’d been drugged. How easily I’d allowed that feeling to override my common sense.

  “Then why did you write those emails and those texts to that Andrew guy?” Lizzy asked, as though she had sensed me thinking about him. “If you and Jake are so happy and sex is better with someone who loves you, why were you sexting with someone else?”

  “Because Jake and I made a choice,” I said. “And exploring that kind of thing was something we had agreed to do together, as a couple.” I decided it was too much to try and explain the intricate details—the fundamental rule of our arrangement that I’d broken. Lizzy didn’t need to know all of that.

  “Like a threesome?” Lizzy asked, tilting her blond head.

  “Yeah,” I said. I knew from my conversations with Ella and Tuck that teenagers these days were far savvier and informed when it came to sex than I had ever been. “But I never would have been able to handle something like that when I was your age. I was too insecure, and didn’t really know myself well enough, yet. What we did isn’t wrong, but it’s probably not something a teenager should do.”

  “Carter was so nice to me,” Lizzy said, dropping her eyes to her lap. She picked at one corner of the pillow she still hugged to her chest. “He followed my account on Instagram and was always commenting on how hot I was, how pretty he thought my eyes were. Then he saw me at the pool the other day and sent me a direct message saying that couldn’t stop thinking about me. We talked about all the sex stuff we could do together and he made me feel so good about myself, especially when he asked to come to the party. But when we got there, he was too busy flirting with other, older girls to even talk to me. So I started flirting with his friends, and some other guys I knew from my school, taking shots and pounding beers.” She shuddered, as though her body was reacting to the memory of that unnatural influx of alcohol. “That’s all I remember. I woke up in the hospital feeling shittier than I ever had before, with my mom sitting next to me, crying.”

  “That must have been so awful for you,” I said.

  “It still is!” she said. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, as though trying to push back tears. “They put this fucking word on my forehead and took pictures! They sent it to everyone! I’ve been getting texts about it all morning!” She began to sob.

  This was news to me; neither Tiffany nor Ben had mentioned the photos. “Oh, honey,” I said, reaching out to rub her leg. “I’m so sorry. I know exactly how you feel.”

  She sniffled and looked up at me. “I know you do. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. My mom doesn’t understand.”

  “I think she might, if you gave her a chance,” I said. “She loves you. She might not always know how to show it, but I promise you, I’m a mom, too, and there’s nothing in the world more important to me than making sure my kids are okay.”

  Lizzy pondered this, and then spoke. “Would you talk to her first?”

  “If you think it would help, of course.” I suddenly wished that there was someone I could ask to talk with Jake that might help him forgive me. Maybe we’d need to go to counseling, like Charlotte and Richard. “I want you to think about something, though,” I said to Lizzy. “I know what happened to you la
st night feels like the absolute worst thing in the world. I know you’re embarrassed and humiliated, because that’s how I feel about what happened to me, too.” I paused, took her hand in mine, and squeezed. “But it really could have been so much worse. Those boys could have hurt you. They could have done things to you while you were passed out. What they did do was terrible—unforgivable, really—but when it overwhelms you, when you feel like you can’t handle how bad it feels, try to keep it in perspective. Screw the people who talk behind your back. They don’t know you, or understand who you really are. And remember that you’re not alone. It will eventually blow over, and I’m here for you, until then, whenever you might need me. Okay? Your mom is, too.”

  As she nodded, and I realized I needed to take a bit of my own advice, too. What Andrew had done to me was horrifying, but like Jake had said last night, it wasn’t the end of the world. My kids were physically fine; I had my job and my best friend; nobody in my family was suffering from a life-threatening illness. What other people thought of my less than traditional sex life didn’t matter. What mattered was my marriage, and that my children were okay. Yes, it might take time for the kids to forgive me and for Jake to get over how I’d hurt him, but I had to believe that our relationship was strong enough to weather this particular storm. I couldn’t let myself believe anything else.

  “You look like you could use a shower,” I said, rising from Lizzy’s bed. “Why don’t you clean up, and I’ll go talk with your mom?”

  “Can I get your phone number, first?” she asked, reaching for her cell, which was on her nightstand. “So we can text?”

  “Sure,” I said. She swiped the screen a few times, and then handed her phone to me. I quickly tapped in my number as a new contact, and then gave it back to her. “Reach out anytime, day or night. I’ll answer as soon as I can.”

  I gave Lizzy a quick hug, and then left her room, shutting the door behind me. Fatigue threatened to take me down—I felt dizzied by it, and everything inside me screamed that I should go home and sleep. But first, I needed to know why Tiffany, a woman I wasn’t especially close with—a woman whom I’d judged way too many times—had chosen to be on my side.