She Effin' Hates Me

by Scarlett Savage

  Alcoholics Anonymous? she wondered. Maybe they should change it to Alcoholics, Once Anonymous, and Now . . . Not So Much.

  “Laura?” The young clerk with short, sparkly black hair poked her head back into the bookshop. She was chewing her lip and kept throwing nervous looks back at the cash register. “I’m having a problem with the computer, and the customer is getting . . . Well, he’s getting a little impatient.”

  Laura put her arm maternally around the girl’s shoulders.

  “Customers,” she whispered, “can be real assholes, but they are especially assholes with money. Surviving that is the first rule of retail.” The girl smiled, hesitantly, while Laura pulled her into the main room. “C’mon, let’s go see if we can find out what crawled up his butt and died.”

  Billy watched her go, admiringly. “She’s really something, my wife. Isn’t she?”

  “She sure is,” Suzanne admitted, an unexpected wave of warmth flowing over her.

  “So, anyway.” He hopped up on the arm of the couch and asked a bit more formally. “How’ve you been? How have the years treated you?”

  “Oh, you know,” she replied casually. “Been kicked around a little, did some kicking back. You?”

  “Been eking out a living as a singer-slash-actor-slash-artist in New Hampshire.” He smiled proudly, running his hands through his sweaty, paint-flecked hair. “Not many can brag that.”

  “Oh, no, they can’t. You’ve sure got that straight.”

  “Hey, look.” He glanced out to the front to make sure Laura was still occupied at the front register. “I’ve always meant to ask you . . . You were something in high school, you know? A real firecracker.”

  “Well, thanks.” Suzanne wondered if it was odd that that particular word followed her around and if it was odder still that she’d always liked it.

  “And I was just wondering why, you know, you never gave me the time of day.”

  The question caught her completely off guard. Billy was looking at her earnestly, almost an expression of pleading in his eyes. Had she meant something to him, something much more than he had to her? A crush, maybe? A crush so strong that, unrequited, still haunted him after all these years?

  Ah, Christ. What better way to ruin a budding friendship.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she asked, putting down her empty tea cup, trying to keep her voice light, even.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “but I really, really need to know.”

  Oh, Lord. She looked around, desperately hoping to find an ashtray, even though business establishments didn’t allow smoking in New Hampshire.

  “Well, you know, you were kind of like this off-by-yourself-guy, you know? It wasn’t because I didn’t like you,” she added hastily, “but you just gave off this, you know, this vibe of . . . I thought you were a great guy, Billy, but—”

  And then Billy was doubled over, laughing so hard, tears were streaming down his cheeks. Suzanne watched him, bewildered, as Laura came back to the Book Nook, shaking her head.

  “Is he messing with your head?” She rubbed Suzanne’s back consolingly. “Don’t worry—he only does it to people he likes.”

  Billy sat up and wiped his eyes.

  “Sorry, Mommy,” he said sweetly. “She was just sitting there, looking all nervous. She brought it on herself.”

  It was beginning to dawn on Suzanne that she’d been made sport of, and suddenly she felt much less nervous and much more comfortable. She reached out to swat at Billy with one of her new books.

  “If you must know, I didn’t pay attention to you because my geek-dar went off whenever you got within fifty feet of me,” she retorted, and Laura howled.

  Before Suzanne knew it, a perfectly lovely afternoon had passed reminiscing about those days long ago and about those people who had long fallen out of her life.

  “My Goddess,” Laura looked at her watch; Suzanne wondered if she’d ever get used to that phrase. “Is it time to do the lock up already? I can’t believe we’ve chatted this long.”

  “What’s not to believe?” Billy put on a Jewish accent. That was another thing Suzanne had forgotten, the way Billy always made jokes in different accents. Funny how you could forget such a unique trait about a person. “A couple of broads, some coffee, a couch . . . That’s gonna add up to endless hours of talk, talk, talk.”

  Laura swatted him again, and he grabbed her. For the thirtieth time that afternoon, the ten-year married couple kissed.

  Suzanne pretended to smile and looked away. She and Steve hadn’t been like that since Molly was born. It was the kind of easy, un-self-conscious love that books and movies were written about.

  Will I ever have that? Or has my boat sailed? I’m thirty-six, and I haven’t been out on a date since I was seventeen. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to flirt with a guy, to put those vibes out there, she thought in despair. I’m going to die alone. No, worse, I’m going to die after living the rest of my life alone in a house . . . with my mother.

  She had to get out of here right now before this totally pleasant day ended in a knot of jealousy.

  “Well, I’ve got to run, before my mother thinks I’ve decided to hurl myself off the docks, since Molly came out of the closet last night.”

  Laura’s eyes widened. “Your daughter’s gay? And she just told you?”

  “Yeah, we thought she was pregnant. Turns out, she’s just gay. Didn’t I mention that?” Suzanne grinned and stood up, trying to hand Laura a couple of bills for the books, but Billy waved it away.

  “Your money’s no good here, Applebaum,” he drawled. “But if you don’t come back Monday, the wife’ll hunt you down and skin ya alive.”

  Applebaum, she thought. Yeah, I guess I am Suzanne Applebaum again, after all these years. Well, what the hell do you know about that.

  Outside, she lit up a cigarette and dragged in the smoke desperately. It had been nearly four hours since her last smoke, she suddenly realized. It had been quite a while since she’d let that happen. Holding the cigarette with one hand, she fished around in the paper bag Laura had handed her with the other, wanting to flip through one of her new witchy books as she smoked.

  But her hand closed upon something else. Curious, she pulled it out.

  Inside the package was the love potion she’d seen on display at the store. Suzanne stared at it for a moment, then laughed into the crisp air. This was Laura’s way of telling her that just when she’d given up on love, she’d found Billy, so it could happen for Suzanne too.

  Suzanne shook her head, putting the potion back in the bag, knowing that it was silly and knowing that she’d probably try it, out of sheer curiosity if nothing else. She gave the matter one last laugh as she climbed the steps to Ava’s house.

  Subtle, Laura. Real subtle.

  TWELVE

  “Mom?” Molly called hesitantly. She took another step into the bright yellow afternoon light of the courtyard. “Hey, Mom?”

  “Hmmmm?” It had occurred to Suzanne that she would be much less worried about her daughter’s life, and envious of Laura’s, if she went out and got one of her own. She’d checked the junk drawer, and yep, the forms to Southern New Hampshire University were right where she’d left them three months ago. She stared at them for ten full minutes before taking them out, then closed the drawer.

  Watching her in the courtyard, Molly tried to remember how proud she’d been of herself the moment she decided to come out to her family. But what she felt, more than anything, was lonely, even in front of her mother—her best friend, really.

  “I was . . . I thought . . . Well, here’s a cup of coffee,” Molly said at last.

  “Oh, thank you, sweetie. Could you put it down for me?” Suzanne replied, shuffling through one stack of papers, finally locating the one she needed.

  “I’ve always liked cloudy days,” Molly ventured. “You know, better than the hot, hot sunny days.”

  “Yeah, ever since you were a little girl, they were your favorit
e,” Suzanne remarked absently.

  “Listen, Mom.” Molly put both hands on the table. “Isn’t there anything you want to ask me?”

  Suzanne forced herself to look up from her work.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she faltered, “what did you say?”

  Molly stared at her. She looked so exasperated Suzanne wondered if she was going to get brained with her own napkin. Then Molly regained her composure.

  “I was just wondering,” she asked softly, “if there was anything you wanted to ask me. Anything you might want to talk to me about. Anything at all.”

  “Oh,” Suzanne suddenly realized what her daughter was saying. “You mean, how long have you known, was it something I did, that sort of thing?”

  “I guess so. Well, yeah.”

  “Listen, sweetie,” she reached across the table to pat Molly’s hand briefly, “I’ve got to wade through all these financial aid forms if I’m going to get my own transcripts in order. I’m not going to be offered scholarships like some people I know.” She squeezed Molly’s hand extra tight and then let go, picking up the pencil again. “Sweetie, I know what you’re after, and I agree. We certainly have, well, things to talk about, don’t we? And we will. We’ll do it soon, I promise.” She tapped on her stack of forms. “But I have a deadline on these forms . . .”

  “Oh, no, hey, sure, I get it.” Molly stood up hastily. “I just went through this myself, remember? I know how hard it is. I didn’t mean to bug you.”

  “You’re not bugging me.” Suzanne stood up quickly, grabbing Molly’s hand. “Please, baby, don’t ever think that, it’s just . . . It’s just I hate forms, that’s all. Serves me right for dropping out in the first place. I hope you’re learning from this.”

  “Okay, I’ve got some stuff I want to do in town, so . . .” She looked at her mother and cleared her throat. “I just want you to know, I’m really proud of you, Mom.”

  “Really?” Suzanne was genuinely surprised. “I mean, well, for what?”

  “For this.” Molly tapped the stack of forms. “For deciding to go back to school and then actually doing it. Do you have any idea how many of my friends’ mothers decide to go back to school, and they just talk and talk about it and talk some more, but they never actually get around to doing it?”

  “All talk no action—reminds me of your father.” Suzanne instantly regretted saying this; no matter what else the whiney little Mommy’s boy was, he was also Molly’s dad.

  “I know, I know, your credo’s always been ‘Shit, or get off the pot,’” Molly nodded. “I can’t count the number of times I heard you tell Daddy that. Anyway, you didn’t do that—blow stuff off like he does, I mean. You said it, and now you’re really doing it, and I just . . . Well, I just think that’s great.”

  “Well, thank you, sweetie.” Suzanne wasn’t quite sure what to say. She cleared her throat, reaching for a joke. “And if you ever think of dropping out, just imagine my sitting here on this stoop, throwing pencils at the ground, and cursing my eighteen-year-old self. And if you ever give it up for a man . . .” She stopped herself, “I mean, a . . . a person, or, that is, a partner—well, I’ll just kill you. No! Worse, I’ll kill myself and then haunt you.”

  Brandon came out of Buddy’s house with a pitcher of lemonade, and Suzanne was surprised at the measure of relief she felt. Why was she suddenly so uncomfortable around Molly, anyway?

  “Hi there, Bobby.” She cheerfully misused his name the way Buddy had been doing; Brandon looked every bit as impressed by it as he had when it had happened earlier. “How’re you sleeping on that rusty old daybed?”

  “As long as you’re not sleeping on her daughter,” Ava interjected, as she came down the stairs, “she hopes you’re resting comfortably.”

  “Classy, Mother.” Suzanne shot her a look that went completely ignored.

  “The daybed is great. It’s complete heaven compared to the beds in the dorms.”

  “Brandon spent the first two months of summer vacation up at the college getting some of the core classes for his degree,” Molly informed them proudly. “Mr. Ambitious.”

  “That’s Dr. Ambitious to you.” He loftily straightened an imaginary tie.

  “Hey, Grandma, are you ready?” asked Molly.

  “Sure, just let me make sure I’ve got my stun gun.” Ava opened her purse to check.

  “Stun gun?” Buddy let the door slam behind him, a worried crease on his brow. “Where the heck are you going that you’d need a stun gun?”

  “Don’t you read the papers?” Ava turned to him, incredulously. “Every day, older people such as ourselves get attacked by people looking for our prescriptions and our money. It’s not a safe world out there.”

  “I always thought your screeching voice would ward off any would-be predator.” Buddy puffed his pipe until he got it going nice and strong.

  “Anyway,” she glowered in his direction, using one of New England’s most oft-repeated quotes, “you just never know what you’ll see when you don’t have a weapon.”

  “Grandma, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Honesty is always the best policy,” Molly said firmly. Turning to Buddy, she said proudly, “We’re taking Grandma to an AA meeting.” She smiled at her grandmother. “See how easy that was?”

  “Actually,” Ava put a soothing hand on top of her granddaughter’s head, “the meetings are for Molly. She’s a recovering crack whore. You’re right, sweetie,” Ava told Molly. “I feel so much better now that’s it’s all out in the open.”

  “Ha!” Brandon laughed, and lemonade came out his nose. He later claimed he could taste lemonade for three days afterwards, but it was well worth it.

  “Mother, really,” Suzanne responded perfunctorily, but her mind wasn’t really on the banter.

  “Come on, we’re going to be late,” Brandon said to Molly, “and I didn’t wax my back yesterday for nothing. Any redness?”

  Molly ran a hand over his shoulders. “Smooth as a baby’s ass.”

  Watching them, Suzanne wondered how she could have misread the true nature of their relationship. Brandon wasn’t as overt as some of the gays she knew, but if you looked closely, there was a softness, a hint of a feminine quality present in some of his mannerisms. Molly didn’t seem at all masculine or butch to her, but maybe that was because she was used to her . . .

  Or maybe, she thought, shamefaced, not all the stereotypes always applied. And, facing facts, she’d been told—more than once—that she had an awful lot of testosterone herself. Over the past few days, being around Molly had been difficult. It had made her feel, in fact, like a failure. She tried to shake the feeling off, but it kept bobbing up, and it was worse when Molly was right there in front of her.

  “What is that thing,” Ava went over to Brandon, and pushed his hair up, “this thing you’ve got tattooed right here, on the back of your neck?”

  “It’s a Chinese symbol of sobriety.” He put an arm around her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “I’m a friend of Bill W.’s too.”

  “Friend of whose?” Buddy looked at them over his macramé, as Ava appraised Brandon with a whole new respect. There was now an instant camaraderie between the older lady and the college man in each one’s recognition of a fellow traveler.

  “It means,” Ava said, taking Brandon’s arm, “that he likes free coffee and donuts too. Hey, wait a minute . . .” She stopped for a moment to ask him seriously, “If I go with you, won’t people think I’m one of those fag hags?”

  “Only if we stop and get you some new shoes on the way. And sister,” he pointed at her neat but somewhat vanilla ensemble, “while we’re on the subject, extreme makeover, grandma edition, coming your way.”

  “Oh, really? Do you think so?” Ava’s hands reached up and found her small pearl earrings and her perfectly knotted scarf. “I know this look is a little tired, and I have been meaning to have someone help me out with my colors for the longest time.”

  “Grandma, you could have asked me.” Molly co
nsidered herself the fashion guru of the Applebaum clan. “You know how much I love to go shopping with you.”

  Ava turned to her, confused. “But, I thought you were gay now?”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot,” she deadpanned. “The second I turned lesbo, I had to turn in my mall card and start buying all my clothes at Home Depot.”

  “They don’t sell clothes at Home Depot!” Brandon corrected her.

  She looked at him in disbelief. “So now I gotta explain sarcasm to a gay guy?” She looked imploringly to the sky. “What has this world come to?”

  Ava, Molly, and Brandon headed to the AA meeting, their chatter trailing off in the cooling air.

  Buddy put down the macramé and opened up a crossword puzzle. He had once told Suzanne crosswords were the real love of his life, and meant it. “She’s a pip, that one.”

  Suzanne snorted. “Which one?”

  Buddy shrugged, acquiescing. “Both of them, really. But I was talking about your daughter. Her grandfather would be so proud.”

  “Yes, he would.” Suzanne watched the back of Molly as she walked down the road. “That girl was the apple of his eye. No matter how sick he got, she could always get a laugh out of him.”

  “If I’d had a granddaughter like that,” Buddy told her, “I’d have bragged about her just as much as Jimmy did.”

  “He sure did.” Suzanne’s voice trailed off then, inevitably thinking about how her father would have reacted to this most recent turn of events. Jimmy hadn’t had anything against gays, he often said. He just wanted them to stay away from him, and he’d stay away from them. Maybe it was just as well he hadn’t been around for this. Molly had enough on her shoulders as it was, with school coming up. Suzanne didn’t have anything against gay people—the pharmacist down at Market Basket and her dental hygienist were both as gay as the day is long, and since they were comfortable with it, so was she. But neither one of them was her kid. She remembered Daddy’s awful prejudices—words like “fags,” “gooks,” and “niggers” that he only used behind closed doors, but used nonetheless. Ava had always snapped his head off when he said any of these in front of Suzanne. Then sometime later, Ava would take her aside and tell her that people were people, no matter the color of their skin or who they chose to love. The only thing that mattered about a person, Ava told her, only slightly slurring her speech (she tried to stay as sober as possible when she had important information to impart), was the things he or she did. You could only judge people by what they contributed to this world.