Falling Under

by Danielle Younge-Ullman

  It used to feel like home, and you hope it will again.

  But that depends on Bernadette, and on your ability to bridge the gap that has opened up between you.

  And then you see her on the landing above you, looking sleepy and forlorn in her faded Frankie Says Relax T-shirt and a pair of boxers. Her usually spiky reddish-brown hair is flat and limp and she has circles under her eyes.

  “Hey,” she says.

  “Hi.”

  “What’s up?” She shifts from one foot to the other.

  “Um...”

  She leans on the railing. “You look like shit,” she says.

  “I feel like shit. Are you...Are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.” You nod and then twist your hands together.

  “You can come up, Mara. It’s not...I’m not contagious.”

  “Of course not. I never thought...” You bite your bottom lip and feel your chin starting to quiver.

  “Sure,” she says.

  “Listen, can I...can we—”

  “Okay.”

  “Talk?”

  “Okay,” she says again. “Come on.”

  She heads up the second set of stairs and you follow her to her bedroom.

  She closes the door behind you. Her hand is shaking. She sits on the bed—the usual place for your conversations—then changes her mind and goes to sit at her desk. She waves you to the window seat and you sit.

  “Could I talk first?”

  “Go ahead,” she says.

  “Okay.” You take a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking that you hate me. I figured you did. But then, maybe you don’t, and I have to take the chance.”

  Silence. She nods.

  “I was thinking, maybe you’re just scared. Maybe you’re afraid that I would judge, or disapprove or something.”

  More silence.

  “I don’t though. Whatever you want to do, want to be—I have no problem. The thing is, that night, I was so out of it, I don’t really know what I did or said wrong. Whatever it was, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about making things worse in the lunchroom.”

  “You were trying to help that day,” she says. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “At the party though, I must have said something, but honestly, I don’t remember.”

  “No, you didn’t say anything,” Bernadette says. “It was the look on your face that said something. No matter what you say now, I saw how you felt on your face.”

  “But—”

  “You’re disgusted by it. Like everyone else.”

  “No, I’m not! I wasn’t.”

  “You were totally disgusted,” she insists. “Freaked out.”

  You think back to the moment when you walked in on them and suddenly realize.

  “Bee, no! Remember how stoned we were?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, when I came in, I thought you had two heads! So I was freaked out, but not because...I figured either I was having a bad trip or something terrible had happened to you.”

  Bernadette’s mouth twitches. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously! And no matter what, you’re my best friend. I don’t care who you want to fool around with, or fall in love with, or anything.”

  She looks down at her lap.

  “And I miss you,” you say. “I hate it.”

  Bernadette looks up, tears in her eyes and a happy grin on her face. “I missed you, too,” she says.

  You hurl yourselves into a long, teary, laughing hug.

  “Thank God, thank God,” you say.

  “I know,” she says. “I’m so glad you came. And I’m so sorry too.”

  Cookies are liberated from the kitchen and you sit cross-legged on Bernadette’s bed and eat them.

  “So,” you say, “you like girls, hunh?”

  “I wish I didn’t,” she says, “but yeah.”

  “I don’t know much about this, but do you like guys too? Or just girls—oops, I should probably say women.”

  “No boys, no men. Can’t seem to do it.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That must be scary,” you say.

  She nods.

  “Have you...How did you find out?”

  She shrugs.

  “I just know.”

  “Okay,” you say, and nod your head quickly, wanting to reassure her. “That’s okay, right?”

  “I guess. Oh, Mar, I was so afraid for you to find out.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t want to be your friend anymore?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Not the case.”

  “I know that now.”

  “So, what was the deal with Faith? What happened?”

  Bernadette swallows, turns pink, and puts her cookie down.

  “I had on crush on her for a long time, and I thought maybe...but it’s hard to know, right? Anyway, we had a project together in History and after that we started talking on the phone almost every night. But at school we barely talked. It was awkward.”

  “Probably because you liked each other.”

  “I think so. So nothing was ever said, exactly, just hinted. And then we were alone in the sauna and...well, you saw what happened.”

  You nod.

  “It was totally mutual,” she says. “But later, on the phone, she said it was just because she was drunk, that she didn’t know what she was doing.”

  “Sorry but that’s bullshit.”

  Bernadette shrugs. “I guess I’ll never know.”

  “You heard she’s gone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bee, there’s something else,” you say, and then you tell her about the bathroom incident.

  To your surprise, she’s not angry.

  “Thanks for sticking up for me,” she says. And then, “So...did she say anything else? About me?”

  You shake your head. “Were you...are you in love, Bee?”

  By the look of longing on her face you know she is. And you know, too, that even though you have her back, you’re going to lose her again—to Faith, or some other girl. Because a girl can share secrets and go to movies and be your friend. A girl could be your best friend and your lover. And then what would you need a best friend for?

  Nothing.

  The knowledge is like a hoof in the gut. Bernadette might need you now, but someday she’s going to find someone and that person will replace you.

  You would do anything to make it not true. You don’t want another best friend, you want the one you have. You want Bernadette, who makes you laugh and protects you and understands everything. You will find some way to fight for her.

  “Bee...?”

  “Yeah?” She’s more relaxed now, eating chips, licking the flavor off both sides before putting them in her mouth.

  You take a deep breath.

  “If you...If you need...If you like women...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Um...”

  “Spit it out, Mara,” she says. “No more secrets, right?”

  You swallow.

  “Okay. I was just thinking that I could be...I mean, would you want me to be...”

  “Huh?” she frowns.

  “You know.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Well, if Faith doesn’t...If she doesn’t want to be with you...I could.”

  She blinks twice. “What?”

  “I could be with you, if that’s what you need.”

  “Mara—”

  “Wait, just listen. I’m already your best friend, right? We already know everything about each other...mostly. So you could trust me, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard—we’ve seen each other naked and stuff. So we could be together and things could stay the same...pretty much. We would just be a little bit...closer.”

  “Are you saying...?”

  “I could be your girlfriend.”

  Bernadette looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “My girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, I could..
.”

  “I heard you, you don’t have to say it again!”

  “Well?”

  “No! Oh, my God! What the hell? You’re my— and you want to be my—”

  “Girlfriend,” you say, feeling bolder now. “Why not?”

  Bernadette jumps up from the bed and starts pacing.

  You stand too. “Why not?” you ask again.

  She stops a few paces away and stares at you. She looks mad. Suddenly she walks forward, grabs you by the shoulders and kisses you. Your mouths mash together and your teeth knock. After the first second of shock, you try to kiss her back, but it’s over and she’s stepping away.

  “So?” she says.

  “Uh...”

  “Feel anything?”

  “Um, it was a little fast. Maybe we should try it again?”

  “You didn’t feel anything,” Bernadette states.

  “Well, no.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “No?”

  “Nothing whatsoever.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m not attracted to you. No offense.”

  “Okay.”

  “And you’ve never been attracted to me either,” Bee continues. “Right?”

  “No, but—”

  “Or any other woman. Right?”

  “Well, no.”

  “So you, my friend, are straight,” she says, and then she laughs. “I swear, you look disappointed!”

  “I am.”

  She lifts her eyebrows, studies you. “What’s the deal, Bones?”

  You sink down onto the edge of the bed.

  “I feel like I’m always losing people. My mom, my dad—they’re not gone, but they are. You know?”

  She comes to sit beside you, takes your hand.

  “I get it. You’re not going to lose me though. I only want one best friend, and you don’t need to sleep with me to keep the position.”

  “Okay.”

  “Not that I don’t appreciate your being willing to sacrifice your sexuality,” she says.

  You laugh.

  “I love you, Bee,” you say, a huge grin on your face.

  “I love you back,” she says.

  “Good.”

  “Please don’t ever hit on me again though, okay? It’s creepy.”

  Chapter 19

  “Not Faith English again!”

  Bernadette’s eyes are full of mischief.

  “Yep. She remembered my address and looked me up, just like I hoped. We’ve been talking.”

  “But what happened to Janet?” I sputter.

  “Who?”

  “No, wait, I mean the other one, the new one.”

  “Oh, Darya?” Bee says.

  “Yeah.”

  “Too many issues.”

  “Faith English is the definition of too many issues!”

  Bernadette’s eyes dart away. “That was years ago,” she says.

  “Humph,” I say. “We’ll see.”

  “Come on,” she says, and grabs the scissors. “Let’s do something about that hair.”

  ***

  Hugo arrives an hour later. He looks awfully cute in a sombrero.

  “Hi,” I say. “You’re very prompt.”

  “Hello. Where’s your hair?” he says.

  “I, uh, sacrificed it.”

  “I see,” he says.

  “You hate it.”

  “No, no! It’s chic. And cute. You look very...pixie-ish.”

  Pixie-ish is better than prisoner-of-war, and cute is an adjective rarely associated with me. Chic, I can take or leave.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Come in.”

  “So I’m meeting your best friend and your family,” he says. “Is this a date yet?”

  “Yes,” Bernadette pipes up from the other room before I have a chance to say maybe or no.

  “Thanks Bee,” I toss over my shoulder before turning back to Hugo. “No comment.”

  “Just using me as arm-candy then,” Hugo says with a nod that almost dislodges his enormous hat.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “And my hot lips,” he says.

  Bernadette, on her way down the hallway, gives a great whoop of laughter and I stand there feeling my cheeks get hot.

  “You didn’t tell me he was funny,” she says, and then whoops again as he leans over and gives me a big, loud, messy smooch.

  ***

  Faith meets us on Jarvis Street, across from my father’s building. She looks anxious and I wonder if it’s about Bernadette or the neighborhood, which used to be one of the worst in the city and still has its share of prostitutes, pimps, drug dealers and lurching alcoholics.

  I hadn’t bargained on sharing the paradox that is my father with anyone besides Hugo and Bernadette tonight, but she’s here and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  Hellos and introductions are made and we head inside.

  The elevator has got to be fifty years old and looks from the outside like a broom closet. The hallway is a vision of beige and red made dull by years of traffic, kitchen grease, and cigarette smoke. It’s easy to envision the decades worth of Toronto’s down-but-not-quite-out trudging along, wearing the garish red carpet down to thread at the center.

  It’s lucky I’m not trying to make a good impression.

  I glance over at Hugo and raise my eyebrows.

  “Lotta history in this building,” he says.

  “Yep.”

  “I like it.”

  Bernadette gives me a wink. She likes him.

  I press the button and we wait. With much whining and clunking, the elevator arrives. I open the outer door, pull the grate open, and Hugo, Bee and Faith step in ahead of me. I squeeze in, leaving room for Hugo’s hat. I shut the gate, and send out a prayer to the elevator gods that we don’t get stuck between floors today.

  More whirs and clunks and we begin to ascend.

  Faith looks at the ceiling and flinches at every thunk and hiss. I’m tempted to tell her about the time I spent an hour stuck in here with my (drunk) father, but I don’t.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “We’ll make it out alive.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” she says, and lifts her chin.

  Sure.

  “It’s never plummeted to the basement or anything,” I add. “And if it did, we’re only going to the eighth floor, so we’d probably be fine.”

  “Right,” she says. Is it me, or does she look a tad green?

  “Mara,” Bernadette says.

  Faith has never brought out the best in me.

  I shut up, and we make it to the eighth floor alive. The elevator does stop a foot too low and we have to step up to get out. This hallway smells like cooked cabbage and incense. I wrinkle my nose and wish that Dad would move.

  “By the way, don’t give my father any money,” I say as we walk towards his door.

  “Why would I?” Faith asks.

  “He’s going to ask for money?” Hugo says.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Put it this way,” Bernadette says, “by the end of the night you could own a time-share in Cancun or Florida.”

  “Or the Yukon,” I add.

  “Maybe I want a time share in Cancun.” Hugo says.

  “Not with my dad you don’t.”

  “And don’t play poker with him either,” Bernadette says.

  “Or blackjack—”

  “Or Trivial Pursuit—”

  “Or bridge—”

  “Monopoly—”

  “Risk—”

  “Okay, I got it. No investing, no cards, no games,” Hugo says.

  “Exactly,” I say.

  “Anything else?” he says.

  “Sink or swim?” Bernadette says, and then knocks on the door.

  “Okay, thanks.” Hugo takes a deep breath.

  Faith stands close to Bernadette. Strains of “La Bamba” come through the door. I take pity on Hugo and put a hand on his arm.

  “Don’t worry,” I say, “he’s really quite pleasant.
”

  “Good.”

  “At least he was earlier.”

  Finally we try the door, find it unlocked, and let ourselves in.

  The party is happening. It’s more than a get-together, and the theme is more than Mexican, or even Spanish. In amongst people dressed as bullfighters, flamenco dancers, and a couple of Zorros are women in grass skirts, three belly dancers, and...oh dear...a mime.

  Unfortunately, the guy in the Miami Vice getup is Dad. Yep, it’s Dad and it’s a damned shame he’s doing disco moves to “La Bamba.”

  The shabbiness of the apartment is disguised by a thick layer of ersatz Mexican and not-so-Mexican decorations, including streamers, a huge crepe palm tree and posters of beaches. Beer bottles are being served with umbrellas in them and there’s a table piled with coconuts, pineapples, salsa, and corn chips.

  “Do not eat the corn chips,” I say in a low voice to Bee, Faith, and Hugo.

  “Why not?” Hugo asks.

  “Dad bought six cases of them on sale at Honest Ed’s,” I say, “five years ago.”

  Bernadette winces. Faith shudders.

  “He was going to resell them, but he lost his enthusiasm.”

  Dad catches sight of us and boogies over.

  “Sweetheart!” he says, and kisses my cheek.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hola! Arriba! Como estas?” he says.

  “I’m fine, good.”

  I introduce Hugo and Dad takes his hand and pumps his arm before giving Bernadette a hug.

  “Still playing for the losing team?” he asks her, and then chortles at his own joke. I look down at the parquet floor. Bernadette laughs and punches Dad on the arm.

  “My team’s doing just fine,” she says, and then introduces him to Faith.

  “You too?” he asks.

  Bernadette shoots a panicked look at me.

  “Me too what?” Faith asks.

  “Never mind, Faith. Football, right, Dad?” I grab his arm and squeeze.

  “Oh,” Faith says. “No, I get it. I wouldn’t say our team is losing, would you, Bernadette?”

  “Ah, no,” Bee says, and then swallows. “No, our team is...looking pretty good these days.”

  Faith ducks her head and Bernadette blushes. The sparks are flying, God help us all.