Handcuffs

by Bethany Griffin

  The violinist approaches and stands right in front of us, which seems strange because usually violinists ignore teenagers in fancy restaurants. He begins to play, a sweetly familiar tune followed by a screeching chorus that is strangely familiar. I don’t belong here. The violin fades away. I see a fifty-dollar bill exchange hands. Fifty dollars.

  “You paid the violinist to play ‘Creep’?”

  “Our song. He liked playing it.”

  “He was, um, enthusiastic.”

  “Infatuation and longing, remember?”

  “And self-loathing.”

  “I would have found the money for you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I could have. Why didn’t you tell me you needed it?”

  “I was ashamed.” The waiter brings a basket of bread.

  Earlier this afternoon I went downstairs to look for my favorite jeans.

  Gasp, Kyle Henessy was on the couch holding my sister’s hand. I just looked at them.

  I know they think I am just like her, that I have latched onto my version of West. My parents can’t tell the difference, you see. They barely understand the difference between Paige and Parker, the daughters they created. How could they possibly know the difference between the things we desire? Or—and this is the thing that feels like cold water seeping into my reality, and it’s becoming something like a flood—what if we really are alike and I just don’t see it?

  “Parker . . .”

  “You don’t know what it’s like to see your whole life changing because of money.”

  He kind of shrugs at me. “My parents worry about money. My mom is always worried she’ll have to go back to work. She hated being a lawyer.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but don’t tell anybody that I listen to anything my parents say. Honestly, Park, they were thrilled when I flunked out of boarding school. The tuition at that place was astronomical.”

  “Flunked out. I thought you got kicked—” He puts his finger against my lips to silence me.

  “Shhh. Not so loud. There were rumors about one of the guys sneaking a girl into the squeaky-clean upperclass dormitory, but I officially got kicked out because of my grades.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  “No.” He takes a drink from the delicate little water glass. “Self-loathing, remember?”

  “Do I make you?”

  “You make it all better.” The sweet smile, pure evil. “Do you want to guess what I have in my pocket?”

  I know what he has in his pocket, and he knows that I know.

  There was this loud knock at the door.

  “Can you get that, Parker?” Does Paige not realize that I’m running late? I hope she wasn’t making out with Kyle in our living room. Yuck. I opened the door and kind of swallowed my heart. The little creepy twerp from advanced British lit was standing on my porch. The guy who accused me of . . . the guy who said I liked to . . .

  “Is Kyle Henessy here?” he asked. “I’m supposed to drop off this essay for him to edit for my stepsister.”

  “Who’s your stepsister?”

  “Erin Glasgow.”

  Pieces started falling into place.

  “If you live right next door to my boyfriend, why haven’t I ever seen you there before?”

  He sneered. Same little perverted creep I shouldn’t waste my breath talking to.

  “I’ve seen you plenty of times.” Gag. Then, “I live with my mom. I only visit my dad a few weekends a month.”

  “I’ll give your sister’s paper to Kyle.” Knowing for certain that Kyle didn’t take seminaked pictures of me makes him a little easier to take as a potential new member of our family. Plus, he didn’t press charges against me; plus, he’s sticking with my sister through all this crazy shit.

  “You know what I’d like to give you?” Erin’s brother moved closer on the little porch, breathing on me, same rotting-meat breath as before. I breathed in (through my mouth), braced myself, and shoved him right off the porch. Down the same set of stairs that I rode a skateboard down when I was seven. Preston falls off our porch three times a week. Falling off our porch won’t kill him, but I guess a girl can hope.

  “So about this bet. I think I figured it out.”

  “Yeah?”

  “There was a bet, right? The guy in advanced British lit was the one who started it. I didn’t even think it was real. I thought Marion made it up.”

  “I think she did, along with Erin’s stepbrother, yeah. He took the pictures too. I think he was trying to get in good with Marion. It wasn’t a real bet, like he had any takers or was offering anybody cash. He’s a loser. I um, kind of hit him. You know, in the face. A couple of times.” He looks embarrassed. Why does it make me happy that he hit somebody for me?

  “So he’s your neighbor?” I ask. “I never knew.”

  “He’s over there on the weekends sometimes.” A girl in really high heels clomps past our table. We look at each other and kind of smile.

  “It’s a good thing your parents dropped that plan to move to Florida, Prescott. I was having a hell of a time finding a good boarding school there.” He’s obviously trying to change the subject, but that’s okay, I let him.

  “You were going to follow me?”

  “I’m not a stalker, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He laughs, but I don’t.

  I look at him across the table. I’m not my sister, and I’m not my mother. How desperate am I to keep him?

  We stare at one another through the flickering of the single candle. There are crazy insane thoughts going through my brain over and over. I should probably go home and lie down or something.

  “I love you.”

  An hour passes. There is echoing silence. I know that there should be conversation and forks hitting china and the music of a violin, but it’s all gone. He’s looking at his hands, and his plate, anyplace but at me.

  I’ve been waiting for him to say this for a long time.

  I bring my chin up, catch his eyes.

  “I think that we shouldn’t get back together,” I say. Inside, some part of me is shouting over and over, I love you too, I love you too. It isn’t like he doesn’t know this. But with all the things that have passed between us, and all the words that have and haven’t been said, I think I’m going to keep these to myself.

  “So do you want me to take you home, or what?” He looks hurt.

  “After dinner, maybe.” I tell him. “I’ll send you some music that I like and you can tell me what you think.” This doesn’t have to be the end, I’m thinking. I don’t want it to be the end.

  “You have pretty good taste in music,” he says, and cuts into his steak. For the first time ever, I’m able to sit across from him and eat a few bites of my meal without being sick from nervousness.

  43

  “Do you think he meant it?” Raye asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe. Maybe like you would say ‘I love that shirt,’ or ‘I love mall pizza.’ He loves me like that.”

  We both laugh, but she looks a little bit worried.

  “Are you okay with that?”

  I break my last glorious mall cookie in half and push it toward her. We’re sitting at my kitchen table, and it’s close to midnight. My entire family is asleep, and Raye is here with the things I accidentally on purpose left in her car earlier. A bag from the Limited with my new jeans and my three new shirts.

  I start to laugh. “You know what? I’ve broken up with him twice, and I don’t even know if we ever had a relationship to begin with. I just broke up with a guy who wasn’t even my boyfriend.”

  “Parker, are you crying?”

  I’m laughing so hard I’m almost crying. Or maybe I’m just crying, I don’t know.

  “Does that mean you won’t go out with him again?” she asks.

  “Oh, I’ll go out with him. But he’ll have to ask me. I’m not going back to his basement without some kind of commitment.”

  “Like a diamond ring or something?”r />
  “Um, no. No rings here.” Paige and I had a little ceremony earlier. It was very satisfying. Normally Raye would ask me what the hell I’m talking about, but she’s focused on other things right now. Raye has an enviable ability to get completely focused on something.

  “So we’re both single. Are we happy?” Raye is full of questions. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so unsure of things. She’s downright hesitant.

  “I’m happy. It feels like a cease-fire from all the relationship trauma. Now I can relax for a few days before I start worrying again.”

  “You’ve had a lot to worry about. I can’t believe you blackmailed Kyle Henessy. I’ll bet Marion nearly had an aneurism.”

  “I nearly had one myself. Especially when they took me downtown.” I say this, the “took me downtown” part, like I’m a complete badass, but we both know better.

  “I really didn’t know, you never told me what was going on.”

  I shake my head, and we don’t look at each other. “It was stuff that I couldn’t talk about.”

  “Well, next time you have stuff you can’t talk about, be sure to tell me about it, okay?” I nod, and she continues. “I guess now that you have these things you left in my car.” She scoots the bag toward me. I finally cashed the check that I got for my sixteenth birthday. Mom and Dad pretty much made me. And Raye took me shopping so that I could get something to wear for the big date. The date. What could realistically be the last date. And we also got the pink shirt from the Gap—which is in the bag.

  “Thanks for bringing them.”

  “Ah well, it’s not every day your best friend breaks up with the hottest guy in school, or whatever.”

  “Or whatever,” I agree.

  I walk her to the door. Stare out into the empty yard. The Century 21 sign is gone now. My parents decided we could stay here, at least for the rest of the year. It doesn’t look like the house was going to sell anytime soon anyway. And they’re going to have to replace that garbage disposal.

  There’s a pair of handcuffs down there, and an engagement ring. It happened after he dropped me off. I walked into the house and found I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was standing in the kitchen, trying not to cry. Paige came into the room.

  “What’s up?” she asked. “I thought you were on the big date?”

  “Yeah.” It was a big deal. I had to beg forever before the parental units would let me out on parole, and then beg again until they let Raye take me shopping. And here I am, home early. And she’s home too.

  “Didn’t you have a good time?” she asks. Not sarcastic or anything, although for a second I wonder if maybe she is looking for some ammunition so she can make fun of me.

  “I don’t know. Until I figure out what constitutes a good time for me, maybe I won’t go out anymore. With him or anyone. Maybe I’ll just stay in the house and watch TV, or something.”

  She sighs. “I wish I was as smart as you and just stayed home for a few weekends. Maybe my life wouldn’t be so . . . well, you know.”

  “Did Dad ever fix the garbage disposal?” I ask her.

  She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t think so, why?”

  I pull the handcuffs out of my pocket. “I got these back tonight.”

  “And you’re going to . . .” We walk together over to the sink. I look down into the opening that is supposed to grind up food and stuff.

  “I don’t think they’ll fit.” I guess it was a stupid idea. I feel somewhat moronic now.

  “I know something that will,” she says, and she takes off her diamond ring.

  “No way. Paige, you can’t put that—”

  But she does, she drops it, and it hits the side and rolls around and around.

  “Turn it on,” she tells me. I stand there with my hand on the switch. It’s like a light switch on the side of the counter.

  “Do this for me, Parker?” She says it like it’s a question, like she’s begging, and she’s looking at me like I’ve never done anything for her in my life.

  “Wait.” I open a drawer and get the square mallet that has weird ridges on the hammer part. Mom says it’s for tenderizing meat, but I’ve never seen anyone use it, ever.

  “I got one of those for a wedding present,” Paige says.

  I almost say something about hitting West in the head with it, that maybe she could improve him, but I figure things are rough enough without giving her murderous ideas. So I hold the handcuffs sideways and hit them. Once, no change. Twice, nothing. But the third time the cuff part bends in enough that I can fit it through the hole in the sink. The second one crumbles more easily than the first one. I drop it in with my sister’s diamond engagement ring.

  I take a deep breath, shrug, and flip the switch. The garbage disposal comes to life. It makes an unholy god-awful racket, like a monster with metal teeth eating cookies with lead chips.

  “Paige!” I’m about to have a heart attack. It’s suddenly becoming real to me that she dropped that great big diamond in there. I can’t believe I just ground it up.

  “Don’t worry about it, kid. It wasn’t a diamond. It was a fake, and not even a very good one. Just like my marriage. West’s mother told him I was too young and silly for a real diamond, and hey, maybe she was right. I jumped up and down when I got the ring and I agreed to marry him.” She turns and walks out of the room, stopping for just a moment to admire her reflection in the decorative mirror Mom has hung in the dining area. Some things will never change, I guess.

  “Parker!” Mom yells. It’s morning. I know because the sun is up. I’m trying to decide if I’m feeling any different. He finally said it. Is loved-by-her-ex Parker any different than yesterday-morning Parker? How about broke-up-with-her-kind-of-boyfriend Parker? I do feel different, but I can’t quite explain why.

  “Hmm?” I say this to my mother, but of course she can’t hear me because I’m talking into my pillow. I struggle out of bed and smooth the blankets. I’m putting the last pillow in place, folding the pink comforter over so that the pink and white striped sheets show just a little, when Mom comes into my room. She sits down at my desk. She has her makeup on, and her businesswoman outfit, even though it’s Sunday morning. She just dropped Paige off at rehab. It isn’t really rehab, they say, just a counseling center so she can try to get her crap together. I wonder what the counselors would think about Paige dropping her engagement ring into a garbage disposal.

  “She says she wants the divorce,” Mom says. I can’t tell if she’s sad or just tired.

  “Did West show up?” I ask. Paige called him and was hoping he might come for some counseling thing her doctor set up.

  “No.” Mom runs her hand over the big empty space where my computer used to sit. It’s in the kitchen now. Yeah. I have to check my e-mail in the kitchen, where they can watch me and make sure I’m not doing anything illegal.

  “Paige is stupid,” I say. Saying it makes me feel like crap, and I realize how mad I’ve been at Paige for screwing up her life and for not being perfect.

  “Sometimes people just get an idea in their head.”

  “You mean like Paige thinking West was so great?”

  “Or like me thinking that a perfect family had to have three children.”

  “What?”

  “Well, you know, I was an only child, and I thought to have that perfect family we had to have this big brick house with a white porch and three children. Do you have any idea how hard it is to raise three children?”

  “Not really.”

  “If you had been half as difficult as Paige and Preston, we would have never made it. We thought we were lucky to have one quiet child.”

  Yeah, it’s really great to be the quiet one. It’s totally fucking awesome. Wait, what did Mom just say?

  “You mean it wouldn’t have mattered if Preston was a girl?”

  “Well, of course it would matter. Can you imagine a girl collecting all those gross things, and the plastic snakes and playing those sumo wrestling video games?
”

  “Um, I mean, you didn’t feel like you had to have Preston because I was a girl, and you really wanted a boy?”

  “Three boys, three girls, whatever combination. I was just determined to have three perfect children.”

  I start to say something terrible like, Well, then you really screwed up, considering her last chance at perfection just woke up and is now crashing into my room. It’s a good thing Mom didn’t close the door all the way, because it looks like he entered headfirst. Like, he hit the door with his head, and then it slams into the wall and bounces back to hit him on the other side of his head. Ouch.

  I could also tell her that I know something about getting ideas in your mind that won’t go away, but I’m not ready to talk to her about stuff yet. I’ll just let her stay here and feel like she’s being a good mom. Everybody deserves a little confidence boost, especially when they’re trying so hard.

  “Honey, where’s your helmet?” Mom asks Preston.

  Instead of answering he jumps up onto my bed and rolls around in the pillows, like a crazy puppy with ADHD.

  “C’mon, let’s go get your medicine and a Pop-Tart.” Mom takes him by the arm and drags him away. She looks over her shoulder and says, “I guess that middle-child stuff isn’t all baloney, huh, Parker?” almost like she’s a real person and she’s recognizing me as a real person too. Weird.

  I stand up and smooth out the comforter where I had wrinkled it. I rearrange the pillows and pick up the one Preston knocked to the floor. It takes a minute to get them all in the exact right spots, but it’s worth the effort. Looking at my perfectly made bed makes me happy. I like this stupid princess room and this house, and sometimes even this family.

  It’s been almost two months since Christmas, and over a week since I last made my mom cry. I guess I might be improving or something.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank the following people: