If I Was Your Girl

by Meredith Russo

  “Okay.” Grant smiled and backed away without turning, as though I might disappear if he looked away.

  I walked upstairs and turned on the landing to wave at him. He remained in place, silently watching. I waved again, not wanting the moment to end, before he smiled and started the long walk to his car.

  I ran a hand through my hair and whispered, “Shit.”

  * * *

  I found Dad asleep on the couch, a DVR menu bathing him in blue light.

  “Daddy?” I said softly, unafraid to use the word this once because I knew he wouldn’t hear me. “I’m home.” He grunted and his eyes fluttered. He looked at me for a long moment with half-lidded, bleary eyes, and sounded far off when he spoke.

  “Andrew?”

  My heart nearly shattered. But then I remembered I was wearing Grant’s shirt, that the light was low and he was half-asleep. I thought of Sandman and wondered if the son he wanted waited for him in Dream’s kingdom every time he slept. I couldn’t blame him.

  “It’s Amanda,” I said softly.

  “Amanda?” He blinked slowly and leaned in close. “Why are you wet? Whose clothes are those?”

  “I went swimming with friends,” I said. “Didn’t have a suit, so I wore this.”

  “Oh,” he said, stretching and yawning again. His back popped. “Good. It’s bad to be alone.”

  “Let’s get you in bed.” I put his arm over my shoulder and immediately recognized the smell of whiskey.

  “You’re a good kid,” he said, a faint slur in his voice. “Daughter. Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “You look happy,” he said.

  “I think I am.”

  “I want you to smile. I love you.”

  Did he realize it had been a decade since he’d said those words? “I love you too,” I replied. He pulled me into a tight hug and kissed my cheek before I could react, then stumbled off to bed.

  I closed his door and stood in the hall for a long time. The television buzzed, the vent fans whirred, and cold water soaked into the carpet around my feet as I replayed those three words in my head. I touched my fingers to my cheek, still the littlest bit raw from his stubble.

  I remembered how angry he had sounded when he told me that lives like mine weren’t good, couldn’t possibly be good. I felt the scar above my ear and thought about how warm and tingly my lips still felt from Grant’s kisses. I prayed that Dad had been wrong.

  8

  My phone chirped as I made my way through a sea of students rushing the front doors in preparation for the weekend. I sidled into one of the few empty spots by the office and pulled it out, hoping it was one of the girls saying their Friday-night plans had fallen through and they could hang out. Instead I saw Grant’s name and the first few sentences of another of his texts.

  “Hey!” the message read. “Sorry to keep bugging you, it’s just I really liked what happened the other night and I thought you did too. I hope you’ll—” I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and put my phone away without reading the rest. The night of the party had been a mistake, a complete violation of the rules I’d set for myself—my plan, the whole reason I’d come to Lambertville. It was stupid, it was risky, and it couldn’t happen again. Grant had been texting me ever since, and I’d been steadfastly ignoring him and avoiding him in the halls. I debated blocking his number to spare myself the temptation of responding, but for some reason I couldn’t.

  At least the weather was nice. I descended the steps and turned away from the buses, making my way around the school to the football field. It seemed a shame to waste a day like this even if I had to spend it alone, and Dad had agreed when I texted him at lunch to pick me up once he got off work. I climbed the bleachers and opened my Catalogue of American Fiction textbook to “A Good Man Is Hard to Find,” by Flannery O’Connor. I immediately hated the old woman in the story, though it was pretty obvious I was supposed to. Part of me could sympathize with the bizarre standards she held herself to, to make sure people knew she was “a lady,” but it was a small part. I was highlighting a line when my phone suddenly erupted in the Star Wars theme. I pulled it out and saw that Grant was calling. The ringtone finished once and looped back to the beginning before I gave in and accepted the call.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to sound distant.

  “So. Your phone ain’t broke,” Grant replied.

  “No,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose in anticipation of the next logical question: why hadn’t I responded to his texts?

  “And you like Star Wars?” he went on. “That’s badass. I love Star Wars! Which one’s your favorite?”

  “Empire Strikes Back,” I said reflexively, before sitting up straight and looking around. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

  “Aw shit, Empire’s my favorite too! Look behind you.” I turned and saw him sitting on the highest bench, a duffel bag over one shoulder and a phone to his ear. He grinned, flashing perfectly white teeth, and waved like a little kid.

  “What?” I said, as I stuffed my things back in my bag and stood. “How did you…”

  “I just came up on the far end over there,” he said, pointing off to the side. “You were so into whatever you’re reading I could’ve run up and down the field naked and you wouldn’t’ve known.”

  “Are you stalking me?”

  “Naw,” Grant said, shrugging. “I accidentally left some stuff down by the benches after practice yesterday and saw you when I came to get it.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m glad I ran into you though,” he said. “You’ve been runnin’ outta homeroom before I can even say hey, and I ain’t seen you in the cafeteria all week.”

  “I was eating lunch out here,” I said, rubbing my arm and looking away. “The weather’s been nice.”

  “And my texts?” he said, as he descended the bleachers in long, loping strides. “I thought you liked me. You can tell me if you don’t. I can handle rejection.”

  “No,” I said, scooting over on the bleachers. “I mean yes. I do. It’s just … do you remember the conversation we had when you asked me out for Parker?”

  “Ah,” Grant said, sitting down next to me with his duffel bag between his knees. “Is this ’cause your dad’s strict? I could meet him if you want, let him see I ain’t any threat to his daughter.”

  “I think that would be a bad idea,” I said, trying to imagine bringing a boy home to meet Dad. “But I mean … about me being complicated.”

  “Everybody’s complicated,” he said, scratching his temple.

  “Not the way I am,” I said. “I have a past, okay? And you really don’t want to get involved with it.”

  “Everybody’s got a past,” he said. “That don’t mean you can’t have a future.”

  “Okay, but there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

  “I know you’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen,” Grant said, leaning even closer. “I already know you’ve got a good heart. I know when we kissed I felt warm all over, like when you sit too close to a campfire, and I know no girl’s made me feel that way before.”

  “That’s really nice,” I said, running fingers through my hair and looking up at the empty sky. I knew that if I looked at him, I would soften, I would give in, and I couldn’t afford that. “But—”

  “Listen,” Grant said. I felt his hands grip mine and looked down to find his face inches away. I remembered the last time he was this close and felt my whole body flush. “I’m a big boy. I been knocked down before, and I’ll be knocked down again. I can handle things that ain’t simple, and I can handle things that’re hard. I want you, and whatever it is about you that you think makes you so complicated couldn’t make me want you less.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, to protest all the reasons why this was a bad idea—why it might be harder than he thought to get close to me, how it could end in both of us getting hurt—but nothing came.

  “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he sa
id softly. “Is that okay?”

  My head made just the slightest up-and-down motion before he brought his lips to mine and pulled my hips toward his. He had been right, I realized; it felt like sitting in front of a fire, the warmth spreading across every inch of my skin.

  9

  I spent Saturday night with the girls in Layla’s bedroom—which had an actual four-poster bed with sheer white drapes—trying on makeup and clothes, gossiping, and posting our most vamped-up shots to Instagram. We ended the night getting sodas at Walmart, which was the only place in town still open by then. I wondered why the girls left their makeup on, then learned the answer when we came outside and found a group of kids from our school hanging out at the edge of the parking lot, cases of beers in the backs of their pickup trucks. I didn’t talk to many people, but I also didn’t feel uncomfortable, and Layla made it very clear to everyone I was a member of their group. It was one of the best Saturday nights I could remember. The only way it could’ve been better was if Grant had been there.

  I slept deep and easy once I finally got home, which was rare for me. My phone chirped and I slowly rose from bed on stiff, creaking arms, blinking and groaning against the warm morning light. The phone chirped again. I slapped at it once, missed, and got it on the second try.

  “Hello?” I croaked without bothering to check who was calling.

  “Mornin’, Amanda!” Anna said in a voice that was excessively cheerful, even for her.

  “Mm,” I groaned, stretching my back. “What’s up?”

  “Oh, nothin’,” Anna said. “Just we’re about to head to church and I thought you’d like to come.” There was a strange pause, and then she quickly added, “Plus my parents wanna meet you.”

  “Why?” I said, as I slapped my feet on the floor. “I mean, I don’t really go to church.”

  “Didn’t you say you were Baptist?”

  “Lapsed,” I reminded her. “I haven’t been to church since, like, middle school.”

  “Oh,” Anna said, all her cheer gone. I paused. She didn’t just sound disappointed, she sounded worried. “But that’s just more reason to come, ain’t it?”

  “Listen, thanks for the offer,” I said, “but I really don’t—”

  “No, Amanda,” Anna whispered suddenly, “you really need to meet my parents. Like, really, really. Please?”

  My stomach sank as I realized she needed me. I thought it over for a moment before saying, “Okay. I’ll get dressed.”

  “Yay!” Anna said, all the cheer flooding back. “We’ll be there in a half hour.”

  She hung up before I could respond. I sighed and dug through my luggage. I only had one church-appropriate outfit: a pastel-pink floral short-sleeve dress with a wide purple belt that used to be Mom’s, twenty-five years and ten dress sizes before. I stepped into the living room and found Dad at the kitchen table, rubbing his temples over a plate of greasy bacon. His eyes were closed and his skin was pale and blotchy.

  “That’s not very healthy,” I said, wondering what happened to the Dad who ate salad for practically every meal.

  “Hangover,” he replied, his voice groaning like an old door. “Greasy food helps.” He cracked his eyes and stared at me for a moment. “What’s with the outfit?”

  “I’m going to church,” I said, leaning against the counter and checking my phone. Dad let out a hoarse laugh but cut it short when I crossed my arms and looked down.

  “Oh,” he said. “You were serious.” He tore a strip of bacon in half and popped it in his mouth. “Sorry, it’s just I can’t imagine you sitting in with a bunch of holy rollers.”

  “My friend Anna invited me. Why can’t you see me there?” I asked, though of course I knew why. I still believed in God, and for a long time my faith had been the only thing keeping me afloat. But I could never forget the day Mom had come home from seeing our pastor, red in her eyes from weeping and rage. I asked her what was wrong and heard a stream of curses, so strange in her normally sweet little voice, as she told me he’d had some suggestions: that I should be sent to a camp to fix me, that I should spend more time with a male role model, that I should maybe take some time away from the congregation until I found a way to fit in. We never went to church after that, though I did continue to pray.

  “The text’s pretty hostile to people like you,” Dad finally replied, chewing slowly.

  “But they don’t have to know everything about me, do they?”

  “Just be careful,” he said. “This ain’t Atlanta, and it ain’t the suburbs. People around here seem nice, but you gotta be careful with who you trust.”

  “I know,” I said flatly, feeling the scar above my ear. My phone buzzed and Anna’s name appeared above a message: we r outside

  “My ride’s here. I gotta go.”

  “Really, though,” Dad said. I turned as I was heading out the door and saw both bloodshot eyes open, a look of concern in his face. “Really. Please be careful.”

  I took a deep breath and nodded, feeling a sudden, shaking wave of anxiety. “I know, Dad,” I said. “I will. Bye.”

  I hurried downstairs, where the same van Anna had driven a few days ago stood parked outside the breezeway. I took a minute to actually read the bumper stickers this time, out of morbid curiosity: JESUS WAS A CONSERVATIVE, one read, and RIGHTS COME FROM GOD NOT GOVERNMENT; ILLEGAL ALIENS! EXACTLY WHICH PART DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND? and I CAN’T HELP THAT I’M HOMOPHOBIC … I WAS BORN THAT WAY! I stood in place and swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. The side door slid open and Anna leaned out, smiling.

  “Whatcha waitin’ for?” she said. “Hop on in.” A small copy of Anna with freckles and missing teeth leaned into view and waved excitedly.

  I forced a smile as I climbed in the backseat, between a pair of short blond boys in matching white short-sleeve dress shirts. Their legs were both spread so far that their knees met in the middle and neither seemed interested in moving, leaving me to clamber awkwardly over them and squeeze myself in the space left over. Something touched my butt during the maneuver. I made myself assume it was an accident.

  A rail-thin woman with blond hair sprayed into an updo that defied physics turned and beamed at me from the passenger seat.

  “Anna, hon,” she said without breaking her perfect smile, “you’re being rude. Introduce me to your friend.”

  “Oh!” Anna said, practically jumping out of her seat. I wondered again why she was acting so strangely. “Uh, Mom, this is my friend Amanda. Amanda, that’s my mom—”

  “Call me Lorraine,” she bubbled, her smile still statue-perfect.

  “And that’s my dad.”

  A brick of a man grunted and gave me a brief, grudging glance in the rearview mirror.

  “This is my sister Judith,” Anna said. Her sister turned and flashed me that same adorable smile and chirped, “I’m in fifth grade!” I stifled a laugh and agreed that that was very impressive. Lorraine’s smile faltered a little as she snapped to get Judith’s attention.

  “Sit down and cross your legs!” Lorraine said. Judith immediately did as she was told. There was a moment of awkward silence before Anna continued. I wondered if they could see their sons’ postures in the backseat.

  “And, uh, these are my brothers Simon and Matthew,” Anna continued. One was a little taller than the other, and the shorter one had braces and slightly darker hair, but otherwise they could have been twins. The shorter one grunted like his dad when Anna said their names but kept his gaze locked on the window. The other just played with his phone and acted like he hadn’t heard.

  “Hi,” I said, making myself smile pleasantly at the one who had at least bothered to grunt. He turned and made brief eye contact before dropping his eyes to my chest.

  “Nice dress,” he said. I started to thank him, but then he followed with, “It makes you look like a grandma.”

  “Don’t be a jerk to my friend, Simon!” Anna said, turning to glare at her brother.

  “Watch that tone, young lady!” Lorraine said. A
nna’s cheeks burned red. She gave me an apologetic look and turned back around. Simon sniffed once and turned back to his phone.

  “You girls have a nice time last night?” their dad said. Anna inhaled sharply and her shoulders tightened up. I looked from her back to the rearview mirror and found her dad staring pointedly at me between glances to the road.

  “Yeah,” I said. “We had a lot of fun.”

  “Not too much, I hope.”

  “Why would you hope that?” I said slowly, my eyes once again darting from a paralyzed Anna to her dad’s unchanged stare.

  “The word of the Lord is serious business,” he said. “At least in our house.”

  “Um,” I said, blinking, “of course. Yeah. My house too.”

  “Which verses did y’all study last night?” Lorraine said.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, confused. Anna seemed to shrink, and her dad’s eyes narrowed. Then it hit me—Anna had told them we were at Bible study. “Sorry, I haven’t had my coffee yet. We mostly focused on the Gospel of John.”

  “Ah,” her dad said, nodding. “‘For the wages of sin is death.’”

  I couldn’t help smiling; I might not have been to church in years, but I’d paid attention when I was there. “It’s definitely powerful, but that’s from Romans,” I said. “My favorite passage from John is, ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him may not perish.’ It’s so life-focused, you know? So hopeful.”

  “Can’t disagree,” her dad said, a note of grudging respect in his voice.

  “Anna, dear, you did it!” Lorraine said, clapping happily.

  Anna looked up, confused. “Did what?”

  “You made friends with a good influence for once.”

  I cleared my throat and looked out at the trees.

  * * *

  “Thanks,” Anna whispered twenty minutes later as we sidled into a red-upholstered pew near the front. The inside of the church was small and painted stark-white, but the red carpeting and upholstery and the light pouring in through the abstract stained-glass windows made it much more beautiful than it seemed from outside. “Sorry I didn’t warn you,” she continued as we sat. “They were listening when I called.”