Their eyes met, and Erika managed to give Salma a tight little smile.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It wasn’t much.”
They went back to ripping down the board, and Erika started to take some pleasure in it. She leaned into the noise and destruction, the clearing away.
Erika had tried to come back this semester with a good attitude, with hopes for this year being better than the last. But then came that night near Thanksgiving.
The campus had been mostly deserted, and Erika had been the last RA left on duty before the dorm officially shut down. It had been so late and dark and quiet, and then she’d stumbled on Makenzie in the stairwell.
Everything had gone to hell so fast.
Erika had spent hours talking to the police, to the Title Nine office. The story had appeared in the local news, then circulated further online—hard, sparse sentences about a student sexually assaulted on campus. A vague collection of words that said nothing about how Erika had found her in a heap on the landing, thinking at first it was just a pile of clothes until she spotted the tangle of her hair.
For the past couple weeks, Erika had been anxious and struggling to sleep—but still, she was here. She was standing.
“So, um, where’s home?” Erika asked.
“Outside Philly.”
“You leaving soon?”
“Tomorrow. I’m going to the Daily Grind tonight, with Grace and Hailey?”
“Oh yeah. I write papers there sometimes. Or try to.”
“They stay open late on Fridays, for an open mic. There are some super-cute townies with guitars who make it worth it, if you want to come.”
That actually sounded fun, and Erika felt a swell in her chest. Her tongue loosened up a little.
“I’m leaving in a few minutes,” she said. “Otherwise I would totally go. I’d like to expand my options, to be honest. Last week I made out with a kid in a trucker hat, at that stupid SGA-sponsored luau.”
Salma laughed hard at that, and it echoed down the hallway, making both girls look around at the emptiness that surrounded them.
“Who was it?” Salma asked. “That’s the best and worst thing about this place. It’s so small, I probably know him.”
“Jacob Jones? Senior? Swim team? Horrible fashion choices?”
Salma was laughing again. “Yes, yes. I had a class with him. He’s really cute.”
Erika was blushing as she unhooked the last sheet of paper from the board, let it drift into the trash.
“Oh, he’s totally cute. And nice. Probably not my soulmate, but you know. Fine for ten minutes of kissing outside the dining hall.”
At the time, Erika had walked home from the luau swinging her heels in her hand, not quite sure how she felt about everything. There was no one whose door she could knock on to gossip about what she’d done, so she’d pushed it to the back of her mind. Now suddenly the whole incident seemed kind of adorable. Charming, even. Not a reset button or anything, but not the worst thing in the world.
“So, big plans when you get home tonight?” Salma asked. “Or just eat normal food and sleep in an actually comfortable bed?”
Now Erika couldn’t contain herself—she turned to Salma, a smile taking over her face.
“This is so crazy. I’m going to this house that’s famous where I live, in the DC suburbs? The decorations are beyond ridiculous, like Christmas threw up all over it and then some. The cops have to direct traffic because so many people drive by to see it. I’ve never been inside, but my best friend got us an invite.”
“That sounds amazing.”
The garbage bag was shut tight now, and Erika was swinging it back and forth.
“Do you want to hear my deepest, darkest secret?”
“Oh god, yes,” Salma said.
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
“So ready.”
“I fucking love Christmas. Every tacky thing about it.”
Salma was laughing again, really laughing, and Erika loved that feeling, of cracking somebody up.
Salma cleared her throat. “Well, anyway. Sorry if it was weird, what I said before—I just wanted to say it. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“It wasn’t weird. It was . . . thanks. For saying it. And yeah, I’ll see you around.”
As Erika watched her retreat down the hallway, her heart was beating fast. How many people were there in the world who were meant to be your friends, your real friends? It was the kind of math problem that she did during those darkest hours when she couldn’t sleep. Marissa, divided by four hundred people in her high school class . . .
Maybe it would be better if she stayed at St. B’s tonight. Erika imagined calling down the hall to Salma, and started to think she might actually do it.
But no. She was too exhausted and too desperate to be free of this place. Besides, she’d finally stopped stressing about not having much fun here. Instead, she’d made a comfortable little nest out of the idea that bulletin boards and lit classes were going to be the extent of her college experience.
Hanging out with Salma would mean flying out of that sad but safe space—right now that wasn’t an option.
10
Tucker
Frank held up a shoulder wrap made of soft, real fur, the tail still intact, the kind of thing that women wore in black-and-white movies. He looked at Tucker expectantly.
“Is this hideous enough? It’s pretty hideous, but I’m not sure it’s the best I can do.”
“Is that real?” Tucker asked. “How much does it cost?”
Frank poked around until he found the price tag and cursed softly, quickly hanging the wrap back up. For as long as he’d been with Janet, the two of them had a strict gag-gifts-only policy, which explained why the house was full of things like a director’s cut DVD of Sharknado, a kitchen tool that only cut bananas, and a now-wildly-out-of-control Bernie Sanders Chia pet.
But right now, Frank stood there—trim and bald and wearing his wire-rimmed glasses—looking absolutely hopeless.
“Okay, that’s way too expensive for a joke. I’m striking out here.”
Tonight, Frank, Janet, and Tucker were all going out for sushi, but they’d decided to make a quick stop at the mall, so that Frank and Janet could get their “shopping” out of the way. Frank had wanted Tucker to come with him, had been sort of insistent, so here they were. As Tucker was wondering how long this was going to take, a familiar-looking woman appeared next to them and gave a little yelp.
“Dr. Blume! Hi! Oh my goodness, it’s so nice to see you. I just hung Sarah’s senior portrait over the mantel, and I was totally thinking of you, when I was looking at her pretty, perfect teeth!”
As Frank was saying thank you, telling her how lovely that was to hear, the woman’s eyes flicked over to Tucker. She had a moment of confusion before she started laughing.
“Oh my god,” she said, reaching out to squeeze Tucker’s arm. “He worked at your office this summer, right? For a second, I couldn’t figure out why he was shopping with you. I had no idea he was your son!”
“Oh, um—yeah. Yes. That’s right.”
The woman was shifting her bags around on her shoulder now, talking about how Tucker must take after his mom. When she started asking about when to bring in her younger daughter, Tucker took the opportunity to walk quietly away. He texted Bobby to make sure he was coming tonight, asked if he was going to bring his girlfriend, Skylar. Tucker kind of hoped that he wouldn’t, because he and Bobby hadn’t been to a party together in a while, and he wanted to have fun with him without feeling like a third wheel.
Tucker wandered aimlessly among the hats and gloves and scarves, and a minute later Frank caught up to him. The two of them hovered in front of a rack of NFL ski caps, and Frank gave it a spin but didn’t seem to be actually looking at them.
“Do you need to shop for anybody?” Frank asked. “Do you, uh, need anything for Ray?”
Tucker went still at the mention of his father’s name, because th
at was the last thing he’d expected Frank to say. Frank tried to give him his space, to stay out of his business when he could.
“Ray’s not really the gift-giving type,” Tucker finally said.
Frank moved on to a rack of gloves, continuing to pick up and examine things he had absolutely no interest in.
“Listen. I don’t agree with your mom, that you should have to see Ray every week. She knows that, and I know it’s not really my call, but . . . If it’s not working, you should talk to her, and maybe I can talk to her, too, if you need me to.”
Was that what this whole trip was about? Frank checking up on him? Tucker had been lying to his mom for months now, telling her their weekly dinners were fine. Apparently those lies were pretty transparent, but whatever. The less he thought about his dad, the better. One hour, once a week. People endured worse.
Tucker was trying to be an adult about it. This is what adults did, right? Ate shit and kept quiet?
“It’s really no big deal,” Tucker said.
Now Frank was the one wandering aimlessly with Tucker following, and they found themselves in the fragrances. Right at Tucker’s eye level were two different kinds of Taylor Swift perfume, and he gave an irritated poke at the shiny boxes. Taylor Swift always made him think of Erika, and because Taylor Swift was everywhere, he was constantly being reminded of that horrible night at Adam’s.
Infinitely worse, of course, was the story he’d seen online about the sexual assault at St. B’s. He’d known the chances of it being Erika were slim, that there were over a thousand girls there. Still, he’d been worried, so he’d asked Nina, who’d asked Marissa, and that was how he knew what he wasn’t supposed to know—that Erika was the one who’d found the girl and called for help.
And now he might run into her tonight.
Earlier today, Nina had mentioned that she’d invited her brother to Ryan’s Christmas party, adding that Erika and Marissa might come, too. And somehow, as mortified as he was about what had happened this summer, part of him wanted to see her again, was dreaming that somehow he could erase what had happened . . .
Just then, the John Lennon Christmas song came blasting out of the store’s speakers, the most irritating thing he could possibly hear right now. Tucker actually loved Christmas music, but not this. It was his mom’s favorite, but he’d never understood the appeal. Christmas was supposed to be about pure happiness—cookies and presents and no school—not some complicated swell of emotion.
Frank cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Listen, I’m sorry that I said yes when she asked if you were my son, and didn’t clarify. I . . . well. I’m sorry. If it bothered you.”
Tucker’s chest felt strange and tight.
“It’s fine. It’s totally fine.”
The words had come out a little blunt, and the two of them were looking anxiously around at the bright lights and the decorations, staring pointlessly at all these things they didn’t need.
One time, right in front of Tucker, someone had asked Janet if she and Frank were going to try to have a baby. Janet had blushed and shaken her head, said that they’d talked about it, but decided no—she was getting a little old for that, and they were happy the way things were.
Had Frank wanted kids with his first wife? Probably he had, but Tucker knew she’d gotten sick and died so young . . .
Those thoughts were entirely too much for Tucker to sort through right now. It was all too big and too sad and too messy. He and Frank were friendly. Neither of them seemed to know how to make this relationship into something more, but that was okay—they were both doing their best, weren’t they? Nine months from now, Tucker would be living in a dorm room anyway.
“Do you have something to wear tonight?” Frank asked. “If you wanted to get something new . . .”
“No, no. I’m going to wear the suit you got me for the wedding.”
Tucker loved that suit—he knew he looked good in it, and it made him feel grown-up. Besides seeing Erika, the main reason that he wanted to go to the party tonight was because he wanted an excuse to wear it. He tried to think of a way to say that out loud, but it seemed so silly.
Instead, he told Frank he was going to go look around on his own.
11
Erika
“The Mariah Carey song. It has to be the Mariah Carey song. This isn’t even a discussion.”
“That’s the best pop Christmas song. Your heathen ways make it impossible for you to know the actual answer, which is ‘O Holy Night.’”
“Oh my god, it’s not like I haven’t heard that song. Everyone’s heard that song. But the Mariah Carey song makes you feel infinitely hopeful and happy—you know, for three whole minutes. That is the pinnacle of a Christmas song.”
“Again, your heathen ways fail you. ‘O Holy Night’ briefly convinces you that you’re going to be pious for the rest of your life. That’s real power.”
“I like ‘Blue Christmas.’”
Erika had stopped at an intersection, and she and Marissa turned around at the same time, staring into the back seat at Marco.
He sipped on his coffee and didn’t look up from his phone.
“The Elvis song?” Erika asked.
“Yeah. That’s my favorite.”
The girls looked at each other and then turned their disgusted gazes to Marco again.
“You are epically weird,” Marissa said. “So, so weird. How have I slept with you? How are we even a thing?”
Marco shrugged and started humming “Blue Christmas” under his breath while the girls kept arguing.
“Okay, let’s please forget Elvis for a second and focus on the real problem,” Marissa said. “That Mariah Carey song is contorting Christmas so that it’s all about falling in love.”
“So what?” Erika asked. “Lots of Christmas songs do that.”
“BUT THAT’S NOT COOL. This is a Jesus-centric holiday, or it’s supposed to be. Christmas songs about your baby coming home are just a capitalist ploy to make people get googly-eyed and buy diamonds or whatever. Our songs have nothing in common. Nothing!”
Erika was laughing now, trying not to spill her gingerbread latte.
“I don’t really think it’s that different,” Marco said. He finally put his phone away, and leaned forward, his head between the two front seats. “Believing in God, believing in love. Or wanting to. Either way, you’re putting your faith in the idea that life is ultimately beautiful. That it makes sense.”
He kissed Marissa on her cheek, and she rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep from smiling.
“Georgetown has made you hopelessly pretentious, but okay, I’ll buy that,” she said. “Actually, I like it because it means E and I aren’t that different. I’m fighting to believe in God, and she’s fighting to believe in love, and we just need our own personal anthems to get us there.”
Marissa was about to turn the music back on, but Erika reached out to stop her.
“Whoa, whoa. You’ve got it all wrong. I love those songs, but I know that they’re a trick. They make us buy into the magic for three minutes or whatever. And that’s fine, I’ll take the rush, but I’m not trying to believe.”
Marissa sucked in her breath and frowned at her friend.
“So Christmas is your version of drugs?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“So young and yet so cynical,” Marissa said with an annoyed huff.
Erika rolled her eyes and turned up the music.
Every inch of the mansion, every branch of every tree in the yard, was twinkling. An army of inflatable nutcrackers was coming in from the left side, while a ten-foot-tall Santa and a snow globe the size of a small car loomed over on the right. Up on the roof, a pack of reindeer pulled an enormous sleigh full of toys while the Grinch hung from the chimney. At the end of the impossibly long driveway, there was a pack of carolers dressed like they were from a Dickens novel. Next to them, children were acting out the nativity with live animals.
Marissa shook her
head in wonder. “Holy fucking Christmas, Batman.”
Erika elbowed her, indicating the children that were a few feet away. “Shhh. You’re corrupting the young people.”
“Oh, please. They spend half their days on YouTube. They’ve heard much worse.”
“You were totally Mary in one of these things, right?”
“Me? No. I have Mary Magdalene hair, not Virgin Mary hair! I was always the donkey.”
Erika patted her arm. “You’re my special donkey.”
For a couple minutes, they walked around the yard and gawked, and then they shed their coats and took photos of one another in their party clothes. As Erika and Marissa posed together, they congratulated themselves on how their outfits were perfect. Erika was in a red velvet shift with candy cane tights and black boots, Marissa in a green sweater dress covered with Christmas pins that belonged to her Catholic schoolteacher mother. Erika had been a little embarrassed, going out like this—she hadn’t worn anything this flashy in ages—but now she was glad that she’d let Marissa talk her into it.
“This has to be the biggest house I’ve ever been to. Explain to me again how we were invited?” Erika asked.
Marissa’s eyes drifted a bit. “So, here’s the thing . . .”
“Oh my god. Are we not actually invited?”
“Oh, we are very invited. Nina is on the debate team with Ryan, who lives inside this glorious monstrosity, and the two of them are total besties. He knows we’re coming.”
“Okay . . .”
“Just the smallest of side notes: Tucker seems to have joined the debate team this year, and he’s maybe, probably, definitely going to be here.”
Erika groaned. There was a name that she had absolutely no interest in hearing again. But so what? That whole thing this summer had been stupid from the start—she’d been in the wrong state of mind, thinking that one night was going to change anything.
“Whatever,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I’m here for Santa and champagne and cookies. And did you not see the size of this place? We could be here all night and not even see him.”
Marissa gave her a smile that turned into gritted teeth, as she focused on something over Erika’s shoulder.
Our Year in Love and Parties Page 6