Training Harry

by Meghan Namaste

  As she drove, my mother chattered obliviously about the usual topics. Her friends. Their kids. Fashion. Sales. I stared bleakly through the windshield, bobbing my head to her verbal barrage.

  In less than half an hour we rolled onto the huge parking lot speckled with cars. My mother’s little Porsche slid into a parking space near the entrance. The mall loomed above me, beige and soulless, stretching into oblivion. I released my seat belt and opened the door. My mother strode ahead of me, seeming to bounce over the paved ground. I followed behind with the enthusiasm of a convict heading into solitary.

  I reached the heavy door and yanked it open, struggling to keep up with my mother and her happy-shopper speed walk. She darted in and out of stores, examining new arrivals and greeting friends. I trailed behind, dazed and dreary under the blinding, soul-sucking fluorescents.

  Eventually she settled into her favorite store, the supposedly trendy, yet seriously dull Waiffe’s. She quickly accumulated an armload of clothes and claimed a fitting room. I loitered awkwardly by the mirrors, trying not to look at myself.

  I tried my best to provide fashion commentary whenever she emerged with a new potential outfit, although I was severely out of my element. She seemed pleased, and I began to consider the possibility that I might escape without having to endure severe mental agony. It was a silly hope, given how I knew my mother. This was not my first trip to the mall.

  She soon had several new outfits coordinated. She might have been satisfied with that if she were self-absorbed, and she was, up to a point. But the fact remained that my mother was deeply, single-mindedly obsessed with someone else.

  Me.

  My mother glanced up from the neat pile of clothes. A smile stretched across her face.

  The panic started to set in. “Isn’t it great that you found so much great stuff? You must be so excited to show your friends!” I said brightly in hopes that she would want to rush home to plan an outing with Marjorie and the gang.

  She nodded slowly. She was getting that look of deep concentration. “Yes…but we still need to find something for you to wear.”

  “Of course we do,” I said bitterly.

  My mother led me into the rows of clothing, pulling out little mod dresses and flouncy skirts and exclaiming over them. She always did her best to balance out my sullen, foot-dragging lack of enthusiasm.

  “Look at this!” She was saying as she shook a highlighter-pink minidress at me. “This is so cute.”

  “It’s not really my style, Mom,” I mumbled.

  She cast her disapproving look over me. “And you wonder why you don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Mom! I work with horses. If I have to live in a dress and heels to attract guys, then I’m sorry, but I’d rather be single.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t need to live in a dress, for goodness’ sake. Why do you always have to twist my words like that? All I’m saying is, you should make an effort to look nice when you go out.”

  “When do I go out, Mom?”

  “Well, there you go.” She gave me a knowing look. “Now, how about this periwinkle taffeta skirt? You like blue, don’t you?”

  I went along with her, staring at all the revolting clothes. I can’t believe this place is still in business. Who’s buying this crap, other than my mother? I knew I needed to try something on, but nothing looked even sort of okay. After I shot down all the dresses, my mother wisely moved on to shirts. “How about this champagne blouse?”

  “I told you, I’m not wearing anything with big ruffles or bows. Or both, in this case.”

  Eventually she picked up a shiny dark blue top with big zipper down the front. It wasn’t bad. I couldn’t believe it. “I’ll try that on,” I said. “If it comes in my size.” The example she was holding was like a minus three.

  “Oh, they have plus sizes in the back,” she said cheerfully.

  A glare settled onto my face. “I’m a 10, Mom. It’s not really a plus size.”

  She looked me up and down. “If you’re a 10, it’s probably vanity sizing, honey.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said passively. “I’m gonna go get that shirt now.” I walked away. Plus sizes in the back. Vanity sizing. And she can’t figure out why I hate this.

  I picked up a shirt from the hidden, not fit to be seen plus sizes (5 through 12) in the back of the store and slunk into the fitting room, where I quickly stripped off my worn, comfortable shirt and pulled the fancy Waiffe’s shirt over my head. I stuck my arms through the sleeves and glanced in the mirror, prepared for a visual trauma. But it was actually a nice shirt. I liked the color, it fit me alright, and the fabric didn’t allow the considerable hardware on my bra to show through. The zipper was a little weird, and extraneous, but I didn’t really mind. I’d found my required buy. And I might actually wear it sometime.

  I stepped out of the fitting room, and found my mother anxiously waiting. “I like this,” I said. “I’ll buy it.”

  She smiled wide and bounced in place a little. I let her buy the shirt for me (I sure as hell didn’t have $47 to drop on a freaking shirt). The car clock revealed that a good chunk of my day was shot, but I hadn’t lost the entire day. As far as shopping trips go, that was a win.

  Lawrence

  Amber was all over my house, still. She’d left all her stuff where it had settled. Various leafy greens were in the fridge next to a half-eaten cheesecake. The few pies that remained were still in there too.

  She must’ve come back sometime in the middle of the night for her Lady Gaga CD, because when I woke up in the morning, it was gone along with the headphones and CD player. I had no idea where she was. I kept calling her, but her phone was always off. For two days I moved around on autopilot. I hid from myself.

  At around the fiftieth hour, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I burst through the door, keys in hand. My truck rattled to life, and I took off down the road, swerving Mandy’s chickens. Where the fuck am I going? I wondered in a desperate haze. She could be anywhere. As I got to the end of the road, I took a hard right. I had one instinct, and I went with it. There was nothing else I could do.

  Even if I actually managed to find Amber, I had no idea what to say to her. I was afraid I had totally destroyed us. Amber was not forgiving, and I knew I’d crossed a major line. I couldn’t even tell her the reason why, because then I would have to think about the reason why. I realized I had the emotional maturity of that Maggie kid. Hell, she probably had me beat.

  I turned into the LPC drive, hating myself, sick to my very soul with worry and despair. In a mere second I saw the Harley parked alongside someone’s Ferrari. I felt like my heart had blown up in my chest. I shut down my truck, threw the keys on the passenger seat and went straight into Wilson’s office without knocking. He looked more than startled. “Cavanaugh. What the hell…”

  “Wilson.” I could barely speak. “Where is Amber? I know she’s here.”

  Wilson stared daggers at me. He stood up wordlessly and left the room. I followed him down the hall. He stopped in front of my old room, raised his hand and knocked three times on the door. Then he opened it. I took in a sharp breath. Amber was lying on my former bed, quietly bobbing her head to her music. “Poker Face” spilled from the headphones.

  She stared up at me, and I saw a whole slew of emotions flicker across her face. Then she snapped into her defensive posture. She hit the stop button on her disc player and ripped off her headphones. “What the hell do you want?”

  Beside me, Wilson slipped away. I looked shakily at Amber. “Walk with me. Please.”

  “Why should I?”

  I felt my throat closing up. “You shouldn’t. Amber…I don’t know. I just need to talk to you. I have…things I need to say.”

  She didn’t respond for a while. Her face was unreadable. “Sit down, then,” she finally said.

  I sat down heavily on the bed. I couldn’t stop the rush of memories. The last time we were in this room together. The closeness. The
sweet entanglement. We were so different now.

  “Go on,” Amber said stiffly. “Talk.”

  I didn’t try to think. I would’ve gotten stuck in my own tangled thoughts. I just went. “Amber, I am so sorry. I’ve been such an asshole. No, that’s not good enough. I don’t even have a word for how I’ve been.”

  “I might have one,” Amber said, her voice low.

  I laughed weakly. “I’m sure you do.”

  I heard her exhale. “Are you done here?”

  My shoulders sagged. “I want you to come home, Amber.” I knew even as I said the words that it would be a hard sell.

  Amber swung her head around to look at me full-on. She was all hard-faced. “Why?” She demanded. “The way I see it, I’m just in your way.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not true. Amber, I love you. Not that way,” I quickly added as she recoiled. “You’re my best friend. And I’ve been a terrible friend lately. I know that. I just hope you’ll come back.”

  Amber’s hand whipped through her hair. Her other hand gripped the mattress hard. “So you want me to come back. Just like that.” She shook her head. “You can’t fucking hit rewind.”

  “I know I can’t. But I’ll do better, from now on. I won’t lose it again, Amber. It just won’t happen.”

  “How can I trust you? You’re not the guy I know. You’re the worst parts of the guy I know.”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. I stood up shakily. “You should do what you need to do, Amber. If you need to stay away from me, do it. If you decide to come back, my door’s always open for you.”

  I walked away. Past Wilson, and Mary, who’d randomly shown up. I got in my truck and drove home slowly, with the radio off. I threw my nervous energy into cleaning every piece of tack I had, because that was more productive than just listening for the Harley.

  When I finally heard it, I was sure it was just some wishful hallucination on my part. I glanced up from Eloise’s disassembled bridle to see the Harley coast into the yard. My heart skittered to life. I had to work to stay in my chair as she walked in the door.

  Amber’s eyes skimmed over me. She was guarded. Her facial expression swung between unease and disgust.

  “I’m just here because I have nowhere else to go,” Amber stated flatly.

  “Okay.” I wasn’t about to argue. She was here.

  “It’s not like I can impose on Wilson any longer. He was not thrilled when I showed up. I think he’s still pissed off that I quit in the middle of the season to work for Clint. Even though you were able to cover for me just fine.”

  p class="para" >“In the middle of the season. When I should have been practicing.” I had no idea why I’d said that. “Whatever.” Amber went for the fridge. Out the corner of my I watched her prepare some sort of salad with a generous side of pie. I started to feel a little sick, but I kept my opinions to myself.

  A smooth, well-built engine hummed in my ear. I glanced up to see a stretch of midnight blue sparkling in the sunlight. Amber’s head turned sharply. Her mouth fell open. “No fuckin’ way.”

  I got up out of my chair. A Corvette door slammed softly. Mary’s silhouette appeared in one of my windows.

  Amber was shaking her head. “They just fall into your lap.”

  “Not always. Occasionally I get to be on top.” I grinned at her.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t be telling jokes that my low brain thought up.” Amber’s eyes fell back to her salad. They withered the leaves on the plate.

  I realized my mistake. “Uh, sorry, Amber.” A light knock on the door cut through the ensuing silence. I went to the door and pulled it open.

  Mary pushed through the open space, plowing into me. In a hot second her mouth was on mine, and she was kissing me madly, just taking me, her hands buried in my hair. I staggered backward from the sheer force of her, until my back found a wall and then I held steady, hands slipping under her blouse, senses overcome by her frantic, writhing body and the rough, heavy sound of her breathing.

  The sound of silverware scraping over a plate.

  I pulled away from Mary, my blurred vision quickly sharpening. Amber hadn’t left her chair. She was eating calmly from her plate like nothing was happening. And now nothing was. Mary had turned, and her eyes were on Amber. I could feel the horror coming off her.

  Amber looked up from her salad. “Hi, Mary,” she said brightly. There was cruel intent on her face.

  My natural assumption was that Mary would bolt. But she didn’t. She stayed. Wow. She must be really horny, low-brain chimed in.

  I struggled for a moment. “Hey, Amber?” I tried to give her a look that approximated what was in my head, which came down to I know I said I love you and you’re my best friend and I wanted you here and all that, which is true, but if you could leave right now and give me like an hour or so that would be fucking AWESOME.

  Amber chuckled. It was weirder than a talking dog. “I just got here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay.” I looked around for an option. Then I went for the door, pulling Mary along with me. “See you later!”

  I was pretty sure she flipped me the bird, but I didn’t look back to check.

  I threw the passenger side door open and sat down. After standing bewildered for a moment, Mary went around the drivers side and got in. She sat there, staring through the windshield in that stiff, panicky way of hers. Then she looked at me. “Where are we going?”

  I hauled my eyes up from the vicinity of her shirt. “I was thinking maybe 50 feet down the road. Make a left turn, ‘cause my neighbor on the right has binoculars, and she will use ‘em.”

  Mary shrank into herself even more. “You expect me to do it in broad daylight? On the side of a road?”

  I shrugged. “You’re the one who drove here. I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  Mary sighed. “I guess we’ll have to go to my place. It’s kind of a drive from here…”

  “Don’t worry about it. The moment’s gonna need restarting anyway.”

  Mary’s apartment was spacious, but the lack of windows closed everything in. The walls were smooth without exception and painted dove grey. There was hardly any furniture. Even the bed felt unused. The whole place struck me as existed in. Not lived in.

  Beside me, Mary slid off the bed, about to run away like she always did. I knew how to not let it bother me, but for some reason I couldn’t get to that easy, blank place in my head. As her body heat lifted off me, my eyes burned in a cold, wet way. “Can’t you stay?” I said stupidly.

  I saw a flicker of fear go across her face, and then she was gone. I felt like crying, and then I felt like punching myself in the face.

  After a while I stood up and put my clothes back on. I walked out of the room and into a little hallway. There was a second bedroom that was completely empty. I went on. The colors never changed. There were no pictures, no landmarks. There was nothing in here. I was disoriented and strangely claustrophobic.

  I found Mary sitting at a big, sleek white table. There was a chair at the other end, and I sat down. Her eyes were averted. We could have been close. We could have been more than this. But she kept herself at a distance. She obviously wanted intimacy, but she withdrew from any possibility of it. I don’t understand you at all, I thought.

  But if I was honest with myself, I could relate.

  Amber

  I lay on the couch, half comatose. They were showing women’s beach volleyball on NBC Sports. Life was good, for the moment. I was kind of glad I had come back, even though I’d lost all respect for myself the minute I walked through the door. Lawrence’s house was no palace, but it was a hell of a lot nicer than that fucking storage room. I can’t believe he actually lived there for five years.

  An unfamiliar vehicle drove up to the house. I craned my neck to get a look. She called him a cab. Crazy chick. I turned back to the action on the TV. This is the best sport ever.

  Lawrence came in the door. I ignored him, giving my full atte
ntion to the girls in bikinis.

  I heard him walk up behind the sofa. “What’re you watching?”

  “CSI: Miami. One of the fans is about to go berserk and stab Misty May. I’m watching beach volleyball, dumb-ass. What does it look like I’m watching?”

  “There’s no reason to be mean, Amber.” He sounded awfully whiny for a guy who’d just gotten laid.

  “I don’t need a reason to be mean. How’d your assignation turn out?” I added, to be nice. He was letting me stay in his house, after all. Even if he was an asshole.

  “I don’t know what that means, but I think I know what you’re talking about. And it turned out just fine, thank you.”

  “Oh, really?” I was curious, in spite of myself. “I didn’t manage to ruin the moment?”

  “You might think the moment was ruined, but you’d be wrong.”

  “Well, I guess I underestimated you,” I said satirically.

  The game went to commercial. I hit the mute button. Commercials were generally more entertaining when the people were just opening and closing their mouths randomly. And I thought of something. I turned around, resting my arms on the back of the couch. “Hey, Lawrence?”

  He broke stride on his straight track to the fridge. “What?”

  “Something just came to me. An epitome, as you would call it.”

  His eyes looked worried. “I don’t think I want to hear this.”

  “You know what you’re doing?”

  “I thought we just established that.” He grinned loosely.

  I retained my focus. “Some people eat their feelings, some people drink or drug their feelings, some people - gasp - actually deal with their feelings. Shocking, I know.”

  “Okay…” He stared at me blankly.

  “You know what you do? You screw your feelings.”

  “I really don’t think that’s what I’m doing.” He looked away when he said it.

  My game came back on and I restored the sound.

  I heard his footsteps gaining on the back of my head. “Why does there have to be a reason? Why does everything have to be all profound and shit? What if I’m just a horny teenager?”