The 8 Mistakes of Amy Maxwell

by Heather Balog

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she shouts, fury evident in her voice.

  “But I have something to say to you,” I counter. “Just let me come in.”

  “Why don’t you go fuck off?” she screeches, voice raising several octaves.

  I suck in my breath, knowing she is just trying to challenge me with her foul language. She’s hoping it gets a rise out of me and I end up forgetting why I came upstairs in the first place. Why did I come upstairs in the first place? Oh yeah, to apologize. Don’t lose sight of your purpose, I remind myself. Don’t flip out over the cursing. It’s just words.

  “Listen, Al. why don’t you come downstairs and we can have some cake? I saved the chocolate pieces. I hid them from your father and sister, but I’ll share it with you if you come downstairs,” I try to tempt her with her favorite thing ever. Chocolate. I know she can’t resist it. She’s discovered my hidden chocolate stash more times than I can count. Every time I get a spot that I am certain she will never be able to find, I discover nothing but empty wrappers the next time I need a chocolate fix. I am seriously considering taping the bars to the inside of the toilet bowl tank.

  Instead of a joyful teen, thrilled at the mention of chocolate, I am met by the blaring of Allie’s stereo. It is some combination of rap and screaming metal. What the hell happened to Katy Perry and Taylor Swift? I wonder as I turn and stomp back down the stairs having my own little hissy fit.

  ~FOUR~

  “Mrs. Maxwell?” The FBI agent flashes her badge at me when I open the door. Another female agent in a drab tweed pantsuit stands behind her. They both have FBI agent sunglasses on and look very official.

  I clutch my chest, not knowing what the FBI is doing at my house. “Can I help you?” I ask timidly, wracking my brain to remember what I might have done that was illegal. I think maybe I ran the red light camera on Route 1 recently, but I highly doubt they would send the FBI to my door for that, would they? Unless, those unpaid parking tickets from my “college” days were finally catching up with me. I begin to twirl my hair nervously. Should I run? Where will I go? How will I live? What will I eat? I don’t think I’m cut out for life on the lam.

  “Can we come in?” the FBI woman asks. “I assure you, you’ve done nothing wrong.” She smiles at me with a tight official agent smile. I wonder if that’s what she tells everyone so they don’t run. I continue to panic anyway while put on a relaxed face.

  “Why, of course! Come on in!” I step back, allowing the two women into the house while keeping my eyes peeled for escape routes as I lead them to the kitchen.

  “Would you like iced tea?” I inquire politely. “I also have lemonade if you’d prefer.”

  Both women wave their hands to dismiss the suggestion. “No, thank you,” says the one who showed me her badge. Then she sighs heavily as both agents sit at the table. “Mrs. Maxwell, is your husband available?”

  I shake my head. “No, Roger is at work. Is he in trouble?” I immediately begin to sweat.

  The first agent shakes her head. “No. He’s not in trouble.”

  “Did…did something happen, then? Is he…dead?” A vision of Roger being crushed by a swarm of angry high school students pops into my head for some reason.

  The agents both shake their heads. “No. Roger is fine.”

  I don’t understand. “Well, then, what’s wrong?”

  The second agent takes my hand. “We are here to give you some distressing news.” She pats my hand gently, in a grandmotherly fashion. “Nearly fourteen years ago, your baby was switched at birth. Allie is not your real daughter.”

  She waves towards the living room and amazingly, a beautiful, smiling teenage girl enters the kitchen. Her dark silky hair hangs at her waist, a stark contrast to her sapphire blue sequined evening gown. She is holding a violin with one hand and a soft calico kitten under the other arm.

  “This is Agnes,” the agent informs me. “She is your real daughter. She plays for the New York Philharmonic even though she is only thirteen. She is also so bright that she is in college already, studying veterinary medicine because she loves animals.”

  I leap to my feet and clasp the beautiful child to my chest. “How wonderful! She must take after my side of the family!”

  “Yes,” the agent remarks. “And she never gets in trouble. She doesn’t curse, smoke or hang out with bad influences. In fact, she’s never even talked back in her life! You don’t have to worry about her getting into trouble in high school because she finished that years ago! She will be nothing but a help to you. We are very sorry for the confusion this may have caused.”

  I pull back and beam at my new daughter. The spitting image of me and brilliant to boot! Just what I’ve always wanted!

  “We must go and tell the family!” I exclaim as I take her hand in mine.

  “What would you like us to do with the other one?” the first agent asks.

  “Oh, I don’t know…” I answer with a worried expression. “What will happen to her if I have you take her away?”

  “She’ll go to reform school,” the agent tells me. “And we will find her a suitable family.”

  “That’s probably best,” I tell the agent. “After all, she isn’t my child. I don’t think any of them are my children, to be honest with you…”

  Roger’s irritating throat clearing brings me back to reality. I am in bed, rubbing lotion on my dry and calloused feet. I begin lamenting to Roger about the day’s painful events.

  “I don’t understand what sets her off, Roger. She was laughing with us one minute and then the next minute she’s in tears. I swear to God I’m going to make her wear a mood ring around her forehead.” I sigh as I squeeze more lotion out into my palms. “Or at least her neck. Damn it, I’m her mother. I should be able to figure this out. There must be something wrong with her.”

  I smooth the greasy lotion over my shoulders and rub it in. I must have gotten burnt because my skin is sore to the touch. Of course you got burnt. You put sunblock on everyone else and forgot yourself as usual, bonehead.

  I stand up and stroll over to the mirror to examine my shoulders, craning my neck to get a view of my back. Yup, just as I suspected. My shoulders are a painful shade in between red and purple.

  Of course, nobody thought to remind me to take care of myself. I watched my mother smooth sunblock on to Joey’s exposed shoulders, despite Joey’s protests. Did she say, “Amy, come here and let me sunblock your shoulders before they get burnt”? No, of course not. She was too busy dividing her time between kissing both of my sisters’ asses.

  After my blunder in the living room, my mother ignored me for the rest of the evening. She refused to even say goodbye to me as I dragged the garbage to the curb when she was leaving. I kissed my father on the cheek and Mom swept past me like I was some scullery maid and she was frickin’ Duchess Kate.

  “Ugh, and my mother,” I comment as I scoot down under the covers next to Roger. He is peering at the iPad, trying to kill pigs with flying birds. “She’s acting like a spoiled child, too. I mean, I can’t even make a little joke? Seriously? Everyone in the family makes jokes at my expense. I don’t give them the silent treatment and carry on like a two year old.”

  “Um, hmm,” Roger replies as he pokes at the screen with his index finger.

  “I felt like I was in the middle of a hormonal tornado. I thought my mother was done with the changes. Apparently there is some five year lag with the hormonal effects…” My voice wanders off as I realize that Roger is paying more attention to his tablet than what I am saying. “Roger? Are you even listening to me?”

  “Uh, huh,” Roger mutters as he flips the tablet to change the screen orientation.

  “What did I say then?” I challenge as I rub lotion on my cheeks.

  “Hormones and the weather,” Roger mumbles while scratching his head as if he can’t quite figure out the iPad. He is severely technologically challenged so there is a good chance the tablet is intellectually defeating him. Colt h
ad to program the DVR for him last week.

  “You don’t even listen!” I wail, knocking the iPad out of his hand and covering my head with the comforter.

  “I’m playing a game! I was just about to beat that level!” Roger whines.

  I am incensed by his selfishness. Sulking, I remain underneath the covers until Roger realizes I am not speaking to him. Which feels like a decade when you are smothering yourself with heavy fabric.

  “Amy?” he finally asks cautiously.

  I ignore him, dramatically burrowing my head underneath my pillow.

  “Oh come on, Aim! I’m sorry,” Roger apologizes as he tugs at the blanket. He manages to uncover my burnt back and leans over, kissing the tops of my shoulders. “I know what will cheer you up.”

  “Ouch!” I yelp, yanking the pillow off my head and throwing the covers aside. “That hurts!” I glower at him.

  Roger frowns. “Is it that time of the month again?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “No, it most certainly is not,” I snap angrily, despite the fact that yes, it actually is. But that has nothing to do with why I am angry. Nothing at all.

  Pulling the covers up to my chin, I offer him a terse, “Good night.”

  “Amy, don’t be mad,” Roger pleads. “Come on. It’s been a long day. You did a great job with the birthday party…the kids had fun.” As he edges towards me, he adds, “Maybe it’s time the adults had fun, too.” He attempts to stroke my cheek but I pull away.

  “No, thank you. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” I roll onto my side, hoping to illustrate my unavailability to my tiresome husband.

  “It’s only 10:00!” Roger exclaims. “How can you be tired already?”

  Unable to control myself, I bolt upright. “I know what time it is, Roger. I’ve been up since the butt crack of dawn getting ready for the party. Not to mention, I’ve been busting my ass all week to make this party perfect for our child. What did you do? Hand out beers to your buddies?”

  “I mowed the lawn,” Roger replies indignantly.

  “Big frigging whoop,” I retort as I flop back down on the pillow. Perhaps a tad bit histrionically.

  “Hey, no one told you to have this big party. The kid’s 6 years old. Do you think he really cares?”

  “Of course he cares!” I bellow. “All kids care!”

  “Oh, please,” Roger snorts. “I never had a birthday party and I never cared.”

  “Maybe that’s what’s wrong with you,” I snap at him. “You’re a thoughtless boob because you didn’t have any birthday parties as a child.”

  “I highly doubt not having a birthday party as a child screwed me up. And besides, my mother had more to worry about than loot bags and sheet cakes,” Roger points out, making me feel guilty.

  Roger’s parents got divorced when he was only six years old. He and his sister hardly ever saw their dad after he remarried some woman half his age with a baby (the guy I dated way back when). Their mother ended up working several jobs just to support them, so he didn’t really see her either. She was a good, hardworking woman, but she never had time or money for those extra “mom” touches like birthday parties. She died at a young age, 47; burnt out and overworked. I never even met her.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. I couldn’t say anything right today.

  Roger places the iPad on the nightstand and gives me a half-hearted shrug. “Not a big deal.”

  The earlier events of the day are tugging at the corners of my subconscious and I decide to feel out Roger’s thoughts on the matter.

  “Hey, Roger, did you know that Mary and Walter had a grandson living with them?”

  Roger appears genuinely confused. “Who are Mary and Walter?”

  I roll my eyes just like my daughter does. “Our neighbors, Roger. Across the street?”

  A flicker of recognition crosses my husband’s face. “The old people?”

  Sighing with annoyance at his insensitivity, I reply, “Yes, our elderly neighbors.”

  Roger shrugs again. “Nah. Never noticed.” His fingers walk over my back seductively. “So whatdoya say?” Roger says in his best sultry voice. He almost sounds like the Marlboro Man.

  I ignore him. “I just found out that the kid has been living there for two months! Two months! Basically all summer and I never saw him before!”

  Roger wrinkles his brow. “Okay…” I can tell he has no idea where I am going with this.

  I let out an exasperated sigh and blow a piece of my bangs out of my face. “Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

  Again with the shrug. “Whatever. Maybe he’s shy.”

  “That’s the thing, Roger. Mary claims that he is autistic. I suppose it’s possible, but he ended up in our yard somehow today playing with Colt.”

  “Well that’s okay isn’t it? Colt needs friends, right?” Roger asked, completely perplexed at my thought process.

  “He’s fourteen, Roger!” I glare at him. Really, he should understand my concerns here. Why do I have to spell everything out for this man?

  “Oh. Well that’s strange. What a weirdo,” Roger remarks.

  “He’s autistic. Don’t be insensitive,” I admonish.

  Roger scratches his head at this point. “That’s a problem?”

  “No! That’s not the problem. That’s the reason why he’s fourteen and he’s playing with a six year old.”

  “Oh. So there is no problem then?” Roger frowns.

  “Oh, forget it!” I scoff.

  Roger shakes his head. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be saying here.”

  I am sitting up now. “You don’t think it’s strange that a kid we never met shows up in our backyard and his grandmother claims he’s been living with her for months? Where’s he been hiding all this time? Better yet, why has he been hiding?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like the sun?” Roger suggests, eyes growing wide as I hop out of the bed.

  “And you don’t find it equally odd that Beth mentioned a neighborhood drug ring today?”

  Roger crinkles his eyes. He is thinking really hard. “Um…what does Beth have to do with any of this?” He’s obviously not following my train of thought.

  I shake my head and climb back into bed. “No, forget about Beth. It’s not about her. She just mentioned that there’s been a lot of news coverage about drugs on the rise-”

  Roger rolls his eyes. “Of course there’s been coverage about drugs! School starts this week. Every year the news stations roll out their ‘exposes’ on drug use among teens.” He actually uses air quotes.

  I fold my knee underneath my body and corner him with my eyes. “So don’t you think we should be concerned?”

  “You think this kid is doing drugs?” Roger asks incredulously.

  I shake my head. “I did at first because he acted strange but Mary explained about his disability. I just…I don’t know. I guess I’m just on the lookout for things that don’t add up. This drug ring thing just got me nervous.”

  Roger waves his hand in front of his face and arches his eyebrows. “It’s nothing to get all worked up about. There’s always drugs in the schools no matter how hard we crack down on it-”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better, Roger! I’m concerned about our teenager! I think you should be, too!” I yelp.

  He smiles at me in his I’m older and wiser than you patronizing manner. He’s going to speak to me like I’m one of the parents at school. “I understand your concerns. I’m just saying that you shouldn’t let the news coverage upset you. We’ve taught Allie well. She knows better than to get involved with drugs. I’m at the school. I am the principal, you know. Besides, there’s worse things to worry about at the high school level. Like boys.” He frowns, knitting his overgrown brows together.

  “Oh thanks, Roger. That makes me feel so much better.”

  “I’m just pointing out that there is no reason to suspect Allie of unscrupulous behavior,” Roger reasons with me.

  “She’s been so distant and stra
nge the past few months,” I point out.

  “Please, that’s normal teenage behavior, Amy. Trust me on this one. I work with the little cretins every day.”

  I slump down under the covers. “It just makes me nervous, that’s all.”

  “Amy…stop,” Roger pleads. “I think your imagination is just running overtime right now.” In all seriousness he adds, “I think I know what you need.”

  I glare at him because I’m pretty sure I know what’s next. “Oh, really now?”

  Sure enough he waggles his eyebrows at me as he inches his fingers up my pajama shorts. “Why don’t you just relax and-”

  I slap his hand away. “Ha. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to have sex with you,” I tell him as I glare at him.

  “Awww come on, Aim! It’s been like two weeks,” Roger whines.

  “Good night, Roger,” I grumble once again as I flip over on my side. I am silent for a moment, wondering if he will try to molest me again or at least say goodnight. But as I hear the soft snores come from the other side of the bed, I realize that Roger is already asleep, leaving me alone to worry about my baby girl, the new kid on the block, and why his grandmother had not mentioned him before.

  ~FIVE~

  “Allie?” The next day, I find myself gently tapping on my daughter’s bedroom door. It is almost 10:30 on Sunday morning and she has not yet emerged from her room cocoon. My knocking is met by the sound of Allie’s stereo being turned on. I immediately feel the floor shaking under my feet.

  Oh good. She’s awake.

  “Allie?” I call out once more. “Hey, Allie? Do you want to come to the mall with me?” My question is answered by the stereo being cranked higher, if that’s even human possibly.

  Sipping my coffee this morning, I scoured the paper, looking for an article on Beth’s infamous drug ring. I didn’t find exactly what I was looking for, but my heart nearly leapt out of my chest when my eyes fell on an article entitled, “Drug Use Amongst High School Students on the Rise”.

  Despite Roger’s assurance that we had nothing to worry about, I couldn’t help thinking that something was not right with Allie. And I wanted to ease my fears by getting her to talk.