by Marilyn Grey
It reminded me of Alistair. Mr. Anonymous. Who I looked up again only ten minutes before coming into the kitchen. American tour coming up. This summer. Cities and dates to be posted soon.
Yes, I considered it.
No, I wouldn't be a stalker.
But with Donovan head over heels—for now—and Autumn going away to college in September my life was beginning to err on the side of loneliness and while I'm totally fine with being alone, I'm not fine with loneliness. Any perceived negative emotion with a ness on the end didn't settle well with me and I have no idea why. Sadness seemed worse than sad. Sad is like ... definitive. Hey, here I am, I'm sad. But sadness ... doesn't that sound so tragic?
"What are you thinking about?" Mom laughed. "You looked pretty entranced."
"Oh, nothing." I took the warm mug from her hands and held it to my chest. Ahhhhh. I did actually enjoy my cuppa. "Just realizing I have something against nouns, but not adjectives."
She smiled. "You've always had an interesting mind. You were never the kid to ask why the sky is blue, instead you told me your own theory with quite a bit of persistence."
"Do you remember what I said?"
"Of course." She tilted her head back as she remembered. "You told me that God ran out of silver paint, because if he had silver he definitely wouldn't have chosen blue."
I laughed. "Of course not. I mean, who would want a blue sky when you could have silver?"
"How does it feel to be done high school?"
"Normal."
I was hoping she'd ask me what I wanted to do so that I didn't have to bring it up.
She sipped her tea, then stood and served us both an amazingly thick chunk of that amazing bread she perfected in a way no one else ever had. I devoured it a little too fast and desperately wanted to eat the entire loaf, but I controlled myself and finished my tea instead.
"Has Donovan decided what he's doing yet?"
"Getting married, I guess." I swirled my finger in the bottom of my cup and licked the milky sugar off of it.
"Really? I didn't know he had a girlfriend."
"Donovan? Girls practically wait in line for him, Mom. He's oh so swoon worthy."
"But you don't swoon over him?"
"No." I laughed. "And somehow no one ever believes me when I say that. He's not perfect. Those girls just don't see the other sides of him. Like how he farts when he laughs and always clanks the spoon on his teeth when he eats cereal."
She smiled. "You sure you won't marry him?"
If only she knew about Alistair Anonymous, these Donovan conversations would end. "You just say that because he's the only male species I've ever allowed into my heart."
"Precisely." That accent. Man. So weird.
I wonder what Alistair would think of my parents doing their English accent week.
Why? I reprimanded myself. Why do you do it to yourself? Just stop with the Alistair thing.
"You can have a totally platonic friendship with someone of the opposite sex, you know," I said. "Doesn't need to turn into wedding bells."
She squeezed my hand, then stood.
"Mom." Pretty sure that barely escaped my mouth.
She washed the cuppas that held the cuppa.
Deep breaths. Big deep breaths. Fill the lungs, Jane. Fill 'em up. Okay. Last deep breath. Aaaaand ... GO!
"Mom," I said louder.
She turned, but kept her soapy hands over the sink. "Yes?"
Eddie walked in and sniffed the air.
Great.
She wiped her hands and gave him a slice of bread, then put the kettle back on. He moaned and grinned as he bit into the warm deliciousness that I was now reaching for again. Mom moved it away.
"Save some for your dad." She dipped her hands back into the sink. "Now, what were you saying?"
I glanced at Eddie. "Um. Was I saying something?"
She nodded.
"Oh, just that I wanted more bread."
Three days went by and I still didn't tell Mom anything I wanted to tell her and I felt like a complete idiot. I mean, here I was, eighteen. Newly adulted. And ... still acting like a nervous child. In many ways though, I still felt like a kid as much as I hated that I did.
I stared at the calendar above the sewing desk in my room. I was officially three thousand dollars less rich and I'd be moving into my new place in two days.
Two. Days.
Donovan popped up on my phone.
"Hey," I said.
"Tell your mom yet?"
"Nope."
"Really?"
"It just hasn't worked out."
"You need to tell her though. She'll be upset if you don't, you know how emotional she gets."
"I know. I feel bad."
"You've been independent since birth, I think she's expecting it."
"Yeah."
"I have a question."
"Uh oh."
"No. I have a roommate for you. It'll make the rent cheaper. Maybe make it more successful for you and if you ever need a little help I can—"
"It's Zoe, isn't it?"
"I can help with rent a little too if you need it. Just saying it would be a good way for you to spend less money while getting started."
"Donovan."
"She's not a smoker and has no pets."
"Donovan."
"And she is mostly clean, just bad with laundry."
"I'm sure she's great, but I barely know her."
"What better way to start?"
"Why? Why do this to me?"
"Come on."
"You know I'm introverted. I like my space."
"She can respect that."
"You've been together a month or something, right? You probably don't even know her yet. She's just putting out all the good stuff to lure you in, but if I live with her I'll see all the real stuff and I don't want to be the bad guy."
"Please? For me? If it doesn't work out I'll be the bad guy."
I ran down all possible outcomes and scenarios while he breathed into the phone. He let me think, knowing I'd say yes. I couldn't say no to people I loved and he knew that. He used it against me in the nicest way possible.
"I know you mean well, but—"
"Oh, right," he said. "You know you're gonna say that it's okay."
"Fine." I tapped my bobbin on the desk. "But if it's a nightmare you owe me."
"Course. And hey, go tell your Mom now. Moving day is in two days."
"Yeah."
"Don't sound too thrilled. It's too much for me."
"Bye, Donovan."
He laughed. "See ya, girl."
A knock on my door.
"Come in," I said.
Dad came in, stopped at my dresser, settled his gaze on a picture of himself carrying a two-year-old version of me on his shoulders, then tapped my dresser and walked over to where I sat, staring, waiting for him to ask me what was going on because that's what he did after coming into my room and stalling. Every time. Never failed.
He sat on the edge of my bed and folded his hands over his knees. "What's going on, Jane? Is there something you need to tell us?"
My chair creaked when I moved. He cleared his throat and waited. Deep breath. In and out it goes. I looked at him. He looked back.
"I wanted to tell Mom, but the timing never seemed right."
"Honey, you know we won't think any less of you if you're pregnant."
I coughed. "What?"
"We won't think any less of you."
"What? No. Dad, I'm not pregnant." I laughed.
"Gay?"
"Um ... if you mean happy, then yes. What the? I'm just moving out. That's all. Wow. Well, that made it easier."
"Moving into your own place?"
"Yeah."
"We figured you would. You've been like a wild horse stuck in a stable for too long. We're ready to watch you run." He refolded his hands and looked down. "Jane, you really need to learn how to handle difficult conversations better."
"Difficult things in general
, so I'm told."
"You can't always avoid conflict. It's part of life. Learning to deal with it and keep a smile on your face may be difficult at first, but once you get the hang of it you'll realize that it's better to embrace even the negative aspects of life than it is to ignore them." He looked at me again. "It's part of life. Part of being alive."
"I'm trying."
"So, that's it? Or do you need to tell me something else?"
"Just that, um..." I picked at the spool of thread in my hands. "I ... I'm going to try to find my biological mother. I want to see her just once ... at least."
He smiled and laughed under his breath. "We expected this too."
"I just know how Mom gets."
"She loves you. A lot. You may be adopted, but your mother breastfed you like you were her own and spent days and nights holding you. She didn't even like when I asked to cuddle you. Well, she did, but she secretly couldn't wait to get you back in her arms. I've never seen a mother love a daughter like she loves you."
"I know. I really do. Which is why I didn't want to hurt her."
"She is sensitive, but she's also realistic. She knows what you need to do and she's okay with that." He stood. "Talk to her, okay? She wants to be there for you."
I nodded. "No accent for you?"
"Oh, bollocks." He smiled. "I forgot."
Chapter 8
Moving day came fast. I took Chopin out of my ears—or, um, my headphones out of my ears to be more exact—and stood in the middle of my room. My box-covered room. No more pictures scattered on my walls. No more mirror covered in more pictures and notes and ticket stubs. No more fabric and thread strewn across my bed. No more Batman paintings above my bed. No more blankets and sheets or clothes in the closet.
Autumn came in and put her hands on her hips. "Well, it's real now."
"We're growing up, Autumn. It's weird."
"But good."
"Good in a weird way." I sat on my bare mattress. "I'm kinda getting emotional. Is that normal?"
"Don't know, but it's not normal for you."
"True."
"Lots of memories here," she said, turning around to take in the emptiness. "It's definitely sad to me too."
"Next I'll be helping you move to Virginia. That's really going to be hard."
She stared at her feet. "It will be." She looked at me again. "But it'll go fast."
"Promise me we won't grow apart."
She hugged me. "Impossible."
"Never say impossible. Everything is possible. Good and bad."
"Thank you for that wisdom of the day. Can I add that to my quote book?"
I laughed. "Sure. I'd like credit though."
"Of course." She smiled and picked up a box. "Let's do this."
I picked up another and followed her to the moving truck.
"Is this it?" she said, setting the box down near the back.
"I got the smallest truck I could. I don't have much to bring. Keeping the bed here. I'll probably need a trip to Ikea after this."
"Definitely." She jumped out of the truck. "Can't believe your parents decided to go on vacation on your moving day."
"I feel like Mom was trying to avoid it. I don't know. They said they don't mind, but I get the feeling it's upset her."
"Maybe it's just hard to see your daughter leave."
"Not for my real mom."
"Don't be depressing." She walked toward the house. "Come on. Let's beat Donovan and Zoe."
"Zoe...." I trailed behind.
"Excited?"
"Can't you tell?" I made the most serious face possible.
"It's written all over your face."
"Really though, how could a mother just give up her child?"
She shrugged. "Sometimes they don't feel like they can take care of the kid and the best thing is to let her go."
"But—"
"You can make up a million reasons why that's not enough, but to her it was. What's the matter anyway? You have amazing parents who just gave you a crap load of money."
"Crap load. I always hated that term."
We unloaded a few boxes at the new apartment when Donovan showed up with his arm around Zoe. I seriously couldn't stand when couples were all starry-eyed and inseparable in public. I would tell myself they wouldn't last like that much longer, but then be proven wrong every day when I saw Mom and Dad staring at each other over their tea cups. Tea, not coffee. Always tea. Even though I made sure they were aware of the fact that British people do, indeed, drink coffee too.
"Please don't make out in front of me," I begged as Donovan wet her lips.
He didn't stop kissing her. Autumn looked at me and smiled, her chest jerking with one of those bursts of quiet laughter. I shook my head. Finally Donovan stopped and put his forehead against Zoe's.
"Wow, this is intense," Autumn said.
I walked to the door and slapped Donovan's shoulder on the way out. "Time to work."
Autumn and I picked up another box and headed to the stairs. Donovan jogged down as we went up.
"Where's Zoe?" Autumn said. "Isn't she helping?"
"Nah. She's got painful joints."
Autumn raised her eyebrows and mouthed, "Okay."
I laughed. "Are you serious?"
He nodded. "Yeah, she's sensitive to hard labor."
"You're not serious."
He glanced at the two of us. "What?"
I laughed again. "Nothing. We'll help with her stuff too."
Only took about an hour and a half to unload and even unpack quite a few boxes. Apparently Zoe liked to accumulate things, because she had twice as much as me and I was a little freaked out about it. Her rent was cheaper since she had the smaller loft, so I imagined her weird artwork on the living room walls and I wish I could say it didn't bother me.
Donovan and Zoe curled up on the floor and watched a movie on his iPad while Autumn and I unpacked the stuff for my room. I didn't have a bed yet, but I hoped to change that with an Ikea visit tomorrow.
We set up my sewing corner in silence until Autumn interrupted. "Um." She pointed to a large box beside the table. "I didn't even know you wore makeup, much less an entire box full."
"Whoa." I picked it up. "Totally not mine. Ever. How could someone own this much makeup? I mean, what are you trying to hi—"
Autumn shook her hands as she looked over my shoulder.
I mouthed, "She's standing behind me," then turned around to face her.
"I'm not trying to hide anything." She smiled and tossed her hair behind her shoulder. "Just accentuating my already beautiful features." She snapped her fingers. "Donovan, sweetie, could you put this box in my room for me?"
His footsteps already echoed off the stairs as I walked by her and said, "I'll take care of it. My joints hurt, but what the hell."
This was going to be a long, long summer.
I set the box down as she entered with Donovan kissing her neck as he walked behind her. Sickening. Even my parents knew where to draw the line.
I brushed by them again and an odd image of Alistair's face inching toward me took over my mind. I should've kissed him.
"But then it would've been more complicated," I said to myself.
Autumn said something.
I stared at the corner where the ceiling met the walls. "And I don't need complications."
"Are you talking to yourself again?"
I tuned back to her. "What?"
"So weird."
Chapter 9
So my original plans never work out. I was beginning to think maybe I should stop planning anything at all. Not that I'd be able to resist the beauty of my calendar, but still. The plan was to go to Ikea. Alone. Then to come back and put furniture together. Alone. Like a total single woman who enjoyed being a single woman and using single woman screwdrivers while screaming at the Ikea instruction manuals and wondering why, why, why they made everything so complicated.
But here I was. Standing in the middle of an array of Ikea couches. With
Donovan and Zoe making out on the one I liked. The one I wanted to sit on until now. Okay, so they weren't making out, but man ... couldn't they go one-point-seven seconds without running their hands through each other's hair?
Sheesh.
I penciled in the number of the couch and walked away, like a third wheel who wanted to be a unicycle. Completely content in my unicycledom. But they realized I left and came after me.
They whispered and laughed behind me as I searched for a bed, wondering why I agreed to let them come with me.
Donovan sat on a bed and pulled Zoe onto his lap.
"Guys, seriously?" I looked around me. "There are people here. People who don't want to see a make out fest during their Saturday shopping sprees."
Oblivious. Completely oblivious. That's it, I thought as I scurried away to the tent in the bedroom section for kids and hid inside. I figured they'd pass me and I could wait until all was clear, then go back to the bedroom section in peace. Good thing we drove separately. They could actually leave if they wanted to. I hoped they'd want to.
I pulled my knees to my chest and peeked out of the tent again as a mother and her two kids came toward me. Oh, great. The woman squeezed her eyebrows together and snatched her kids away, enveloping them in her arms as she moved them to the next section while glaring over her shoulder at me.
"What?" I whispered. "Not that big of a deal."
I heard Zoe's giggle coming around the corner, so I waited a few seconds and checked.
"Hey." Zoe pointed. "There she is."
Donovan linked his hand with hers and walked toward me. I closed my eyes.
Only me.
"What are you doing?" Donovan tapped the top of the tent and leaned down to look inside. "This is the kids section."
"I know," I grumbled. "Was thinking of getting this for when you stay over."
He smiled. "No, really, what are you doing?"
I stood up and walked away. "I'm just looking around. Shopping, you know, because that's what you do in stores. What are you doing? That's the real question."
He laughed. Zoe didn't.
She pulled his hand back and they stayed behind, surely about to kiss each other's lips until they turned blue. And I would be alone, wheeling away on my beloved, comforting, very nice unicycle, thank you very much.