Girl Mans Up

by M-E Girard

“How is it not easy to stop hanging around someone who makes you feel like crap?” I ask. “You said you learned your lesson.”

  “He’s different when it’s just us. And I know that sounds stupid, but things were complicated, okay?” she says. “You have no idea.”

  “What was complicated?”

  She rubs her eyebrows obsessively, like she’s trying to smooth them into place even though they’re super thin and clean to begin with. “What’s going on? Did he put you up to this?”

  Paranoid—both of them. She rests her things on the edge of the altar and looks down, putting her hands on her hips, and it just doesn’t look good. She tries to act all tough, but under the surface, she always seems ready to lose it and bawl.

  “It’s bad,” I say. “Isn’t it.”

  “It’s fine.”

  It’s not fine. Her face says so.

  “Olivia?” I ask, and it’s like time stops. Because I’m not an idiot. This whole mess—it has to be bad enough to account for everything that’s been going on, for the way they’ve been acting. What if it’s big—really big?

  “It’s fine,” she says to the ground.

  “Olivia,” I say again. “Are you—are you pregnant?”

  “What? No!” she says, all exaggerated. I felt like crap for even asking, until her gut reaction crumbles, and fear makes her features freeze.

  “Because you were sick,” I start, watching her eyes dart between the floor and the walls at her side. My heart starts pounding. “And Colby’s worried you’re going to talk shit about him, and you guys have obviously had some secret thing going on this whole time.” She says nothing. “And . . . he told me.”

  “He told you.” It’s not a question. She closes her eyes.

  “No,” I say. “But I think you just did.”

  Is this really what’s been going on this whole time? This is bigger than big. It’s massive.

  “I’m not pregnant, okay? I’m not,” she says, and it sounds like she’s about to cry. “I thought I was, but I’m not.”

  “Why did you think you were?”

  “Because we didn’t use anything, and I was so worried. He just said it wasn’t his problem, that I should stop freaking out.” Her words are coming out fast, like she’s afraid I might start yelling at her. “But then I was late, and I took tests. I guess I panicked too soon. But he got really mad at me for it, and now it’s all a mess. He’s different. But I won’t say anything about him. Believe me, Pen, okay? I want this all to be over.”

  I could say I believe her, or tell her I’m sorry, but right now, I’m just stuck thinking about that night, and about how their mess spread over to me. Olivia wasn’t there that night, but it was about her. She has no idea what her panicking too soon about being knocked up caused. And I don’t know who, out of the three of us, I’m more pissed off at right now.

  “Are you sure it’s over now?” I say.

  She frowns, probably because my tone changed. She nods and says, “I’m sorry.”

  She whips the door open, and it slams into a box of candles. She’s gone before I can tell her I’m sorry, too.

  TWELVE

  THE NEXT DAY, THE NOISE DOWNSTAIRS STARTS right around lunchtime, when the first carful of family pulls up to my house. Soon the smells of all kinds of different foods start making their way up to my room. Today is my dad’s birthday—he’s fifty-five—and the family’s over from Ottawa. Worst timing ever. My head is full of Olivia and Colby.

  My mom comes up to my room, which she doesn’t do often.

  “You wear hat,” she says. “I want no one see the hair.”

  “Okay.”

  “You watch out now, okay?” she says. “I want you no make hard for me e for Pai. I want you to be good girl. This no joke, Penelope. Respeito.”

  “I’m not making things hard,” I say, but she closes her eyes and holds her hands up like she won’t argue.

  “You stop,” she says. She tells me she needs a break from me. “Not today, okay? Not today.”

  I turn my collar up and reach for the black baseball cap hanging on the inner doorknob to put it on, flattening my freshly styled hair. The smile on my lips says, Are you happy now? She whirls around and I close the door behind her, maybe a little too harshly.

  BY DINNERTIME, THE WHOLE clan is here and I can’t get away with staying up in my room anymore. Johnny’s old bedroom is full of suitcases and the blow-up mattress is set up next to his old bed. There are, like, fifteen people here, and most of them take an hour asking me how school is and if I’m being a good girl and helping my parents around the house. Anyone walking into this house without knowing us might think we’re all angry at each other. We talk with our hands, slap our knees, and act like every piece of news we share is unbelievable.

  “Get outta here, Duarte!” my uncle Adão says to Dad, switching to Portuguese to talk about overtime laws in Canada. “You crazy!”

  The women are in and out of the kitchen, bringing things to the table, and then serving their husbands like the men won’t eat unless food is brought to them. My aunt Joana is the worst, not even sitting down to eat until she’s sure my uncle Adão has everything he needs. I don’t really know if this is a bad thing or not, because I don’t know who’s making who do what. Maybe my aunt likes it, being a servant.

  When my mom tells me to set up the kids’ table, it makes me pissy, knowing she’s going to make me sit with the little ones. The kids’ table is made up of two fold-out tables set up side by side in the hallway outside the dining room, and the other five kids who end up around it are all way younger than me. Marc’s on his phone. Sara, Katie, and Amelia are talking about whether or not my mom has colored thread so they can make friendship bracelets they saw on Pinterest. Madison, who’s too young to care about that, lines up these tiny dog and cat figurines in front of her plate and then changes her mind and puts them back in this pink purse hanging over her shoulder. Madison’s baby brother, Emanuel, gets to sit at the big-people table in his high chair.

  I spend an hour staring at my phone, flipping between Facebook and texting Colby. I picture telling him I know about Olivia, just to see what he’d say. Marc tells me he’s texting his girlfriend. When I ask what they’re texting about, he says, “It’s private. Okay, don’t tell my mom and dad, but it’s dirty—good dirty. Hey—your bathroom upstairs has a lock, right?”

  “Aw, come on! That’s disgusting. Keep it in your pants. You’re twelve,” I say.

  “Almost fourteen,” he says, then he’s not listening anymore. That kid thinks he’s the next Cristiano Ronaldo—without the soccer skills.

  “Penny, I want ketchup!” Madison says.

  She’s, like, six years old, but still. “Dude, don’t call me that.”

  “Pen, I want ketchup,” she says.

  “Fine,” I say, kind of glad for the excuse to get away. I head for the kitchen, where my cousin Constance is grabbing a plate and scoping out the casseroles on the stove.

  “Your brother’s a horndog,” I tell her.

  “My mom says he’s dating an older woman.”

  “What? How old?”

  She grins. “Fourteen.”

  “The boy must have game,” I say.

  We grin at each other, then she digs into the potato casserole. “Look at your hair—it’s so short! How’s school?”

  My hand goes to my head while I look around to see if Mom is within earshot. “You can tell it’s cut?”

  “Of course!”

  “Well, can you, uh, not tell anybody?”

  “It’s a secret?”

  “Not really. But my mom hates it, so . . . you know.”

  “Gotcha,” Constance says with a wink. “Oh, I sent you guys an invitation to the wedding in the mail. You should get it soon.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Congratulations.”

  She squeezes my arm, while her other hand holds a plate overflowing with wedges of potatoes sprinkled with pimentas. “You bring Colby along if you want. He’s such a little
hottie. You’re old enough to bring a date.”

  “Oh. Um . . . okay.”

  My dad’s parked in his recliner with the remote in hand, which means the cousins can’t watch TV so they keep bugging me to let them play with my iPod or my phone. The baby never cries because he’s always in someone’s arms, usually my mom’s. She makes baby noises at him and he smiles. I really hope if he decides he likes dolls, my aunt Manuela won’t turn out to be like my mom. The four aunts and my mom gather around the baby while they talk about their kids. I already know my mom won’t be sharing any stories about hers.

  JOHNNY COMES UP AFTER dinner’s over and we’re all eating cake. He comes to sit beside me on the couch, a heaping plate of food in his hands. When my aunts and uncles ask about his job, he lays it on thick about all the extra work he’s gotten through his new Facebook page. Dad watches him with narrowed eyes, while Mom disappears to the kitchen to make coffee for everybody.

  Johnny nods to Dad’s unwrapped present sitting in its box next to the recliner. Everyone chipped in for a brand-new TV. I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking gaming on that thing would be awesome—not that Dad would ever give up his spot in front of it.

  “I wasn’t sure you were gonna show,” I say.

  “I get my balls busted if I come, and I get ’em busted if I don’t. At least this way I get food, you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  My uncle Adão goes, “Hey, João. You no work at factory yet? Money money with the overtime, huh?”

  Johnny gives me a look like, Here we go. “Nah, I’d rather work for myself. Grow my business.”

  “Oh, you big business man!” Tio Adão says, downing his fifth beer. “Big Shot Oliveira! Why you not give you pai a job, huh? Big big shot.”

  “Ya, ya.” Dad laughs, then says Johnny’s a big shot living in his parents’ basement.

  It goes quiet and Johnny gives a twisted chuckle while he finishes his mouthful. So I say, “Johnny does the mayor’s property, and he has the contract for all the apartment buildings in Castlehill. Plus, he gets recommended by real estate agents all the time. He’s the best in this town. And in Crestonvale, too.”

  “Forget about it,” Johnny says to me. He points to his ear. “In one ear, out the other—remember?”

  “No good,” Dad says, then he goes off about how the mayor is a crook who drives around in a Mercedes he pays for with the taxes he gets from my dad. Dad says if Johnny was smart, he’d take the job at the factory with the benefits and retirement package. “And you go buy a house.”

  “I’d buy a new truck before I’d buy a house,” Johnny says to no one in particular. He dips corn bread into the runny stuff at the bottom of his plate.

  “No smart,” Dad says, and my uncle nods while taking a swig of beer.

  “Okay, okay,” my mom says, which is her version of “enough.”

  “You got a girlfriend, Johnny?” my aunt Jacinta says. Johnny shrugs as a response, which is smart because Jenna isn’t the type of girlfriend you’d want to answer questions about.

  “A good-looking man like you—I’m sure you’ve got someone special,” Tia Valerie says. She’s my uncle Francisco’s wife, and he’s got his hand on her thigh. Sara and Amelia scroll through an iPad at their feet, not paying attention to their parents at all. “You must be getting close to moving out and starting a life.”

  “Oh yeah,” Johnny says. He leans over to me and whispers, “You know, because what I got right now isn’t a life, huh?”

  Tio Adão says, “You gotta get good job to pay for the babies. Cut grass no give the money for the baby.”

  I don’t know why they always go off like they think all Johnny does is mow lawns as if he’s some kid my age trying to earn a couple extra bucks in the summer. What he did with the mayor’s property ended up being photographed for the paper. Plus, he does all the repairs and painting of the vacant apartments waiting to be rented at the McKinley buildings.

  “What about you, Penelope?” Tia Jacinta says.

  “Penelope—what you doing? You got the boyfriend?” Tio Adão asks.

  Now all the adults are looking at me. Except for my parents.

  “No,” I say.

  “You no get a boyfriend when you look like João, huh? Small One Johnny!” he says with another drunk chuckle. “Snip snip you hair. Scary tough girl!”

  Mom gives me a sideways glare like, Happy now? Constance looks like she feels bad for me, wincing while she leans into her fiancé.

  “I got gum stuck in it.”

  “You little tough girl, Penelope! Small One Johnny!”

  “Not really.”

  “Yeah, you tough girl.” My uncle lifts his beer like he’s toasting the fact that I’m a tough girl and he drains the rest of it.

  “Hey,” Johnny says, meeting my uncle’s drunken gaze. “Lay off her, okay? Pare, agora.”

  “What you say?” Dad’s eyes go right for Johnny, like how dare he talk to his uncle like that.

  My uncle laughs and says, “You tough big brother, huh? Big man.”

  Johnny puts his plate on the coffee table, then he leans back and stares at Dad. The vibe changes. People are getting up and moving around, the girls rushing toward the dining room, my aunt Manuela bouncing the baby up and down, the other aunts clearing off the last of the dishes. Constance and her fiancé escape to the kitchen.

  I send Colby a 911 text.

  There’s always some kind of argument when we all get together. My mom’s going to lose it on me for being the cause of it this time.

  “What?” Dad says to Johnny. “You wanna say something? Say.”

  It sounds like a dare.

  “I said nothing. You guys are the ones talking,” Johnny says.

  “Big tough man,” Tio Adão says, except he’s not as drunk– happy as he was a second ago. “I tell you, Duarte, my kids no tough like this. My kids . . . they got the respeito.”

  “Let’s just go,” I tell Johnny. “There’s cake.”

  “What?” Dad says. “What you say?”

  “We’re gonna go get cake,” I say.

  “You house is you house, Duarte.” Tio Adão’s shaking his head like he’s disappointed in his little brother. “In my house, I say. I say this, I say that. No one say nothing in my house. Nobody tough in my house but me. I pay the money, I say.”

  “You want another beer, Tio?” Johnny says. “You wanna drink some more? Outra cerveja, Tio?”

  My uncle’s laughing, but his eyes shift over to my dad, like he’s waiting to see how his little brother’s going to handle this.

  “Hey, esse é o seu tio. Respeito!” Dad says, pushing to his feet.

  It’s like the whole house goes quiet, even though mostly everyone isn’t even in this room. My dad rarely raises his voice.

  “Yeah, yeah. Respect,” Johnny says, standing up. “You know, for a word to mean something, you gotta do stuff to back it up.”

  “João Oliveira! You come in my house, no say hi to nobody, eat my comida, now you tell me what to do?”

  Johnny’s face hardens. His eyes close, and his jaw tightens. I want to say something, but all I can do is bounce my foot like crazy. Finally, he gets up and gives this fake smile. “Desculpe. Pai bença. Tio bença. Obrigado por comida.”

  Dad and Tio Adão don’t give him a response because it’s pretty obvious Johnny wasn’t really sorry, that he was just saying words.

  The doorbell rings, and Johnny takes off.

  THIRTEEN

  THERE ARE ALL KINDS OF EXCITED GIRLY NOISES coming from the front hall now. Colby appears in the living room doorway, hitching his chin up at me. I knew he’d get his butt here right away when he saw the 911.

  “What’s up, Portuguese people?” he says to no one in particular. “I’m starving.”

  “Hey hey, Koobee!” my uncle says, raising his beer. “What you do, huh?”

  “I smelled the fish from my house so I came over,” he says, which makes everyone smile with pride, because bacalhau is o
ur thing—especially the way my mom makes it.

  Everyone starts trickling back into the living room. My aunt Joana comes with a fresh beer for Tio Adão. My family’s always liked Colby. He nods and laughs at the right times even if there’s only Portuguese flying around the room, and at the table, he always takes seconds of everything. The aunts think he’s such a nice boy, but I think they’re basing that on the fact that he’s got a nice-looking face and he smiles a lot.

  “You like tough girl, Koobee?” my uncle says.

  “Uh . . . sure,” Colby says.

  “You like the tough girl. This cut hair no good. Penelope look like a boy. You tell Penelope she be pretty girl like her mãe. You nice boy, you tell her,” Tio Adão says.

  I pull my baseball cap low to cover my eyes. “Oh man. This is messed up,” I whisper, knowing Colby can hear me.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell her,” Colby says.

  My uncle raises his beer and laughs. “I like you, Koobee.”

  “Thanks,” Colby says with a wide grin.

  “You want some food?” I ask him.

  He nods, and we head to the kitchen. My mom’s Saran-wrapping food but she figures out what we’re here for, so she starts loading fish on a plate for Colby.

  “You mãe no make this for you, huh,” my mom says.

  “Not like this,” he says. “This fish is awesome. It’s that pimenta stuff.”

  “Pimenta moida. I make. It’s good, huh?” Mom’s scowly face turns into a smile and she piles more fish. It’s the perfect moment for me to say, “Can I go to Colby’s?”

  “It’s black outside,” she says.

  “Just for a bit,” I say.

  “Just to eat some fish and watch a movie,” Colby explains. “Can I have bread, too? Did you buy it from that place again? Man, corn bread rocks. Can I take some fish for my dad? He loves it, too.”

  She slices a big wedge of the bread and wraps it in a clean dish towel. Then she adds more fish to a different plate she gives to me, and shoos us away, saying, “You watch out now, Penelope.”

  Colby winks at me as we escape the kitchen.

  “Drunk uncle?” he says as we slip into our shoes.