She Loves You, She Loves You Not...

by Julie Anne Peters

  My throat catches. No one would take me? All Tanith told me was, “You’re going to stay with Carly for a while. I hope that’s okay.”

  No one wanted me?

  “Alyssa,” Carly says behind me, so close I can sense her hands rising to clutch my arms. I cross the dining area, toward the loft.

  Carly follows on my heels. “I didn’t plan to leave you. Or abandon you, as you put it. We don’t always know what life’s going to throw at us, now, do we? Sometimes we just get slammed.”

  Tell me about it. I start up the stairs. I want to hear her say everything’s going to be all right because she’s ready to be my mother now the way she never was before, and I need a mother. Desperately. Except I wouldn’t believe her. I’m having a few trust issues at the moment.

  “Alyssa, please.”

  The pleading in her voice makes me slow at the top of the stairs.

  “I’m here now,” she says. “That should count for something.”

  Yeah. I have nowhere else to go. My grandparents didn’t even want me?

  Carly says, “You know what? Let’s make a fresh start. We’ll put the past behind us and begin anew.”

  Can I do that? It’s what I’m trying to do with Sarah. I need to go forward; get past all the mistakes I made, whatever they were.

  “You know what I do to forget the past?” Carly says, heading for the wet bar. “I drink my own special concoction. I call it Milk of Amnesia.”

  I let out a short laugh. That was actually funny.

  She smiles up at me. “That’s the first time I’ve even seen a glimmer of happiness in you since you got here.” She holds my eyes for a long minute, too long. She has these steel-gray eyes that slice right through you. My eyes.

  Holding up a bottle of liquor, Carly says, “I promise it’s a cure-all.”

  Slowly, I come back down the stairs and stand by as she mixes Baileys with red wine and pours two glasses. The color is a disgusting pink. She offers me a glass.

  “To us,” she toasts.

  I clink with her and sip. Dad would kill Carly if he knew she was letting me drink. But Dad has no say in my life anymore. Milk of Amnesia is good. Delicious.

  “To survivors,” Carly says.

  We clink. Drink.

  “To overcomers,” she says. We clink again.

  Is that a word? Who cares? I take a gulp.

  “To working girls of the world.” Carly raises her glass. “Oh, hey. You know what I just thought of? There’s a job at Teva’s Nail Salon in Breckenridge. It’s only at the front desk, but you could work your way up.”

  To manicurist? I don’t think so. “I don’t want to have to drive to work,” I tell her.

  “Are you one of those eco freaks? Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she adds quickly. “You have principles. I like that.”

  “I just don’t feel comfortable driving.”

  “Don’t you have a car at home?”

  Another thing I don’t want to talk about.

  Carly’s eyes light up. “There’s a job opening at the Emporium.”

  “The what?”

  “The book swap in Majestic. You must’ve seen it. That big barn?”

  Oh, yeah. Across from the video rental.

  “I’ll call over there tomorrow.”

  “Don’t. Please. I want to do this on my own.”

  Carly studies me over her drink before a broad smile streaks across her face. “You got that from me, you know.”

  “What? Stubbornness?”

  She touches the tip of my nose. “Independence.”

  I’m not independent. I’m weak and needy.

  “To independence,” she toasts.

  We clink and drink.

  Carly stares at me so intently, I feel my insides withering. “You look so much like me when I was your age. And if anyone asks, that age is currently twenty-five.” She smiles.

  She’s thirty-four. She had me when she was seventeen, my age. I wish I’d known her earlier. So many times I wondered about my real mom, before we met for the first time, what she was like, why she left. But Dad didn’t want to talk about her. All he’d say was, “You got her looks. I hope that’s all.”

  I guess I should be grateful for the little time we had. The time we’re having now. I have the strongest urge to hug her and thank her for taking me in.

  Carly’s cell rings, and the moment passes. She retrieves the phone and glances at the caller ID. “I’d better get this,” she says. She answers, “Hey, hon. Can you hold on a sec?” She presses the cell against her thigh. “Check out the book swap. If you’re anything at all like your father, I know you love to read.”

  Chapter

  4

  The Emporium sign is faded, and the whole building looks as though it could collapse in on itself at any moment. Majestic is basically a ghost town. Most of the businesses have shut down, and FOR SALE or FOR RENT signs hang in the windows. There’s some new construction, though, like Carly’s house. Builders’ trailers all around.

  Dad’s always complaining about urban sprawl—when he’s not specifically hating on the homos who are moving into Virginia Beach. There’s this older neighborhood near our house that’s being renovated, and one of the shops has a rainbow flag flying off the balcony. Even though it’s on our way to school, Dad makes Paulie and me walk five extra blocks to steer clear of it.

  My dad’s the biggest homophobe in the world, which is why I knew I could never come out to him. Tanith led me to believe that staying with Carly was temporary, but now I wonder if I’ll ever have a home to go back to.

  I loathe the thought of having inherited any of my father’s traits, but Carly’s right. I do love to read.

  The front door to the Emporium is propped open with a cowboy boot full of sand. At noon it’s scorching outside. A giant fan whirs in the bookstore, where an old geezer is hunched over a rippling newspaper.

  The job isn’t posted on any window or bulletin board that I can see. I walk up to the checkout desk and stand there, shifting my weight from one blister to another. A woman’s on the phone. She finally notices me and sticks up an index finger.

  This has to be the dustiest hole in the West. I run my finger along the counter, and it comes away caked. Every surface has this thick yellow pollen from the pine trees. I hear the woman say, “I think I just got a set in, Dutch. Hang on.”

  She sets the phone aside and rises to her feet. She’s, like, six-two. Her eyes widen. “You’re Carly’s girl.”

  Scream. “I came to apply for the job?”

  She fans her freckled face. “Whoo, I wish this heat would let up. It’s the altitude, you know. Makes it feel hotter.” She’s examining me like I’m Carly.

  It’s not fair. I’ve experienced enough hatred and discrimination already in my life to fill a cesspool of bigotry.

  “Supposedly you have a job opening?”

  Timber Toes breaks off her stare and bends down, disappearing from view. I hear books slide aside on a shelf under the counter. She pops back up and says, “I’m sorry. The position’s been filled.” She totes a set of tattered paperbacks to the phone.

  Sure it has. No one’s going to hire me, and the irony is, it’s not even because I’m gay.

  A rolling cart clattering out from between the stacks snags my attention, and my jaw drops. It’s Finn.

  I stomp over. “What are you doing here?” She picks up a book from the cart, reads the spine, and saunters down the aisle.

  I follow behind. “Why did you tell Arlo not to give me the job? I really needed that job.”

  “You don’t want to work there. I did you a favor.”

  “Oh, I’m so grateful.”

  She turns her head slightly to glance at me.

  She has olive skin and oval eyes, like she’s part Asian. No, not Asian. Native American?

  “When did you get this job?” I ask her.

  “Yesterday.” She peers at the books on the top shelf, her neck stretching taut. Her braid sluic
es down her back.

  “So if you quit the Egg Drop-In,” I think aloud, “Arlo needs a waitress in a hurry.” I should get over there before someone else applies.

  “I didn’t quit,” she says.

  It takes me a minute to process. “You have two jobs?”

  “Three.” She reaches up and separates two books, then crams the book she’s shelving into the slot.

  “You can’t have three jobs. There aren’t that many jobs in this hick town. Plus, you suck at this one.” I remove the book and put it in the right spot, between Mc and Ma.

  Her eyes meet mine. She has opaque pupils and infinite irises. The darkest eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “Finn, would you mind helping with this donation?” Timber Toes casts a long shadow down the aisle. To me she goes, “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Alyssa,” I tell her. Not Carly, okay?

  “Alyssa. Alyssa,” she repeats, wandering off.

  Finn hands me a book off the cart and says, “Maybe you could have these done by the time I get back. Alyssa.” She doesn’t smile, but there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes.

  I hate her, but she’s kind of hot.

  No, she’s not. She’s not.

  I throw down the book and race out of there.

  By the time I get back to Carly’s, I’m barely holding back the tears. It’s so hot and my feet hurt; my lips are dry and chapped, and I’m chewing grit. I peel off my sweaty tee and jump in the shower. The water is soothing, streaming down my sunburned face. My room has its own shower and whirlpool. I wonder how many guests Carly entertains here. I don’t really want to know. I don’t want to believe she’s a prosti—call girl. Call it what you want.

  Over the course of a week, how many times did Tanith have to beg her? What would’ve happened if Carly had said no?

  The cordless phone is ringing when I open the door. It rings constantly. To drown it out, along with my feeling of total rejection, I go downstairs and turn on the TV. One of my soaps is on—The Young and the Restless. Tanith watches it too, along with General Hospital and One Life to Live. She fills me in on anything I missed, or at least she used to.

  Dad would get so disgusted at how addicted we were to such drivel, and it was true. The story lines were absurd. Tanith and I would laugh—in private.

  I never thought I’d miss Tanith.

  I stare at the TV and blank out. Curl into myself. A jagged saw in my stomach rips up my insides.

  Damn you, Sarah. Why did you hook up with me in the first place? Did you ever love me? Because I loved you with all my being, Sarah. I risked everything for you. I always thought it was about us, that nothing or no one could tear us apart.

  November

  Sarah found a place, she said, where the two of you could do it. You’d been putting her off because you knew what a big step it was. You never told Sarah you were a virgin. You let her believe… she just assumed… you were older, more experienced. You were scared. You didn’t know how.

  A nor’easter was blowing in off the Atlantic that day, and it was freezing. Sarah’s teeth were chattering when she asked, “When are you getting your driver’s license?”

  “I don’t know. Never.” You squeezed Sarah’s hand in your coat pocket and snugged her closer as she hurried to wherever she was taking you.

  “Why?” She had to raise her voice over the roaring wind. “I can’t wait to drive.”

  You’d gone out over the summer with Dad to the school’s parking lot to practice driving. Dad laughed at you because you drove like his mother, he said. “You can give it a little more gas,” he said. You stepped on the brake by accident and whiplashed both of you. Then you overcompensated by jamming your foot on the gas. Tires squealed, and Dad bellowed, “Slow down! Hit the brake. Turn. Turn, dammit!” He yanked the wheel, and you covered your ears, but the squealing tires mashed with the crunch of the fender against the building.

  Dad said, “Geez, are you trying to kill us?”

  You almost burst into tears.

  He leaned across you and opened the driver’s-side door. “I think that’s enough for today.”

  It was enough for forever.

  Tanith asked, “How’d it go?” and Dad grumbled, “Don’t ask.” Later he apologized for losing it, but he’d already made you feel like crap.

  “How much farther?” you shouted at Sarah.

  “Almost there.” The wind whipped up her loose hair. She began to jog, tugging you along by your pocket. You ended up at Gracie Field.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She was a plotter. A schemer. You didn’t know that then.

  Sarah pulled up short at the baseball dugout. Next to it was a structure enclosed in aluminum sheeting. It was locked. Sarah held up a key.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “My dad coaches Little League.” The key unlocked the door and Sarah pulled it open. The interior was dark and arctic cold. It was the equipment shed. “We can’t do it in the dirt,” you said. Sarah pointed to a corner, where a couple of blankets had been tossed. She crouched down on the ground and took out of her backpack a handful of heat packs, the kind you put in your gloves or socks. She upended the sack, and an avalanche of heat packs poured out. “The dollar store was having a sale.”

  You laughed. She had had this all planned out.

  She talked too much. “Alyssa, I want you so bad. I’ve never done this with anyone, so you have to tell me what I’m doing right and wrong.”

  Like you knew. Instinct kicked in.

  “Oh, yeah. That feels good,” she said. “How’d you do that? Oh my God. Do you want me to do that to you?”

  You clamped a hand over her mouth and said, “Just shut up, Sarah.”

  Her voice sounds in my head, and I cover my ears. Shut up shut up shut up.

  There are three e-mails from Paulie in my in-box. None from Dad. Or any of my friends. My relationship with Sarah cost me all my friends.

  I open Paulie’s first message:

  yo morron. its borring w/o u here. its weerd. whydd u go and leav me?

  “I didn’t leave you,” I say aloud. “You were there, Paulie. You know why.”

  ur laptop, old iPod, cd player and entir dvd set ar now in my posseshun.

  “You think,” I reply. His spelling’s pretty good for being dyslexic. But he’s becoming a smart-ass. Who’d he learn that from?

  I open his next e-mail.

  she cam over. she askt wher u’d gon and i tol her i dint no. she siad i was lying. i tol her to go to h-e-dubble-l.

  My heart pounds. She came over?

  She siad to tell u

  The e-mail ends.

  I close it and open the third message.

  Paul is not allowed to contact you.

  I flinch. Who was that? Dad? Tanith never gets on the computer. She calls herself a confirmed Luddite.

  Sarah came over. A little too late to talk, isn’t it? Why didn’t we talk more? Maybe that was the problem. Maybe if I’d communicated better, or she felt she could talk to me about whatever was bothering her.

  How did I make it hard for her to tell me? We were always open, weren’t we?

  I turn off the computer and resume lying on the sofa, listening to the dark and my breathing in and out. I used to lie in the shed with my ear on Sarah’s chest to listen to the steady beating of her heart. I knew—I believed—we were forever. Now I know that forever is relative and that Sarah’s definition was different from mine. My loneliness has a sound—the whooshing waves in a conch when I hold it to my ear and imagine an eternity of emptiness.

  Chapter

  5

  Carly keeps prepackaged lettuce and a selection of dressings, so I toss together a salad and step out onto the back deck to eat. I slide into a sling chair and rest my ankles on the railing. Caribou Mountain looms over the house like a monolith. It’s weird how all the land is cleared, and what few trees there are near the top are spindly and black
. A new house is going up on the adjacent lot in Caribou Estates, but it looks like the developer ran out of money or something, because only the framing is done, and no one’s worked on it since I’ve been here.

  On the way up from the airport, Carly mentioned this was the driest year in recent history, and I saw a couple of signs warning about high fire danger. Half the trees on Caribou Mountain look dead or burned. Probably spontaneous combustion, as hot as it is.

  If I were home, I’d be at the beach or the mall. We’d be at Starbucks pooling our money to see how many caramel macchiatos we could buy. M’Chelle and Ben. Me and Sarah.

  There is no more me and Sarah. No more me and anyone.

  I wonder where she is, if she suffered any consequences for her actions. I only met her family once—well, twice. She asked me over for Thanksgiving, which was surprising, considering her parents are Christians. It’s terrible to associate all Christians with homophobia, but that’s how Sarah described them. “They’re Christians,” she said, and rolled her eyes.

  Anyway, the weekend before, Dad and Tanith were on the sofa with their newest Netflix, and when the FBI warning came on I asked, “Would it be okay if I went to a friend’s house for Thanksgiving?”

  Dad said, “Absolutely not.”

  Tanith swiveled her head to look up at me. “What friend? Do we know him?”

  Dad’s head snapped around to Tanith’s face, then up to mine.

  Not much gets past Tanith. Well, some stuff does.

  “No,” I said.

  “I think it’d be all right.” Tanith winked.

  “I don’t,” Dad said to me. “Why don’t you bring him here?”

  I mumbled, “Just forget it,” and left the room.

  I heard Tanith say, “Paul, it’s fine with me. Alyssa’s growing up, you know, and we won’t always be together for holidays.”

  Dad caught me listening at the doorway. He held my eyes, and a thin smile pressed against his lips. Pausing the movie, he said, “When do we get to meet him?”