by Heidi Lowe
I forced a smile. "Okay. Enjoy your night."
I spent the remainder of my own night trying to figure out how I felt about seeing Sarah there.
FIFTEEN
The therapy room had never seen so much action, or so I was told by more than one member of staff.
"You've really brought this place alive. What a transformation!" one female doctor had said during my first week as Oakwood General Hospital's part time pianist. It was a title I wore with pride, thankful for the opportunity to do something I loved, and do some good for the patients.
I'd been on the team for four weeks, and today had been the busiest I'd ever seen the room. Perhaps it had something to do with the melodies I was banging out. I'd picked up a couple of music books, one with popular childhood melodies, and the other pop songs of the last three decades, none of which I could remember. The songs by a band called Queen seemed to be the most popular, encouraging people to sing along.
Over by the window, a wheelchair-bound Orion provided the drumbeats, adding them in unnecessarily whenever he felt like it, and making everyone chuckle. Spirits were high, the laughter was loud.
When the last tune of the day was played, I received friendly boos and complaints to continue. It was the same every shift, and did wonders for my ego.
"Another one," one of the kids chanted.
"Sorry, kiddo, they don't let me stay past a certain time."
Everyone thanked me and went about their day.
"I wish you could come every day," Orion said when he rolled over and parked himself in front of me. "This place gets so boring."
He'd spent the last three years in and out of the hospital, I'd learned. First the leukemia, then due to the chemotherapy, liver damage. He'd had the worst luck, but he always seemed to put on a brave face. He'd become one of my favorite people, though it broke my heart every time I saw him.
"Me too. But four days a week is still cool, right?" Four days, two and a half hours per day. It didn't amount to much money-wise, but it was enough to get me by. Besides, I loved being there. It wouldn't have mattered how much they paid me. I was just grateful for the job, and the chance to get out of the house. Mrs Howlett, as sweet as she was, had started driving me nuts. Between the new job and hanging out with Tiffany, I was able to avoid her for a few hours a day.
He shrugged. "I guess."
Sometimes he was too sick to get out of bed, and missed my performance.
"All right, mister, your parents are going to be here soon. Let's get you back to your room," Tiffany said when she entered the room.
He didn't argue – none of the kids ever did when she gave them orders. With a voice as smooth and as sweet as hers, who would have wanted to defy her?
She smiled at me as a hello, and I waved. It was always nice to see her, to work with her, even though we didn't see much of each other during our shifts.
"My shift finishes in five minutes? Can you wait? We can walk out together," she said to me.
"Sure."
While I waited, I took the opportunity to clear away some of the books, magazines and toys, make the place look a little more presentable. Sometimes it was hard for me to concentrate if it was too untidy.
"You don't have to keep doing that, you know," Tiffany laughed when she returned, jacket on and purse in hand. "They're not paying you to clean up."
"It's fine."
We left together.
"How was it today?" she asked.
"Fun, as usual. I kept getting requests for this particular Celine Dion song. It sounded familiar, I think. Or maybe that's just because all pop songs sound the same."
"Which one was it?"
"Something about touching me like this and kissing me like that. I don't remember."
This made her chuckle. "It's All Coming Back to Me Now. Very ironic."
Her cellphone beeped. She looked at it and smiled. I watched her curiously. It could only have come from one person: her girlfriend, the tattooed rebel Sarah.
"Hey, what are you doing this Sunday?" I broke in, raising my voice a little so she remembered that I was there. "Mrs Howlett's going out of town for a couple days to see, and I quote, 'one of those ungrateful demons that came out of my womb!' I think My Best Friend's Wedding is still in the theater, maybe we can go see it, now that she won't need me this Sunday."
"What?" She peered up from her phone, from what I was certain was a sexy text message. "Oh, Sunday I promised my sister I would come over, seeing as I missed the last couple. You're welcome to join me. They have plenty of space – her husband's loaded."
"Sounds like a plan. I'd love to meet your family." She'd spoken so fondly of them. Meeting them also made me feel closer to her.
"Sarah wants me to come round now. You'll be all right walking home on your own, right?"
Oh, so when Sarah texts, you drop everything you're doing and rush over to her? Wow, now we know who wears the trousers in that relationship.
Despite my inner bitterness about the change of plan, I forced a smile, something I'd had to do a lot whenever Sarah was mentioned. "Does she have a naughty afternoon planned for you?"
I could tell she didn't feel comfortable discussing that sort of thing with me, though it wasn't clear why. Perhaps because of our own history. Who knew?
"We're just going to...hang out." She laughed. "Or whatever grown women do together."
I bit my tongue, didn't say what was bursting to come out. To call Sarah a woman was pushing it. Sure, she was in her mid-twenties, but she came off like the female equivalent of a man-child. A woman-child? Was that a thing? She still lived with roommates, played in a band that dreamed of success, and had a Nintendo Gameboy! The only womanly thing about her was her body, but that couldn't have been her only appeal to Tiffany. If I was being honest, I still hadn't figured out what Tiffany saw in her. It must have been that unwashed, don't-give-a-crap, I'm-so-cool-I-have-Chinese-writing-that-I-don't-understand-tattooed-on-my-arms look. Blech! She wasn't fooling me.
"It's fine. Go have fun. I'll see you whenever."
She smiled, waved, then turned to go in the opposite direction.
It bothered me all the way home, and made me miserable enough to join Mrs Howlett in the living room later that evening as she watched Schindler's List.
Still, I found solace in knowing that I would spend Sunday with Tiffany and her family, far away from Sarah and her demands...
That was until Saturday night, when Tiffany called me as I climbed into bed.
"Hey. About Sunday..." she started, and I could hear her anxiety. "My sister kinda wants to meet Sarah, so I said I'd bring her. You know how family is – they always want to know who you're dating?" She let off a nervous laugh.
Great! So much for leaving Sarah behind. Now I would have to share my Sunday with her after all.
"Sure. No problem," I said, gritting my teeth.
"Cool. So you're okay if I bring her instead?"
Wait! Instead? She was uninviting me altogether? I couldn't believe it.
"Uh, yeah, sure. I wanted to, uh, work on my musical anyway." My voice sounded weak, as weak as my body suddenly felt.
"Thank you for being okay with it. We'll talk on Monday when I get back."
"Good night," I said, and hung up.
In my rage, I deliberated over deleting every trace of her from my life, but talked myself out of it. A move like that would have been irrational. Sarah was her girlfriend, and she had every right to meet the family. I was just the friend.
The goddamned friend.
SIXTEEN
Monday, July 21, 1997
I could have waited until tomorrow to write an entry, but having just had the most bizarre, unforgettable (and not in a good way) weekend, I wanted to jot everything down as soon as I got home, while it was still fresh in my mind. God knows I didn't want to forget the smallest detail of the shitshow that I had to endure yesterday.
So, I should have known I was about to have the Sunday from hell the moment I pulled u
p outside Sarah's apartment block and immediately had to break up a brawl between her and her male roommate. A real fight – fists, hair pulling, even some biting thrown in for good measure. I had to physically drag Sarah away, tearing the sleeve of her denim jacket in the process, and breaking a nail down to its cuticle. It's still sore now.
"If you're here when I get back..." Sarah screams at the boy, a slim guy with a pixie look about him, "...well, you best not be here."
"What are you gonna do about it, bitch?"
"Cut you! You know I will."
I should have hopped back in my car and driven off right then. I would have if I hadn't been afraid she would come and look for me at my place. Note to self: don't give troubled girls with bad tempers your address. I think I've learned my lesson with that one.
When I finally herd her, kicking and screaming, into the car, she doesn't speak to me for the first fifteen or so minutes of the journey. Which is fine by me. I don't want to risk saying something to set her off, because, honestly, she scares me a little.
Then, "You look nice today. Hot. I like what you did with your hair." She twirls her fingers through it, unconcerned that I'm trying to concentrate on the road.
"Thanks," I say, risking a quick glance in the rear-view. All I did was take out my usual French braid, to make my hair wavy, held together by a generous helping of mousse. "Uhm, what was that about earlier?"
"Oh, that, nothing. He ate my frozen yogurt without asking."
"That's it?" I say, finding it difficult to keep the outrage out of my voice. "You threatened to cut him over some frozen yogurt?"
"It's the principle of the thing," she explains with the straightest face. "Don't take something that's not yours. Simple."
I just remember the voice inside me screaming, "Oh my God, she's insane! Stop the car, stop the car, don't bring this madwoman to meet your family."
In hindsight, I definitely should have listened to that voice, but couldn't think of a plausible way to get out of bringing her.
When we get there, Gillian greets me with one of her big mom hugs. I don't know what it is about people who become parents, they seem to parent everyone, not just their own kids.
"You look tired," is the first thing she says to me when she releases me. "You're working too hard." She wags a mom finger at me, and I roll my eyes, smiling. When I go there I always feel like a child again, looked after. "And this must be Sarah."
They embrace, Sarah thanks her for the invitation, tells her it's nice to meet her, and all I'm thinking is, "don't fall for it, Gill. She threatened to cut a man for eating her yogurt."
But for about half an hour, while everyone gets to know each other, it goes well. As well as can be expected, you know, with a psychopath as a dinner guest.
Then things get really awkward, and just downright weird.
So the four adults – me, Sarah, Gill and Rob – are in the conservatory, drinking wine, while the kids are in their rooms. Sarah, out of the blue, says to Rob, "Do you ever get these two mixed up?"
He laughs out of politeness and says, "I can't say I do. I'd like to think I know my wife inside out."
"Good answer," Gill says.
"But they look identical. If the lights were off, I would probably end up in the wrong bed, beside the wrong sister, you know, and wouldn't know the difference."
Gill, Rob and I all exchange mortified looks.
I wish I could say Sarah took the hint from our collective silence, but she could not read a room.
"Twins have always intrigued me. Like, I don't believe that one can be gay and the other straight. If they're identical, their sexuality should be, too."
Gill laughs. "Believe me, if I were gay, the whole world would know about it. Heteros are so boring!"
Please stop talking now, I'm pleading inwardly.
"Have you ever been with a woman? Because if you haven't, you wouldn't know if you are or not."
"Okay, this conversation's a little inapprop–"
Sarah cuts me off. "I liked men, right up until I didn't. You might like it, that's all I'm saying. Maybe we could all have some fun tonight..."
That's what she said! I wish I were kidding. At which point Rob changes the subject, and says he's going to get some more wine. Gill follows him, looking desperate to escape.
"Was your girlfriend trying to get us all to have an orgy?" Gillian asks later that evening after dinner, when Sarah's in the bathroom. "I'm pretty sure that's what she was hinting at."
"I think that's exactly what she was suggesting." I know I've turned beet red as my sister chuckles to herself. "I never should have brought her."
"Well Baxter seems to really like her. She might actually be cooler than Disney World to him. I don't know what that says about my son."
"It's the Alice in Wonderland tattoos, and her ability to make fart noises with her armpits." I cover my face with my hands as I say it, more embarrassed now than I've ever been. When your dinner date spends the evening saying inappropriate things in front of your young, impressionable niece and nephew, and acting a complete buffoon, you spend the whole time hoping the ground would open up and swallow you.
"Where did you find her?"
"In a seedy bar. In hindsight, all of this makes sense."
Gill cackles again. This sort of thing always amuses her. She gets some sadistic pleasure out of seeing my disastrous love life unfold. I think she would go into meltdown if I ever brought home someone respectable, who wasn't a complete tool. As you know, it's yet to happen.
Anyway, night falls and we all retire to our (own) beds. I just want to fall asleep and forget all about this horrible evening, but as soon as my lamp goes out, Sarah rolls on top of me. She doesn't ask, she just takes. By now my interest in her has waned, and I don't want her touching me. I tell her to stop, and she does, but calls me a tease under her breath. How I became a tease is anybody's guess.
We hardly speak on the two-hour drive back to Oakwood from Salt Lake City. Then, when I pull up outside her apartment and she climbs out, I tell her it's been fun spending time with her, but I think we're going in different directions, and it's best if we just end it here.
She narrows her eyes at me, I think she's about to come charging at me. The ignition is still running, so I'm ready to make a break for it if she tries.
But then she says, "Whatever," shrugs, then heads into her building.
Relief.
So, as you can see, I'm newly single again, and all the wiser for it. No more ink-covered, mentally unstable barmaids. No more bad girls. Nothing good ever comes of it.
Abby just called. She wanted to check if I was back. She's coming over. She sounded pissed. I wonder what happened while I was away. I'm looking forward to hearing all about it...and seeing her. In a way, I always look forward to seeing her.
SEVENTEEN
By the time I reached Tiffany's door, I was exhausted, hot, sweaty, and a thousand times angrier than I had been when I left the house. Thanks to her, I'd had the lousiest weekend ever, and I was certain it was about to get even worse once I'd given her a piece of my mind. My mood had dipped right around the time she dropped the bombshell that she was replacing me as guest to her sister's house. I'd spent two days in a foul mood, cursing the ground she and her inked up lover walked on, then feeling terrible about cursing her, followed by arguing with myself over whether or not my anger was justified.
So I'd checked to see if she was back, and stormed all the way to her place in the hope that the walk would give me time to calm down. It hadn't, and I shot her the fiercest, most resentful look when she opened the door.
"You look like you could do with some water," she said with a laugh, as she let me in. She rushed to the kitchen, got some water, which I snatched from her and gulped down angrily.
She raised an eyebrow and regarded me with curiosity while I drank.
"Did you run over here or something?" She laughed. "Do you want some more."
"No!" I snapped. I could hear myself bein
g the asshole of the century, but I couldn't help it.
"Abby, what's wrong?" She looked genuinely concerned. "You look as though your weekend was as bad as mine."
"Okay, I'm just gonna say it," I said, slamming the glass down on the table. "It was really rotten what you did."
"You're going to have to be more specific."
"Uninviting me. It was rotten getting me excited about meeting your family, only to uninvite me the night before."
"I asked you if it was okay, and you said yes!" She threw up her hands. "So it wasn't okay with you?"
"No, it wasn't okay! Of course it wasn't okay."
A little laugh escaped her mouth. "So why did you say it was?"
"Because I didn't want to be a jerk. I couldn't exactly protest you wanting to take your girlfriend to meet your family." I mocked the word girlfriend without even realizing it. "Which brings me to my second issue. I know she's your girlfriend and all, but...well...she's a horrible choice! There, I said it."
I winced, convinced she was about to let off a tirade of insults at me for speaking badly of her partner.
Instead, I heard her chuckling. "Well you're not wrong." When she saw the confusion in my face, she added, "She's not my girlfriend anymore. I ended it the minute I got back into town."
Hearing those words, my whole demeanor changed. It was like day and night. She'd ditched the grungy girlfriend, who looked like she was addicted to just about every substance known to man. All was right with the world.
She folded her arms across her chest. "So you came all the way over here to yell at me for uninviting you, and also to remind me how bad my choice in women is?"
"I just think it was a cruel thing to do. I was looking forward to Sunday," I said, my voice small and uncertain. Yeah, I had become completely aware of how ridiculous I sounded, losing it over something so silly.
"I'm sorry, I truly am. If I'd known it meant so much to you, that you wanted to spend your Sunday with me, I never would have invited her."