We talked for almost two hours. Every time I thought I hated her, she won me over again by saying something that was kind or smart or showed the slightest hint of vulnerability. And it all fit. She was Jessie Fucking Morgan. She was exactly the kind of person who would have stolen her dad’s credit card and checked into a hotel, worn a tube top and a miniskirt to give a debate speech, sang karaoke even though she had a terrible voice, and thrown a rock through Robbie’s window. She was exactly the kind of person who would leave everyone behind. It made sense.
“You could come back with me,” I said. I don’t know if I wanted her to say she would or she wouldn’t. I don’t know what I wanted to happen.
“If screwing Myra’s dad was the worst of what I’d done,” Jessie said, “I might be able to go back and see them again. But I fucked everything up and then I jumped ship.” She had tears in her eyes. Her nostrils flared. “I can’t make up for that. They gave me everything that was solid in my life. I never even said good-bye.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and wiped her hand on her jeans.
“Maybe you can talk to them. Fix things. They’re such good people.”
“They’re such good people,” she said, laughing. “I fucking know they’re good people.” She pointed a finger at me. “You don’t have to tell me they’re good people. I fucking know.”
I felt like I should be afraid of her, but I wasn’t. I felt sorry for her.
She stretched her legs out in front of her and rolled her feet back and forth, the buckles of her boots clanged against the beat-up hardwood floor. “They even tried to find me. Myra sent me an e-mail asking if I was her ‘dear friend Jessie Morgan from Mount Si,’ and I never wrote her back. I can’t fix that. And it wasn’t a one-time thing with Myra’s dad. It was six months of nights.”
“God!” I said, before I could stop myself.
“Oh,” she said, nodding. “Yeah, you didn’t know that part, did you? Six months. She’s never going to forgive me. It will always be a failing situation.”
“But you were a kid. An adult took advantage of you. Maybe Myra will understand that.”
“You know . . . ,” Jessie said, pulling the box of cigarettes from the pocket of her jacket. “You know . . .” Her voice trailed off. She took a cigarette out and lit it, even though we were inside. She blew smoke at the ceiling. “Oh, don’t even start with me, Fake Jessie. Just don’t.”
“Jenny.”
“Whatever. It’s not like you know. It’s not like you were there.” She was quiet for a long time, smoking. Staring into space. I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat next to her, watching the smoke curl into the air and disappear.
“But do me a favor,” she said finally, as if we were still midconversation. “If you see them again, tell them I’m sorry.” She stubbed her cigarette butt out on the bottom of her boot, ashes falling to the floor. “I love them. It’s just that I’m not the same Jessie anymore, and I really can’t go back.”
When we walked out of the studio, I noticed, on the wall, a framed picture from that shoot she did in high school. Karen, Robbie, Heather, Myra, and Fish standing in a line, smushing their faces together. Jessie wasn’t in the picture.
I drove all the way back to Mount Si and tried to find my way to McCleary’s. Myra had pointed it out when we drove past. It was Wednesday night. They would be there. They had to be there. Myra talked about how they spent every Thursday at McCleary’s Pub. Tuesday was movie night. Sunday was breakfast. Thursday was drinks and bar food.
I made a few wrong turns, but then I found it. Just off the main strip of downtown Mount Si. Fish’s truck, Heather’s purple car, Myra’s old Honda—all lined up in the gravel parking lot. I parked next to Fish.
They didn’t notice me when I walked in the bar. I already had tears in my eyes. My legs were shaking. I hadn’t eaten much all day, which was adding to my feet feeling less than stable on the dusty, warped floorboards. I stood in the corner by the door and watched them.
Karen was nowhere to be seen. I hoped she was home with her kids. Myra was trying to get Robbie to eat a piece of celery from a plate of wings. She had it pressed against his lips, and he was shaking his head like a baby trying to avoid a mouthful of peas. Heather’s face was bright red from laughing so hard. Fish stood up and tried to pry Robbie’s mouth open. But then he saw me and stopped. He stood up straight. His smile faded. Myra and Heather turned to look at what he’d seen. Their smiles disappeared too.
Robbie took the opportunity to grab the celery away from Myra, but then he realized why they’d stopped. “You’re back,” he said.
I walked over, each step taking more strength than the last.
“Well,” Robbie said, “out with it,” like he just wanted everything settled so he could move on.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“No,” Myra said. “I’m sorry. I’m not okay with so much of this. With the lying. With the things you said. But it was a long time ago. And my father—” Her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry he took advantage of you. I can’t believe how—”
“Don’t you dare apologize to her!” Karen said, storming across the bar from the ladies’ room. “She was eighteen. She knew what she was doing. It’s not like she was some sad little wallflower who didn’t know any better. She’s a predator and a liar. She’s a total whore. “
“Karen!” Fish said sharply.
“Listen, please!” I was shocked my voice even existed anymore. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Karen said. “You broke up Myra’s family.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Myra said. “It’s not a black and white—”
“Bullshit,” Karen said. “You don’t fuck your friend’s dad. I don’t care how complicated things are.”
“I didn’t,” I said.
“I SAW YOU!” Karen yelled. The bar was mostly empty, but the few scraggly looking guys in the corner turned to stare.
“No,” I said. I was shaking badly. My teeth chattered. “You saw Jessie.”
They stared at me blankly. Except for Karen, who gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she said softly, her eyes getting wide. She stared at my face. “Oh my God.” She pointed at me.
“What?” Heather said.
“I’m not Jessie,” I said softly.
“What?” Robbie said, laughing. “Jess?”
Myra stared at me. She rested her hand on her nose.
I couldn’t even look at Fish. He was still standing behind Robbie. I couldn’t bring my eyes to meet his.
“I’m not Jessie Morgan,” I said. “I was here for a conference and Myra saw me in the elevator and I just—” I sobbed.
They all stared at me. No one said a word for a long time. Finally Myra said, “How could you?”
“I needed a friend.” It was so sad and sick and gross. I wanted to leave, but I felt like I owed them as much of an explanation as they wanted from me. I didn’t deserve to be comfortable. I didn’t deserve to run away.
“I let you stay in my house!” Myra covered her face with her hands, but her big brown eyes showed in the vees between her fingers. “I stayed in your room at the lodge. We took you hiking. I told you . . . everything.”
It was stupid, but I’d had this image in my head that they would all be mad at Jessie and then I’d say, “Surprise! I’m not Jessie,” and suddenly they’d be so happy that I wasn’t the person they were mad at, the fact that I was an impostor wouldn’t be such a biggie. But, of course, they all looked horrified and hurt and like I was the most grotesque monster they’d ever seen. Except for Karen. She had a smirk on her face, and she clenched her hands into fists. I worried, again, that she might punch me.
Finally Heather said, “So who are you?” Her big blue eyes were filled with tears.
I know I said t
hings. Words came out of my mouth. I offered some semblance of an explanation, but even as I was talking, all I could think about was how it wasn’t enough. There was no excuse. There was no good explanation. I wanted to start with my fourth grade birthday party and tell them about every single moment that ever made me want to be somebody else. I wanted to make them understand that it was easier to figure out who Jessie was than to figure out who I am. But those were words they didn’t need. It wasn’t their job to hear them.
After I gave them the basic stats on Jenny Shaw, I said, “I’m so sorry,” and it felt like the tiniest, most pathetic little speck. Like a grain of sand.
“I found Jessie,” I said. “She’s in Portland. I went to see her. She’s sorry too.”
None of them would look at me. “I know,” I said, “that this isn’t going to make sense, that it isn’t going to seem right, but being here, with you, who I’ve been as Jessie”—I wiped my eyes—“is the truest part of me. You guys don’t know how lucky you are. You don’t know how important you are. You’re superheroes. You saved each other. I wanted you to save me too. I wanted to belong to you. To know what it felt like to have friends like you.”
There was nothing else I could say. The tears were coming too hard, and Karen still looked like she might hit me. So I ran out to the parking lot.
I dropped my keys when I tried to open the door of my rental car, and when I bent down to pick them up, I saw Fish standing outside, under the overhang, watching me.
“I’m not Jessie,” I said, walking back to him, “but I have never felt this way about anyone before. I kept pretending I was her, because I have never wanted to be with someone so much. Being with you is the most right I’ve ever felt. Just being around you”—I tried to hold back a sob—“makes everything better.”
He had tears in his eyes. I could see the muscles in his jaw tighten.
“I know what I did was so wrong,” I said. “And I know you might think I’m a stranger now, but I’m not. You know me. You know who I am. I promise you, it wasn’t fake. Some of it might not have been true, but none of it was fake. Who I really am is someone who thinks you are the best person I’ve ever met. I am someone who doesn’t want to let you go.”
There were tears dripping from my chin. He reached out and wiped them away with his sleeve. He studied my face, and I thought for a second that he might kiss me. He didn’t.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. “I know you want me to say something,” he said softly, “but I can’t. I don’t know what to say.” He looked at the door to the bar and back at me. “I think you should probably leave.”
I nodded, my throat too choked with tears to talk. I turned and walked away. When I got to the car, I looked back to see if he was still there, but he’d already gone inside.
I took a cab home from the Rochester airport. It was late and dark and cold. The cab driver talked on his cell phone to his wife or girlfriend. “One more fare and then I’ll be home, sweetheart,” he said. He actually called her sweetheart, and it made me feel horribly lonely. All I was going home to was a cat, and he didn’t even like me.
When I got into my apartment, there was mail stacked up just inside the door and the suitcase I’d left in Deagan’s car was waiting for me at the end of the hallway, his set of keys to my apartment balanced on top. I looked for a note, but there wasn’t one. Mr. Snuffleupagus eyed me warily, perched on my desk. He had food in his bowl, but my leaving him for a week was enough of an injustice to earn me the cold shoulder.
I sorted through the mail. The notice for my lease renewal was in the stack. I thought I’d be moving in with Deagan. It was something I’d planned on. And even though I wasn’t moving in with him, I didn’t want to sign away another year. I needed something new. I didn’t want to keep trying to be someone I wasn’t.
I turned the TV on and stretched out on the couch to watch Family Ties reruns. Eventually Snuffy gave up his standoff and cuddled up with me.
I woke up to the sound of a key in the door to my apartment. I sat up on the couch. “Who’s there?” I called. My heart was pounding.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” Luanne said, storming into the living room. “It’ll make it more satisfying to kill you.”
“What?” I said, rubbing my eyes, feeling my mascara stick to my hand.
“How hard is it to return a fucking phone call? Send a text? Something!” She looked like she hadn’t slept. Her hair was a rat’s nest, and she was wearing an oversized Ithaca Bombers sweatshirt. I’d never seen Luanne in a sweatshirt before.
“Oh,” I said, realizing my phone was still off. At first it was a conscious thing. My phone felt like a ticking time bomb. I didn’t want to know what hateful messages lurked in my voicemail. Then I didn’t want to know what messages weren’t there. I didn’t want to know for sure that Fish hadn’t called. That Myra and Heather and Robbie hadn’t either. I didn’t want to deal with any of it. And then I just sort of forgot that I had a phone. It was easier than I ever would have thought. I’d spent so much time with my phone fused to my hand, dealing with clients, updating Twitter accounts. But the silence, the time with my thoughts, the time to read magazines in the airport and sketch pictures on cocktail napkins on the plane, the time to just be with myself, was calming. It was a luxury I hadn’t been ready to give it up. “My phone wasn’t on.”
“Where were you?”
“At the spa,” I said.
“Bullshit,” she said. “I called the spa when you didn’t pick up your cell phone, after I called eighty million times. After I locked myself out of your apartment and the complex manager wouldn’t let me back in to feed your damn cat.”
“How’d you get in?”
“Deagan,” she said. “I had to call Deagan to have him come over and let me in.” She gestured to my suitcase, still standing in the hallway.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Where were you?” she said.
I didn’t want to explain, but I didn’t want to lie anymore. I told her everything.
“You’re joking, right?” she said. “Who does that?” She had a panicked look on her face, like she was scared of me. Like I might suddenly morph into a horrible, slimy beast. It’s not like I had thought she’d be accepting and understanding, but I didn’t expect her to look at me with such disgust.
“I didn’t want to be myself anymore. I wanted to be Jessie. I wanted to have friends like that. I wanted to have that kind of life.”
“You have me,” she said.
“It’s so conditional,” I said. “With you, with Deagan, with my mother.”
“Don’t group me in with them,” she said. “That’s completely unfair. I’m the one who’s here. I’m the one who’s calling hotels and hospitals and trying to figure out where the fuck you are when you won’t answer your damn phone. Don’t you dare put me in the same category as your mother.”
“I just mean that we’re not friends the way we pretend we are. We’re not. I don’t even think we said two words to each other in college. We never would have kept in touch if you hadn’t moved to Rochester.”
“But I did.”
“And you acted like we were dear old friends, and I let you because I really needed a dear old friend. But sometimes I’m not sure you even like me. You compete with me. You love to take me down a peg. You love to comment on every little thing I do—everything I don’t do the way you would. You’re my friend as long as I never ever upstage you. It’s not the same thing.”
“Well,” she said, staring at the ceiling, “well, at least I don’t run around like a freak pretending to be someone I’m not.” She slammed her copy of my keys down on my desk and walked out.
I hauled myself off the couch and climbed into bed, dragging Mr. Snuffs with me under protest. I stayed there for most of the day, not quite asleep, not quite awake, liste
ning to the sounds of my upstairs neighbor’s evening routine: vacuum, run the dishwasher, take a shower, and then the trumpets from the CBS Evening News. She never had friends over. I never heard two voices, two sets of footsteps. And for the first time, I wondered about her instead of just being annoyed by her. I wondered if she was happy in her routine. I wondered if she’d ever dreamed of anything more.
I got up, grabbed a jacket and my car keys, and left to go to my storage space so I could pick up my paints and paintings.
I stayed up all night painting. I started with a painting of the clearing, the way the sky looked when Robbie and I were smoking. The clouds and the little spots that were clear, where the stars shone through. I painted the bonfire. I painted Fish’s house frame and spent the longest time mixing the right color for the yellow glow from the lightbulbs. I painted the living room in Grammie’s house and the couch we sat on when we ate our feelings and Myra’s store with the gorgeous chandelier. I tried to capture every detail of all the places I’d been to with Jessie’s friends, but I couldn’t bring myself to paint them, to capture their faces. They weren’t mine.
I sketched out the chandelier from Myra’s store again and played with the shapes until I turned it into a big ornate A with crystals that trailed down to form a C below it, and then I worked out different ways to spell the rest of Aberly Cadaberly. I settled on a swooping script like a signature, and painted the logo on a canvas board. I didn’t know if I’d ever get up the courage to send it to her, but painting it made me feel like maybe I’d have the chance to talk to her again someday.
Monday morning sucked. I’d spent the weekend painting and I was still on Seattle time, so when my alarm went off, it felt like it was really three a.m. All my clean work clothes were still in the suitcase Deagan left, which was still sitting exactly where he’d left it. They exploded all over the floor when I unzipped the case. And every single piece of clothing, from pantyhose to underwear, was completely and totally wrinkled. I hung the clothes I wanted to wear in the bathroom while I showered, but it didn’t do much to relax the wrinkles.
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