Bitter Rose

by Melody Carlson

  Then he leans down and kisses me, long and hard. And I kiss him back with equal passion. And as we’re kissing, I’m thinking, This is so right. This is so good. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I assure myself that it has nothing to do with my stupid dad or my parents’ unfortunate problems. This is my life, and I’ll live it how I want!

  And I feel like I’m truly grown-up now, like I’m in control of my own life, and it’s like I can hear wedding bells and see us walking down the aisle together—officially Mr. and Mrs. Ned Schlamowski, off to live happily ever after.

  Finally, he stops kissing me, and then he steps away, looking over his shoulder nervously. “Man, I hope your aunt’s not watching.”

  “It’s okay,” I assure him, although I seriously hope the same thing.

  “I’ve got to go,” he says as he reaches into his pocket for his keys.

  “Why?” I ask. “Where are you going?”

  “I promised to meet some friends.”

  I make a frown. “So that’s it then? Just kiss me and drive away?”

  “What do you want, Maggie?”

  Now I start to pout. “Fine. Whatever.” And I walk away, feeling like I’ve been slapped.

  “Look,” he says as he follows me to my car. “I’d invite you to come with me, but we’re meeting at a bar. It’s not like you can get in, you know.” Then he looks hopeful. “Unless you have a fake ID. You don’t, do you?”

  I just shake my head.

  “I didn’t think so. Besides, it’s a bad idea. Louisa would have a fit if she knew I took you to a bar.”

  “Why don’t you tell your friends you’re busy?” I suggest. “Then we could do something.”

  “Like what?” He pulls me over to him now, holding me close again. “What would you suggest we do?”

  “I don’t know,” I say breathlessly.

  He leans down and kisses me again and then suddenly stops. “We can’t keep doing this out here, Maggie. It’s an accident waiting to happen.”

  “Let’s go someplace,” I suggest, feeling reckless. “Meet somewhere.”

  He runs his hand through his hair. “Where?”

  “Your place?”

  Now he laughs. “Yeah, right. My roommates would really like that.”

  “Oh.”

  We see the back door to the restaurant open, and now Susan is walking toward us and I am feeling desperate. “Come to my house,” I say quietly. “My mom is out tonight.”

  He nods and we say good night as if we’re not planning on meeting again. Then we get in our cars and I drive home as fast as I can, hoping that Mom is still out with her friends, which is likely since this is Friday and she’s been staying out later and later.

  I get to my house before Ned and quickly run into the house to make sure she’s not home, and she’s not. Then I go outside to wait for Ned. When he arrives, I ask him to park his car down the street and around the corner.

  “Just in case my mom gets home,” I say.

  He laughs at me but agrees, and soon we are sitting on the couch together. I’m drinking a soda and I have actually let him have one of the Corona beers my mom has been stocking in the fridge lately “for friends,” and I figure that should include Ned.

  Before long, we are kissing again, and I can tell Ned’s experienced at this—way more so than any of the high school guys I’ve gone out with, and way more than me. And soon I realize he’s expecting more—more than I have ever given, more than I ever intended on giving, at least until my wedding day. I know he’s expecting what Tia Dominga calls “the whole enchilada,” and we all know what she means by that. And a part of me wants to do this. A part of me wants to play the grown-up and even throw this all back in my dad’s face just to show him. But another part is unsure that I’m ready for the next step.

  Finally, I pull away with some seriously cold feet. “I can’t do this,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

  He frowns and just shakes his head. “I knew this would happen, Maggie. You lead a guy on like this when you’re really just a little girl.”

  “I’m just not ready,” I say, standing up and smoothing my clothes back into place.

  He stands up too. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. You’re too young. Don’t you get it?” He looks mad now, and for a moment I consider giving in—like it’s the only way to get this guy, the only way to hold on to him. Isn’t that what all guys (including my dad) are looking for? Why not just give in? But then I imagine my mom walking in, and the idea of her finding us doing it is way too scary.

  “You’re just pushing me too fast,” I tell him. “I need time.”

  “Yeah, like a few more years. Call me when you’re grown-up, Maggie.” Then he picks up his coat and walks out. And now I’m angry, and not just at him either. I’m angry at myself, at my life, at my parents—everything.

  “What is holding you back?” I ask myself as I stomp up the stairs. It’s not like anyone in my family would really care, would they? I mean, my mom might be mad for a while, but then she’s so checked out she’d probably forget all about it in a day or two. And my dad—well, who gives a flying fig about what he thinks anyway? Besides, this is a good way to get even. And then I consider how everyone and everything is forcing me to act like a grown-up anyway. My days of being a kid are over. Why not go all the way? “Just grow up, Maggie!” I yell as I slam the door to my room.

  But on Saturday, the day after my failed attempt to get Ned to take me seriously, I decide that it’s time to take the next step. Today is the day. Tonight will be the night. I am ready for this. I am grown-up.

  I spend the morning getting the perfect outfit ready, clear down to the undies, which are lacy and so hot. Then I shower and shampoo and condition my hair and very carefully shave my legs. I even take a nap. I want to be so ready for this. I am not going to blow it tonight.

  I have it all planned out. I’ll ask Tia Louisa to cash my check, and then I will tell Ned I’ll pay for a hotel room with my own money. How can Ned argue with that? I’ve already written Mom a note telling her that I’m spending the night with Claire. Knowing Mom, she will not call to check on me. She never has. And even if she did, she would probably try my cell phone first. And I will leave it turned on, just in case.

  Okay, I feel really nervous as I drive to work. But I tell myself I can do this. I am a grown-up, I have my own job, my own car, and I pretty much have to pay for everything myself these days—not to mention contribute to the household expenses. What about this is not grown-up?

  Once again, I flirt with Ned. But he is indifferent, like he’s still irked about last night. But then he doesn’t know yet what I have planned for tonight. I am waiting to surprise him out in the parking lot. I can’t wait to see his face when he hears my plans. Finally, my shift comes to an end and the restaurant is surprisingly quiet for a Saturday night, but I think that has to do with the weather, which is icy and cold and miserable.

  “I need to talk to you,” I whisper to Ned as he puts away the dessert tray. “After work tonight, okay?”

  He just nods as he sets the tray back into place. Then I make a quick run to the restroom, check my hair, reapply lip gloss, and critique my appearance in the mirror. My hair is up and my mom’s diamond stud earrings (I figure she shouldn’t mind since she’s been borrowing my stuff) look very sophisticated. I so want to look perfect for Ned. Then I go to Tia Louisa’s office to pick up my check.

  “Would you mind cashing it for me?” I ask hopefully.

  She peers up at me over her reading glasses, studying me for a few seconds. “What’s the occasion?”

  “I told Mom I could give her some grocery money,” I say quickly. And I’m surprised to find that I actually feel guilty about this particular lie, mostly because Tia Louisa has been so good to me. On the other hand, I have absolutely no desire to tell her what I actually plan to do with the money tonight either. That would be suicidal. “And since we weren’t too busy tonight”—at least this part’s true—“tips w
ere a little thin.”

  “You’re a good girl to help your mom like this, Magdela,” she says as she takes my signed check, unlocks a drawer, and then counts out some cash.

  “Thanks.” I take the cash and decide that I’ll have to make good on this by actually giving Mom some grocery money tomorrow—when I get home, that is.

  “Drive carefully,” she warns me. “It’s slick out there.”

  “I will,” I promise.

  Then, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement, I go out to the restaurant and see that some of the waiters have already left—including Ned. I figure he’s probably in the parking lot since I told him I needed to talk, so I get my coat and purse and, holding my head high, go out to tell him my plan.

  But I don’t see him in the icy parking lot, and when I look around, I see that his car is gone, and I realize that he left—just blew me off, just like that—and I am furious.

  I get into my car, turning the engine on and hoping to get warm. I sit there and wait, just in case he comes back. But after a few minutes, I realize this is pretty stupid, so I decide to drive around a little to see if I can spot his bug somewhere. But after half an hour, I realize that I’m just wasting gas, so I go home.

  I’m relieved to find that Mom’s not home. I suspect she already read my note and is just assuming I’m at Claire’s. She’s probably using me as an excuse to stay out even later than usual tonight, just hanging with her friends and having a good time. Unlike me, she’s having a life.

  But here’s what’s weird: As I get ready for bed, I have this sense of relief way down inside of me. Even though I still feel irked at Ned, I’m thinking I really wasn’t ready to have sex. And having sex probably wouldn’t have made me any more grown-up than remaining a virgin. If anything, it probably would’ve really complicated my life. And the fact that a part of me would be doing it for revenge—to get back at my dad and to hurt him—is kind of freaky. Like sacrificing a part of myself would make things better? Something’s wrong with my thinking.

  eighteen

  NOW, IT’S NOT THAT I BLAME MOM FOR WANTING TO CHANGE HERSELF and have a life, but I’m starting to find it kind of unsettling. I’ve not only lost a dad but I could be losing my mom as well. Okay, maybe I’m overreacting, but she really does seem changed to me, like she thinks she’s suddenly turned into my sister or something. To be honest, I thought maybe she was just going through a phase at first, I mean with her fitness kick, new haircut, and stuff. I figured she’d get tired of trying so hard and go back to her old mom-like self. But a month has gone by, and she seems to only be getting worse. Not only is she borrowing my clothes but she almost looks better in them than I do—and if you ask me, that’s pretty disturbing.

  “Your mom sure looks hot today,” Claire notices when she picks me up for school. “Hey, are those your Nine West boots?”

  I nod and climb into her car. “She thinks she’s like eighteen now.”

  Claire laughs. “Speaking of eighteen, I know someone who has a birthday this week.”

  “That’s right.” I slap myself on the forehead. “I almost forgot.” The truth is, I’ve been depressed lately. The whole thing with Ned has really gone south on me, and it’s like every day is just one big drag.

  “So are you getting the night off on Saturday?”

  “I forgot to ask.”

  “Maggie! You have to get it off—it’s your birthday and we need to celebrate. Youth group is planning a surprise for you.”

  “Youth group?” I consider this. It seems like years since I’ve been to youth group.

  “Yeah, remember youth group?” she asks with sarcasm. “You used to go there every Saturday night with me.”

  “I know, but Saturday is a busy night for the restaurant.”

  “I’m sure your aunt will give you the night off for your birthday. She can’t be that mean.”

  “She’s not mean.”

  “I thought you said she was.”

  “I used to think that, back when I was a little kid. But that’s just because she’s very direct and never puts up with crud—not from anyone.”

  “So why don’t you be direct with her and ask for the night off.”

  So I tell Claire that I will, but when I get the chance to ask Tia Louisa later that night, I don’t. Don’t ask me why—I just don’t. Maybe I’m hoping that something with Ned will change, like maybe he’ll find out it’s my birthday and do something special for me on Saturday, kind of like the night of the Harvest Dance. That was so sweet. Or maybe I don’t ask her simply because I don’t want to go to youth group and any excuse is a good excuse. I’m probably worried that my old youth-group friends will see right through me and realize I’m not exactly living the Christian life anymore. It’s not like I’m out there sinning big-time, although I probably would if I could, but I guess I’ve pretty much let my faith go sideways. Of course, I think my dad is mostly to blame for this lack of spiritual interest, and not just for me either. My whole family seems a little lost right now.

  On Friday, Claire asks me about my birthday again, and I actually lie to her this time. “My aunt can’t get anyone to work for me,” I tell her, acting like I’m really disappointed.

  “No way.”

  I nod. “Bummer, huh?”

  “You really have to work on your eighteenth birthday?”

  “It’s okay,” I assure her. “We can really use the money. My dad has totally flaked on us, and my mom hasn’t sold anything all month.”

  Naturally, I don’t tell her my theory behind Mom’s lack of sales—that she hasn’t been trying too hard or that she spends more time at the fitness center than at the office. And no way do I tell Claire about Rich, the guy Mom’s been starting to hang out with. Mostly I’m hoping that Rich is just a temporary lapse in good judgment. But when I come home from work on Friday night, Rich’s car (a hideous black El Camino that’s been restored to within an inch of its life) is parked out front.

  So I enter the house through the garage and tiptoe through the dark kitchen, hoping I can slip upstairs without actually seeing him—or them. I hear what sounds like some lame disco music coming from the living room and I think I’m clear to go, but no such luck.

  “Is that you, Maggie?” my mom calls just as I reach the foot of the stairs.

  “Yeah, I’m just going to bed.”

  “Come in and say hello first.”

  So I go over and tip my head into the room and offer an unenthusiastic hello.

  “Hey, Maggie,” says Rich from where he’s sitting on the couch, wearing a shiny black shirt that’s open at the neck and showing off way too much gold jewelry. With his slicked-back hair and cocky smile, this guy is like a bad cliché for Latinos. I cannot imagine what Tia Louisa would say if she ever met him. I just hope she never does.

  “How was work?” my mom asks. I notice that she’s wearing my favorite skirt and that it’s riding up pretty high, revealing more thigh than I’d be comfortable with. Can’t she even see that?

  “Busy,” I say, turning away. “Good night.”

  “Night, Maggie,” my mom calls sweetly after me.

  “Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” calls Rich.

  I roll my eyes and suppress the urge to scream ee-uuw! as I head up the stairs. I go to my room and close the door and realize that I hate my life. I really do. I hate my dad, I hate who my mom is becoming, I definitely hate Rich, and I even hate Elisa and Marc right now—first of all because they are so far away and removed from all this stupidity, and second of all because they don’t even seem to care. I also hate school and all my boring friends. I hate the weather—cold and gloomy. I hate my job and the way everyone there seems to take me for granted. And I hate Ned.

  Okay, maybe I don’t actually hate Ned, but I’m really mad at him. It’s like he’s not even giving me the time of day lately. And Susan said that she thinks he has a girlfriend. A girlfriend! Not only that but I noticed he changed the schedule and won’t even be working tomorrow night. Man, I
so hate my life.

  I sleep in late on Saturday, and when I get up, I’m still in a real snit. I go downstairs to see that Mom hasn’t gotten up yet, or if she did, she didn’t clean up a single thing from her and Rich’s little party last night. The sight of our living room littered with beer bottles, leftover pizza, paper plates, and crud just makes me want to throw something. Our place never used to look like this. There used to be order and neatness and a sense that life had some kind of meaning. Now it just feels hopeless, pathetic, and random. I hate it. And I am not cleaning this up.

  I get a bowl of cereal and go back to my room and wish I had someplace to go today. I wish I had some money so I could at least go to the mall and pretend to have a life.

  “This is all your freaking fault, Dad!” I scream as I actually throw my cereal bowl against my door, leaving a ding in the wood and a mess of soggy cornflakes, milk, and broken glass all over the carpet. Then I throw myself across my bed and just cry. You’d think my tears would help alleviate my rage, but it’s like I’m just getting madder and madder. I even consider going over to Dad’s stupid town house and throwing a complete fit. Or maybe, like Mom considered doing once, I could take my brother’s baseball bat to Dad’s Explorer and beat the bloody chrome off of it.

  Instead, I just eat and sleep all day. Hey, it’s my birthday. I deserve to pig out on junk food and possibly put on a pound or two. Who cares? Finally, it’s time to get ready for work, and I consider calling in sick but just can’t bring myself to do that to Tia Louisa. Despite my misery, I still care what she thinks of me. Besides, she’s been having some awful migraines lately, and I don’t want to add to her stress.

  “Happy birthday,” I tell myself as I drive to work. Okay, I’m not a bit surprised that Dad totally forgot my birthday. I mean, I never expected him to remember—didn’t even want him to. But I do feel hurt that Mom didn’t do anything or even say anything—not that I really thought she would, as consumed as she is with her own life and stupid Rich right now. And, okay, maybe I am enjoying this little pity party a little too much. Why shouldn’t I?