by Robin Palmer
I was the girl everyone wanted to be.
Well, everyone but me.
Brad leaned over the enormous gap between our seats and snaked his arm around me.
“What’s that smell?” I sniffed.
“Axe body spray. You love this stuff. You say it makes you all animalistic.”
I wrinkled my nose. It smelled like wet dog mixed with cat urine. Maybe what I meant was that it made him smell like an animal. “Right. Of course. Who wouldn’t love it?”
Finally we got to Brad’s house which was a fancy NOM one. NOM—aka North of Montana—was an area of Santa Monica. Like many of the houses in L.A., it took whatever style the owners had decided upon (in this case English manor) and just went for it.
“So how about a tour,” I said as I turned away from the life-sized statue of a silver knight in the front hall that was creeping me out.
“Of the house?”
I nodded. One of the perks of having to suffer through Brad’s monologue about the genius of a band called One Direction and how, if his nose hadn’t been broken by a soccer ball when he was eight, he could’ve been in a boy band as well, was that it had given me time to compile a list of time-wasting activities to avoid getting down to the business at hand.
“But you’ve been here a million times.”
“Yes, but in light of how special tonight is going to be, I want to have everything committed to memory.” As in especially awkward if I had to fight him off.
He shrugged. “Okay.”
As he led me through the house—with his mother’s Shih Tzu trotting behind us—I was glad that Brad came from a rich family. Not because I cared about money, but because it made for a longer tour. “And this, as you know,” he said with a glint in his eye as he opened up the door to yet another room, “is my bedroom. . . .”
I poked my head in. “Huh. Look at that.” It looked like something out of a catalog, if that catalog specialized in English manors. Lots of heavy dark wood and tartan plaid. Even if I were interested in you know-ing, I sure wouldn’t want to do it in here.
He grabbed my hand and started to pull me in. “And that concludes the end of our tour—”
“You know what? I suddenly got really, really hungry again!” I said, panicked. “Like low-blood-sugar-type hungry. Can I have a snack?”
He looked disappointed before he mustered a smile. “Sure.”
Once in the kitchen, I tried to waste more time by naming everything in the refrigerator and cabinets. (“Wow—you guys have pickles? That’s so cool. And Saltines! I love Saltines!”) At one point I looked over at Brad, who was sitting on a stool in front of the island, and found him dozing off. “Are you tired? Do you think I should go home?” I asked. “Because I don’t want to keep you up.”
He walked over and took me in his arms. “I’m a little tired. But I know what would wake me up—” he said as he went in for the kiss kill.
I pulled back. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to suck it up and put a stop to this now. “Brad, there’s something I need to tell you,” I said.
He put his hand in front of his mouth and breathed into it. “It’s the onions, isn’t it?” He took the breath spray out of his pocket again and uncapped it.
I pushed his hand down. “No. It’s not the onions.” Well, I could smell the onions, but that was the least of my problems. “I just . . .” I took a deep breath. “I’m not ready for this.”
“For what?”
“For . . . you know . . . any sort of you know-ing.”
He did the inbred-cocker-spaniel thing with his head.
“Ohhhh . . . I get it,” he finally said.
Thank God. Because on a scale of one to ten of uncomfortable conversations, this was a 252. “You really get it?” I asked doubtfully. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. You’re not ready to have sex.”
I exhaled. Thank God he wasn’t as dumb as he acted. “Yes. Right. That’s exactly it.” I looked at him. “How do you feel about that?”
“I’m cool with that.”
“You are?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, you only get to have your first time once. I’m not the kind of guy who would force a girl into doing something she doesn’t want to do. That’s gross.”
I smiled. It was gross. And Brad—I had discovered—was far from gross. Brad was actually a total prince of a guy and deserved a princess of a girl in return. Unfortunately, I was not that princess. And it was unfair to have him keep thinking I was.
“Okay, well, while we’re on the topic of hard conversations to be having, I have something else to bring up.”
He breathed into his hand again. “It really is the onions, huh?”
I pushed his hand away, but instead of letting go, I kept holding it. “Brad . . . you’re an awesome, awesome boyfriend. Like, beyond awesome—”
He smiled. “Thanks, Zoe,” he said as he went in for a kiss.
I pulled back. “—and you deserve an equally awesome girlfriend.”
“Good thing I have one,” he said as he leaned in again. You had to give the guy points for persistence.
“But that’s the thing: you don’t.”
“I don’t?”
I shook my head. “You did. But the thing is . . . you’re right—I am different,” I said. “This week, something’s happened that I can’t really explain, and I’m able to see things in a whole new light—”
His face was starting to fall. “Maybe you can just go back to seeing them in the old light.”
“That’s the thing—I can’t,” I said sadly. “Brad, you deserve someone who really, really wants to be with you. And right now . . . I don’t think I want to be with anyone. I think I need to be alone for a while, and get to know myself better. The new version of me.”
By now he looked like he was going to cry. “Are you breaking up with me?”
Oh man. I had no idea this was going to be so hard. “Breaking up sounds so harsh,” I said. “Think of it more like . . . I’m releasing you to find your soul mate.”
He thought about it and began to nod. “Huh. I like that.” He stopped. “But I thought you were my soul mate.”
“I think I was . . . but now I’m not,” I replied. “There’s someone a lot more soul-matey for you out there. But I’ll never forget what we had.” I couldn’t forget it, because I didn’t know what we had had.
He sighed. “Maybe this is for the best. I mean, I’ve never really ran down the field.”
“Do you mean ‘played the field’?”
“Yeah. That,” he agreed. “So it’s probably a good thing.”
“Thanks for being so understanding,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“You’re welcome.” He squeezed back before giving a giant yawn. “So if we’re not going to . . . you know . . . do you think we can go to sleep? I’m beat.”
“Actually, I think I want to sleep at home,” I replied. “So as your final act of boyfriendness, do you think you could drive me home?”
When I got home, I let myself in to my house as quietly as possible, relieved to see that none of the lights was on downstairs. Sometimes my father had insomnia, which resulted in him wandering around for hours, which he didn’t mind so much because he said he was his most creative and came up with some of his best Discocize moves then. My mother, however, did mind, because the next morning she’d come down to find a bunch of dirty dishes in the sink and wrappers from the Hostess cupcakes he hid from her on the table.
Somewhat hungry myself, I made my way into the kitchen.
“Ahhh!” I screamed when I saw my father, earbuds in his ears, doing some sort of weird lunge-slash-squat move while eating from a very large bowl of ice cream.
“Ahhh!” he screamed back and almost dropped the bowl. As he took the earbuds out, I could hear some guy singing about hoes
and hookas. That was definitely not disco. It had to be that rap thing they had been talking about. “Why aren’t you at Andrea’s? Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” I replied. Grabbing one of the chairs, I dragged it to the pantry and reached up onto the top shelf where I found some peanut butter, graham crackers, and M&M’s. It was good to know that while this version of me may have only eaten low-calorie things in public, she also kept a stash of junk food hidden away. After getting another carton of ice cream out of the freezer and a bowl, I joined him at the table and placed it between us.
“Some excellent choices here, Zoe,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied as I scooped some mint chocolate chip and butter pecan into my bowl and sprinkled some graham crackers on top. I had definitely inherited my love of strange food combinations from my father.
Before he started assembling his own sundae, he glanced over at the stairs to make sure he wasn’t about to get busted by my mother. All his junk food eating took place strictly late at night. During the day it was wheatgrass and vegetables. “So what happened?” he asked as he added some M&M’s to his ice cream. “Did you guys have a fight?”
“No.” I added some M&M’s to mine as well. “I just wanted to be back in my own bed in my own room.” Actually, I wanted to be in my own bed in my own room in a different millennium, but that was a whole other story.
He went to the pantry and grabbed a bottle of honey and squirted some in his bowl.
“Good call,” I said as I held my bowl out for some as well.
“Thanks. Yeah, I’ve noticed you haven’t seemed like yourself the last few days,” he said as he squirted just the right amount on my ice cream.
Talk about the understatement of the year.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Everything’s fine,” I lied.
And, unlike my mother, who once she noticed something was wrong, wouldn’t let it go and interrogated me like she was a detective in a TV show until I broke down and told her, my dad took a different approach. The approach where he didn’t badger you. He just nodded and went on eating. Maybe it was a guy thing. “I heard what happened with your speech today,” he finally said.
I looked up from my sundae. “You did? How?”
“I follow the Castle Heights Collective on Twitter.”
It was kind of creepy how everything you did could be broadcast for everyone to know about. Including parents.
“I’m very proud of you,” he went on. “Not to mention surprised. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it was very . . . not like you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the thing,” I said. “Everyone seems to have this idea of what I’m supposed to be like and doesn’t want me to change.”
He nodded as he added some peanut butter to his sundae. “I can understand that. It’s scary for people when someone who they think has it all starts to act out of character. People like routine.” Huh. Apparently Brad wasn’t as dumb as I had thought. “They like knowing what to expect.” He took a bite.
“Dad?”
“Yes, honey?”
“I just broke up with Brad.”
“Really? That’s too bad,” he said, relief all over his face. There was a reason my father hadn’t gotten a role in his high-school performance of Grease. Because he sucked as an actor. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing specific,” I replied. “It’s more like my feelings for him had changed.” As in, I didn’t have any.
He nodded. “Well, that happens.” He took another bite. “Is it because you’re interested in someone else?”
I looked at the floor. “No.” I wasn’t, and yet when I said it, it somehow sounded untrue.
He nodded. “Well, if you know he’s not the right guy for you, it’s better to be alone until you do find the right one. How’d he take it?”
“He was awesome about it.”
He smiled. “That’s great. That kid may not be too bright, but he’s got a good heart.”
“Yeah.”
He looked at the clock and stood up. “I should get back to bed in case your mother wakes up.” He walked over and kissed me on the top of the head. “I’m proud of you. There’s nothing more rewarding than being true to yourself. Remember that.”
Why’d it have to be so complicated, though?
THE NEXT MORNING I WAS GOING THROUGH my closet, hunting for something non-pink to wear when Andrea FaceTimed me. As I clicked Accept, her fully-made-up-even-though-it-was-only-eight-a.m. face filled the screen.
“Omigod, I can’t believe I got you,” she whispered. “I totally thought you’d be . . . you know . . .”
I shook my head. “Nope. No you know-ing took place last night.”
“It didn’t?” The thing about this FaceTime thing was that because you could see the person’s face, there was no way for them to pretend they weren’t completely relieved to hear something, like Andrea was at that moment. “What happened?”
“We went to dinner, and then he tried to win me a prize at the Pier, and then we went back to his house, and I broke up with him,” I replied as I held up a pink crochet cardigan. I had actually paid money for this thing? Ew.
“Okay, (a) you know that’s my favorite article of clothing you own,” Andrea said. “And (b) what?!”
“I broke up with him,” I said nonchalantly.
“But . . . he’s Brad . . .” she sputtered, “and you’re . . . you . . . and together you guys are . . . Broe.”
I plopped down on my bed. “You know how one day you look at something you’ve looked at a million times and suddenly it just looks different?”
“No. Not really,” she replied.
“Well, anyway, that’s what happened,” I went on. “The other day I woke up, and Brad just looked different to me. And I realized I wasn’t in love with him anymore.” It felt weird to say that, seeing that I couldn’t see being in love with him to begin with.
“I can’t believe it. How’d he take it?”
“He was great about it, actually.”
“That’s not surprising. I mean, he’s Brad. He’s great about everything.” She sighed. “Wow. I’m so sorry to hear this,” she said, sounding not sorry at all.
“Oh, I knew you would be,” I said wryly.
“So . . . is he going to look for a new girlfriend right away?” she asked. “I mean—are you going to look for a new boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
“Wow. You are different,” she said. “So what should we do to help you through your grieving? Go to the Dell? My source tells me that they added an entire new sale rack at Anthropologie.”
“Sounds great, but I can’t. I have other plans.”
“But it’s Saturday,” she said. “We’ve never not hung out together on a Saturday. What are these plans?”
“You know that guy Nerdy Wayne?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Why would I know anyone with the word nerdy before his name?”
“You’re right. You wouldn’t. Silly me. Anyways, he’s . . . going to help me with my science homework.”
“On a Saturday?”
I nodded. “I have a test on Monday. A really big one.”
“You’re going to do homework on a weekend?”
“Yup. It’s one of my New Year’s resolutions.”
“But it’s April.”
“I know. But I’ve been so busy, I only just got around to making some. Anyways, I should get going,” I said. “Maybe you want to give Brad a call and see what he’s doing today. He could probably use some cheering up?”
She brightened. “Really? You’d be okay with that?”
“Sure. It’s the least I can do for him. Offering up my best friend to make him feel better. Maybe you two can go shopping. I know he was super impressed with the shirts you picked out for hi
m the other day. So maybe today you could . . . I don’t know . . . go pick out . . . socks.”
She nodded. “Socks are an integral part of one’s fashion statement.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“I guess I could help out,” she said, attempting to sound somewhat hesitant but failing miserably as she ran to her own closet and threw open the door. “Gotta go! Text me later!” she cried before the screen went dark.
Thanks to Google Maps and the robotic-sounding lady giving directions, I was able to find Insomnia Cafe over in Hollywood on Beverly Boulevard without a problem. It was packed with people typing away on laptops, and from the abundance of furrowed brows and distressed looks on their faces, I decided they had to be screenwriters (the coffee shops of L.A. were filled with them). I scanned the crowd looking for Nerdy Wayne and saw him in the corner, tilted back in his chair, dangerously close to falling over. As I made my way over and got a better look, I stopped short.
He wasn’t alone. Jonah was with him.
“Hey,” I said when I got to the table. Why was my mouth so dry? So what if Jonah was there.
“Oh wow. It’s Zoe Brenner. Here at Insomnia. At eleven a.m.,” Nerdy Wayne announced in a stilted voice. It was a good thing he was into computers rather than the Drama Club. “What a coincidence.”
Jonah put his hand up. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said back.
“So I came here to get some work done,” Nerdy Wayne went on. “Because that’s what I like to do on Saturdays—get work done—and I look up, and Jonah here is standing right in front of me. Completely out of the blue.”
“Wow. That’s weird,” I said, playing along.
“Unplanned,” he went on.
I nodded. “Got it.”
“But since he took the liberty of sitting down at my table, maybe you’d like to sit with us, too.”
“Sure,” I said, pulling out a chair.
The three of us sat there smiling awkwardly at each other for a bit. “You know what I’ve been thinking a lot about lately?” Nerdy Wayne finally said.