I was supposed to be born on April 14, but I was two and a half weeks early and my mom decided that April didn’t have to be literal. It could be metaphorical. A new season. A new family unit.
At least they hadn’t named me March.
LOST IN TRANSLATION
Matthew: You better call Mom back. She’s trying to get in touch with you. Has bitten off all her nails.
Me: Moving into Vi’s today! Will call her later! xxx
Matthew: U R?
Me: Dad leaving 4 the Cleve
Matthew: Oh right.
Me: Didn’t you tell Mom he’s moving?
Matthew: Forgot. Did u?
NOT THAT KIND OF MOTHER
Why didn’t I consult my mother about my living situation?
In a traditional mother-daughter relationship, the daughter would probably call her mother to discuss a move like this. Although in a traditional mother-daughter relationship, a high school junior would live with her mother.
But my mother lived in Paris with her new husband, Daniel (pronounced “Danielle” en français). She’d been gone a year and a half, since the summer after freshman year.
The truth is, it hadn’t occurred to me to consult her about my living situation.
Which I maybe shouldn’t have mentioned to her in those exact words.
“How could you not have talked to me about this?” she asked on the phone, sounding slightly hysterical.
“It’s not such a big deal,” I said. “Daddy and Penny are moving to Ohio—they leave tonight—so I moved in with Vi.”
“Wait—you moved? This happened already?”
I looked around my quickly and fully unpacked room. Vi is nothing if not efficient. “Yes. Today. My housewarming soirée is in a few hours. I just got out of the shower actually, so I don’t have too long to talk. I think Noah is coming over.”
“But-but—you can’t just do that!”
“Actually, I can,” I said, and if it sounded cold, too bad. I didn’t actively want to be cold, but face it, my dad had custody of me. She had custody of Matthew. That’s what they had agreed on when she decided to leave Westport to move to Paris and be with Danielle. She was thrilled to be done with child support, done with alimony, done with my father. “You have no idea how annoying it is to have to justify the cost of orange juice,” she’d said to me. And you have no idea how many people you’ve hurt, I said back to her, but only in my head. Screw the orange juice.
“I think you lost your say somewhere over the Atlantic,” I added.
There was a pause. “I’m still your mother. I still get a say.” She sighed. “I wish you’d come live with us in France.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said curtly. Then I felt bad so I added, “I would never be able to finish high school in French.” For some reason, whenever I spoke to my mom, I felt guilty. But shouldn’t she be the one to feel guilty? She was the one who left me. “I want to be here,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “With my friends.”
“I can’t believe your father agreed to this,” my mother said. “Suzanne’s not the most responsible mother. I remember when she let the two of you walk to the Baskin-Robbins on Main Street by yourselves when you were nine. When you were nine!”
I hung my head upside down to scrunch my hair with gel. “Don’t worry about Suzanne. She won’t even be here. She’s going to be traveling.”
“What? What?”
I grimaced. Why had I said that? “She got the lead in Traveling Mary Poppins. Don’t tell Dad.” No, she wouldn’t tell my dad. She didn’t even talk to my dad. And anyway, she would never tattle on me. I was her friend. When your parents divorced and your mom started dating again, that’s what happened. At least, that’s what happened with us. Roles shifted. Moms need someone to dissect dates with and (inappropriate or not), tag, you’re it.
“April—”
“What?” I snapped.
“I don’t like the idea of you living by yourself.”
“I’m not by myself. I’m with Vi. You’re not going to be annoying about this, are you? It’s not a big deal.” Why had I even told her? Stupid. Did I want her to worry? Did I subconsciously want her to call my dad?
“I’m not going to call your father, but I don’t like what you’re doing one bit.”
Relief washed over me. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it. We’ll be good, I promise.”
“I trust you, April, but promise to call me if you get into any trouble. No, before you get into any trouble.”
The doorbell rang. Noah. I hoped Vi would let him in. “Listen, Mom, I gotta go. Noah’s upstairs and I just got out of the shower. And isn’t it, like, midnight there? Matthew’s asleep?”
“Can you call me tomorrow please?” There was defeat in her voice, and it irritated me and made me feel guilty simultaneously.
“Yup. Give Matthew a kiss for me.” He had spent a week with us in Westport over winter break and the second he got his Unaccompanied Minor butt back on the Air France plane, I’d felt like a part of me was missing. I cried when I said good-bye to him. I always did. Most sisters found their little brothers annoying, but not me, never me. I brought Matthew along with me everywhere. We used to play hide-and-seek and build forts out of cardboard boxes and speak to each other in pig Latin so our parents wouldn’t understand.
“Really tomorrow, though,” she continued. “Not like two weeks ago when you said tomorrow and then I call again today and discover your landline’s been disconnected.”
“Right. Sorry about that. I’ve been busy.”
“Apparently.” Another sigh. It was amazing how well I could hear the sighs despite the ocean between us. I said good-bye, hung up the phone, slipped on my jeans and shirt, and turned on the music, trying to drown out any concerns about my mother.
I needed to raid Vi’s closet. She had tons of funky stuff. Cool shirts, sexy heels, and one red dress that was superhot. Long-sleeved, low-cut, and short. It screamed Notice Me, among other things. Moving in with her came with the added bonus of borrowing whatever I wanted, right? And I wanted to wear that red dress. Not tonight, but soon.
There were three knocks on the basement door.
I tossed my cell on my bed. “Come in,” I said, trying to make my voice sound light and fluffy.
“It’s me again!” Marissa called, running down the stairs. She was in a gray knit dress and black tights and ballet flats. Marissa always wore dresses. She loved them. Winter dresses. Summer dresses. Tights. Bare-legged. Whatever. She was probably the only teenager who hated wearing jeans. She’d wear a dress to play soccer if she was allowed. “Did you miss me? I’ve been gone a whole hour. Did you see that Vi taped your dad’s rules to the fridge? So funny.”
“Oh, hey,” I said.
“What, I’m not exciting enough for you?” she asked.
“No, you are . . . of course you are. I was just expecting Noah.”
He had flown in that morning and I thought he’d have come over by now. Wouldn’t tonight be the big night? First night back . . . first night in the new house . . . hello, first-time sex. It was new Independent Me. And Independent Me was a hundred percent ready for sex.
“Have you spoken to him yet?” Marissa asked.
“Not yet,” I said. “I left him a message. I told him to come over for the soirée.”
“I’m sure he’s just crazed,” she said, waving her hand.
I felt out of touch. Noah had called a few times from Palm Beach but it was tough to actually talk since he was staying with his whole family at his grandfather’s.
I hunted for my black eyeliner and viewed my reflection in the full-length mirror we’d leaned against the wall. Not bad. My long hair was perfectly wavy instead of frizzy, and my skin looked smooth. I lined the inside rims of my lids, hoping to make my brown eyes pop.
“I don’t know how you do that,” she said crawling onto my futon.
“Penny taught me,” I told her. The one thing we bonded over—makeup. “Want me to show you?”
“God, no. I’m getting heebies just watching.”
Next up—mascara. “Sorry I’m taking so long. Almost done.”
“No rush.” She smiled dreamily. “I’ll just lie here and pretend this is my room. I might nap.”
“Happy to get a trundle bed.”
“Wait till Noah sees your new digs. He’s going to freak.”
“We’ll find out if he ever gets here.” Where was he, anyway?
“He’s probably getting you flowers or something. Something sweet. Do you know how lucky you are? You have an amazing boyfriend who lives ten minutes away, plus you have your own place.” Aaron, Marissa’s boyfriend, lived in Boston.
I applied my lip gloss. “You’re forgetting one of the most important things.”
“What’s that?”
I smacked my lips together, then went over and hugged her, because I really did love Marissa. Without Marissa, I’d probably still be lying in a pool of my own misery. “I have you.”
A KICK IN THE PANTS
Two and a half years ago, in September of freshman year, Marissa decided we needed to be on the soccer team.
“But we’re not athletic,” I reminded her. We were both around five foot five and small, and not particularly active.
“So? A sport would be good for us. Our confidence. Our morale. Our asses.” We both knew what she really meant was, a sport might make you stop moping.
While soccer was fun, it didn’t stop me from crying into my pillow at night over how my mom cheated on my dad and made him cry and how dinnertime was lonely and quiet and usually McDonald’s and how my father was dating like a lunatic and my mother wanted to chat with me about the cute guys in her office.
Marissa thought it was awesome that my mom wanted to hang out and gossip, but it just gave me a headache. Marissa moved to Plan B. “I told Noah Friedman to come to Burger Palace for lunch with us,” she told me.
“Who?” I thought I knew who he was, but I wasn’t sure.
“Noah. He’s in my English class. You’ll like him.”
“Why?” I asked, leaning against my locker.
“He’s cute. He’s sweet. He’s smart. I think you guys would be good together,” she said.
The three of us met by the front door. He had wavy brown hair, green eyes. Taller than me, but not much. His cheeks were pink, like he’d run to meet us. He smelled fresh, like mint gum. We walked down the street to Burger Palace, Marissa in the middle.
The waitress came over and asked us for our order. Marissa got chicken fingers. I got a burger. Noah, sitting across from us, got a burger, fries, a side of mac ’n’ cheese, and a milk shake.
“That’s a lot of food,” Marissa said.
“I’m a growing boy,” he said.
“I’ll share your fries,” I offered. “So you don’t explode.”
He smiled at me. He had dimples. I wanted to reach over and touch one.
“Glad you’re here to keep me under control. But where were you two weeks ago when I actually did explode at Bertucci’s? I ate way too much pizza.”
I laughed. Sitting there with Noah, I felt like I belonged. I forgot to be sad about my parents’ divorce. I forgot to be angry.
The waitress came back to our table. “Sorry to tell you, kids, but we’re out of beef patties.”
“But . . . this is the Burger Palace,” I said.
She shrugged. “Turkey burger? Veggie burger? Lamb? We still got burgers.”
“Um . . .”
“Sure,” Noah said. “Turkey.”
“And you?” the waitress asked me.
“Turkey burger, I guess. Thanks.” I waited for the waitress to walk away before grumbling, “How does a burger place run out of burgers?”
“They have burgers, just not beef. You don’t like turkey?” Noah asked.
“I do,” I said. “But I can’t just switch gears like that. I need to rearrange the expectations of my palate.” I made an exaggerated lip-smacking sound. “There we go. Rearranged.”
“Your palate, huh?” He laughed. “You’re cute.”
Now my cheeks felt pink. So are you, I thought.
Under the table, Marissa squeezed my hand.
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
Noah showed up last to the soirée.
Vi was busy pouring beers and glasses of wine as the guests arrived, and Joanna handed them out. It felt odd watching them serve alcohol. Like we were old, living in an apartment in New York, having cocktails. Already Dean and his brother, Hudson, were finishing the last of the chips.
We’d left the door unlocked and I was refilling the chip bowl when I spotted Noah at the door. “Hi!” I said. I dropped the bag and pushed through the others to get to him as he smiled at me. It wasn’t the private homecoming I’d been dreaming of—but at least he was here.
“Hey, everyone,” he said, glancing around the room. He was looking adorable, like he always did when he came home from Florida. Slight tan, cheeks a bit burnt. He was wearing a new green top that his parents must have bought him on their trip. I’d never seen it before.
“What’s up?” RJ called from the couch. RJ played center on the varsity basketball team with Noah. Compared to RJ’s six-foot-three, wide, bulky frame, we all looked like dwarfs.
I wrapped my arms around Noah’s neck, which was cold from outside. His cheeks were flushed. “Hi,” I said again.
“Hey,” he said softly, looking around.
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips. He was the perfect height for me, only a few inches taller. “I missed you,” I said. He smelled like shampoo.
“I missed you too,” he said. He kissed me again.
“Get a room!” Dean hollered.
Noah blushed. “So,” he said, looking around again. “This is home.”
“This is home,” I repeated. I tried to make eye contact. “How was your flight?”
“No problems.” He checked out the surroundings—the ap-pliances from the seventies in the kitchen, the huge rectangular wooden dining room table, the purple tablecloth, the massive blue suede couch, the shag carpet, the clutter of lamps, and candles and stuff that did not belong to me. The water behind the windows and the lights across the way. “Crazy.”
“I know.” I was sure it was bizarro for him to see me in this new environment, this new home. It was weird for me to be in it. But what was also weird was why he hadn’t called me when he’d landed. Why hadn’t he come straight over? Why wouldn’t he look at me?
Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe it was just that everyone was watching. Maybe it was because Corinne was watching.
“Come sit down,” I said, leading him to the rest of the party.
I NEVER
“My turn,” Vi said. “I’ve never kissed a girl.”
All four guys—Noah, RJ, Dean, and Hudson—plus Joanna, drank to that one. But that was no surprise.
Dean put his arm around Vi. “If the rest of you ladies would like to try right now, don’t let us stop you.”
Vi punched him in the arm. “Yes, that’s what we’re going to do, make out with each other for your viewing enjoyment.” The two of them were sharing a lounge chair.
“Excellent,” Dean said, his loud laugh reverberating around the room. Dean and Vi had been best friends since they met freshman year. Now he had his hands on Vi’s hip. He always seemed to be touching someone or something. A ball, a cushion, a girl’s hip.
I was sitting between Marissa and Noah on the couch, and Joanna was on the other side of Noah.
Joanna was a senior at Andersen. She was wearing vintage jeans and a lace shirt that you know she bought at an actual thrift store and not at Urban Outfitters like everyone else. Next year she was backpacking through Australia instead of going to college. She was also the only gay person I knew who had come out, and possibly the only gay person I knew, period. Last year she had brought her (now ex) girlfriend from Stamford to her junior prom. Joanna lived a few blocks away from Vi, also on Mississauga
Island, but at the end, near the yacht club.
“My turn,” Dean said. “I’ve never had sex.” Then he drank. Dean had been the first guy in their year to lose his virginity, when he was in eighth grade, with a high school student. It had made him a bit of a legend. He had always been cute—he had shortish, shaggy brown hair, puffy cheeks, and a quick smile. But it wasn’t his looks that got the girls—he was funny.
“Hells no,” Vi said. “You can’t say something you’ve done and then drink.”
Dean swallowed. “Why not?”
“That’s the rule.”
“Your rule,” he said.
“House rules,” she answered.
“So should I be drinking here or not?” RJ asked, lifting his glass.
“That depends on whether or not you’ve had sex,” Vi said.
He didn’t drink. Neither did Corinne, who was sitting across the room, running her pale fingers through her red hair and watching us not drink.
Joanna, Hudson, and Vi drank.
No one else touched his or her glass. It was a clear division between juniors and seniors, my friends and Vi’s friends.
I didn’t know who Joanna and Hudson had done it with, but I knew Vi had lost her virginity to Frank, a hot college student who had a part in one of her mom’s plays.
I’d been hoping to change my virgin status tonight. I kind of assumed that was the plan.
But . . . apparently Noah’s plans were not the same as my plans.
TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER
“Okay, everyone, it’s time to play I Never!” Vi had called, and started passing out cups.
“I’m driving,” Noah said, waving his away.
“Hells no!” Vi exclaimed. “I assumed you would just crash here.”
“No can do,” he replied.
“Why not?” Vi asked.
Noah shifted uncomfortably. “Because.”
“Because why?” Vi asked.
“Because my parents want me home,” Noah said.
She turned to me. “Is he a mama’s boy?”
I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t because Noah looked annoyed. But he was a mama’s boy. Noah’s mom was the kind of mom who knew every detail of her two boys’ lives from their upcoming tests to what underwear they were wearing. Fine, maybe not the underwear. She wasn’t creepy. But she knew when they needed new underwear because fresh boxers would appear in their rooms. “A little,” I said.
Ten Things We Did (and Probably Shouldn't Have) Page 4