by Zoey Dean
“Dee.” Anna’s head was pounding. “Can you maybe give me the short version?”
“Oh yeah. Out here it’s called coverage. Anyway, Mrs. Breckner called her family doctor and he said you wouldn’t die from eating bad yogurt, so we could just take you home. So we did.”
“Define ‘we’ one more time.”
“Monty, Sam, and me,” Dee recited. “You don’t remember that part?”
“Some of it. I kept falling asleep and waking up and—”
“Wow.” Dee’s eyes got enormous. “You mean you don’t remember the stuff you said?”
Anna shook her head.
“You were mumbling something about fucking Ben.”
Anna threw a hand over her eyes. “I didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t make something like that up.”
Anna had zero recollection of saying anything about Ben, much less about having sex with him. Which she hadn’t. Maybe she’d been using fucking as an adjective. Fucking Ben. Like that.
“Anyway, what happened with you and Ben last night?”
“Look, Dee, I appreciate that you helped me when I was sick. And I appreciate that you stayed with me—”
“Oh, well. I’m a nice person. Even if you don’t really like someone, it’s too mean to just, like, leave them.” Dee sat on the edge of Anna’s bed. “But you were just about to tell me what happened with you and Ben last night. Did you do him?”
“That’s not really any of your business, Dee.”
“Yeah, actually it is. You think you know Ben, but you don’t.”
“Believe me, Dee. I have no illusions that I know him.”
“But you know where he is.”
Anna’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I called him this morning, and his mom said he never came home last night. So where is he?”
Anna exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, Dee.” The pain and humiliation of last night came rushing back. Anna sipped her Gatorade defensively.
Dee stood up and put her hands on her hips. “What is it with you people? It’s because I’m short, isn’t it?”
Anna shook her head. “Sorry, what?”
“No one takes me seriously. Not Cammie, not Sam, not you.”
“Dee, I—”
“Just because a person is spiritual and short doesn’t make her stupid, okay? Ben told you not to tell me where he is, right?”
What? “No, of course not.”
“Bullshit.” Dee got up and paced Anna’s gleaming hardwood floor. “Yes. That’s exactly what happened. You’re covering for him.”
“Dee, I have no idea what you’re—”
“I know you don’t. No one does. Except Ben.” Dee looked almost smug. “And you thought it was Cammie you had to worry about. I let you think that. I let everyone think that.” She stood at the foot of Anna’s bed and blew her wispy bangs off her forehead. “It’s like this. Six weeks ago Ben and I hooked up at Princeton.”
Anna tried to wrap her mind around this piece of news. “You did?”
“I was on a college tour with my parents. I’m not going to Princeton, but there’s this really good junior college near there. So anyway, I called Ben. Just a friendly phone call, you know? So he invited me for a drink. So I went.” She dropped her hands from her diminutive hips. “And we ended up having a lot more than a drink.”
Anna was starting to feel queasy again. “Could you please just tell me whatever it is you’re trying to tell me, Dee?”
“Sure. It’s pretty simple. I’m pregnant. And it’s Ben’s baby.”
Twenty-six
3:54 P.M., PST
Anna slipped her feet into velvet flip-flops. She felt marginally better—physically, at least. She’d managed to doze for a while after Dee departed. But the late afternoon sun slashed wedges of ochre light through the window and across her face, awakening her.
Now she sat on the edge of her bed, feeling empty. What bizarre confluence of cosmic events had dropped her in the midst of this Beverly Hills teen psychodrama, starring Ben, Sam, Cammie, and Dee? Had Dee even told her the truth? Had anyone?
It was too much to handle alone. Yet she couldn’t call her mother in Italy and cry long-distance on her shoulder; not only was it past midnight in Venice, but they never shared that kind of intimacy. Her sister, Susan, had her own problems. Her father? Suffice to say that the promised tea and toast had never showed up. The only person in the world with whom she even came close to having that kind of relationship was Cyn. And even so, in the This Is How We Do Things Big Book, sobbing about one’s own misfortunes was on the page-one list of Things Not Done in Public (with public defined as “the actual or virtual presence of anyone other than oneself”).
Well, too bad. Anna had Cyn on speed dial. After three rings …
“Yeah?”
“Cyn? It’s me.”
“Anna! I was just thinking about you, you bitch!”
Was Cyn mad at her, too? “What’s wrong?”
“You’re not here, that’s what’s wrong. Do you have any idea how much I miss you?”
That was just so Cyn. Anna got off her bed and curled up on the chaise by the window. Outside, she could see the year’s first sunset paint the western sky orange, bloodred, and purple, like a canvas by Seurat.
“I miss you more. How’s New York?”
“Cold. But I’m guessing you didn’t call to talk about the weather. … So, is he?”
“Is who what?”
“The guy from the plane—I forgot his name.”
Anna’s heart clenched. “Ben. His name is Ben Birnbaum.”
“Yeah. Did he turn out to be the man of your dreams?”
Hardly.
“Anna? You still there?”
Anna blinked. “Yes, sorry.”
“So? Ben?” Cyn prompted.
“Oh, Cyn, he—”
“Hey, Cyn! Come get ’em while they’re hot!”
Anna’s heart sank as she recognized the distant male voice calling to her friend.
“Be right there!” Cynthia shouted back. “Hey, Anna?”
“Yes?”
“Guess who’s here, cooking me pancakes even as we speak?”
Anna already knew. “Scott?”
“Oh my God, Anna, I had the best time last night. And this morning. And this afternoon. I’m so happy!”
Anna mustered up all the warmth in her voice that she possibly could. “That’s fantastic.”
“You know those other times with those other guys that I don’t count?” Cynthia went on. “Well, now I know why. This was what I always dreamed of.”
“I’m so happy for you.” Anna was careful not to let her voice betray any of her own pain.
“I’m happy for me, too. So, you were just about to tell me about Ben.”
“Oh, it can wait.” Anna couldn’t bring herself to share her troubles with Cyn. Much as she wanted to, this was Cyn’s moment—she loved her friend too much to rain on her parade.
“No, seriously, I want to hear all about—hold on.” Anna heard Cyn put her palm over the phone. A moment later she was back. “Anna, he’s, like, summoning me. He made me chocolate chip pancakes. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Very,” Anna agreed. “Go eat them. We can talk tomorrow.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, then. Hey, I was thinking, Scott and I should come out and visit. You and Ben and me and Scott—we’d have a blast, huh?”
“Sure,” Anna managed.
“Oh, Anna.” Cyn sighed. “I hate it that you’re not here. You’re my homegirl and you always will be, even if you are out there in that unnatural year-round warm weather sunshine shit. So we’ll talk tomorrow and I’ll see you soon, right?”
“Absolutely.”
They said their good-byes and hung up.
Anna just sat there. She understood that she led a privileged life; she wasn’t one to snivel over the vagaries of her own existence. But a veritabl
e bell jar of despair was settling over her. What had she done to deserve this? Had she wanted to forget Scott so badly, been so desperate to love someone who might love her back, that she’d been blind, deaf, and incredibly dumb about everything? It was as if she had invented Ben, spun him out of her own neediness into what it was she wanted him to be. What could she have been thinking?
She gazed at the waning sunset and saw her ravaged face reflected in the window glass. Look what this place was doing to her. She tried to make a mental list of good reasons not to return to Manhattan.
But she couldn’t even think of one.
She sat heavily on her bed. There was no reason to stay here.
“Anna?” Followed by a soft knock on her door. “May I come in?”
“Yes.”
Her father entered, carrying a tray. “I brought toast and tea up to you before, but you’d fallen asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. I made some broth, if you think you can keep it down.”
“Don’t you mean Margaret made it?”
“No, I did. She left a while ago. Do you want to try it?”
Anna shook her head.
He took in her desolation. “Do you want to talk about why you’re so upset?”
Anna didn’t want to even think about all the reasons, there were so many. So she went for the one most directly related to him. “Let’s start with the note you left me. About my internship?”
“I’m still hoping to work it out…”
“Work what out?”
“Margaret’s an agent at Randall Prescott. You were going to be her intern—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You were going to have me intern with your girlfriend? And when were you planning on sharing that little detail with me?”
“Margaret happens to be a brilliant woman, Anna, and a good friend. Anyway, she had some blowup yesterday with Pierce Randall, and she quit.”
“She quit,” Anna echoed flatly.
“They’ve fought before, so maybe they’ll work it out. Pierce is a jerk. He’s had a thing for Margaret for years and…”
“Stop!” Anna put her hands over her ears. “I don’t care. I’m sorry if that sounds rude, but it’s just … I can’t deal with all that now. What am I supposed to do, go to school?”
“I’ll make a few phone calls. I’m sure we can get you into Harvard-Westlake. It’s the best private school out here. Supposedly it’s up to Trinity’s standards.”
“Ducky. Just ducky.”
“I know it’s a bummer, Anna.”
Anna peered at her father. “A ‘bummer’?”
“I mean, I know that you’re disappointed.”
“I know what the word bummer means! I just can’t believe it came out of your mouth. You … you smoke pot and wander around in grubby clothes and talk like some kind of aging hippie. What happened to you?”
Her father’s face closed down. “Same guy.”
“Where’s the big-time financier in the handmade suits from London?”
“I’m that guy, too.”
Anna sighed. “I don’t know who you are. But I don’t suppose it matters anymore.”
“It matters to me.” Her father sat at her desk and swiped at the day’s growth of beard on his chin. “You want to try the soup?”
Anna shook her head.
“You mind if I talk, then? A number of things are bothering me; I’d like to get them off my chest.”
“Fine.” Selfish to the end, Anna thought. “But I’m going back to New York tomorrow. So at least that’s one less bother for you.”
“You think you’re a bother?”
“I know I am, Dad.”
“Jonathan,” he corrected her.
“You don’t want me here. Maybe on some level you want to want me here. So you can feel better about yourself or something. I don’t know.”
“Christ,” her father cussed softly.
“I’d call him, too, if I thought he’d intervene. But somehow I don’t think the world works that way. So what is it you wanted to tell me?”
He stood, paced a bit, and then, as he looked out the window, he said, “As a father, I suck.”
“I hope you’re not waiting for me to disagree with you.”
He turned to her. “No, I’m not. I was a crappy father when your mother and I were still married, and I’ve been an even crappier father since. I’m not proud of that.”
Anna crossed her legs smoothly. “So?”
He scratched his chin. “You’re not going to make this any easier, I see.”
“Was I supposed to?”
“Look, I’m not perfect, okay?”
With a well-bred-young-lady look of faux concern on her face, Anna waited a moment to see if he had more to say. It seemed he didn’t. “So that’s it, then? That’s what you wanted to tell me?”
“I know that act you’re putting on, Anna. That polite thing women in this family do on the outside when they’re judging you on the inside. I lived with it for years until I couldn’t live with it anymore.”
“I see. So it’s Mom’s fault that you sucked as a husband and father. Well, it’s all so much clearer to me now.”
“I’m trying to tell you something, if you’ll climb off that high horse of yours long enough to really listen.” Her father sighed. “When I saw you in the gazebo yesterday, it forced me to face some shit that I really did not want to face. I mean, look at you. You’re all grown up. And I have no clue how to be a real father to you. So I was an asshole and I made excuses not to meet you and I got stoned and … well, like I said, I was an asshole.”
“Past and present tense,” Anna said, her voice brittle.
“There’s a point here, Anna. I would like to change.”
“Okay. Well, good luck with that, Jonathan.” She picked up the phone on the nightstand. “Excuse me, please, I’m going to book a flight home.”
“Anna, stop. Would you just stop?”
She put the phone down and folded her hands, polite as ever.
“You are so damn much like your mother—”
Anna’s temper flared. “You know what? I don’t care if I sound like her or act like her, and I don’t care if you don’t like it. What is it that you want from me? You want me to say I forgive you for being a terrible father? Well, I don’t. And neither does Susan. She doesn’t even want to be in the same house with you!”
“So she told me on the phone.”
Anna was taken aback. “When?”
“Just before I brought your soup upstairs. I called her. Your sister is very angry.”
“I know.” Anna’s voice softened. “I’m glad you called her, though.”
“I told her we’d call her together this weekend.”
“I won’t be here.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
Anna was silent a moment. “There’s really no reason for me to stay.”
“Anna. I’m just …” He held up his palms, as if what he wanted to say couldn’t be contained in words. He tried again. “What makes me really sad, what I realized … You and Susan. You’re my daughters. And I don’t know either one of you.”
“No,” Anna agreed. “You don’t.”
“When I think of all the years I wasted …”
Fear suddenly gripped Anna. Was he dying? “Is it the headaches? Are you sick?”
He waved off her question. “I feel like this is a chance—maybe a last chance for me, for us, to—”
She understood the unspoken part. To know each other. “You didn’t feel the need to really know me for seventeen years. Why now?”
He raised one eyebrow. “Some people take longer to grow up than others. Being with Margaret—”
“I don’t want to hear about Margaret!”
“Fine, but you’ll like her once you know her. I’m in therapy, too. Maybe you can come with me sometime.”
“To see your therapist? No thank you.”
“Dr. Fine has helped me see what an adolescent I’ve been.” He lifte
d his shoulders. “What can I say, Anna? To make you stay?”
She looked down at the tapestry carpet. Nothing. There was nothing he could say. Where did she belong? Back home in New York? It wasn’t like she had a parent there, either.
“Come on, Anna. You’ve already made friends. Those girls who brought you home—”
“Those girls hate me!”
“Nah,” he scoffed.
“Yes. And then there’s the boy I went to the wedding with …” To Anna’s shock, a tear trickled down her cheek.
“What did he do?” her father asked, sounding alarmed.
She brushed the tear away. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Yes, it does. What did he do?”
She didn’t answer.
“Anna. What did he do?”
She stared down at her hands, and that made it a little easier. “I thought he thought I was … special,” she whispered, “but he was only after one thing. God. I sound like every insipid girl from every insipid teen romance novel ever written.” She finally raised her eyes to his. “He dumped me when I wouldn’t … you know.”
To Anna’s utter mortification, she began to sob. Her father came over to her and wrapped his arms around her. Anna let her head fall to his shoulder, a place it hadn’t been since she was nine years old. He rubbed her back and let her sob. Only when it seemed as if she was all cried out did he speak again.
“I hate the bastard.”
“Me too.” She reached for a box of tissues by her bedside and blew her nose.
“Look, Anna, there are some asshole guys in this world. Evidently you ran into one of ’em.”
“Evidently.” She blew her nose again.
“I don’t know any other way to say this, Anna. I love you and Susan more than anything in the world. I want to learn how to be a father to you. So what I’m asking is … would you please stay? Please.”
To Anna’s shock, tears had welled up in her father’s eyes. She wanted to believe—needed to believe—that he was sincere. In the past ten minutes he’d let her into his life more than her mother had in the past seventeen years. And she had let him into hers.
“Can I tell you something?” Anna’s voice sounded small to her own ears.
“Anything.”