After Betty and I were seated, I saw the girl from the bathroom again. She was with Wes a few tables away. I guess I groaned because Betty asked me what was wrong.
“According to the girl with Wes, I’m the only loser still wearing this style of dress.”
“A bandeau dress is classic and never out of style. Speaking of Wes, your dad said he came by a few nights ago.”
“He did.”
“Are you two dating?”
“I already told Dad that Wes and I aren’t dating. I guess he didn’t believe me.”
“He felt that maybe you weren’t comfortable talking about that kind of thing with him.”
“I was anxious to end the conversation that night, but I was honest. We’re not dating,” I said firmly, in hopes that she’d drop the subject. She got the hint, but brought up something I wanted to talk about even less than Wes.
“I heard your diploma came. Have you decided on a college yet?”
“No. I don’t know what I want to study yet.”
“You could choose the best school for you and start with the basics—decide your major while getting your prerequisites out of the way.”
“I have several good options and a little time before I have to decide. I’m not ready to choose. Just thinking about it makes me antsy.”
“You’ve been doing very well since you left The Boothe Center.”
“In the beginning, my mother could go for months without an issue, but her illness always surfaced.”
“You’re not your mother, Sam, and you don’t share her illness.”
Betty’s words, in combination with hearing the blonde who’d insulted me laughing hysterically, irritated the shit out of me. I stood and tossed my napkin onto the table. “You’re not my mother either.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not trying to mother you. Please sit back down,” Betty asked.
I knew that I should do the right thing, the mature thing, and sit down, but I felt claustrophobic. The pressure I’d felt that day at school filled my head so entirely that I thought it might explode.
I walked through the nearest door to the terrace and looked over the wrought iron railing to the lush green of the golf course below, hoping that Betty wouldn’t follow me.
I just needed to breathe.
“Everything okay?” Wes leaned against the railing beside me.
I exhaled, mustering up a spiteful attitude. “Don’t you think it was rude of you to leave your date sitting alone?”
“You know that I don’t date, Sam. Lucy’s an old friend.”
“Old, meaning someone you haven’t slept with recently?”
Wes stuck his tongue in his cheek before speaking. “I slept with her once last summer.”
“She insulted my dress.”
“She’s bitchy like that.”
“Then why are you with her?”
“Jealous?”
“Hardly.” I smirked.
Wes appeared amused, and unconvinced. “If not Lucy and me, what’s upset you? Is it Charlie?”
“Not Charlie.”
“How do you two communicate since you don’t have a phone?”
“In person.”
“Has he asked you out yet?”
“No.”
The blonde, Lucy, stepped onto the terrace and scowled at Wes. “Seems you’ve made new plans with bandeau dress girl. I’m leaving, fucker.” She flipped us a bird before turning away.
“Classy,” I said.
“I’m just glad I don’t have to figure out how to ditch her now.”
“Like you were going to ditch her. She may be a bitch, but she’s an attractive bitch you know puts out.”
“There’s a reason I only slept with her once. She’s terrible in bed.”
“Why don’t you offer her some pointers?”
Wes grinned, but didn’t broach the subject. “What’s bothering you?”
“Betty,” I exhaled. “I need to be away from her for a while.”
Wes took my hand and slipped his long fingers between mine, making my heart go haywire. We exited the terrace and walked to the front of the building. The valet brought the Range Rover around and opened the passenger door for me. I got in, trying not to think about the multitude of girls who’d sat in that seat since the last time I’d ridden with him.
“What’s going on with you and Betty?”
“She butts in a lot, and tries to fix everything like it’s her job or something.”
Wes grinned. “It is her job.”
“Funny,” I complained.
“I don’t mean the parenting thing. Betty’s a corporate fixer.”
“A what?”
“When a large company has some kind of crisis, she’s who they call to save their asses.”
“Of course she is.”
“You should give her a chance, Sam.”
“I am giving her a chance,” I protested. I was so tired of hearing that. “It’s not that I don’t like her. She’s been very nice to me. I just think that she and my dad were seeing each other before my mom died. I mean, why else would they have gotten married so fast?”
“Why not ask her?”
“Because part of me doesn’t want to know.”
“Well, when my mom fired Ellen, Betty hired her without question.”
“What? Why was she fired?”
“For defending me, and basically telling my mom that she and my dad are shitty parents.”
“Charlotte doesn’t know,” I said. “She thinks Ellen quit.”
“Because that’s what our mom told her. She blamed me, and I let her. Charlotte loved Ellen—we both did—but she also loves our mother, and it would have caused shit between them if she knew Mom had fired Ellen. It was easier not to tell her and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her either.”
“I won’t say anything. Not even to Ellen.”
Wes parked in his driveway and invited me to come in with him. Of course, I accepted. The moment we entered his house he began stripping out of his club appropriate clothes. I blindly followed him to his room and watched as he took off his pants. He wore black boxer briefs that fit snugly. His legs were slim and tan, like the rest of him.
“Do you want to change or not?”
“Huh?”
He grinned. “Is seeing me in my underwear distracting you?”
Yes. “I’ve seen you in your underwear before.”
“I offered you a change of clothes.”
I hadn’t heard him. The thought of having a shirt that belonged to Wes excited me, but going home in clothes I hadn’t gone out in wouldn’t be smart. “I’m okay. Thanks.”
Wes threw on a tank top and shorts and pulled me toward the couch. We sat down and I laughed when he turned on “The Notebook.”
Unfortunately the movie was at the part where Noah and Allie have sex. Watching that scene built a wall of tension between Wes and me that buzzed as if it were electric. I thought about how much I’d liked kissing him; having his hands on me. I’d never thought much about sex before I met Wes. Now, I thought about it almost non-stop. Especially when he was within reach.
“What’s it like?”
“Having sex?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t answer that,” he said without looking at me.
“Why not?”
“Because you want to know what it would be like for you. There are too many variables for anyone to know what any sexual experience will be like until it happens. But if you want to see how it all works, watch some porn.”
“Gross,” I wheezed.
“They make porn for girls. I have some if you want to borrow it.”
I looked at him like he was nuts.
“I’m guessing that you don’t masturbate.”
“No,” I gasped.
“Masturbating helps you figure out how your business works. You should start there.”
“I could never do that.”
“Sure you could. Just lie back, close yo
ur eyes, and think of something sexy while rubbing your—”
“That’s enough! I get it,” I said, halting him from finishing his sentence.
Wes chuckled. “You can be more creative, but that’s the gist. If you want to know more, go on the internet.”
“Is that what you did, search how girls masturbate?”
“I searched how to make a girl orgasm, which led to a very interesting article about female masturbation,” he said, like it was what any sensible person would do.
“That c-word is ugly. I can’t believe you almost said it.”
Wes’s eyes scanned my face. “That c-word is the correct terminology, but if you don’t want to say it, you can call it something else. Pearl, maybe?”
“Pearl is better, but I’m still not molesting myself.”
“Have you decided how you want to memorialize your mother?”
“Really? You’re changing the subject from masturbation to my dead mother?”
“I’ve been thinking about how I would handle what you’ve been through. What I’d do.”
“And?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Me either. That’s why I haven’t made a decision about a memorial yet.”
“I’ve been thinking about something else, too. You know how you said you missed out on a bunch of stuff in high school…”
“Yeah,” I said after he’d paused.
“I could help you do some of those things.”
“I don’t want to be your project, Wes. Whatever bad shit you’ve done in the past can’t be fixed by giving me a makeover.”
“Who said anything about a makeover?”
“You’ve seen those movies where the popular boy dresses up a plain girl and it changes her life.”
“You’re not a plain girl. You don’t need a makeover. I just… I still feel guilty about taking advantage of you the other night at Austin’s.”
“Broken record, Wes. You’re sorry. I know. But you know that I don’t feel taken advantage of. I wanted to stay. You should file it away. It was practice for me. That’s all.”
“I’ll do that if you’ll think of something I can do for you, as long as it’s not sexual.”
“You don’t have to do anything for me.”
“I know, but I want to.” Wes’s phone dinged, and after reading a text, he said, “You can stay if you want, but I have to go.”
“Me too,” I lied.
Wes smiled at me and brushed my cheek, which excited me more than something so minor should. Then he licked his lips and said, “See ya later, Samantha darling.”
I straightened myself up and left wondering who he was going to meet now that he was done with me.
18
A t home, I sat on the front porch and waited for Betty. I felt guilty about the way I’d left her during lunch and needed to apologize.
I felt that I’d divided my resentment equally between Dad and Betty, but maybe she was getting more of it since I didn’t know her well. I didn’t want to be so discriminating, or cliché in blaming the supposed other woman for everything. I really wanted to let it go and not be so angry anymore, but there was only one way that could happen—if I knew for sure that they’d respected my mother, and my father had been faithful.
When she drove up, Betty popped the hatch of her car before getting out. I’d forgotten about the clothes she’d bought me and went to help bring them in. Graceful as always, Betty dispersed the bags between the two of us without a word.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you,” I said. “You’ve been very kind to me and I’ve not been so nice.”
“A lot has happened to you this past year. The least I could do is be kind.”
“My dad has always hidden things from me. I’m aware that a lot of it was for my own good, like when my mom packed my lunchbox full of unwrapped Twinkies when I was in the fourth grade, and he told me she’d done it as a joke. But when I found out he’d been hiding you and that he felt close enough to you to get married so soon after my mother died it made me angry. And then it made me wonder how long you’ve known each other and what kind of relationship you had before her death. I didn’t ask him because I wasn’t sure he’d tell me the truth, and I haven’t asked you because I think you would, and I’m not sure that I want to know.”
Betty put down the bags that she was holding. I kept a tight grip on mine, as if bracing myself.
“We weren’t having an affair,” she said. “And to address what you said earlier, I would never try to take the place of your mother.”
“I haven’t had a conventional mother since I was ten years old, so I have wondered if my dad is trying to put you in her place for me, because what you and I did today, she would never have been able to do with me. He won’t ever say this, but I know he was relieved when she died. It freed him.”
“In a way, it did. It’s difficult to lose a loved one, but the way he lost her was exceptionally unfair. She’d been gone for years before she died.”
I was kind of pissed at her for saying that, but she was right.
“I had a boyfriend for three years in college. A few months after graduation, he went to the doctor about pain in one of his legs. He was an avid runner. We thought he’d torn a muscle. Turned out he had advanced stage bone cancer. Watching him go through the chemo and radiation was the hardest thing I’d had to do in life until it came time to bury him.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, stunned.
“When your dad learned that your mom’s medication was no longer working, he was afraid for her, and for you. He loved your mother very much and was trying his hardest to find the best long term care for her.”
When Dad broke the news that Mom’s doctor had suggested residential care, I could tell he thought it’d be hard for me not having her at home. But she already needed round the clock supervision so residential care was the next logical step.
“How long have you known each other?” I asked.
“About a year and a half. We met at a coffee shop. We were reaching for the same tin of cream. We both apologized and laughed, and then he said he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. We sat down and talked. I was very taken with him, and in a way, felt compelled to try to ease his hurt because although our situations were different, I understood the helpless feeling he was experiencing. I deeply loved Chet, but there was nothing I could do for him. It was so painful. For that reason, your dad and I talked a lot before your mother died. Afterward, our relationship progressed quickly. I like to think of myself as a responsible adult, but being in love can really screw with that.”
“I understand, but you didn’t have to marry so fast. I’d known you a week. Dad was making all these changes. It felt like he was moving on without me. That I wasn’t healing fast enough for him because I was still mourning my mother, and he seemed to be completely over it. Over her.”
“That wasn’t his intention at all. Eloping wasn’t the smartest decision. We should have included you, but I was afraid that you would reject me, and your dad was afraid you’d think our relationship was a rebound. He wanted you to see that we were committed, and that’s why we got married.”
“I’m glad he’s happy—that you’re both happy. I’m sure you and him did what you thought was best, but when I’m directly affected, I’d prefer to know what’s happening.”
Betty gave me a hard smile. “Okay.” I imagined that going from not having children to dealing with my shit had been taxing on her, but keeping secrets wouldn’t make our relationship thrive.
“You aren’t going to have babies, are you?”
Betty laughed. “No. I’m not sure I’m cut out for motherhood.”
“I don’t think you’d be so bad at it.”
She smiled. “I’ll take that compliment.”
“Again, I’m sorry that I’ve been so difficult. I will do better.”
“Thank you. I will too.”
Some of the anger I felt about Dad and Betty melted away after
our conversation. I imagined that having someone to talk to had been comforting for Dad. I just wish he would have included me, because I’d also needed someone to talk to. He’d provided me with plenty of therapists, but he was who I’d needed to have those conversations with. Since he’d survived the experience with me, he understood my pain better than anyone.
19
A s soon as I entered the therapy room, Charlie started in on me.
“I saw your boyfriend again last night. He asked about you. I wondered why, since he was with the hottest girl I’ve seen in all of my twenty years on this planet.”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t in the mood.
“Oh, you didn’t know your boyfriend was cheating on you. Sorry.”
“I’ve already told you, Wes is not my boyfriend.”
“Why don’t you two just do it already?” Claire said. “There’s so much tension between you that you might spontaneously combust if you don’t do something about it.”
“Cool.” Morris lit up. I figured he’d seen plenty of people explode in his video games.
I scoffed. “It’s mutual dislike you’re detecting, not sexual tension.”
Dr. Pierce stood from his desk. “You can’t date people in your group. It’s against the rules.”
“You don’t have to worry about me breaking that rule,” I said, sounding repulsed.
Charlie gave me a shit-eating grin, then chuckled. “Relax, Samantha darling. Bedding you is the last thing on my mind.”
I rolled my eyes.
Dr. Pierce loudly cleared his throat, sat down in the wonky circle of chairs with us, and said, “Today, we’re going to be more progressive. We’re going to expose the root.”
“What does that mean?” Claire asked.
“It means that he’s going to bring the pain,” Charlie said.
“Something like that,” Dr. Pierce confirmed, then turned to Mark. “Mark, would you please share how your father passed away?”
“I killed him.”
Every head in the room turned in Mark’s direction.
“It was an accident. I was thirteen. We were hunting. I didn’t want to go, but he kept talking about this rite of passage crap. His father had taken him, and his father before, and so on. I kept saying no, but my mother asked me to go. ‘Just go one time, Mark. It’ll make your father so happy. Just go once and you’ll never have to do it again.’ I didn’t want to use a gun, so he gave me a crossbow. We were tracking a deer, and were so close that he loaded it for me, so I’d be ready when it was time to take the shot. He told me to hold it by my side, and I did. But I tripped over a log and instead of dropping the crossbow, I held onto it. My dad turned around a split-second before the arrow discharged. It hit him in the leg, in his femoral artery. He bled out right there in front of me.”
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