“Don’t worry, we have a VIP pass, we’ll get you in.”
I hadn’t dressed for a night on the town, but in the bathroom, I reapplied lipstick, knotted my shirt at the waist to show a little belly, and teased my hair. My mind raced. Hadn’t I made some vow to myself? Right: no driving with Kevin since he doesn’t have a license. I sipped my beer. That was illegal, too, at my age. I didn’t much like the taste, but to call it “criminal” did seem harsh. As for going to a bar … I’d done it in Vancouver. It didn’t seem too dangerous, as long as I went with people I knew. I communed with my mirror image: Okay. You can have a drink or two, and you can go to a bar. But I draw the line at getting into a car with an unlicensed driver.
I squared off my shoulders and took a deep breath. I had to tell Kevin I wouldn’t go with him. I opened the bathroom door and walked down the hall to the living room.
Kevin was slouching against the doorjamb. He checked out my belly and smiled. “Ready to go?”
“Look—” I began.
Kevin’s roommate brushed past him into the front hall. He pushed his bare feet into a pair of flip-flops.
“Jeremy’s going to drive us,” Kevin said.
The roommate pulled a key chain off a hook by the front door and shook it, like a bell, beside his face. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got a license.”
It was a short drive downtown. Jeremy pulled into the taxi zone right outside the club. “Have fun, kids.” He and Kevin shook hands in a loose, arm-wrestling hold. When I stepped out of the car, people standing in line turned to look. Twenty-something girls flung ironed-straight hair over their bare shoulders. Guys scuffed the ground and spat as we passed. Kevin headed straight for the entrance. The bouncer nodded at the VIP pass, flicked his eyes over my face, and didn’t ask for ID. Inside, darkness and a steady beat engulfed us.
Kevin bought me a piña colada. Its creamy pineapple and coconut taste disguised the alcohol, and I downed it fast. He chuckled and bought me another. Every so often, someone approached him and shook hands. They would dip their hands into their pockets and shake again. Either he had touchy-feely friends, or it was some kind of ritual. I didn’t have long to ponder it. With the heat of the liquor in me, the old feelings welled up, and I wanted him to myself. I pulled him onto the dance floor on a slow song. We held each other close and kissed. After the song ended, we found a dark corner and made out some more. We surfaced from a kiss at one point, and he said, “What time are you supposed to be home?”
I gave him a blank look, then remembered: he didn’t know Mom wasn’t home. “Midnight or so.”
He checked his watch. “Bad news, we’re going to have to get going. Just as well, ’cause I was about to drink our cab fare.”
I’d never taken a cab before. It was weird to have a stranger chauffeur us around. The wide back seat, upholstered in red velvet, bounced underneath us as we drove. Kevin’s hand rested on my thigh. As we pulled to the curb in front of my house, he said, “Looks like your mom’s out.”
Damn the carport. If we had a covered garage, he would never have known her car wasn’t there. Before I knew what was happening, Kevin pulled a wad of bills out of his jeans pocket, unfolded a couple, and paid the driver. I was wondering why he carried so much loose cash in his pockets when it occurred to me: the strange handshakes in the nightclub weren’t greetings. They were sales transactions. He was dealing!
The yellow taxi streaked off in a trail of exhaust fumes.
“Is your sister in there with a babysitter, or what?”
I wanted to be strong, but he nuzzled my neck. His mouth and the alcohol crushed my resolve. I spilled the truth and soon we were back where we left off a month ago, only this time in my bed, not in Mom’s.
Fooling around felt good, but when things reached the crucial point I said, “Stop. No, we can’t do this without a condom. Not again.”
He rolled onto his back and expelled his breath at the ceiling. “I don’t have one! I totally didn’t expect this to happen tonight.”
“Then we can’t!”
“Come on, Nat, I’ll be careful.”
“What does that mean?”
He slid back on top of me. “I’ll pull out.”
“No.”
He traced his finger down my belly. “But isn’t this bliss?”
Bad choice of words! Bliss made me think of my dad and his hero quest, and that broke the spell. Kevin was using his hand to guide himself into me. I remembered the teeter-totter. I planted my palms on the mattress and shoved back off the bed. I stood and he knelt. We eyed each other. He had a burning, needy look that scared me. “Why are you being such a tease? We did this before.”
The shock hit me first in the gut, then outlined my limbs, cold and separate. We did this before. I stared across the bed at this stranger. We made a mistake before, which I handled on my own. The worry, the nearly too-late trip to the drugstore, the long days of waiting for my period to come, the nasty tests at the clinic. I told him all this on the phone that night from Vancouver. He must have ignored what I said. He didn’t care what the consequences were for me. My feelings meant nothing to him.
“It’s no big deal after the first time, Natalie. It just gets better. Come on …”
He didn’t learn from mistakes, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t.
I started to dress. He scooted across the bed and reached for my breast. I slapped his hand away. I was so turned off, nothing he could do would tempt me.
“I don’t know why you’re acting so frigid. It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”
“Would you shut up? Would you just shut up and leave?”
By the time I was fully dressed, he saw that I meant it and switched tactics. “I’ll stop bugging you, let’s just lie down and go to sleep. Your mom’s not coming back till tomorrow, and it’s late.”
I went to the kitchen, pulled out the phone book, found the number for a taxi, and dialed. He heard me on the phone and stumbled out of the bedroom. “Whoa, whoa, don’t do that, you psycho bitch. Look at me, I’m up, I’m getting dressed. I don’t have money for a cab.”
I held the receiver to my chest. “What about all that money from your customers?”
“Jeremy fronted me that—ugh!” Kevin cut himself off. He swore as he buttoned his jeans.
The dispatcher was saying something. I put the phone to my ear. “Do you want to cancel the cab, ma’am?”
“I guess so. Thanks anyway.”
Kevin shoved his feet into his shoes in the front hall.
“I don’t know why you’re doing this, Nat. But I know one thing for sure.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You’re going to regret it.” He swung the door open and slammed it behind him.
I shuddered. What did he mean by that? Was he going to come back and set fire to the house? Round up his friends and gang rape me? Or what? Maybe he just meant, “One day when I’m rich and famous, you’ll be sorry you let me slip through your fingers.” The fact is, I don’t know him well enough to interpret his tone, and that’s a sad thing to have to admit about your first lover.
I lay in bed, rigid, and waited for daylight. I left the house as soon as I could. Now I’m wired on latte.
At least I don’t have to make another trip to the drugstore.
I need more water. And I’m going to need sleep.
Later
The house was still standing when I returned, so I guess whatever else Kevin is, he’s not an arsonist. Inside, the silence surprised me. The day had no right to be so young. I wanted to nap, but not in my bed, the scene of Kevin’s and my final standoff.
In the living room, the couch sagged underneath me. Saturday morning cartoons reminded me of the previous night’s cartoon-and-bong show, and I shut them off. An afghan, crocheted by my grandma, lay at my feet. I hit
ched it up to my shoulders and hugged myself. Kevin had probably only called me in the first place because he needed a date for camouflage at the club. And, when I saw him waiting at the school—he wasn’t looking for me; he was dealing there, too! I was such an idiot.
Outside the window stood a cedar hedge, heavy with rainwater. Each time a drop fell from one branch to the next, green fronds shook with the weight. Drip, quiver … drip, quiver … drip …
I must have drifted off, because the ringing of the phone woke me up.
I was so tired, my stomach forgot to clench with the usual fear that it might be Kevin.
“G’morning, g’Nat.”
“Hi.” Was I hallucinating? “Dad?”
“How are you?” he said.
“I’ve been better. But I’ve also been worse.”
Dead air. I’d forgotten to echo Dad’s “How are you?” Who made up these stupid rules for conversation, anyway?
“I—I got your letter.”
“What? What letter? What do you mean?”
“You haven’t written me that many letters in the past while. In fact, I can’t remember when I got the last one. So it’s, you know, the only letter you’ve written in recent memory.”
I sat up. The afghan tangled itself around my legs. I balled it up and threw it to the floor. “I didn’t mail that letter!”
More dead air.
“So this is Denise’s doing, is it?”
“I’ll kill her!”
“Take a few deep breaths.”
“Dad, stay on the line for a minute.” I dropped the phone on the sofa, ran to my room, and yanked open my bottom desk drawer. The pad of paper was sitting right where I’d left it. Dad had to be mistaken. I lifted the cover. The top sheet was blank. I bent down and made out faint indentations: Dear Dad …
I zombie-walked back to the living room and picked up the receiver. “I’m back.” I stared out the window at the cedar hedge.
“I did think it was strange that you didn’t sign it,” he said.
“I don’t even remember what I wrote.”
Trust Dad to call when I was raw and defenseless from lack of sleep and the whole Kevin thing. “This is really taking me by surprise.”
Dad’s voice got quieter. “I can see that. I had no idea you didn’t mail it yourself.”
I was about to say, “Let’s just forget this ever happened.” But something exploded, and I let it rip. “No, Dad, I stopped mailing you letters because you never fucking wrote back.”
He cleared his throat. “Right, that’s in line with what you say here, in the letter. Look, Natalie, I’m glad this letter got to me, however it happened, because it seems to me you’ve been really honest here.”
“You’re right. So you know what I think. What have you got to say?”
I heard a murmur in the background. “Did Vi read the letter?”
“I’ve shared it with her, yes, because of course it affects her.”
“How can you think of having more kids when you don’t parent the ones you have? Huh? What’s your answer to that?”
“Natalie, it’s a fair question. That’s my answer.”
“You talk like every sentence is getting checked over by your lawyer first. Why can’t you just speak from the heart? Do you have one?”
“Everything you’re saying is—you’re—you’re not the only one to point these things out, Nat. Your mother, of course, but your mother and I weren’t—I mean, my work—my workaholism wasn’t the only problem between your mother and me.”
“I’m not talking about that anymore, Dad, I mean, give me some credit, I’m not saying, Boo-hoo, I want Mommy and Daddy back together again. I’m not living in Never Never Land here. I’m just talking about, like, have you heard about the Deadbeat Dad laws?”
He bristled. “I have always sent my support payments, religiously; your mother—”
“I’m not talking about money, Dad, for God’s sake, money is what you do give. I’m talking about time, attention, energy …” Damn it, I wouldn’t censor myself this time. “I’m talking about love, Dad.”
“Natalie, I do love you.”
It was the first time Dad had said that to me. I breathed in: a tiny candle lit up inside my ribcage. I breathed out: anger flooded my chest cavity and doused the flame. “Well, it’s pretty hard to tell sometimes.”
He cleared his throat. “I can see what you mean, Nat, and that’s why I wanted to tell you what we’ve been talking about since your letter came.”
That shut me up. I’d written the letter to vent. I’d never planned to send it, so I hadn’t even considered potential consequences. Now what?
“We see your point, we really do. Vi, especially, she said, if we try to start over without undoing past mistakes, we’ll just repeat them all over again.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, if she and I have a child, that child is probably going to grow up resenting me just as much as you do.”
“Uh-huh.” I still didn’t see where this was going. “So?”
“So, we’re thinking seriously about relocating. I can’t give you an exact date, but we feel fairly certain that by late spring we’ll be on the West Coast. Probably in Vancouver. You’re right about everything. I’ve missed too much of your and Paige’s childhoods already.”
“I’m no longer a child, period.”
“There you go.” He hesitated. “The timing is good, now, with your mother and I both moving on in our lives.”
“You know about Mom moving on? You and Mom really are opening up to each other these days. She hasn’t even officially told me yet.”
“She hasn’t said anything, no. It was just an impression I got when we all spent time together in Vancouver.”
I kept quiet for a few seconds. I was letting it all sink in.
“Are you saying you’re going to move out here just because of my letter?”
“It’s crossed our minds before, of course. I’m at a point where I’m ready for a change at work. And Vi really loves Vancouver. The visit last month just confirmed that.” He paused. “But, yes, your letter kind of pushed us past the ‘thinking about it’ stage and into the planning stage.”
Vi said something I couldn’t make out.
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘into the Let’s do it!’ stage. And, there’s something else you deserve credit for.”
“Yeah?”
“The picnic at Stanley Park really made it concrete. It showed that we could all get along as a kind of extended family. So, thank you, Nat.”
“You’re welcome, I guess.”
I hung up and flopped on the couch. Hand over hand, I pulled the afghan off the floor and tucked it around me.
The next thing I knew, Mom was calling out, “Hellooo! Anybody home?” Fresh air gusted from the open door.
“Morning,” I croaked.
I restrained myself from confronting her about the letter. I wanted to hoard Dad’s news, at least until I got some sleep and could think straight.
“I thought I would whip up some crepes and make a couple of fondues, one cheese and one chocolate, to dip fruit in. It can be a special brunch for when Paige gets home. Want to help?”
Spare me. “Maybe later.”
“How was your date?”
I struggled to my feet and pulled the afghan around me. “Fine, thanks.”
In the bathroom, I filled the tub with hot water and lowered myself in. The room steamed up. I was hiding inside a cloud.
Sunday, September 26th
Sun streamed into the kitchen this morning. In the yellow light, Paige washed the breakfast dishes. Mom had gone to the store. Even after thirteen hours’ sleep, I was upset with Mom for mailing my letter. I was figuring out
what to say to her as I dried the dishes and put them away.
“Earth to Natalie!” Paige said.
“What?”
“I just asked you a question.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I squeezed my fingers together, trying to reach into a drinking glass. The mouth was too narrow, so I poked the towel inside with the handle of a wooden spoon and swished it around. “What’s the question?”
“I said, ‘When do you want to phone Dad today?’”
“Ah, yes. It’s ‘Phone-Dad’ day.”
She passed me another glass, and I tried again to dry the inside. This time I managed to push my fingers in. The glass fit tight around the base of my hand.
“You can call him by yourself today.”
Paige sharpened her voice. “Why?”
“Because …” I didn’t know how much to tell her. The glass clamped my hand, like a cast. “I talked to him yesterday.”
“When?”
“He called in the morning, before you got home.”
Paige turned on the tap to rinse suds off a plate. “What did he say?”
A surge of excitement made me blurt it out. “They’re thinking of moving to Vancouver!”
Paige dropped the plate back into the water and grabbed my arm with sudsy hands. “Really? Then I’m so glad I sent him your letter.”
“You sent it? You sent it? How could you?”
Her face fell, and she backed away until the counter divided us.
I struggled to free my hand from the glass. “I thought it must have been Mom. I was about to let her have it! Why did you do that?”
“I heard you crying that day, and I just thought Dad should know what you were feeling. He was always asking about you in the summer, you know. He really cares about you, and he felt sad that you were growing apart.”
“He said that?”
“No, of course not. You know Dad. But I could tell.” She let go of the counter and twirled. The varnished kitchen floor makes for killer pirouettes. “I’m so excited they’re going to move out here! Aren’t you?”
I finally pulled off the glass and flexed my fingers. “It might not even happen. And even if they do move, things might not change much.” I faced the sink.
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