by Deena Lipomi
Now she isn’t trying to be sneaky. She’s just…silent.
I set down my lunch sack and face my sister. “Do you want to come with me and Kasey?”
“I don’t want to get in the way,” Annie says.
“You won’t be,” I reply. “You and Kasey can watch me make a fool of myself in front of Devon.”
Annie shakes her head. “You won’t. I don’t know why you have such low self-esteem.”
“You don’t?” I say, annoyance quickly replacing my empathy. “Maybe it’s because people like your former friends have always been sure that I know I’m uglier, fatter, and less popular than them.”
“God, Mel,” Annie says, retreating for the kitchen, “that’s not what I meant.” She slams open a cupboard and then slams it shut. She does the same with the fridge.
I storm after her. “Then why did you say it?”
She fills her glass with juice and tips her head. “It’s amazing how self-absorbed you can be while also being completely clueless about who you are.”
My jaw drops. “Self-absorbed?”
“Yes,” Annie says with conviction in her eyes as they stare me down. “My pregnancy? It’s not about you. What I do with the baby? That is also not about you.”
“I –” I never said that. I never thought that. I never…
Shit. I did.
“What is about you? How you view yourself,” she continues. “Who cares what anyone else thinks? Because you’re pretty, smart, kind, and you should know it. You shouldn’t need me or anyone else to tell you – and you can’t blame other people for how you feel.”
Pretty? Really? “If I shouldn’t care what Justine and them think, then neither should you. You should tell them the truth about the baby.”
Now it’s Annie’s turn to flush red. “It’s not the same thing. Besides, we’re not talking about me, here. We’re talking about you. Devon should be thrilled to have you…butter his bread,” she says, gesturing at my lunch bag.
I can’t help but burst out laughing.
Soon Annie joins in. “That didn’t make sense, did it?”
“God, why are we fighting?” I ask her.
“Hormones,” Annie says.
How can I argue with that?
Kasey blares her horn again.
“I’ve got to go.” I pick up my gear. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
Annie shakes her head, quiet again, like she wore herself out by speaking more words than I’d heard from her in a week.
“I’ll be home for dinner. Tell Mom?”
“Yeah,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say and run out the door alone.
“What took you so long?” Kasey asks as she backs out of the driveway.
I sigh. “Sister drama.”
Kasey cringes. “Sorry.”
The sting from one of Annie’s words still pierces my chest. “Am I self-absorbed?” I ask Kasey.
Kasey turns down the radio. “Compared to who?”
“Gee, thanks,” I say.
“Seriously, how much time did you spend on your make-up today?” Kasey asks.
“Um, two minutes?” Ugh, I should’ve at least spent three since I’m meeting Devon. What was I thinking?
“Then I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
I hear what she’s saying, but can’t help thinking about Annie’s claim. No, I don’t spend forever on my appearance. I mean, I wouldn’t fluctuate between a size 12 and 16 if that was the case. The question is am I making Annie’s pregnancy about me?
The second question is, if she brings a child into our house, how can I not?
***
Kasey pulls her compact Ford sedan into a lot full of trucks. Behind them is a three-car garage connected to an office.
“Ray’s Auto’s,” she says. “Doesn’t Ray know how to properly use an apostrophe?”
“Shhh!” I say. “Don’t embarrass Devon.”
“All right, all right. I’ll be good.” Kasey gets out of the car and I do the same with my lunch bag. It’s just after noon now, the time Devon says he takes his break. I lead the way into the office, my heart leaping with each step. An old school bell rings over my head when I push open the heavy door and am overwhelmed by the smell of gasoline and motor oil. The office is empty, the counter vacant, and the waiting room area occupied by two old ladies who don’t even give us a glance when we come in.
“What if he’s not here?” Kasey asks. “What if he went out to lunch with his dad or something?”
Then I’ll be devastated and may never plan a stunt like this again.
The whirring and clanking noises coming from the garage stops. Seconds later a man in greasy coveralls enters the office.
“Hello, ladies. What can I do for ya?”
Oh god, Devon isn’t here and I have no other business at an auto shop. I don’t even own an auto!
While my brain tumbles optional excuses around, Kasey says, “Hi there. We’re friends of Devon’s from school and were wondering if he was around? He said he was working today and we thought we’d stop by during his lunch break.”
“Yeah, that,” I say. Way to save my ass, Kasey. This is also why she’s my best friend.
A smile grows on the man’s face. “Sure, he’s just finishing up. Let me get him for ya.” He disappears through the swinging door that leads into the garage.
I tighten my sweaty grip on the lunch bag. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if another girl’s waiting for him? A thinner, prettier one with sleek hair?
Kasey nudges me. “You’re not having self-absorbed thoughts, are you?”
I glare at her and she sticks her tongue out at me.
That’s when Devon comes out. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” I say at the same time Kasey says, “Yes.”
“The real question,” I say, trying to regain my barely existent cool, “is are we interrupting you?”
“Nah,” Devon says, adjusting his baseball hat. “Just about to go on break. I’m actually really glad to see you.”
Is it possible Devon is blushing more than me right now?
“We brought lunch,” I say, pointing out the fairly obvious.
“Cool,” he says. “Do you want the grand tour first?”
“Yes,” I say at the same time Kasey says, “No.”
Devon laughs.
“You two go ahead. I’ll wait here with the sandwiches.” Kasey pulls out her phone and starts texting before I can argue.
“Come on back,” Devon says, beckoning me to follow him. As he reaches to push open the swinging door he cringes. “Oh boy. Just ignore my dad and the guys, all right?”
“OK?” I say. It all becomes clear when I see the man who greeted us and two other twenty-something year olds with sly smirks on their faces.
Devon clears his throat. “Dad, this is Melanie. Mel, this is my dad.”
The man in the greasy coveralls sticks out his hand to shake mine, then quickly retracts it. “Hi, Melanie. Forgive me, I’m not exactly cleaned up for company.”
“It’s fine, Mr. Rudnick,” I say. “I kind of showed up out of the blue.”
“And what a nice surprise this is,” Mr. Rudnick says.
I hear Devon exhale, clearly more stressed out by this interaction than I am. He introduces me to the two other mechanics and then leads me to the far corner of the garage. “This is where I hang when the car work is done. Might be my favorite place ever.”
There I see…tools. And piles of sawdust. “Oh. Very nice.”
Devon laughs so loud his dad stares at us.
“I know that one’s a saw.” I point at a machine with a serrated blade attached to it. It’s not so different than the blade on my best Cutco pineapple knife.
“It’s fine,” Devon says, grinning widely. “That ones a jigsaw, this puppy’s a band saw, and this girl’s my wood lathe.”
Those are just some of the tools cast around Devon’s corner of the garage. “You made the whol
e canoe in here?”
“Mostly. Assembled it behind the garage,” he says.
“How did you learn to use all this equipment?”
Devon shrugs. “Same way you learn to do anything, I guess. My dad showed me how to use everything safely then I just messed around until I got good at it.”
It’s not that different from how I learned to cook. Mom introduced me to the basics, and then I combined elements on my own until they turned out the way I imagined. I like this connection between us, that we have creation in common.
Suddenly it’s a little too quiet. I lift my gaze and find not just Devon watching me but also his dad and the other mechanics.
“So, are you hungry?” I ask.
Devon puts his arm around my shoulders. I don’t even care that he’s got grease streaked on his arms and smells like motor oil. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter 14
The rich smell of fresh tomato sauce has been filling the house since I got home from work an hour ago. I’m surprised Mom didn’t ask me to prepare a batch of my veggie sauce, the one I know she loves, but I haven’t had much time to cook this week between my extra hours at work and hanging out with Kasey and Devon.
When I take my seat at the table, Annie’s not there. It’s not much of a surprise given her infrequent appearances lately, but as Mom slops ziti onto our plates and then drops the pot onto the stove so the burners rattle, I can tell she’s not OK with it.
“Dad?” I say.
He looks up from the piece of Italian bread he’s slathering with butter.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, honey.” Dad bites into his bread and changes the subject. “Are you ready for your driving test?”
“Almost,” I say. “Can we practice parallel parking some more?”
“Of course,” Dad says as Mom returns with a bowl of sauce and a ladle, which she plops in front of me with the same aggression. Little red drops land on my plate.
“What?” I ask.
“Your mom’s just a little stressed. Do you want Parmesan for that?” Dad asks, reaching for the grated cheese.
“A little stressed?” Mom says, plunking into her chair. “Is that what I am? I guess that means I’m the only one worried about Annie.”
“Why? Where is she?” I ask, and visions of her running off and eloping with Harris cross my mind.
“She’s in her room,” Dad answers.
“Oh,” I say to Mom. She should be used to this by now. “Maybe she’s not feeling well.”
“Of course she’s not feeling well. She’s pregnant and alone.” Mom’s voice cracks.
A knot twists in my intestines. Not another pasta dinner with a side of emotion.
“Jo, it’s all right,” Dad says.
“No, Charles, it’s not.” Mom clenches her hands together. “This is not her at all. She’s depressed. She never comes out of her room. She doesn’t talk to any of her friends anymore. My mother called and she wouldn’t take the phone. Melanie, you barely make an effort to say hello to her.”
My jaw drops. “What? It’s not my fault.”
“Since you started dating that boy, all you do is go out every night, off with him or your friends. I really don’t like him driving you everywhere. How long has he had his license?”
“Wait – what? How did this become about me?”
“Jo, relax,” Dad says, reaching for Mom’s hand.
She jerks away. “Relax like you? Talking about driving tests and grated cheese while our daughter is in a state of crisis?”
Dad rubs his forehead. “Honey, life goes on, whether Annie is…sick or not.”
“Yeah, Mom,” I say, wishing I could high-five Dad for his words of wisdom. “My life doesn’t need to stop just because Annie’s put hers on life support.”
Mom shakes her head. Clearly Dad and I have convinced her of nothing. “Do you even think about your sister? Do you even think about what she’s going through right now and how alone she feels?”
“Of course! I’ve tried to get her to hang out and she says no, so don’t blame me for this, and definitely don’t bring Devon into it,” I say, angry at the accusation, especially since Devon has been nothing but too nice for words about the whole situation.
“I asked you to please make an effort to check in on your sister,” Mom says, “days ago and you’ve never even made an attempt.”
“Yes, I have,” I repeat. “But I can only be blown off by my own sister so many times. I can’t force Annie to hang out with me now any more than I could before she got knocked up.”
“Jo,” Dad says, stabbing some pasta with his fork. “This isn’t good for your blood pressure. Annie will snap out of this. The doctor said this is normal –”
“No, Charles, I specifically asked Melanie to talk to her, but instead she leaves her sister here all alone and depressed,” Mom continues like she didn’t even hear me, or somehow thinks I have some magical Annie fixing powers.
“Mom, that’s not fair. I’ve spent more than half my life putting myself out there for Annie. Two years ago she made it clear that she doesn’t need me anymore, and I’m sure she can make it through life just fine now. She just needs some time to figure things out.”
“She wasn’t pregnant and alone last year, Melanie,” Mom snaps.
“So what, she can just use me when she’s in trouble, and ignore me for the rest of our lives?”
“Come on, Mel. You know that’s not true,” Dad says at the same time that Mom cries, “She won’t talk to me either.”
Oh great. Now Dad has turned on me. I put my hands over my ears but it doesn’t block out Mom’s monologue.
“She says she’s fine. She says the baby’s father is not important. She says she just needs to figure out what she wants to do. I told her I’d help – that we’d all help with the baby – and she tells me to go away. This is not good for her. I don’t know what to do.” Mom collapses her head into her hands and cries over her plate.
Wait, what? I’ll help with the baby? I guess I could make it some gourmet pea puree.
Dad pushes his chair out from the table, comes up behind Mom and gently squeezes her shoulders. “You both need to calm down. We all do.”
“I am calm until Mom acts like I need to be punished because of Annie,” I say, losing energy in this fight.
“Let’s just change the subject, all right?” Dad says while Mom wipes her eyes.
“That’s your answer?” I ask.
“For right now, yes,” Dad replies, all dark and serious.
That bothers me too, firing me up again. “Just because you never want to talk about Annie doesn’t mean that I can’t. You act like nothing happened from the day she told us. Well that’s fine. You can live in your cave and pretend you're not part of this family and what's happening to us, but I’m going to tell you that this sucks. I hate it! The thought of Annie carrying the baby for nine months, and all the stares and teasing she’ll get at school. It’s already starting. I hate that Annie is sad and that the baby’s father doesn't want to be with her.”
Mom and Dad look at me. I said too much. Again.
Dad sits back down but keeps his hand on Mom’s arm. Mom sniffles and says calmly, “You and Annie used to be so close. I know you’ve each become your own person, but your bond is still there. You know that, right?”
Dad nods in agreement.
Guilt settles on top of my already tangled insides like a deep-fried Snickers bar. I look at the clock. It’s almost 6:30. Devon’s supposed to come over in half an hour to pick me up for ice cream. I want to escape with him so badly, to curl into his warm hug. To kiss him until the only thing I can think about is the way his body feels pressed against mine.
But I also hate fighting with my parents, avoiding my family, and wondering what is going on with my sister.
Dinner resumes. None of us say much over the clinking silverware. I chew, swallow, and think about what to tell Devon when he comes.
T
wenty minutes later, after the dishes are loaded into the washer and Mom and Dad have retreated to the patio with a bottle of wine that I doubt will be big enough to mask all their problems, I sit in the living room recliner and flip through Teen2Teen until a car pulls in front of the house. I hop up, ready to intercept Devon before he gets too excited about going out. I hate to break our date, but hopefully he’ll settle for hanging at the house with me for an hour or so and then understand when I say I need to spend time with Annie. I slip out the front door.
Devon’s truck isn’t in the driveway.
A boxy Buick is parked on the side of the street and a stranger stands on the sidewalk. He’s not much taller than me and his black hair hangs in his eyes.
My breathing gets shallow and loud, like a bull ready to attack. I know this guy’s face without having met him. It’s not hard to figure out since, like Annie pointed out, our town doesn’t exactly have an overflowing Asian population.
“Hi,” he says. “Is Annie here?” His voice is barely loud enough to cover the ten-foot distance between us.
Hot, steamy air shoots out of my nostrils.
“Is she here?” Harris asks.
I charge at him, my face burning. “Go away.”
“Wait, I just –”
I don’t like being this close to him – I’d much rather scream from my doorway – except my family cannot know he’s here.
His eyes are pools of coffee instead of the pits of lava I imagined. But there’s no way I’ll let Harris near my sister. “Get the hell out of here and never try to contact her again.”
Harris takes a step back so I take another one forward and lean into his face.
“Go away.” I don’t recognize the evil hissing sound of my voice.
“Please.” Harris’s black hair blows off of his forehead. He has a pierced eyebrow and nose ring. I want to rip them out. “Please, I need to see her.”
His politeness almost breaks me down except he can’t get away with treating my sister like crap, then getting whatever he wants, whatever he asks for.
“She never wants to see you again,” I say. “Don’t you get that? You broke her heart and she hates you. I said get out of here!”
Harris steps back and a familiar truck turns onto my street. Devon. Oh god, please don’t let Devon see Harris. I can’t explain who he is without breaking about a million promises and secrets.