by Lena Prodan
"I've heard.” Mrs. Foster didn't look to happy about that. I hated being woken in the middle of the night too, so I could understand. “The walls between our units are pretty thin. Sometimes it's like being in the same room with you."
Had she heard me crying? How embarrassing.
"Honey, if you ever need to—” She glanced at Sean, but he didn't seem to be listening. “I don't like to speak ill of anyone, and I understand how hard it is to be a parent, but couldn't she discuss those things with you during the day?"
I sat up, scowling. Heat flushed through my face. “It's just the way she does things."
"Yes, I've heard the way she does things,” Mrs. Foster said.
"Mom can't sleep when things bug her. You have no idea how hard it is for her, having to drop everything and go to her sister's house."
"Yes. Well...” Mrs. Foster picked up empty soda cans and took them to the kitchen.
Sean reclined across the couch, sprawling into my space. “I've heard that your mom is nuts."
"Shut up."
He shrugged. “I'm just saying."
"Fuck you."
I slammed the Foster's door when I left. Where did they get the right to say shit like that? They barely even knew my parents.
* * * *
Pop and I let Christmas slide. We didn't put up a tree or wrap presents. Christmas morning, Pop handed me a couple bags from the mall. All the receipts were there. As usual, Mom bought clothes for the girl she wished she had, in the size she wanted me to wear.
Pop picked out his own gift, paid for it, wrapped it. I was never invited to be part of it. Every birthday and Christmas, he thanked me for the gifts. It used to strike me as funny. That morning, I finally translated the message. I wasn't needed, and when I was gone, they wouldn't miss me.
* * * *
After church, Eric's parents invited us over for dinner. Pop and I had no plans, but I was in no mood to spend a day with Eric. I tried to turn them down, but Pop heard “turkey” and his eyes lit up.
When we showed up at their place, Eric's two younger sisters opened the front door. They giggled and ran for the living room, leaving us standing in the entryway. The smell of turkey and caramelized onions carried on a rush of warm air. I decided that I could put up with Eric until dinner was over.
"Haven't seen you around here much lately,” Eric's dad said as he took my coat.
"Not much reason to."
He nudged Pop's elbow. “These kids. Every little disagreement is the end of the world, huh? They'll make up in no time, and whatever it was, they'll forget, right?"
I glanced at Eric in hopes of getting a clue. He stared at the TV as if he'd never seen Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and friends fight the Bumble before. Bastard.
Pop went into the kitchen. I saw the real tree and recoiled. Under the heavy scent of turkey and stuffing, it was there, that resinous smell. Pine trees were my second worst non-food allergy.
"Eric, aren't you going to give her the present?"
Eric stomped over to their Christmas tree, found a box, and stomped back over to me. He slapped a small box into my hand. I hadn't gotten him anything.
"Well, open it,” his dad said.
I tore off the wrapping. Gold was, what, eight hundred dollars an ounce? I hoped the chain and cross were plated.
"Put it on her, Eric."
Eric stood behind me to do the clasp. His dad's hands mimed the moves like a puppet master. Kneeling at our feet, mesmerized, his sisters watched.
His dad clapped his hands together. “I told you she'd love it."
The room felt smaller by the second. It was too hot, and the strong smell of dinner seemed to make it lie heavy in my lungs. “I'm sorry, but I think I need to take a walk. I'm allergic to pine."
Eric's mother bustled out of the kitchen. “Allergic? Oh my.” She put a hand to her cheek. “Is it bad?"
My eyes were already swollen. “I can live with it. Have to, this time of year. It's everywhere."
"Oh, but ... Mack, carry the tree out into the garage."
"No need to do that. I'll be fine. Really. I just need to take a little walk and clear out my sinuses."
"She needs to learn that the world doesn't revolve around her,” Pop called out from the kitchen. “Leave the tree where it is. She'll just have to get used to it."
Eric's mom stood at the kitchen doorway, trying to decide what to do. She wanted to move the tree for me, but everyone told her not to. Pots on her stove gurgled and steamed. Pop hovered over them, salt shaker in his hand. Torn between her cooking and me, she decided to save her food from Pop. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour. You have time for a quick walk,” she told me.
"I'll be back soon."
"Go with her, son, but don't take too long.” Eric's dad herded us to the door, grinning so smug, as if he knew everything.
"I'll be fine alone."
"Eric will go with you."
I grabbed my coat and was well down the block before Eric caught up. We walked in angry silence to the gazebo.
Eric rolled a slim joint. He climbed onto the picnic table.
I took off the necklace and hurled it at him. “I am not your fucking girlfriend, no matter what you tell your dad."
"I never told him that."
"You sure let him think it."
Eric stared at his hands.
"Oh fuck it! I'm sick of this. You can have him."
His head jerked up. “Who?"
"Sean."
"I don't know..."
"Shut up. Don't act like this isn't all about Sean, because it is. He's all yours."
Eric's face twisted into harsh lines. “You're all over him. ‘He has the lewdest lips.’ You practically drool when you see him."
"Okay, I'll admit I want to fuck him, but date? Please. I don't want his hands anywhere on me, and I definitely don't want to have to talk to him. I just want to fuck him hard and then kick him the hell out of my bed so I can roll over and sleep."
"Sure."
"Fuck you."
Eric looked up at the gazebo roof for a long time. “God. I wish he would. Fuck me.” He ran his hands up and down his thighs. “He's driving me nuts."
It took a while for me to control my temper enough to sit next to him on the table and ask, “So, you two doing anything?"
His shoulders slumped. “Nothing since that kiss at the drive-in."
"Damn. Sorry. I thought for sure you guys were getting it on during our camping trips. You keep lagging behind everyone else on the trail, and you're alone in that tent."
"I wish. I was over at his house one day, and we were sitting on his bed, and he was playing his bass, and ... Nothing. I kept thinking something was going to happen, like he kept touching my arm and sitting right next to me, but nothing happened."
"Cock tease.” I took a long draw on my cigarette and exhaled slow.
"Uh-huh.” Eric handed me the joint. “He's always asking where you are. Every time I mention going to Rocky Horror, he asks if you're coming along. When I say no, he won't go. It's like he's obsessed with you."
"Hah! He hates me. You know that. I can't talk to him for two minutes before the insults start flying. He's not smart enough for me. He's not smart enough for you."
"But he's hot."
I flicked my cigarette into the snow and flapped my coat to help dissipate the smell of smoke.
Eric said, “Um, I know you're probably still mad at me, but I want to ask a favor."
My eyebrows rose. “Pretending to be your girlfriend is a pretty fucking big favor already."
"I got a C in American Lit."
I winced. “B minus in calculus. Thank God for partial credit."
"I need to take a guaranteed-A English course next semester, or I'm in trouble. Take English Lit II with me.” Eric stared down at his hands again, working the gold chain between his fingers.
"Ode to a Grecian Urn and Paradise Lost? No thanks. I'm enrolled in the second half of World Lit. I'll take I
bsen's plays any day over Canterbury Tales."
"Isn't Ibsen's stuff supposed to be dark?"
I mimed putting a gun to my temple and pulling the trigger. “Hedda Gabler shoots herself. It's a perfect ending."
Eric stared at me for a long time. “That's not funny."
"I don't think it's meant to be a comedy."
He stilled frowned as he ground the last of the joint between his fingers. “We better get back."
"You know, this could work out. Sean will go out with you if I'm there, right?” I asked.
"I guess,” Eric drawled. He didn't seem to like where my thoughts were headed.
"So your dad will think we're dating, and you get to spend time with Sean. It's perfect for you."
"You don't want him?"
"Sean isn't interested in me."
Eric got pissy again. “You looked like you were getting along real good on the camping trip."
"Actually, he was embarrassed about that. That's what we were talking about when you came over and stabbed my hand with your fork. I was being nice to him because, well, I haven't been, and I felt bad about it. Lately, I've been trying not to put him down so much."
"I noticed."
I bumped against Eric's shoulder and grinned. “If it makes you happier, I can start being mean to him again. Because I've been holding back some really devastating lines."
"No. Don't start that up again. Please."
I scratched my back. “Thank God you're talking to me again. You can keep up with the conversation. Sean gets confused too easily. Whoosh! Right over his head. Do you have any idea how tiring it is to have to define every other word I use? I lose my place in the idea I was trying to get across. I told you, he's not smart enough for me. Not by a long shot. So he's all yours."
"If only."
He got down from the table. The necklace dangled from his fingertips. I swiped it from his hand and put it back on.
"By the way, there's someone I want you to check out at school. A girl."
"Oh?” A bit of a smile tugged at the corners of Eric's mouth.
"Her name is Amanda.” And suddenly, I was blushing, and couldn't meet his gaze. “Do you think—do you think it's really evil to like a girl? I mean like-like, not just friends?"
"You're asking me?"
"Don't you ever worry that you're going to hell?” I asked.
"This town is hell."
"Yeah, but ... God, I'm so fucked up.” I tugged at my hair.
"Yep.” He started up the trail but stopped to wait for me. “I don't worry about going to hell. I worry about someone finding out. That would be real hell."
As usual, he summed up the situation perfectly.
We hiked back toward his duplex.
"So ... Amanda?” he asked.
Once the secret was uncorked, I couldn't keep any of it inside me. I talked quickly, leaving him no space to wedge a word between mine as I went on and on about everything Amanda.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 16
I think Eric's dad was happier about the truce between Eric and me than we were. He pestered me until I accepted an invitation to dinner at the Officer's Club. I put him off as long as I could, but by mid-February, I ran out of excuses. As if that wasn't enough meddling, he also made us commit to a date. Our plans probably weren't what he had in mind, though.
"So, Friday's the big date? Valentines Day!” Eric's dad kept looking over his shoulder at us as he drove to the Officer's Club. “What movie are you going to see?"
"Amanda wanted to see—"
Eric smacked my leg. “Wrath of Kahn."
"Ah, so you're a Trekkie?” his father asked me.
We were really going to see Porky's, something we'd never admit to our parents. “Yeah. Sure. I mean, yes, Sir."
"Kaaaaahn.” His dad chuckled. Eric rolled his eyes.
The Officer's Club, like much of the main base, was a red brick colonial with white columns. It was the military's answer to a country club, complete with golf course, swimming pool, and tennis courts.
Eric and I walked far behind his parents as we went into the club. I was in a skirt, a huge concession to their dress code, but the grand entrance and huge foyer made me shrink back.
"Am I dressed okay?” I whispered as we crossed the Persian rugs.
Eric had on a sport jacket that didn't cover his boney wrists. His deep blue tie was yanked to the side and the collar of his white shirt was up.
"You look fine,” he told me.
"You're prettier."
He smirked.
His dad's voice boomed across the foyer. “What are you two lovebirds whispering about now?"
People turned to look at us. Eric shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and I glared at my shoes.
"What drug is your dad on?” I whispered.
"Denial,” Eric said before he rushed across the carpet to the host's stand.
The dining room was big, with chandeliers and white linens covering each table. It was a long, narrow room. Every table had a view of the golf course. The swimming pool was covered with a blue tarp for the winter. Nets sagged across the tennis courts.
The hostess led us to a table for four in the center of the room. A spotlight seemed to make it glow. Eric's dad pulled back a chair for his wife, and cleared his throat. Eric popped up from his chair and pulled mine out for me.
The lineup of forks and spoons didn't faze me a bit. Although they spent weeks teaching table manners at cotillion—one of Mom's many attempts to turn me into a girl—it came down to the simple rule that you used the flatware furthest from your plate. Confidence made anything look right. Menus, however, were another matter. My usual method was to pick the second least expensive entrée, but my menu had no prices. Was prime rib usually less than New York strip? How did the price of a salmon dinner compare to beef? I turned it over and hoped to find a kid's menu. No such luck.
"Would you like an appetizer?” Eric's dad asked me.
No one in my family ordered appetizers.
"We always have shrimp cocktail. Would you like one?"
I wasn't sure if I was allowed to have cocktails. Under the table, I tugged at the hem of my skirt. Why did I let Eric talk me into dinner with his parents? He was supposed to be kissing my ass, but there I was, suffering for his sake.
Eric's dad forced a chuckle that was too loud for the room. “Have one! I won't take no for an answer. It's a family tradition."
You owe me. You owe me huge for this! I sent thought waves across the table to Eric. He must have received the message, because he hid behind his menu. I kicked his ankle. “What are you ordering?” I asked him.
"The bamboo box."
The menu described it as stacked boxes of steamed veggies with various dipping sauces and dumplings. The only dumplings I ever ate were my grandmother's. They were gut bombs. “You're kidding, right?"
Eric set down his menu. “The chef here is a vegetarian. He always has great vegetarian entrées."
"But they serve meat."
"Do you think he cooks all the meals here by himself? Besides, how long would he last at a military club if he didn't serve beef? Get the bamboo box. You'll like it. Trust me. It's almost Zen."
That time when I kicked him, I made sure it hurt.
The waiter poured Eric's water in a slow trickle while he eyed Eric's lanky frame. Eric's glance flitted from his napkin-covered lap to the waiter's face.
"So, big date Friday.” Every time Eric's father spoke, it was like a cannon going off. Eric and I cringed. “Who is this couple you're doubling with?” he asked.
I bit my lip and let Eric answer that one. The waiter dumped ice and water into my glass. It splashed across the tablecloth.
Eric watched the waiter stomp away before answering. “Sean and a girl from school."
"Has Sean been seeing her long?” Eric's mom asked.
I didn't think Sean had ever met Amanda. “No."
"Is she nice? Sean is such a nice
boy. Those Oriental kids always are,” she said. “It's their culture."
My eyes widened. Who did she think we were talking about? Sean, the foul-mouthed, demon-tempered, sex God bass player, or some house coolie from a Charlie Chan movie?
"Uh, yeah. I like her a lot,” I said.
Eric's eyes narrowed down to slits, so I shut up.
His dad asked, “So, have you heard from Harvard yet?"
I set my water glass down with absolute precision, making sure that it went exactly on the wet ring on the tablecloth. “I withdrew my application."
He slumped. “Oh. Have you applied to other schools in Massachusetts?"
"Mack, she doesn't want to talk about it. Can't you see? It's all right, hon. There are plenty of other colleges.” Eric's mom put a hand on my shoulder.
The waiter reached in front of me and put a glass rimmed by shrimp on top of my plate. Shrimp and cocktail sauce, not a real cocktail. I never felt so stupid in my life. The waiter was so busy eyeing Eric that the base of the glass crashed against Eric's plate. Eric grabbed for it, his hand wrapping around the waiter's. They shared a sheepish grin and let go, but not quickly.
"So, Eric,” his dad said loudly.
Eric tore his gaze from the waiter. “What?"
"Uh, don't bring the car back from your date with an empty tank."
The waiter set down the rest of the appetizers and scuttled away.
Eric's dad clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “Don't these look great! Everyone dig in!"
"Aren't you going to eat, hon?” Eric's mom asked me.
Shrimp was one of my favorites, but I hadn't had it in a long time. All I could think about was how outraged Pop would be at the expense.
"It's good,” she said.
There was nothing I hated more than proving I was an idiot, so I watched them to see how it was done. They picked up shrimp by the tail, dipped it in the sauce, and bit them off close to the hard shell. I copied, carefully cupping my hand under the pink curl as I brought it to my mouth.
Oh, it was good. The horseradish in the sauce burned the inside of my nose. Heavenly. It made me cough though, so I took a sip of my water.