by Marcy Blesy
“Matt, I don’t understand.”
“Remember the coffee shots?”
“Yes.” And then I remember Matt’s words, You’re not girly enough for strawberry. You’re sweet like vanilla. But there’s some sort of edge or some sort of story under that exterior of yours that’s just a little dark like the caramel. “Please don’t be mad at me. I am not prying. You stormed out the last time I pegged you as a caramel. I…it’s just important that you not be embarrassed or upset or whatever made you mad. I don’t…I don’t want you to feel like you have to apologize for...anything.” I can feel my heart beating faster. Am I that transparent? Is there not a person that I can meet at any time in my future who won’t be able to tell that I have a past, that I’m a sum of so many ugly parts? “I like you for you even if you never tell me anything private about yourself, okay?” He stares at me. It seems like minutes before I can blink. “Now, I have one more present. Close your eyes.” I do. Then I feel his lips on mine, strong and purposeful, yet soft and full. I only open my eyes when his lips leave mine.
“Matt, I can’t…. You shouldn’t have.… I have a boyf—” He puts his finger to my lips.
“I know, but I had to tell you how I feel anyway. It’s my gift to me.”
“If you’d won the contest?”
“I would have kissed you and left the present on the counter. I came here for a reason. Merry Christmas, Mae. You’ve given me an even greater evening than I could have imagined.” I hear him thanking my mom in the living room. I am still standing in the kitchen when she comes to put away the cookies. My mind is racing in twenty different directions, and I don’t know which way to go.
Chapter 16:
I’ve been trying to stay busy the last couple of days. Mom says she never wants me to leave. So far I’ve organized the pantry, rearranged the linen closet, downsized the kitchen junk drawers from three to one, and hung Mom’s necklaces according to dominant color on new pegs in her closet. I guess one could guess I am trying to stay busy to avoid the guilt I feel over Matt’s kiss. It wasn’t that I asked him to kiss me. It wasn’t even that I knew he was going to kiss me. It’s that I liked that he kissed me, and I didn’t stop it once his lips hit mine. All I can think about is Ty and his visit tomorrow on Christmas. Should I tell him? Should I not? Matt hasn’t called or texted since he was here. I don’t work again until the day after Christmas, so I won’t even see him until then. Maybe I should quit my job.
I don’t know if I make a conscious decision to drive to the cemetery or if it’s so engrained as a coping skill, that the car is on auto-pilot. I park the car next to the cemetery plots of my family: Dad, Laura, and Grandma. Snow covers the cemetery in a clean white blanket. Nothing dark dirties this hallowed ground. The wind has blown the headstones clean, so I can make out the names engraved so clearly. I walk toward the graves and run my hands over the letters that spell out their names.
“I suppose you wonder why I’m here. I’m sorry it’s been awhile since my last visit.” The wind whistles through the evergreen trees as if to say, continue. “I have kind of a problem. This is the best place for me to clear the air, if that’s okay.” I shove my hands in my pocket. I forgot my gloves. “You’ve met Ty, remember? He’s the awesome guy who convinced me that it’s okay to be myself, that I didn’t need to keep running from love. And he loves me, I think. You see, it’s just that I told him everything about you, and then he left for college, which is so far away, making things awkward. I’m jealous and insecure. He says I should finish community college before joining him at U of M. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t think I can get in yet or he’s having too much fun without me.” I kick my boot in the snow until tufts of dead grass appear underneath. “So, then there’s Matt. He’s a guy I met in my World Religions class, and we work together at the restaurant. He’s funny and fun and sweet, really sweet. Plus, he doesn’t know anything at all about my past, so I don’t have that burden out in the open. I can act confident and secure because he doesn’t know what I’ve done. He doesn’t know about my running away and the counseling and the doubts and the pain. That part of me is locked up still when I’m with him. And it’s so much easier with those parts locked up. God, help me! I don’t know what to do. I just want to be happy. Is that wrong? Do I not deserve to be happy?” I wipe the back of my hand against my cheek as the tears start to fall. No answers float down magically from the sky. No streaming billboards behind airplanes spell out what my future holds. I trace a heart into each of the three headstones before getting into my car. The light is flashing on my phone. I check my texts.
Ty: Looking forward to seeing you soon.
Matt: Thanks for an awesome night.
Yeah, I better get my thoughts straight, or I’m screwed and in the position, to yet again, hurt the people I care about.
Chapter 17:
Mom and I spend the morning trying to recreate the traditions of Christmas past. I unwrap Santa presents that magically appear under the tree, this year a couple of new sweaters and a snowboard. Then we eat cinnamon rolls with frosting for breakfast, but there’s an undertone to the morning. Things aren’t the same. Traditions played out as we go through the motions don’t feel real.
“What time is Ty supposed to be here?” asks Mom.
“Around 1:00,” I say.
“You don’t seem too excited.”
“I’m fine, Mom. It’s just a weird day.”
“That it is.” She kisses me on top of the head and goes to the kitchen to start the crock pot that will prepare our Christmas pot roast for dinner, another tradition. Once the crockpot was a time saver that would give our parents more time to play with us. Now it’s food, without the feeling.
I put on my new hot pink and neon orange polka dot fleece pajama bottoms that Santa brought me. I find a pink long sleeve t-shirt in my closet that matches. Ty promised to bring pajamas, too. It’s another one of those traditions. Anyone who enters our house on Christmas day must also be wearing pj’s. I hold the application packet from the University of Michigan that I picked up at the school counselor’s office. Everything’s filled out online now, but the packet will answer some of the questions I have about the transfer process. I feel like I’ve got a real chance of transferring. My grades have been excellent. It’s no guarantee, of course. It’s also no guarantee that I’ll even submit the stupid thing. My phone dings. There’s a picture. It’s a cookie, frosted with the tiniest details of a little log cabin in the woods. There’s even a tree that can be seen from the window, complete with colored ornaments and an angel on top. It’s the most beautiful cookie I have ever seen. Underneath the picture are two words. First Place. It’s from Matt. I think I’m still smiling when the doorbell rings. I let Mom answer it.
“There you are,” says Ty. He’s carrying a poinsettia. “Merry Christmas.” He kisses me on the cheek. I take the plant.
“Thanks. It’s nice.”
“I wanted to get a bouquet or something, but this just called out your name.” He laughs. “You okay?” I shrug my shoulders. “Your family? Tough day?”
“Maybe that’s it.” I need to make this work. Ty’s been my rock for nearly a year now. He deserves it. “Don’t you need to change your clothes?”
“Ah, yes, I guess I do.” When he comes back from the bathroom, I can’t help but smile. To match Ty’s blond bedhead he is wearing an oversized button down shirt with matching drawstring pants. He is covered in pictures of rubber ducks. Rubber ducks.
“You look wonderfully ridiculous. Come here.” I reach for the material hanging from his shoulders. He falls on top of me. I kiss him properly. He rests his head on my chest as we snuggle on the couch.
“I’ve missed you, Mae. Just you and me. No distractions.”
“Uh-huh. Me, too.” For the rest of the afternoon, we lie around and do nothing of any importance, which is the most important thing of all. We watch my favorite Christmas movies like National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and Home Alone. At dinne
r time we eat pot roast with Mom. She’s quieter than normal and doesn’t engage in unnecessary conversation.
“We’ll clean the kitchen,” I say to Mom.
“Yes, Mrs. Tatum, thank you for the lovely meal.”
“You’re welcome, Ty. Any time. If the two of you don’t mind, I think I’m going to read a little and call it an early night.”
“Sure, Mom. Merry Christmas.” I hug her and for a long time she hangs on. I let her.
“Ty, you’ll find clean sheets, a blanket, and a pillow for the couch.” She turns to go to her room. “Make sure you use it.” Well, I guess she has not completely lost her senses.
“Yes, of course, Mrs. Tatum.”
“Ready for your present?” asks Ty. I lean against his chest. He pushes my hair behind my ears. I could live in these fleece pants all day.
“Let me give you your present first,” I say. I get up and return with a box which I give to Ty. He opens it.
“Thanks, Mae, I love them. If it ever gets warm outside, I’ll lace these up and test them out.”
“I got them for you, in part, so that I’m not the only one always running.”
“Ha! You are so thoughtful and clever.” He gives me a hug and sets the running shoes back in their box. “Your turn.” He hands me my present. I unwrap the paper from the tiny box tied with a red bow.
“Oh, Ty. They’re beautiful.” I hold up a lovely pair of dangly earrings, silver with tiny hearts. But when I inspect them more carefully I realize they are for pierced ears. I only wear clip-ons. My mom had a bad experience when she got her ears pierced as a little girl and forbid Laura and I from piercing our ears. The subject caused many an epic battle in our home. How did Ty not know I only wear clip-ons?
“I hope you don’t think it’s corny, with the hearts.”
“It’s not corny at all, Ty.” I put the earrings back in their box. There is no sense in telling him the truth. Ty pulls me close for a kiss. It’s nice. The whole day has been nice. If only we could lock ourselves away from the rest of the world and focus on us, that would be so much easier. I know we need to talk about next year. U of M won’t wait on me, that’s for sure. But how can I ruin this day?
“I’m going to get ready for bed, okay?” I watch Ty walk down the hall. Even with droopy pajama pants his butt stands out in all the right ways.
I help Ty make a bed on the couch. He unbuttons his pajama shirt. I know he sleeps without his shirt on, no matter the temperature outside, but seeing him standing there with sculptured perfection is still a bit shocking.
“I…you…you look hot,” I say.
“Why, thank you. You look pretty sexy yourself. Fleece is so clingy to the body.” I throw a pillow at him. He grabs me from behind and lifts me in the air before I can get a shot off with a second pillow. He drops me on the couch and lowers his body on top of mine. “Stay with me,” he whispers in my ear. His breath on my skin makes me tingle.
“I can’t. You know that.” I kiss him, though, and for the first time in a long while all the butterflies come back. There is not a second of the short time we dare spend together on the couch that is wasted.
Lying in my own bed, safely protected from the temptations a mere twenty feet from my bedroom door, I run the day over in my head. I trace our names in the air, like I was a middle school girl caught up in the crush of a new boy. M-A-E and T-Y. T-Y and M-A-E. I reach out to click off my radio and knock something from my nightstand. Rummaging around on the floor, I find it. This time I trace the letters carved in wood. Definitely the caramel. A knot hardens in my stomach. Will my life ever be easy?
“Don’t cry, Mae. You’re coming over on New Year’s Eve. That’s only five days.”
“Ty, don’t go, not yet.” I hug tighter, grateful that Mom has gone out for her traditional day-after-Christmas shopping.
“You naughty girl,” he says, winking. “I guess I don’t have to go quite yet.” He starts to take off his jacket.
“Stop. That’s not what I meant.” I wish I could say our wonderful day together yesterday capped off with sweet, love-filled dreams, but they didn’t. Instead I tossed and turned with thoughts of Ty and thoughts of transferring and thoughts of Matt’s kiss bouncing off the walls of my brain.
“I don’t understand. You know I promised my parents I’d be back today.”
“I…I need to know if you want me at U of M next year.”
“Mae, I thought we’d decided to figure it all out after you graduate from Andersonville.”
“No, no, no! That is not what we decided. Ty, I have to send in my U of M forms within the next few weeks. We have to make this decision.”
“No, you have to make this decision.” I am devastated. How could things change so quickly in 24 hours?
“I thought we were a we,” I say in almost a whisper.
“You are not doing this again right now, are you, Mae? After the great weekend?”
“But I can’t wait. Is that what you want to happen? I’ll just drag my feet, and then it will be too late? That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“No, that is not what I want. I want you to have some balls and make some decisions on your own. Do what’s good for you, independent of me. College is a big deal, and no matter what happens with us, you need to put yourself on the best track for getting the education you need for the college that’s right for you.”
“No matter what happens with us?” I repeat. “Okay, if that’s what you want, then fine, I’m not going to U of M because there’s no promise of us. Why should I give a damn about being closer to you?”
“You have a great talent at twisting my words, Mae. You know I care about you, but, honestly, you aren’t always a whole hell of a lot of fun to be with lately. You figure life out and get back to me.”
“Fine, then. Have a nice life.” I push him toward the door. He goes without hesitation. As I hear his car start up, I slide to the floor, resting my head on the door that is the only thing holding me up. I am still sitting there when Mom comes home, overcome with exhaustion from the sobbing tears. She helps me to the couch which is where I stay for the rest of the afternoon. My hopes and dreams about Ty are over. It’s done. He can’t commit to our future. Yet again, I have killed a part of me. The other shoe has dropped.
“Mae, you have to get ready for work.” I am aware of someone shaking my shoulders. I don’t want to go to work. I can stay on the couch forever. “Come on, I’ve set out your clothes. Go change.”
“No.”
“You have to. I called and told them you’d be a few minutes late. I bought you fifteen minutes. That’s it. You have responsibilities. You can’t hide from your problems, honey.”
“Sure I can,” I say. “I’m an expert at that, remember?” As soon as I say it I know I’m being an ass. “Sorry, Mom.” She’s the last person that deserves to be hurt. For her, I get up and prepare for work.
“Hey, Mae! Great to see you,” says Matt when I walk into the restaurant. “Better late than never.” He’s grinning from ear to ear. My heart feels like the insides of a washing machine, sloshing back and forth, mixed with the detergent of possibility and the filth of my bad choices. “Man, no offense, but you look like you’ve been run over by a truck.”
“Thanks,” I say. I put on my fanny pack, check the specials list, and head to the dining room. Thank goodness there are no bratty kids to deal with yet, though as I scan the room, it seems all I see are couples. Old couples. Young couples. Happy couples. Everyone is in the post glow buzz of Christmas day.
My first night’s order sets me off immediately. Who orders spaghetti with the sauce on the side? Girls that are a size 0, that’s who. I call out the special order when I get to the window adjoining the kitchen.
“Skinny bitch wants spaghetti sauce on the side,” I say.
“Macy! That’s enough,” says my manager Garry.
“Sorry, but it’s true.” I am back on the floor before he has time to say anything more. My next order is from a so
cial class elitist, one of those ladies who insists she knows far more about fine dining than I do.
“I cannot order that wine with this entrée. Do you know anything about pairing wines?” White wine-fish, red wine-beef. Does it really matter beyond that?
“Then how about a nice margarita, ma’am?”
“Good gracious, a margarita? I’m sure you meant martini. What kind of a waitress are you, anyway?” And it was right at that time that Garry happens past me so instead of saying what was really on my mind I have to bite the bullet and apologize, but it doesn’t have to sound real.
“Yes, ma’am, I am a complete fool. Please forgive me. OH, please!” Garry raises his eyebrows at me as if to say, You’re on thin ice. I simply smile back.
When I deliver Ms. Snootypants her salad, she insists I send it back because the dressing is too balsamically.
“Nitwit wants less balsamic in the salad. Just spit in it a few times, and that should do it,” I say.
“I never like to go against such a pretty girl’s suggestions, but maybe I’ll mix up a new dressing instead, if that suits you, Princess Mae?” Matt smirks at me from the kitchen.
“Whatever. It’s your kingdom,” I say.
“Actually, it’s my kingdom,” says Garry. “Everything okay in here?”
“Oh, yes, boss,” says Matt. “It’s a great evening. Isn’t that right, Mae?”
“Truly one of the best evenings I’ve ever had.” I take the new salad from Matt and return to the main room. I am about to place it back on the table when a pair of hoodlums come running toward me. Now, if truth be told, I can dodge them. I’m pretty quick, after all, but what the hell? Why not use them to my advantage for once? I reach my foot out, only slightly. As the first boy passes by, he trips on my foot sending him falling to the ground, and the girl behind him falling into me, and the salad into the lap of Ms. Snootypants. I am so close to her now that I watch trickles of oil from the dressing slide down her stockings. Who wears stockings anymore? But I don’t have time to celebrate.