The Ruining

by Anna Collomore

  “Stop!” I elbowed him in the ribs and tried to stifle my laughter. “Surely they’re not all in uniform. Surely not.”

  “I wouldn’t be so confident,” Owen said under his breath just as I felt a tap on my shoulder. I swiveled around to find Morgan grinning at me.

  “Heeyyy!” she cried out, throwing her arms around my neck. “So glad you could make it!” I could tell from her flushed cheeks that she was already pretty buzzed. And sure enough, she was in full pom squad apparel, complete with little white sneakers and a purple ribbon in her hair. I was about to answer when I saw that her attention had shifted. She squinted over my shoulder and cocked her head to one side, frowning at Owen.

  “Owen?” she asked in disbelief. I extracted my shoulder from her grasp and turned Owen’s way, lacing my hand through his. His expression looked wary, uncomfortable.

  “Hey,” he responded.

  “You guys know each other?” I looked from one face to another; the sight of Owen had apparently sobered up Morgan pretty fast, and Owen had lost his easy smile.

  “We went to high school together,” he said. “Morgan was a couple of years behind me.”

  “Small world,” I said faintly, eager to ease the tension. “But I thought you were from Kentucky?” None of this was making sense to me.

  “Boarding school,” Morgan confirmed. “You’ve got a real catch on your hands, Annie.” It wasn’t immediately apparent from her tone whether she was being sarcastic or sincere. “And how did you two meet?”

  “We’re neighbors,” Owen said quickly, removing his hand from my grasp to rake it through his hair. The absence of his hand left me feeling naked and insecure. Had he dropped it because of Morgan? Why was he so uncomfortable?

  “You didn’t tell me you were dating someone, Annie!” Morgan’s tone was suddenly bubbly again, as if the awkward moment had never happened.

  “Sorry,” I said. “We hadn’t really—”

  Before I could finish, she grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the door. “Bathroom break?” she asked, tugging me away from Owen before I could answer.

  “No problem,” he told me. “Go catch up. I’ll grab us some drinks.”

  Morgan didn’t say anything until she’d dragged me through the throngs and up the stairs and shut me in a second-story bathroom. “How long have you been dating Owen Oswald?” she asked, arms folded across her chest.

  “Um, maybe a month,” I said. “Why?”

  “You’ve got to break it off, Annie. He is seriously awful. I’m only telling you this because I’m your friend. He’ll totally screw you over. He’ll screw you and then he’ll screw you over.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, my face flaming. Morgan’s own face was contorted into a singularly nasty expression, something residing in between hatred and disgust.

  “Look,” she said. “He dated my older sister for a while. He totally broke her heart. He acted like they were so in love, like everything was perfect, and then—” She trailed off, leaving her sentence open-ended.

  “Then what?”

  “Then he moved to California, and he broke her heart.”

  “Okay,” I shrugged. “So they broke up. That doesn’t make him a bad guy.”

  “It was the way he did it, Annie. I’m telling you, he’s cold. The guy doesn’t have a heart.” I stared at her, completely speechless. None of this sounded quite right.

  “It’s nuts, I know.” Morgan’s tone had softened, and now she looked sympathetic. “I just don’t want to see you get involved with some shady bastard.”

  I nodded. “I’m glad you told me,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I meant it. My head was throbbing the way it always did when a situation became overwhelming. None of what Morgan was saying matched up with the guy I knew Owen to be. But then, I hadn’t really known him for that long. And my instincts about people . . . they hadn’t always been right. I couldn’t trust my instincts. The truth was, I had loved Dean before my mother married him, before he’d moved in with us. I never knew the difference between right and wrong, because I couldn’t even trust my own gut. I’d loved Dean, and he’d turned out to be a monster. Owen could just as easily be the same.

  “You know, I’m not feeling great,” I said to Morgan, “and honestly, I have to be up early tomorrow. I really only came out to see you. But you should go back out there. I’ll have Owen drive me home. I’m just going to take a minute, maybe splash some water on my face first.”

  “Okay. Want me to stay with you?”

  I shook my head. “Can you just tell Owen I’ll be down in a minute, if you see him?” All I wanted was to be alone for a minute to clear my head.

  “Sure.” Morgan hugged me and gave me a light kiss on the cheek. “I’m really glad you came, you know? I knew we’d be friends. I just had that feeling when I first saw you.” I managed a weak smile.

  “We’ll do it again,” I said. “Have fun.” And then she was gone, and I was standing in front of a mirror, looking into eyes that didn’t seem mine anymore but a stranger’s. I looked tired; even I could see that. I had faint purple circles under my lower lids that no amount of makeup could banish. I’d gotten thinner, and my cheekbones were more prominent than ever. My hair looked slightly greasy, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t washed it since the previous morning. Even when I was living in our tiny Detroit house—even at my absolute worst—I’d been meticulous about hygiene. I didn’t have great clothes, but I’d made sure I was clean and fresh-looking.

  Now as I stared into my own blank eyes, I noticed for the first time how unkempt I looked. I’d brushed my hair and worn mascara and lip gloss and put on a fresh, figure-flattering T-shirt, but my skin was uneven where I’d started compulsively picking at it, and my hair hung around my face in limp, greasy strands. I took a quick sniff under my arms, and the smell was rank. I’d forgotten to wear deodorant. When in the past weeks and months had I forgotten how to take care of myself? When had it stopped being a priority? And what could a guy like Owen possibly see in me, even if I was just a temporary thing to him? Owen could have chosen anyone, but he’d chosen me.

  I stared so long and hard at my reflection that it began to morph in front of my eyes into something uglier and uglier until I couldn’t stand the sight of myself. I turned from the mirror and sank down onto the floor instead, hugging my knees to my chest as I leaned against the cabinetry. And then, finally, it hit me. Owen was dating me because he needed something. There was no other possible reason. That had to be it. But what was it he could want? I didn’t have money, or powerful friends, or anything, really. Did he want access to the house? Was he hoping Walker would invest in his tech startup, and this was the easiest way to get to know the family? Or worse, did he have some sort of sick fascination with Libby? I thought back to all the times he’d made fun of her—had there been some sort of weird sexual passion underneath his disdain? It was really weird how intensely he claimed to dislike her, how her presence was always looming over our conversations. Was that disdain actually just a cover for unrequited lust? After all, he’d mentioned her age and her body more than once. He wasn’t unaware of her physical presence. Was I actually just some kind of pawn through which Owen hoped to get closer to the one he really wanted?

  I leaped up and bolted downstairs. I was going nuts. I needed to get out of there. I needed to get away from all of these normal college kids thinking about normal things like exams and drinking and hooking up. They were carefree in a way I couldn’t really imagine being, not ever. I was going to call a cab; I wasn’t about to ask Owen to drive me home, not after everything. For god’s sake, maybe he was dangerous. I shivered and pulled my thin cardigan more tightly around my T-shirt. It was early November and beginning to get chilly. The sky was cloudy and there was a thick layer of fog adorning the road in front of me. Soon the heavy rains would start, as Libby had warned me they did every fall and winter. I wished I’d brought something warmer, but I’d assumed I’d be heading straight from the party t
o the car, that I’d be outside for all of two seconds.

  I dialed 411 and had the operator connect me to the number for a car service. I was just dialing the car service when Owen jogged up.

  “Hey! Annie!” he called out. “What’s going on? I’ve been waiting for you for the past twenty minutes. I thought you ditched me for some other guy.” He tried to crack a smile, but I could see through it to the confused hurt that lay underneath.

  “You knew I was talking to Morgan,” I said. “You had to have known she’d tell me about you and her sister.”

  Owen sighed. “I thought maybe she’d keep her mouth shut out of respect for your feelings,” he said.

  “What, so you could continue to manipulate me?”

  “Annie,” he said a little angrily, “how am I manipulating you? I dated her sister four years ago for, like, two seconds. Why would it have been worth mentioning? I didn’t even know you and this Morgan were friends.”

  “I’m fine calling a cab,” I told him, unwilling just yet to get into the rest of it. I wondered exactly how long “like two seconds” really was.

  “It’ll be close to eighty dollars from here! Just let me take you. Please.” I eyed him suspiciously. It would be a lot easier to get a lift home with Owen. Was I angry enough to spend an entire day’s paycheck on a cab?

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll let you take me. But I don’t want to talk about this anymore, and I want to go straight home.”

  “Done.”

  When we pulled into the driveway, though, Owen fidgeted in his seat and turned the music down a little instead of cutting the engine. A light rain had started to fall, a prediction of what was to come.

  “What?” I asked. “Is it something about Morgan?”

  “No,” Owen said slowly. “But there is something that I think I should talk to you about.”

  “Okay.” I wondered if he was interested in someone else. If he didn’t want to date me anymore. If he were about to confirm my fears about Libby.

  “I really didn’t want to bring this up like this . . . after a night of fighting.”

  “Can you please just say it?” I asked. “It’s really excruciating, the way you’re dragging it out like this.”

  “Sorry,” he said. He unbuckled his seatbelt and moved closer, grabbing my hand. “It’s nothing bad. I mean, I think it’s good news. Great news, actually. The thing is,” he took a deep breath, as if he was nervous about whatever it was he was about to say. “I was recently contacted by a big investor who likes what I’m doing with the company.”

  “Okay,” I responded, still dubious. “That’s great.”

  “Yeah, it is,” he agreed. “This is everything I’ve wanted for . . . I don’t even know how long. This is really my chance to do something big. But . . . it would mean moving.”

  “Off Belvedere Island?” I asked.

  “Out of San Francisco,” he replied. “To Durham.”

  “North Carolina,” I said flatly. “Congratulations.”

  “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  “I am happy for you,” I told him angrily. But the fact was, I felt like he’d just ripped my heart from my chest.

  “It’s not like we can’t be together just because I’m not going to be leaping over fences to come to your rescue anymore,” he told me, rubbing his thumb along my cheek. I didn’t answer him. I was struggling not to cry. Just when I thought I really had something great, it was going to disappear.

  “Babe,” he said. “Don’t be upset. Be happy for me, please? This doesn’t need to be a bad thing for us. And it’s not even for sure yet.”

  “How can it not be a bad thing?” I asked, before I could help myself. “I already barely have time to see you. I hardly have time to get out of the house!” I couldn’t imagine taking a plane to Owen’s for the weekend. Libby would never let me have that kind of time off. At least he could come visit his parents, I thought hopefully. It’s not like he’d have to stay at the Cohens’ in order to visit me. But I knew, deep inside, that this was what would happen: we’d keep in touch, and we’d see each other from time to time, and then it would fizzle out. We hadn’t even had time to get to know each other, not really. We could never sustain a long-distance relationship.

  “When do you leave?” I asked him. At least—I hoped—we could enjoy it while it lasted. Owen tightened his jaw, and when he answered, he was careful to avoid my eyes.

  “I’m going out to meet the guy in three weeks,” he said. “It would move pretty fast after that.”

  “Three weeks! Why are you only telling me now?”

  “What did you want me to do, bring it up on our first date?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe you should have realized that it was stupid to have a first date when you were about to change your entire life!” My voice was all choked up and I couldn’t help it: the tears started spilling over onto my cheeks and the front of my white T-shirt.

  “Wow,” he said coldly. “I really thought you’d be happy for me. I thought maybe you even cared enough to want to support me, to give this a real shot.” He was saying it, but in his words I heard something else. I heard that he was doing to me the same thing he did to Morgan’s sister. Tossing me aside when he got tired of me and something better came along. At least Morgan had warned me.

  “Cut it out,” I told him. “Of course I’m happy for you. Stop trying to make me feel like the bad guy. I didn’t plan for this. You, on the other hand, knew all along. But you pursued a relationship with me anyway.”

  “I honestly didn’t think it would be that big of a deal,” he told me.

  “Well, it is. It is a big deal,” I said, opening my car door. “It’s a huge deal.”

  “I see that now,” said Owen flatly. He looked up at me and I stood there next to the car for a second, avoiding eye contact.

  “Good night,” I finally said, slamming the door behind me and striding toward the Cohens’ front door.

  The second I slipped into the house, I knew something was wrong. It was one of those gut feelings you get. It was the same feeling I’d gotten the day I found Lissa floating facedown in the swimming pool.

  I took off my shoes by the front door and walked quickly up the stairs toward my room, trying hard not to make any noise. As I got higher, I heard what sounded like Zoe crying faintly. I walked toward her room, and the crying intensified. I opened the door gently and went in.

  “Sweetheart?” I asked, “It’s me.” Zoe’s sobs had the tired, weary, hiccupping quality of a child who’s been crying for a very long time. She was sitting up in bed, and through the glow of her nightlight I could see that her face was tear-streaked and blotchy. As soon as I sat down next to her, she threw her arms around my neck and sobbed into me, pressing her wet cheeks against mine.

  “Zoe,” I said. “Zoes, sweetie, calm down. What’s the matter, honey?”

  “I’m all alone,” she said finally in little gasping breaths. “Where’s Mommy?”

  “She’s here, sweetheart. She’s just asleep.” Stroking her hair gently, I wrapped her back up in her covers. I swung my legs up on the bed and lay down next to her. She nestled close, looking perfectly angelic with her little fists curled right up against her throat and one thumb in her mouth. And there we lay together, each of us lost in her own little world of nightmares until morning.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  “I HEARD YOU COME IN LAST NIGHT,” Libby said over pancakes the next morning. Walker had made them, an unusual treat. Zoe was having hers with whipped cream and strawberries and powdered sugar, and it had formed a sticky mess that she’d managed to get in her hair and all over the front of her pajamas. I would normally have loved pancakes, but I had no appetite. Ever since the night before, it felt like a rock had settled permanently in my stomach. I glanced out the kitchen window toward the water and sighed inwardly. The weather matched my state of mind: mostly cloudy with a hint of gloom.

  “You were back early; did something happen?”
r />   “Not really,” I mumbled. “It just wasn’t that fun.”

  “Did Owen join you?”

  “Yes,” I told her, taking an enormous bite of pancake to forestall the conversation.

  “Well, did it achieve its intended purpose? Do you feel unencumbered and rejuvenated?”

  “It wasn’t a spa trip, Libby,” said Walker. “She probably feels hungover.”

  “I didn’t really drink,” I said. I glanced at Zoe to make sure she wasn’t paying attention. She was doodling happily on her plastic tray, using whipped cream as finger paint. She was oblivious, but I still worried about what would sink in.

  “So, has Owen asked you to be his girlfriend yet?”

  “Do kids have those conversations these days?” Walker interrupted, as if I was closer to Zoe’s age than his wife’s.

  “Yes! We do. I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know how it works. I thought I already was his girlfriend.” I felt like I was going to cry. They both looked up at the tone of my voice, which had raised several octaves higher than I’d intended. Even Zoe looked clued-in, for once.

  “Awe you okay, Annie?” she wanted to know.

  “Yes, sweetie,” I said. “Just having a sad morning.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking troubled. “I having sad mowning, too,” she decided.

  “Nope,” I said. “You’re the happiest little girl. You don’t have a say in the matter.”

  “All right,” said Walker. “I think that’s my cue. I’m sensing that this is going to be a lady talk.” He walked his plate over to the sink, swatting Libby on the butt with his newspaper as he went. I had never seen a man be so unabashed about his manliness. I thought maybe it had something to do with him being from Texas. Then it occurred to me that I was probably stereotyping.