“Oh,” I say. We have been reduced to talking about the weather. “Yeah, it is nice.”
“I’m going to go make sure my mom doesn’t need any more help,” Missy says, untangling herself from Paul’s grasp. “You two talk amongst yourselves.”
I move as if to follow her, but she waves me off. “Don’t be silly!” she says. “You’re our guest.”
I slide back down into the big chair and look at the floor.
“You were right,” Paul says after a minute.
I look up.
“Missy’s mom is a better cook.”
Is he trying to start a fight? Why did I agree to come to this stupid party? “Why don’t you come by one afternoon and tell my mom that, and while you’re at it you can reassure her that I was telling the truth all along when I told her that all you really wanted with me was to get to Missy,” I say.
“Hey, I was just kidding.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around more.”
“Whatever.” Oh how I wish I were anywhere else. And I know that if he doesn’t shut up soon this conversation is going to end with me in tears no matter how hard I try to fight it.
“Missy and I are both really glad you came tonight,” he says.
Like that makes a difference.
“I have missed you, Lizzie,” he says. “You know I think of you as one of the guys, and if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t seen much of them lately either.” He flashes his sly smile. I am supposed to be happy for him.
“Yeah, but I’m not one of the guys, am I? I’m just your girlfriend’s friend.”
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he says without looking at me.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say getting up. I can feel a sob rising in my throat and tears balancing on the edges of my eye lashes. “I need to borrow a sweater.”
I run straight up the stairs to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. It is going to be a long night.
* * *
It is a small party, small enough that we all sit at the dining room table for dinner. Anna has Paul sit at the end of the table with Missy and me on either side of him. I avoid conversation by shoveling food into my face and not making eye contact with any of the adults who smile condescendingly and ask us questions about school and what colleges we’re applying to. Paul, of course, charms the pants off all of them, at least whenever Missy lets him get a word in. It seems to me that dinner lasts for hours and by the end I am so full of food I can barely breathe. Thankfully after dinner, the party ends rather abruptly and I don’t have to suffer through more small talk while also trying to hold in my gut.
As soon as the door shuts behind the last guest, Anna gives each of us of a task or two to help clean up, sending us to different rooms. I am relieved to have a minute to myself and to have the chance to move around after that huge meal. My job is to bring dishes in from the dining room to the kitchen. Missy is in charge of loading the dishwasher and taking care of hand wash items. She has more than she can keep up with, so I don’t have to hurry. Paul’s job is to go through the other rooms and pick up stray cocktail napkins and glasses.
I am slowly stacking some plates to bring into the kitchen when Anna comes in.
“It’s so nice to see you, Lizzie,” she says. She looks overwhelmed and tired, as if she realized too late that having a four-month-old baby makes throwing a party a lot more exhausting than it otherwise would have been. “I’m glad you’re staying tonight.”
I like Anna, so I want to say something nice, but I’m not sure I can without betraying my true feelings. I just force a smile and continue gathering odd items from the table.
“You know, we were just thrilled when Missy introduced you to us. With all the moving we’ve done, she hasn’t had a lot of good friends. I mean, Missy is so relaxed, she’s always managed, but to have a friend who is so studious and nice—it means a lot to us that she’s having such a nice senior year.”
I nod, not looking up.
“You can tell me if I’m wrong here, but maybe Paul has been a wedge between you two.”
“No, no,” I say. “I like Paul. He’s great.”
Anna smiles. “Well don’t be a stranger. Now that your college applications are in, you don’t have to work so hard, so you come over any time.”
I nod again.
“And thanks for helping with the clean-up,” she says, heading back toward the kitchen, taking with her a pile of napkins I had heaped up.
I wonder what Missy has told her about me and Paul. I know Missy is the sort of girl who tells her mom a lot of stuff, but I also know she doesn’t tell her everything. Still, it seems to me that Anna knows how hurt I am. Whether she thinks that is because Missy’s been ditching me for Paul or because Paul broke my heart, I can’t say.
* * *
Paul doesn’t linger much after we clean up. Missy and I change out of our party clothes and lounge in her room. I almost forgot how much I like her room, with her wacky decorations and brightly colored comforter. We gossip about kids and teachers from school and I can just about pretend we are back in the carefree summer. But, of course Missy can’t stay away from the topic of Paul for long.
“You know when we first met, I thought he was just a player,” she says laughing.
“He does seem a little too, I don’t know,” I pause, trying to figure out how to criticize Paul without giving away my feelings for him. “Like a playboy or something,” I say finally.
“But he’s so sweet really. I think I’m in love with him,” she says, looking at me with watery eyes.
“You haven’t been dating very long.”
“I know, but I think when you know, you know.”
“Well, be careful,” I say. “Don’t let your guard down too soon.”
“What do you mean?” she says, sitting up on the bed.
I know it’s the wrong thing to say but the words come out before I can stop them. I hear myself saying, “Well some people think Paul is just going to use you. He’ll just have sex with you and then ditch you.”
“What? Did he ever say anything like that to you?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Then why would you think that?”
“Maura said—”
“Maura! Maura told you he was just going to use me? Why do you listen to her?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Whatever. You know you can’t believe a word she says. I’m sure she told you she and Paul had sex and then he dumped her or something like that.”
“No, she didn’t. I mean, she said they’d had sex,” I answer, but actually I’m not sure she ever said so.
“Well, she’s a liar. Paul has never had sex. He’s waiting until he knows he’s found the right girl.”
That’s news to me.
“Don’t look so shocked,” Missy says, flipping her hair and crossing her arms. “You know Paul. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t do drugs, he respects his mother. Is it so surprising that he wants to wait?”
When she puts it like that, it isn’t surprising at all, but I can’t admit it so easily. “Wes said the same kinds of things,” I remind her.
“This is different,” she says. “With Wes, I don’t know, I guess I was just desperate. I wanted a boyfriend. I wanted a perfect high school sweetheart. With Paul, I just want to see how things go.”
“Well, if Paul told you he’s never had sex, he’s probably telling the truth,” I say.
She drops back against the pillows. “I think so.”
Neither of us speak for a minute, and then she leans up on one elbow and turns to me. “So what about you? Got your eye on anyone?”
I roll my eyes. What am I supposed to say? Yes, I do, in fact. I really like your boyfriend.
Eventually Missy falls asleep, but I can’t relax. All I can think about is Paul with his arm around Missy. Paul apologizing if he hurt me. Missy so oblivious to my crushed heart. And she’s suppo
sed to be my friend, my best friend.
After laying there for a while, I get up with my cell phone and go to the bow window at the far end of Missy’s room. I sit with a blanket around me looking down at the snowy yard. Although most of the houses have turned out their porch lights and Christmas lights, the streetlights reflect on the crisp snow and the moon, nearly full, glows in the clear, black sky, illuminating the yard.
I flip open my phone. I am not supposed to send text messages. It isn’t part of my plan and every message will be tallied on the bill that my parents will scrutinize when it comes. I don’t care.
“U were right,” I type and select Maura’s number.
A few minutes later, my phone vibrates. I read Maura’s response. “What r u talking about? Where r u?”
“Missy and Paul suck,” I write back.
A conversation carried on via text can take a ridiculously long time. I spend the entire night sitting by that window, my hands and feet numb from the cold, watching the sky slowly drain from black to white as dawn approaches, texting back and forth with Maura. I can’t call her—that would wake Missy. And Maura doesn’t seem to mind being up all night or texting rather than talking. Every message I send her gets a response. I am going to be in big trouble when the phone bill comes.
* * *
I finally crawl back into bed around four o’clock and manage to sleep, but I am already awake when Missy gets up around nine. I smell breakfast cooking downstairs. Waffles and coffee—the aroma makes my stomach turn. Staying up all night doesn’t agree with me.
“I have something for you,” Missy says, getting up and rummaging around in her dresser. “I meant to give it to you last night.”
She turns toward me with a small box wrapped up in Christmas paper. I don’t have anything for her. My mother actually suggested that I buy Missy a present as it is rude to attend a Christmas party empty-handed, but I told her she had no clue about being a teenager. Stupid me.
“You didn’t have to,” I say.
“I know. But I wanted to get you a little Christmas present,” she says, handing me the box.
“But I don’t have anything for you,” I say.
“I’m not giving you a gift because I want something,” she says. “It’s funny, last week at church our minister was talking about just this, how hard it is sometimes to receive a gift, but the truest gifts are given freely, don’t you think?” she asks, pulling her tangled hair back into a messy pony tail and plopping down beside me on the bed.
I open the package. Inside is a silver charm bracelet with three charms: a book, a music note, and the number 12. “Thank you,” I say, studying the pieces.
“I tried to pick good ones,” she says. “The book since you love books and the library was our excuse for meeting, the music note since we first really got to hang out at that concert, and the 12, well, that one is obvious. Class of 2012.”
“It’s great,” I say, setting it back in the box.
“Let me help you put it on,” she says, taking the bracelet and opening the clasp.
I hold out my arm and she secures it, and then she leans forward and gives me a hug.
“I’m so glad we met,” she says. “You are the best friend I’ve had since starting high school.”
What reply can I give except to echo the sentiment? But all I can think about is Maura, and what I mostly feel toward Missy is resentment. She’s too perfect. She’s too sweet. And she is trying way too hard to make up for the fact that she stole Paul from me.
When I get home that afternoon, I put the bracelet in its box in the back of my closet. It isn’t my style at all.
Chapter 16
My brother finally arrives home late on December 23rd. I thought I would have the pleasure of his company—the pleasant buffer between myself and my mother, the comfort of being able to be completely myself with someone—for a couple of weeks until he had to head back to school, but it turns out he and Jen have plans for New Year’s. He is leaving again on the 29th to spend the end of his break with her and her family. On top of all of my other grievances, to learn that I can’t even count on my brother is too much. Everyone sucks.
On Christmas Eve we drive to Gram’s to trim her tree. She has some superstition about the tree that includes waiting until December 24th to decorate it, even though that means it will hardly be up for any time at all. Each year we arrive around four o’clock, the afternoon already dark with the short days of winter, and decorate the tree while eating her amazing cookies, drinking eggnog, and listening to oldies versions of Christmas carols. It is my favorite part of Christmas. Sometimes neighbors drop in with more goodies, and it feels to me the way Christmas is supposed to feel—people coming together to fill the dark, cold, gloomy days with light and laughter.
But this year my heart isn’t in it. I haven’t managed to get back on a normal sleep pattern after my all-nighter at Missy’s, and I am annoyed at Jeff for making plans that messed up my vision of our vacation time together. The gap between me and Jeff has grown in the past year. When he first went to college, I still talked to him a couple of times a week on the phone or online, and he used to come home to visit more often, but since we moved in June, I’ve barely spoken to him once a month. I’m not sure what the connection is between our move and my sudden distance from Jeff—sure, the physical distance between us is greater, but even before we moved, we lived a full day’s drive from Jeff’s school. Really, I suppose, the problem is that he is a junior in college, a half step from independent adulthood, while I am still just a kid in high school. Besides, he has a girlfriend, and he’d rather spend time with her than chat with his sister online or call home.
While Jeff talks Gram’s ear off, my mother fusses over the antique ornaments, cautioning us on how to handle them and where to hang them so they won’t fall and break. My father wanders in and out of the kitchen where he’s making deviled crabs and all the fixings, a job that always falls to him and the only time of year he ever cooks anything. I eat cookies and half-heartedly hang ornaments. Hang a star, eat a cookie; hang an angel, eat a cookie; hang a ball, drink some eggnog, eat a cookie. Maura and I have decided we are going to go on a diet right after the holidays, so I eat like it is my last supper. By the time we’re done with the tree and ready for dinner, I am so full I can barely stand to look at the food before me.
After dinner, as always, we watch It’s a Wonderful Life and then walk down the block and around the corner to St. John’s Cathedral for midnight Mass. We have to get there about an hour early to get a seat. It is hot in the crowded church, and I sit there, stuffed and bleary-eyed between my grandmother and my brother, trying not to fall asleep. I can see the girl in the pew in front of me texting and I am jealous, both that her parents seem not to mind that she is ignoring the Mass and that she has someone to send messages to at midnight on Christmas Eve.
Missy and her family have gone to visit Anna’s family in Virginia for Christmas, and I haven’t talked to her since I left her house Saturday morning. It is a relief, not having to talk to her, not having to pretend I am happy for her and Paul, and not having to feel guilty for my duplicity.
I know Paul is also at midnight Mass tonight, but at Immaculate Conception, across town. I have thought about calling him a few times since Missy left, but I don’t have the nerve.
And then, of course, there’s Maura. She told me her family doesn’t do much on Christmas Eve. They usually just sit around watching old Christmas cartoons and claymation movies. Probably if I texted her right now, she would instantly write back and would keep my thumbs in motion for the entire Mass.
How has it happened? How have I ended up seeing Maura as someone I can count on? A few months ago I never would have imagined the possibility.
* * *
On the Monday after New Year’s, I finally get my license. I take the test with hands shaking from nerves and hunger. The diet Maura prescribed for us mostly involves not eating. But I pass, amazingly, despite the fact that I’ve had
only minimal practice. Tuesday morning, my mom hands me the keys to her car when I come down to breakfast.
“Don’t think you’ll be driving yourself every day,” she says.
I grab my lunch from the counter, wrap my bagel in a paper towel, and run out the door, my mother hollering at me about not eating while driving. I get in the car and then call Maura to say that I don’t need a ride. As I only have a junior operator’s license, I technically can’t give her a ride, so although we are leaving from houses all of twenty feet apart and are headed to the same destination, we have to take separate cars. I don’t know if my parents are aware of the annoying Massachusetts law forbidding teenagers from driving other teenagers for six months after getting their licenses. It seems to me that most kids break that rule all the time. They just drive more carefully to avoid getting pulled over. Of course, a lot of other seniors have had their licenses much longer than six months, so they don’t have to worry at all. Anyway, I know Maura will be expecting me to start driving her around soon, and I wonder if my parents will let me or if I’ll have to lie. Then again, I am becoming a good liar, so it won’t really matter either way.
First period I feel my cell phone vibrating in my pocket. It’s history class. The teacher is so old I think he has firsthand experience of the Civil War. I sit in the last row near the back of the room. He’ll never see me. I slip the phone out of my pocket and hold it low on my lap.
“Mel’s diner after school? U can drive!” reads a text message from Maura.
I hadn’t lingered at home that morning long enough to know when my mother expected me home. I’m sure she won’t be happy about not having a car all afternoon, not that she has anywhere to go, but that’s just how she is.
“Have to get the car back to mom,” I answer, my heart pounding as I glance around to make sure no one is paying attention to my illicit texting.
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