But then Zach handed me a beer, and after I had a few sips, I decided the sad old people currently glaring at us should lighten up and stop being jealous of our youth and beauty.
Mac wasn’t there yet, and Grady had gone off to stand in a corner with Reese, not that I wanted to hang out with them, so I stood around talking to Zach and Hannah, and I learned something: she’s nervous around him. She gazes at him adoringly when he talks, she rushes to laugh whenever he makes a joke, and she uses this high, breathy voice around him. I’m not judging her! I used to talk like a living doll around Mac. And of course I understand why she can’t relax: Zach is a babe, and not an under-the-radar babe. Everyone at our school knows he’s this handsome guitar-playing guy. But something else I learned tonight is that he’s REALLY BORING! He’s the kind of person who doesn’t ask any questions whatsoever, so you have to do all the question asking, and when you do, he drones on and on about this new limited-edition Telecaster something something rosewood neck (???), never noticing his audience doesn’t care at all about his topic of conversation. And why would he notice? Girls like Hannah do nothing but gaze adoringly at him!
When he left for a minute to say hi to some people, I whispered to Hannah, “How’s it going with him?” and she whispered back, “Great!”
I said, “Did you end up telling him the truth about . . . ?” and her face closed a little, and she said, “No, I didn’t.”
So their relationship is founded on a lie. He still thinks she’s a virgin. How depressing.
“Doesn’t he deserve to know?” I said. “If the roles were reversed, you’d want to know the actual history of someone you were about to have sex with, wouldn’t you?”
“Chloe, shut up,” she whispered angrily. “We’re not going to have sex, OK? Not that I wanted to discuss it with you right now.”
“Sorry, Han,” I said. And I was sorry. I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable.
I wasn’t sure what to say next, and neither was she, I think. She got out her phone, and I glanced at the door, which I’d been doing since we arrived. Glance, glance, glance, every three minutes. Whenever it opened, I felt sick with excitement, but it was never Mac. I was starting to think he might not show up, and although that made me sick too, it was also kind of a relief. And then I glanced, and the door opened, and it was him. Everyone in the bar screamed for him, and he came in like a celebrity, clapping guys on the back and leaning down to hug girls, but he kept moving, and then he saw me and called “CHLOE SNOW!” so loudly that I could feel the grown-ups eating dinner seething with anger. He pushed through the crowd, came right to me, and picked me up off my feet. His face was still cold from being outside, and his breath smelled like alcohol.
He said hi to Hannah and Zach, and then he took my hand and led me to a corner. I could feel everyone watching us.
“Look at you!” he said. “You look older since Thanksgiving!” He was slurring a little.
“Do I?” I said. “I can’t tell. I’m too close to myself.”
He laughed. “God, I miss you! Why don’t you call me? Why haven’t you visited me yet?” He put his hands on my hips. “I messed up with you, Chloe. I know that.”
He was saying all the things I wanted him to say after he dumped me last spring. I should have been ecstatic, but I wasn’t. He was too drunk, and it was too unexpected, and too public. Everyone was sneaking glances at us.
“Is Sienna coming tonight, do you know?” I asked.
“Sienna! I have no idea where she is. Man, why didn’t you make me dump her? It’s your fault you weren’t my girlfriend last year. You know that, right?”
He was leaning over me, looking into my eyes, and then he was kissing me, and I was kissing him back, and we were really making out, and he was pulling me close to his chest, and it was so disappointing, it was so, so disappointing, because I didn’t feel anything. The last time we kissed, my whole body turned into a star, burning with light. And my mind was the space around it, dark and huge and quiet. I thought that was a chemical reaction I had to him! I didn’t realize it could change! I wasn’t turned on tonight, not even a little bit. I tasted the familiar flavor of his mouth, under the booze. I smelled his skin. I felt his arms around me. All the right parts, but my body didn’t light up, and I was thinking a million miles a minute. I couldn’t stop wondering how many people were watching us and whether they thought that we were being disgusting or that I was being slutty.
I pulled away from him and said, “I’ll be right back,” and he said, “Don’t take too long.”
I pushed through the crowd, not knowing what to do, and my eyes went right to Grady, who was staring at me with a somber look on his face. Reese, too. (Not the somber look, just the staring.) Well, good! Great. Now they know I have other fish to fry. The farther I went, the less I could think of something to do that would be a plausible reason for running away from Mac, but I kept going, sometimes scooching people out of the way with my hands to make a space, and finally I was at the door, and then, before really deciding what to do, I’d opened it. I looked back, wondering if Mac would notice I was leaving, but he was talking and laughing with the bartender.
I didn’t have a plan. I barely know Zach, and we hadn’t been at the restaurant for that long, so I didn’t want to ask him for a ride. Dad was out with Miss Murphy, plus I’d lied to him and told him I was going to Hannah’s for the night. I could go back to the house and pretend I’d gotten a lift from Mrs. Egan, but I couldn’t ask him to pick me up at a bar. It was pitch-black out, and cold, but not snowing. And at least I had my coat with me. I headed for home, walking as close to the guardrail as I could get, and hoping I wouldn’t be smashed by a car. It took me 45 minutes, and my house has never felt warmer than it did when I made it inside.
Tuesday, February 21
Mac texted me at 2 a.m.
What happened to you?
Keeping me guessing huh? lol
its working
See you next time right?
I haven’t written back yet.
If I’d gotten the star feeling again last night, I would be a mess today. I would be telling myself, He wants you to visit! He wishes you’d been his girlfriend last year! He’s right—it’s your fault everything went wrong! and feeling sick with nerves while I drafted a text to him. But because I didn’t get the star feeling, I’m fine. My mind is unclouded. I’m thinking rationally. Mac said all that stuff partly because he does like me when he’s with me, but mostly because he was drunk, and also because he probably wants to have sex with me when he’s home.
And that would have been so nice! I would have lost my virginity to the guy I was so obsessed with for a year! I guess we could still have sex, but if I’m not deranged with lust for him anymore, what’s the point? Please, let me be deranged with lust again.
Wednesday, February 22
Another text from Mac! This is unprecedented.
Did you like your carnations btw?
So he was my secret admirer! I want to time travel to last year and tell my younger self about this. She would expire from joy.
Maybe I was having an off night on Monday. Maybe the next time I see Mac all the old feelings will come back. I probably shouldn’t hope for that. I know it’s better not to be drowning in a sea of stress and love, but I miss drowning.
Thursday, February 23
Tris and I quickly debriefed about Mac, then moved on, because Roy was home for one night before going away for a long weekend with his parents, and Tris was going to hang out with him, so we had to discuss what he was going to do if Roy was distant, or on his phone the whole time, or wanting to hook up, etc., etc. I wish Tris had refused to see that cheating piece of crap, but I didn’t say anything. It would be too ridiculous coming from me, a person who spent a year in love with a cheating piece of crap and who is currently, and masochistically, trying to talk herself back into loving him.
I texted Tris at midnight, and he wrote back right away.
Tell me what happ
ened
when you get home
We went out for coffee
and he talked about
himself the entire time
He lost his virginity to that guy
he was kissing on instagram
!!!!!!!!
But he said it like it was
no big deal
“We’re just really good friends”
He acts like nothing is a
big deal
He was pretending to be so
bored by the bar scene in
new york
I was like you’ve lived
there for 10 minutes
Did you say that?
No of course not
I nodded and said yeah
totally to whatever he said
#coward
#normalhuman
Also something happened
I feel weird texting about it
This sounds exciting
The three dots that mean “I’m typing” kept appearing and disappearing, and finally he texted:
I gave him a BJ
WHAT? WOW
Before he was annoying
or after?
After
I know, it makes no sense
He was being so awful and so
braggy about being this jaded
new yorker that I wanted to
FORCE him to stop it and be
nice to me
Also I was intimidated
because he’s had sex now
and I don’t want him to think
I’m a child
Yeah I get that
So what was it like?!?
Physically difficult!
My jaw hurt
Oh my god
I wonder if I can do some
face workouts to prepare
In case I ever get any action
Anyway did it make him
realize he misses you?
I don’t know, but he was in a
way better mood afterward
So was I actually
It cleared the air!
And now you’ve lost your
BJ virginity
Congratulations!
Thank you!
Wait
Did he give you one back???
No
I don’t know why but it
didn’t seem like the right
moment
It didn’t seem like the right moment because Roy is a selfish POS, but of course I didn’t say that.
Friday, February 24
Miss Murphy and Dad are here as I write this. I’m hiding in my room.
Dad came into the kitchen quietly this morning, so right away I knew something was up. Usually he’s all business, marching around in his suit, putting his laptop into his briefcase, eating toast with one hand while loading the dishwasher with the other.
Today he slowly got a coffee cup out of the cabinet, then looked at me and said, “I was wondering if it would be OK . . . Marian and I are going to the movies tonight, and I thought . . .” He trailed off, and I panicked.
“I do not want to go to the movies with you guys, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” I said.
“Oh, no, that’s not what I . . . I was thinking it might be a good night for her to stay here.”
“Like a sleepover?”
He nodded.
“Sure. Whatever.”
“Was that a disgusted ‘whatever’ or an accepting ‘whatever’?”
“Dad, it’s fine. I told you that ages ago.”
“You told Miss Murphy.”
“But I knew she’d tell you, and clearly she did.”
It felt like we were in a fight, even though I was trying to be nice.
They got home half an hour ago, and I felt too awkward to go downstairs, so I snuck over to my door and shut it as quietly as possible. I haven’t brushed my teeth or washed my face yet, but I’m going to go to bed anyway. I don’t want to venture out to the hallway and risk seeing them.
Saturday, February 25
Awkward. Awkward. So horribly awkward.
Normally on weekend mornings I wear my most disgusting pants, the orange ones with the sagging elastic and the big rip on the right knee, plus a giant sweatshirt and no bra. But today I brushed my hair and my teeth and put on jeans and a bra (a sports bra, but still). My heart was pounding like crazy as I walked downstairs. When I got to the kitchen, Dad and Miss Murphy were there drinking coffee and looking at their phones. Miss Murphy was wearing jeans too, and we both looked ridiculous, because wearing anything but comfy stuff on Saturday morning is absurd.
Dad asked if we wanted French toast, and Miss Murphy and I said sure. We all had a normal conversation; they told me about the terrible Thai place they tried after the movies last night, and I told them about the rumor that Nadine Wallach’s Canadian boyfriend is actually a stock photo model she steals pictures of from the internet and then posts on Instagram. But the whole time I was thinking, Miss Murphy slept over last night, Miss Murphy slept in my mother’s bed, this is so strange, we’re all sitting here talking politely and pretending everything is normal, but nothing is normal.
Sunday, February 26
Noelle’s back! I rode my bike over to her house. Her mom opened the door wearing silky pants, a gray T-shirt, and lots of thin gold rings on her fingers, and holding a glass of white wine. You can tell she was popular in high school and then turned into the kind of adult who works out three times a week and spends a lot of money on good haircuts and expensive skin creams.
“Keep your coat on, Chloe,” Noelle said, running down the stairs two at a time.
“Nice manners, Noelle,” her mom said. “Ever heard of saying ‘hello, how are you’?” For a second, I missed my mom so much I got a cramp.
Noelle said hi, gave me a one-armed hug, and got her jacket out of the front hall closet. “I had an idea,” she said. “You should sit in the driver’s seat. Just sit there. You don’t have to turn the car on or anything.”
“I’m not even going to ask what this is about,” Noelle’s mom said. “Please don’t total my car, Chloe.”
“She’s too scared to drive an inch, Mother,” Noelle said. “That’s the whole point.”
Mrs. Phelps was already walking away from us down the hall, pretending to cover her ears.
We sat in the Volvo in the garage, me in the driver’s seat, Noelle in the passenger seat. I was crawling out of my skin, but I forced myself to take deep breaths and stay where I was. You are going to learn to drive, I told myself. You don’t have to let your fear control you. You can do this. I managed to put my hands on the steering wheel, then yanked them off and said, “How was it, seeing your dad?”
“Terrible,” Noelle said. “He has a girlfriend. Put your hands back on the wheel.”
“In a second,” I said. “What’s she like?”
“Mid-twenties, veneers, big blowout like some kind of debutante. I don’t know what beauty pageant he found her at, but she’s really something.”
She was making a big effort to sound detached and amused, but I could tell she was upset.
“That sounds awful,” I said. “I’m sure it won’t last.”
I told her about my mother’s much-younger boyfriend, and that seemed to make her feel better. I also touched the wheel again, briefly, because Noelle said I had to or she wouldn’t let me back into her house. Maybe I sort of made a little progress? It was a thoughtful idea of hers, anyway.
Monday, February 27
People aren’t staring at me during rehearsal as much, probably because I haven’t burst into tears or tried to punch Izzy. They wondered if I was going to act like I’m better than them, or create a bunch of drama, but I haven’t, and I’m not, so they’re losing interest. It should make me feel better that I’m not being watched all the time, but it makes me feel worse. It’s like I’m gradually becoming invisible. And Grady ignored me today. Not that we’ve been speaking to each other at rehearsal, but s
ometimes I can feel his eyes on me, or sense he’s paying attention when I’m talking. Today he acted like I wasn’t there. Once I got close enough to him to sneak a look at his notebook. He was drawing an unsmiling girl sitting on a beach chair underneath a palm tree. Reese, I’m pretty sure. He uses a thick black pencil and draws fast and confidently.
Tuesday, February 28
Grady and I sat right next to each other during “Honey Bun.” We’d been refusing to acknowledge each other for two hours straight when I couldn’t take it anymore and whispered, “My legs are completely asleep.”
He nodded his head minimally to show me he’d heard me.
Fine, I thought. I tried.
A few minutes later, when Miss Murphy was busy criticizing Elliott for looking inhibited and nervous, Grady said, “Did you have fun at the Bowline?”
“Not really,” I said. We were both whispering, which made our conversation seem exciting.
“How’s Mac?” he asked. He didn’t say “How’s Mac?”; he put equal weight on both words, which is how I knew he was making conversation, not being rude. I could have responded, “No idea,” or “Fine, I guess,” or something else that would show there’s nothing going on with us, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m still single when he’s basically married, so I said, “He’s good.”
“Good.”
A silence fell. Well, we were silent. Miss Murphy was still talking. Grady looked pained, probably because Elliott’s his friend and he was currently cowering and turning pale as Miss Murphy accused him of lacking energy.
“How’s Reese?” I asked.
“Good.”
Good, good, good, good, good. Great. Wonderful. Perfect.
We didn’t talk again, even when the scene ended and everyone got up and it was awkward not to say goodbye.
The Year of Living Awkwardly Page 14