The Year of Living Awkwardly

by Emma Chastain

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “No, you are. You’re back in the squad now, and Reese will never let you be friends with me.”

  “Would you stop? I’ll be friends with whoever I want.”

  “You say that now.”

  “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

  I really don’t think it will, but I’ll hope for the best. Noelle and I aren’t kindred spirits, but I do love her. Her bravery and her prickliness and her honesty and her toughness—I would miss it all so much if Reese took her away.

  Friday, June 23

  Reese came over to the concession stand on the pretext of buying water and asked me how Hannah’s doing.

  “She’s good,” I said.

  “Tell her I miss her,” Reese said, and pooched out her lower lip, making a Sad Face.

  “I definitely will,” I said. Nothing has changed. Reese is still pretending to be nice and I’m still kissing her butt. I wonder if I’ll manage to grow a spine before college.

  She readjusted her ponytail in a businesslike way, and I could tell something else was coming. “So I know you and Noelle got tight this year,” she said. “That’s sweet.”

  “She’s great,” I said.

  “Isn’t she? I’m so lucky she’s my best friend,” she said, and stared into my eyes. I knew what she was implying—Noelle was her friend, not mine, and I’d better back off—but it was impossible to confront her, because what she’d actually said was so unobjectionable. Finally I couldn’t handle the pressure of making eye contact with her, and looked away. She’d won again.

  “So what’s new with you?” she said cheerfully. “Are you dating anyone?”

  As if she didn’t know I’m not. Every person in our school is aware of the precise relationship status of every other person—who’s sexting some guy from two towns over, who’s flirting with whose girlfriend, who went down on her brother’s friend in his basement.

  “Nope,” I said.

  “You’ve had an epic dry spell this year, huh?” she said. “I’m not worried for you. You’ll find someone sooner or later.” She patted my hand and gave me a sympathetic look while I tried to smile. It’s death to let her know she’s getting to you. You have to at least pretend to be nonchalant.

  Saturday, June 24

  This is the first day I’ve worked with Reese and Grady, and the awkwardness levels were off the charts. Normally lifeguards sit at opposite sides of the pool during busy times, but on the same chair when it’s quiet, so they can talk. But Grady never walked over to Reese’s chair, and the few times she came to his, he got up and moved to the one she’d just left. I was trying not to stare at either of them, but it wasn’t possible, and finally I gave up and watched them like they were a TV show. Nadia said, “Does Grady not like Reese or something?” and I took pity on her and explained their history. It was like teaching a small child her colors or something. She was fascinated and asked a million questions. She doesn’t know I like Grady, because I’m not about to confide in a random freshman, so she couldn’t know she was punching me in the heart by saying stuff like, “But they look so cute together,” “I can tell he’s upset,” and “I wonder if they’ll ever get back together.”

  Sunday, June 25

  Miss Murphy was gone when I woke up today. It turned out her mother had a bad night, and Miss Murphy had to leave first thing in the morning. The house felt quiet without her.

  After he went for a run and took a shower, Dad came out to the deck, where I was reading, and asked if I had a minute to talk.

  “I was considering asking Marian if she’d like to come to the Cape this year,” he said. “But I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

  “Oh, I assumed you already asked her,” I said. “It’s fine with me.”

  “Really? I have such strong memories of going there with you and your mom. I wondered if it would feel strange, having someone else there with us.”

  “Are you OK with inviting Miss Murphy?”

  “I think it’ll be nice,” he said, but I could see him thinking.

  Good grief, he’s not missing Mom, is he? I mean, I guess it would be fine if they . . . got back together.

  She’s my mother. I shouldn’t feel sick to my stomach at the thought of living in the same house with her again.

  Monday, June 26

  I woke up early this morning and ran down to find Dad before he left for work.

  “Did you invite Miss Murphy yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “You should call her this morning,” I said. “We’re going in less than two weeks. She probably has to hire someone to take care of her mom while we’re away.”

  He looked surprised, probably at my sound reasoning, and said he would. I’m going to text him in an hour to see if he did.

  Tuesday, June 27

  Worst-case scenario: Dad dumps Miss Murphy and begs Mom to come back. She does, because she’s sick of washing the floor of the yoga studio, and everything goes back to normal: she misses my school events because she’s “writing,” she has three glasses of wine and starts screaming at Dad for being passive-aggressive, and she occasionally remembers I exist and makes me feel like the center of the universe for half an hour. That wouldn’t be SO awful, would it?

  The good news is, Miss Murphy is coming to the Cape. I’m going to sprinkle rose petals on the master bed and suggest she and Dad go out for romantic dinners alone.

  Wednesday, June 28

  EUREKA! I’m going to invite Grady to our Fourth of July barbecue! I know he needs space, he’s still not over Reese, etc., etc., but I have to subtly remind him of how fun and interesting I am, and what better way to do it than over cheeseburgers, while wearing my American-flag T-shirt and smallest cutoffs?

  Thursday, June 29

  I did it!! I planned it perfectly so we left work at the same time, and asked him in the parking lot. He said he thought he could probably come. Tris and Elliott and Hannah are coming too, and Miss Murphy, of course. This could be perfect!

  Friday, June 30

  Nadia asked me what I’m doing for the Fourth, and I told her about the barbecue. She looked at me longingly, but I stayed strong and didn’t invite her. I refuse to let her All About Eve me.

  Saturday, July 1

  Well, I’ve invited Nadia. She was asking me if we light sparklers in this wistful voice, and I couldn’t take it. She jumped up and down with happiness, and I felt guilty for not asking her sooner.

  Sunday, July 2

  Miss Murphy FaceTimed me for the first time in our history to show me her outfit options for the party. I couldn’t figure out why she was stressing about it, but then I realized—some of Dad’s college friends are coming in from out of town, and she must be nervous about meeting them. Grown-ups: they’re just like kids! (I voted for the blue linen sleeveless dress.)

  Noelle texted me saying she can’t make it, because she’s going to the beach with Reese and her family.

  And so it begins

  Would you stop?

  Don’t believe anything

  she says about me

  CHLOE

  I sent her an American flag and a sad face, and she texted me a yellow face rolling its eyes.

  Monday, July 3

  Miss Murphy spent the morning making a cake that looks like an American flag, with raspberries for the stripes and blueberries for the field behind the stars. Dad and I cleaned the backyard and hung up red, white, and blue lights. After dinner, Miss Murphy and I put on green tea face masks, and I made her take a selfie with me. I should go to bed, but I’m too nervous to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Grady, and what might happen tomorrow.

  Tuesday, July 4

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Mac came to the party.

  It had been going for only half an hour, maybe 45 minutes. I was standing around with my friends, kind of listening to them but mostly looking to see if Grady had arrived yet. And then Tris’s face changed, but before I could ask
him what was wrong, I felt two hands clap over my eyes.

  “Who is this?” I said, reaching up to grab the fingers. When I turned around and saw Mac grinning at me, honestly, my heart sank. I was so disappointed it wasn’t Grady.

  “Party at Chloe’s!” Mac said. “Whoooo!”

  Tris and Hannah were openly glaring at him, so I pulled him over to the shed to talk.

  “What’s the problem, Chloe Snow? Do I embarrass you?”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “What am I doing here? How about ‘Nice to see you, Mac,’ or ‘Would you like a beer, Mac’?”

  “Sorry. Nice to see you.”

  “I’m just messing with you, kid. I didn’t realize you had a shindig going down. I’m home for the long weekend and wanted to see you, that’s all.”

  I felt guilty I’d been rude, so I said, “I’m glad you came. Do you want something to eat?”

  “I have a better idea. Let’s get out of here and head to my house for a while.”

  Last year I would have ditched my friends and family at the speed of sound. Here was Mac, smiling down at me, his biceps practically ripping open the sleeves of his T-shirt, asking me if I wanted to go hook up with him. But I didn’t want to. I had no desire to leave my backyard, which was full of sunshine and freshly cut grass and the smell of grilling meat, to dry-hump Mac on his dirty sheets next to a fish tank full of piranhas.

  “I should hang out here,” I said.

  “Oh, man! You’re still that mad?”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “It’s OK, Chloe Snow. I respect your game.”

  “It’s not a game, I swear.”

  “Walk me out, at least?”

  Dad and Miss Murphy were laughing in a circle of off-duty attorneys. I could tell by the way they were whispering and frowning that Hannah and Tris were filling Elliott in on the Mac situation. It seemed OK to sneak away for a minute.

  When we got to his truck, we hugged goodbye.

  “Sorry the timing was bad,” I said.

  “No sweat. See you next time I’m back, maybe.”

  He got in his truck and turned it on, then turned it off and got back out.

  “What do you need to hear from me, Chloe? You want me to say I’ll be your boyfriend?”

  “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

  “I want to be your buddy.”

  “What, like my buddy with benefits?”

  “If you want to put it like that.”

  “I want to put it like this,” I said, and did jazz hands, for some reason.

  “You’re a nut,” he said.

  We smiled at each other. We do have fun together, I must admit. But standing there, watching him lean against his truck, I saw him for real, not through the bubble of delusion I walked around in last year. He’s not the evil idiot I thought he was when I was so mad at him last summer, but he’s also not the god in human form I thought he was before that. He’s just a confident bro who would only ever make me unhappy.

  “I like someone else,” I said. “And I don’t want a buddy. I want a boyfriend for real.”

  He looked at me.

  “Also, I want to be a virgin for a while longer,” I said. “I still feel like a kid.”

  He laughed. “You’re a funny bunny.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know you are.” He jingled his keys. “I’m not giving up on you yet.”

  “Give up on me!” I said. It was a relief that I’d said what I wanted to say, he wasn’t angry, and we were already joking around again.

  “How things have changed, Chloe Snow.” He got in his truck again, turned the key in the ignition, and rolled down the window. “See you around, right?”

  I leaned through the window to give him a kiss on the cheek. “See you around.”

  He tousled my hair and smiled, and for a second I felt a pang of regret about sending him away, but it faded fast. Then I turned around and saw Grady riding into the driveway on his bike, and my heart seized up.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he called as Mac backed up and pulled onto the street.

  “You weren’t! That wasn’t—there’s nothing going on with him and me.”

  He got off his bike and laughed. “Yeah, I can tell.”

  Mac chose that moment to beep his horn while blowing me a kiss.

  I turned back to Grady. “I know it probably—”

  He cut me off. “It’s cool, Chloe. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

  “I know. But I’m serious.”

  He nodded. “Got it. Is there anything to eat?”

  We were eye to eye. Well, almost. He’s taller than me now. I could tell my face was rigid with anguish. His was calm and friendly. He’d just seen me lean into the truck to kiss Mac, and he didn’t care at all. He was more interested in finding a burger than in listening to my denials.

  I led him around to the back. He ate a big plate of food and laughed with Tris and Elliott while I whispered miserably to Hannah. Nadia came and chirped away to everyone. She was disappointed to hear she’d missed seeing Mac in person. Before Grady left, he came to thank me for having him over and gave me an awkward hug, the kind where only your clavicles touch and you pat each other weakly on the back.

  That’s that.

  God I’m sad.

  I was telling myself I had no shot with him, but I never believed that was true. Now I know it is.

  Wednesday, July 5

  Reese stares into the pool, Grady stares into space, I stare at Grady, and Nadia flits around darting interested glances at everyone and laughing merrily at her own jokes. Give her another year and she’ll be dead inside, like the rest of us.

  Thursday, July 6

  I’ve already packed my bags for the Cape and put them by the front door. “Kind of excited for vacation?” Dad said.

  Friday, July 7

  Some nights it’s like I can pull my head above water for a second and get some perspective. I look around at the blue sky and the white clouds and realize nothing is actually wrong; everything’s wonderful and my life is charmed. I’m healthy. My father loves me, and so does my mother, in her own ridiculous way. I’m not marginalized; in fact, I’m privileged AF. I go to a highly rated high school and will probably get into a halfway decent college. Yes, the boy I currently love doesn’t love me back, but life is long and I’m at the very beginning of my dating years. I get to sit on a cedar deck next to a green lawn, slapping mosquitoes and listening to the crickets chirp as the sky gets dark.

  If only I could keep my head up and never put it under the water and start obsessing about jellyfish again.

  Saturday, July 8

  We’re heeeeeeeeeeere! My phone doesn’t work and the air is soft and smells like salt and I can hear the waves as I sit here writing! Heaven, I’m in heaven!

  Sunday, July 9

  Dad was right—it is a little odd having Miss Murphy at the Cape. We only come to this cottage once a year, and somehow that makes the memories I form here more permanent. When I look at the breakfast nook, I remember sitting there playing cards with Mom. When we eat hot dogs for dinner, I think about her saying, “Do you know what they put in those things? Lips and anuses, for starters.” When we lie on the beach, reading, I remember the time she got so mad at Dad, she grabbed his beer out of his hand and threw it into the ocean. I’m not saying my memories are so great and I’m missing her. I’m saying she’s on my mind.

  Monday, July 10

  I noticed Miss Murphy standing at the top of the wooden stairs today and called up, “Miss Murphy! Can you please bring down the sunscreen when you come?”

  When she made it down to the beach and handed me the bottle, she said, “At some point you should probably stop calling me Miss Murphy.”

  I squinted up at her, shading my eyes. She sat down next to me so I wouldn’t have to stare into the sun. “What am I supposed to call you?” I said.

  “How about Marian?”

  I tried to imagi
ne it. Marian, can you please bring down the sunscreen? Impossible.

  “I can’t,” I said.

  “Her mother calls her Murph,” Dad said. I’d thought he was asleep. He was lying on his back with his hat covering his face.

  “How about MM?” I said. “That way I can think ‘Miss Murphy’ in my head, but it won’t sound so formal.”

  “Or how about M&M?” Dad said. “Because she’s so sweet?”

  “Dad!” I can’t take it when he flirts with her in front of me. It’s nothing to do with Miss Murphy. It’s the general horror of realizing my father has a sex life (barf!!!!!!).

  Tuesday, July 11

  Dad and I went for a walk on the beach after lunch. The tide was out, and sandpipers were tearing across the wet sand, occasionally stopping to peck. Dad was being quiet, and I knew he was gearing up to talk to me about something. I don’t like the way parents are allowed to spring difficult conversations on you whenever they want, and you have to listen and respond even if you’re getting a migraine or feeling queasy or just not in the mood to have a big thing.

  Finally he asked, “Has your mother emailed you recently?”

  “Nope.”

  He kicked a clump of seaweed out of his way. “Me neither.”

  My heart sped up. “Is everything OK with you and Miss—MM?”

  “What? Yes, fine.”

  What were we talking about, then? I thought he was bringing up Mom because he missed her, but that didn’t seem to be it.

  “I wanted to talk to you about where your mother is,” he said.

  He sounded so strange that I panicked. “Is she OK? What, is she dead?”

  “No! No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Listen—you know we’ve been struggling to agree on the terms of the divorce, right?”