Days That End in Y

by Vikki VanSickle

  “I am not drunk,” I repeat. “I have, like, supersonic hearing right now. If only you could hear what I hear, you would know I am not drunk.”

  “Clarissa, you ran across a room to hug me.”

  “What, so I can’t hug people now? Hugging is a sign of drunkenness?”

  “You never hug people.”

  “You never wear hair gel.”

  Immediately Benji’s hand flies up to his hair.

  “Or that t-shirt. I’ve never even seen that t-shirt. Since when do you have clothes I don’t see?”

  “Dean picked it out—”

  “Oh, Dean, of course.”

  “—when we were at the mall.”

  “Right, the mall, when you ditched me.”

  “I didn’t ditch you! I told you I had stuff to do!”

  Benji’s voice is getting higher and higher, which means he’s mad. Good. I’m mad, too.

  “So shopping with Dean is more important than helping me track down my father? Or deal with my mother’s shotgun wedding?”

  Benji looks away and says quietly, “Stuff is going on with me, too, you know.”

  If it wasn’t for my super-hearing, I probably would have missed it.

  “What stuff? Why won’t you tell me? It’s like you’ve been avoiding me all summer! And I happen to know you’ve been avoiding Charity, too.”

  I must have hit the nail on the head, because Benji stands up to go. “I’m not talking to you like this; you’re drunk.”

  “I had one cooler,” I say.

  “Did you have dinner?”

  “I can’t remember.” When was the last time I ate anything other than some chips? It feels like I’ve been at this party for hours. My mouth is dry and sticky at the same time. How is that possible?

  “You should get some water.”

  I can hear the disappointment in Benji’s voice, which smothers any flicker of giddiness, alcohol-induced or not, I have left. His mother was killed by a drunk driver when he was four years old. This was before I knew him. I don’t remember how I found out. My mom must have told me, or maybe it was one of those things you just know by living in a place and absorbing things. We never talk about it, although he has made a vow never to drink, and I know his mother is the reason why.

  “Well, excuse me for wanting to lighten up and have a good time like a normal person.” Now I’m the one standing and walking away. I trip on the leg of a lounge chair and fumble a few times with the latch on the screen door. The alcohol may have given me supersonic hearing, but it has made my fingers feel fat and clumsy.

  Inside, more people have arrived. They’re everywhere, standing, dancing a little or just talking. The music is louder, and Charity has turned off the overhead light and switched on a few lamps for atmosphere. This feels more like the parties in the movies, although I doubt this crowd will break expensive dishes or play complicated drinking games involving ping-pong tables.

  I worm through the bodies, apologizing every three seconds as I seem to bump into everyone. No one seems to care. One guy even says, “Hey, no worries! I’ve been trying to get cute girls to bump into me all night!”

  That is the lamest thing I have ever heard, but I hear myself laugh anyway, so I guess the alcohol must still be working.

  I look for someone I know: Charity, the Couch Girls, my new friend Megan. Somehow, despite all the people, I feel lonelier now than I did when it was just a handful of us. I don’t want to be a mysterious stranger anymore. I want someone to be excited to see me, someone who knows who I am and can tell I’ve had a bad day — scratch that, bad week — just by looking at me. I wish I had invited Michael.

  Maybe I can call him, tell him to come over. Charity’s house is not that far, he could walk. He’d probably be thrilled that I was the one inviting him somewhere for a change. I could introduce him to the Couch Girls. Now if only I could find the phone. Since Charity is nowhere to be found, I’m going to have to hunt for it. I look in all the usual places — end tables, the fireplace mantle, kitchen counter — but all I find is the empty cradle tucked beside a coffee maker in the kitchen. Someone’s taken the phone someplace else.

  Charity didn’t bother giving me a full tour, so I wander around, peeking into rooms. Bathroom, office, mudroom. No phone. I head upstairs, noticing how nice and soft the carpet feels under my grubby summer toes. Hmmm. It’s also very white. Maybe we aren’t supposed to go up here? Oh well. No one is yelling at me to come back down. Plus, what if there is an emergency? There really should be a phone on the main level. If anything, Charity should thank me for looking out for the safety of her guests.

  It’s quiet and dark upstairs. I can’t find the light switch for the hallway, so I walk very slowly along the wall, feeling my way through the darkness, peering into shadowy rooms.

  Suddenly the hallway is flooded with light so bright, it’s painful. I close my eyes then open them slowly, so I can adjust to the brightness. Benji is at one end of the hall, frowning at me.

  “Clarissa? You shouldn’t be up here — Charity?”

  Whatever Benji was going to say, is cut off by the sight of Charity and Dean on the window seat at the other end of the hall. Charity is sitting on Dean’s lap, blinking at us. He has one hand on her thigh and the other is lost in the wild tumble of her hair. They both look dishevelled and flushed, but not all that embarrassed. Not nearly as embarrassed as I am.

  Charity recovers first, adjusting the neckline of her shirt, which has been twisted over one shoulder. “Hey, guys? Do you mind heading back downstairs? This floor is off limits.”

  “Sorry, I was just looking for the phone, but I don’t need it. Sorry!”

  I can’t get out of there quickly enough, but Benji is two steps ahead of me. He’s already booked it out of there and is nowhere to be seen. I hit the light switch, and Charity and Dean disappear, hidden once more from prying eyes. Tiny spots of light pulse in my eyes, and I pray that my clumsy, half-drunk feet won’t trip me up as I rush down the stairs in the dark. As much as I wish I hadn’t actually seen them in action, I’m impressed with Charity’s conquest. She wanted Dean, and it looks like she got him.

  Downstairs, I search for Benji, but he’s impossible to find. My supersonic hearing has been replaced with a ringing in my ears, and exhaustion slams into me like a wall. Home feels very far away, and the thought of walking makes me want to find a bed or a couch, or even a nice bit of floor somewhere, and sleep until morning.

  What I need is a ride. But who do I call?

  Mom is obviously out of the question. Doug is a possibility, but then he might get in trouble for letting me out of his sight. There is no way I can call on Mrs. Greenblat again, especially after I showed up in her tree house late last night. Plus, she’ll probably smell the alcohol on my breath and, no matter how many times I tell her I just had one watermelon cooler, she will see me as a bad influence. Michael will never be allowed to see me again. There’s only one person left.

  Someone has left their phone on the coffee table. I’m sure they won’t mind if I borrow it for one call.

  JUDGMENT DAY

  The price of calling Denise for a ride is listening to her rub it in my face.

  “I have to say, I’m flattered you called. I mean, I’m mad as hell at you for taking off without leaving a note, and choosing tonight of all nights to start drinking. But calling me was the right thing to do.”

  “I’m not starting anything. I just had one cooler.”

  “Smart girl. One cooler, once in a while, is not such a bad thing. It’s when you have two or three or four that the trouble starts. But don’t tell your mother I said that. Because you really shouldn’t be drinking at all. There is a reason there’s a drinking age, you know.”

  “And I bet both of you never had a sip until your nineteenth birthdays,” I say. “Like perfect little angels.”

  Denise doesn’t answer. After a moment, she says, “I take it you’re pretty mad at her.”

  “Yep. Are you going to tell m
e it’s not her fault, and I can’t possibly understand?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. You’ve got a right to be mad.”

  “Thank you.” My head is spinning a little. I lean it against the car window, but then it smacks against the pane each time we hit a bump in the road, so I sit up.

  “But I will say this: your mother didn’t mean you any harm. She did what she did because she thought it was best for you. Now maybe you disagree with her, but she meant well, all right?”

  I jam my teeth together to resist talking back. I guess it’s too much to ask my mother’s best friend to disagree with her.

  “So don’t go giving that woman any more grief. Today was hard, for both of you, but you’ve still got to live with each other.”

  Denise pulls into the driveway but doesn’t turn off the car.

  “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “But I thought you were going to stay over and do your nails?”

  Denise shakes her head. “You two have some hashing out to do. I’ll come back in the morning. Your mother is getting married tomorrow, so you do what you have to do to clear the air tonight. No one deserves all that baggage on their wedding day.”

  “That was almost wise.”

  Denise snorts, then leans over and opens the car door for me. “You’re stalling. Get out of this car and make things right.”

  “I don’t know if I can. I can’t act like nothing happened, or it’s no big deal.”

  “Well, right-ish then.”

  “I can’t believe you’re moving.”

  “Is that your roundabout way of telling me you’re going to miss me?”

  I am unable to answer, in case I start crying.

  Denise clears her throat, then continues, “Next to Annie, you’re the person I’m going to miss the most. You’ll just have to come visit me in the big city. I’ll take you shopping. But not if you don’t get out of this car and talk things out with your mother.”

  Denise tries to smile at me, but I can see that she’s holding back tears. She wags her finger at me and says, “Don’t you start. If you cry, then I’ll cry, and there will be enough crying tomorrow.”

  “What for?”

  “People always cry at weddings.”

  “Not me.”

  “I bet you ten bucks you will.”

  “Deal.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to say I told you so. Now, get out.”

  And this time I do.

  ***

  Mom is waiting up for me. I brace myself for a fight, but she looks tired and small — a bundle of worn-out nerves on the couch in the living room.

  “Where’s Doug?” I ask.

  “He’s spending the night with friends. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. I think the more important question is, where were you?”

  “At a party.”

  “Where?”

  “Charity’s.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me where you were?”

  “Well you didn’t think to tell my dad that I existed, so I guess we’re even.”

  I fully expect her to start yelling at me, but she considers me for a moment and then says, “I don’t know what to say. I have a feeling no matter what I say, it won’t make a difference.”

  “Probably not.”

  “So why don’t you get it all off your chest?”

  I look at her, waiting for the catch, but she’s watching me expectantly. “Okay. Why didn’t you tell him about me?”

  “I didn’t want to share my child with him. He wasn’t for me, and I didn’t want him in my life or my baby’s life. By the time I found out I was pregnant, Bill had already gone to B.C. and made it clear he didn’t want to speak to me, so I just … didn’t tell him. He’s not a bad person, Clarissa, but when you share a child with someone, they’re in your life forever, whether you’re married or not.”

  “Maybe you didn’t want him in your life, but what about me?”

  “I thought I was doing the best thing for both of us.”

  I’m trying to be calm, I really am, but it’s those words, “the best thing,” that trigger the anger in me, and I’m yelling again. “You mean the best thing for YOU. Did you know he was here visiting his nephew? Maybe he would have visited me if you’d bothered to tell him. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy. Maybe all this time it’s YOU who were the bad guy. You let me believe he was some kind of deadbeat who wouldn’t want anything to do with me, but you really never gave him the chance. All this time you acted like he was the bad guy, but you broke up because you cheated on him. Then you didn’t give him a chance to be my dad. You’re a liar; a liar and a slut!” I want to say more, but my throat is raw. I stand there taking ragged breaths and waiting for her to say something, but she just stands there. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  Mom swallows. “Ouch.”

  She looks so hurt it makes my heart ache, even though I’m mad at her.

  “Are you mad at me because I kept you away from Bill, or because you found out I wasn’t perfect?”

  “Because of Bill,” I say, but even as the words come out of my mouth, I’m not sure they’re entirely true.

  I’m mad about Bill, but the thing that has really changed is my idea of my mom. She’s not the person I thought she was. In my head, she was a teenage beauty queen, the town’s favourite daughter. More than that, she was my role model: a single mom running her own business and a breast cancer survivor. Those things are still true, but it’s also true that she cheated on her boyfriend and didn’t tell him about his daughter. Finding out that she was just as mean and stupid as some trashy teenager from a reality TV show is disappointing, embarrassing and awful all at the same time.

  “I’m not perfect, and I’m sorry if that’s what you believed all this time. But you must know by now that no one is perfect, baby. Bill and I were hot and cold. When we were good, things were great, but when they were bad, well, let’s just say we both did things to hurt each other. It didn’t end well with Bill, and I wasn’t very fair to Jack, either. I know that, and I like to think that I’ve changed since then. You know, when people make mistakes in high school, generally their kids don’t find out.” Then she looks me right in the eye and adds, “I’m sorry that you did, for both of us. Nobody wants her daughter to think she’s a slut.”

  Hearing that word repeated back to me floods me with hot shame. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I blurt, walking forward into her arms. “I’m really, really sorry.”

  Mom hugs me carefully, letting me cry on her shoulder. “You may be sorry, but you meant it.”

  “No, I’m sorry! I really am!”

  “I know you are. I am, too, more than you will ever know.” She pulls away and brushes the tears from my cheeks with her thumbs. “Have you been missing him all these years? Honestly.”

  I shake my head. “Not really.”

  “I never wanted you to feel cheated out of having a dad. I only wanted what was best for you, and I really and truly thought that we would be just fine without Bill Davies in our lives. Things have been fine, haven’t they? Most of the time?”

  Mom is looking at me with such hope. She wants me to say that yes, we’re fine. There is no way to know if our lives would have been better, but the truth is, they haven’t been bad. At least no worse than anybody else’s lives.

  “We are fine.”

  This time Mom’s smile is genuine. She tucks my hair behind my ear, like she has done a million times before, and asks gently, “Do you want him to be part of your life? He wants to talk about it.”

  “No.”

  Mom looks relieved, but because she is a good mom, she asks again. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, maybe.”

  “We can work something out. He can come visit you; you could go visit him. It’s up to you, baby.”

  “Do I have to decide now?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’d like to think about it.”

  M
om nods. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  I give her one more squeeze, then make my way to bed. I make it to the doorway before Mom pipes up one more time.

  “Clarissa?”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  I think about lying, but what’s the point? We’ve both been so honest tonight. Why spoil it? “Sort of …”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I just had one cooler, and I called Denise to drive me home.”

  Mom thinks about this. “I’m not exactly happy about this, but you were right to call Denise.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Just this once, I’ll let you off the hook. But if I were you, I’d drink a big glass of water before I went to bed. You’ll pay for it tomorrow if you don’t.”

  “Are you going easy on me because you feel bad about Bill?” I ask.

  “Maybe a little. Now go to bed before I change my mind.” After a moment she adds, “Please.”

  The please is new. I like it; it makes me feel like we’re equals. Maybe after all this is over, Mom and I will emerge more like friends, with the kind of relationship that moms and daughters have on TV. That would be nice, though I still like having a mom. In a weird way, it’s nice to know that someone cares enough about you to really let you have it. That being said, I’m glad she went easy on me tonight. There’s only so much drama a girl can handle, and there’s going to be a wedding tomorrow.

  WEDDING DAY

  “Rise and shine!”

  When I manage to unglue my eyelids, I see Denise at my door, wearing my mother’s ruffled apron and holding a spatula. The smell of a big breakfast wafts in from the kitchen, rousing me out of sleepiness. I yawn, stretch, then shuffle to the kitchen. I feel better than I have in ages. More settled. Less anxious. Plus, there are pancakes, bacon and eggs. How can you be anything but happy with pancakes for breakfast? Around here, it’s a real treat. You’re lucky if you can get anything more decadent than strawberry yogurt for breakfast.