by Cheryl Klam
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Due to the fact that I fell off the Lucy diet this past week and consumed more calories than I would’ve thought humanly possible, I have pledged to drink only Diet Pepsi for the next two days. But as we walk into the movies Simon asks me if I want anything to eat and I order a box of Dots and a small popcorn with butter. (Simon insists on paying even though he bought our tickets.)
As we take our seats I glance at his hand perched on our communal armrest and wonder if he will try to hold my hand. I hold the Dots in one hand while using the other to shovel popcorn in my mouth just in case. After the movie, we climb back into his Honda Civic and he drives us back to Federal Hill. We stop at Spoons and Simon orders a black tea and I order an iced mocha cappuccino and a chocolate chip cookie. And even though I manage to whip out a ten-dollar bill, Simon beats me to the punch, handing the cashier a crisp twenty. We take seats across from each other and I keep my hands in my lap as I bend over and suck my drink out of the straw.
“It’s nice,” he says, finally. “Being out with you like this.”
I think about how weird it is that only a week ago I was with Drew and he was kissing me. “Me too,” I say, reaching into my purse for a tissue. And then I realize what I just said doesn’t make any sense. I don’t bother to correct myself. Instead, I blow my nose and take another sip of my drink.
“You look great,” he says.
I catch sight of my reflection in the café window. I definitely look a lot better than I did last year at this time, but I couldn’t look much worse if I tried. Which, of course, I had. “Thanks,” I reply stiffly.
We stare at each other in silence.
“Do you want something else to eat?” Simon is trying to be a gentleman here but I keep imagining myself with Drew.
This just isn’t fair. To either of us.
I wipe my nose again. “I don’t think so. I’ve been eating nonstop all day.” Then I finish off my cookie and order a brownie with icing.
When I’m done making a pig of myself, Simon takes me home. As he drives, I study his profile, paying close attention to his aquiline nose, his curly brown hair, and his lopsided grin. He isn’t bad-looking. And he’s sweet, funny, and smart. So why can’t I stop thinking about Drew?
Simon parks in front of our house and hurries to get my door for me. “I had a great time tonight,” he says, as he walks me up the steps of our row house.
I can see him hesitate and I know he’s working up the nerve to do something. As tempted as I am to escape inside and lock the door behind me, I keep my feet firmly planted. I can do this. This is Simon. And I adore him.
Simon sweeps his hand around me, pulling me in to him and giving me a big, long, and passionate kiss.
Wow. I knew Simon had learned a little more than how to play the clarinet at band camp, but I didn’t know he could do that. But despite the expertise of his kiss, the electricity I felt with Drew isn’t here. Not even close.
Simon slowly backs away. When I open my eyes, I see him grinning. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says happily before shuffling down the sidewalk.
As I creep into the house, I hear a noise coming from the kitchen. I know it’s Mom, because Lucy is at a party tonight. But when I enter the kitchen, I see that I’m wrong.
“Have you seen the Oreos?” my dad asks.
twenty-five
cheat (verb): to make an action onstage look realistic without actually performing it; e.g., an actor looking toward the audience in the general direction of the person he is talking to is cheating.
“I ate them all,” I tell my father as he rummages through our cupboards.
“The whole bag?”
“They were stale anyway,” I reply. Like that makes it all okay.
“What about the pretzels?”
“I finished those off, too.” I brace myself for the lecture I’m pretty sure I’m going to get by chewing on my thumb cuticles. All my dad likes to talk about now is how good-looking I am. I’m pretty sure he won’t be happy to hear that I’ve reverted back to my old eating habits.
Instead, he turns around holding a container of peanut butter and says, “You look nice.”
What? This wasn’t the response I was expecting. I guess when you have a pretty face no one notices little things like un-washed hair and dirty jeans. “Thanks,” I say.
“Where were you?”
I pull my thumb away from my mouth. “I went out with Simon.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he says, setting the peanut butter down on the counter and turning back toward the cupboards again. He pulls out a grody-looking open bag of marshmallows that I’m pretty sure we bought for sleepover camp in fifth grade. “Your mom said you were going out with Simon tonight.” He unrolls the bag of marshmallows, unscrews the top of the peanut butter, dips a marshmallow in, and pops one in his mouth.
I’m not hungry in the slightest and the marshmallow–peanut butter combo looks about as appetizing as a cold bowl of spinach, but I still reach into the bag and follow suit, taking out a marshmallow, dipping it in the peanut butter, and eating it.
My dad grabs a couple more marshmallows out of the bag. We both sit there looking at each other. “These are terrible,” he says finally, opening up his hand and studying the marshmallows cupped inside it.
“Awful,” I agree, taking another one.
“And I’m not even hungry,” he admits.
“I’m stuffed,” I say.
“Like father, like daughter.”
Even though my dad isn’t exactly paying me a compliment, I don’t mind. I’m just happy to be sharing something with someone I love. And if it can’t be an oversized nose and puffy cheeks, it might as well be a bag of stale marshmallows.
“My mom was the same way. She always ate when she was stressed.”
“I wish I had met her,” I say quietly. My dad’s mom died right after Mom and Dad got married. According to my mom she was smart, funny, and quite round.
“She would’ve just loved you. You got your love of art from her. She was always dragging me and my sister to museums every chance she got.” He smiles. “And she would’ve been so proud of how you’ve handled everything the past year.”
“I’m not sure there’s so much to be proud of,” I say, thinking of the turmoil in my life. “It’s been a little tough since I went back to school.”
“I bet it has. But you’re obviously dealing with everything. It’s nothing like how things used to be. Christ, every time I turned around Lucy was going out to one party or another and you were sitting home all by yourself.”
Ouch. I put down the marshmallow.
My dad’s eyes shift from my discarded marshmallow back to me. “Sorry,” he says. “All I’m trying to say is that I used to worry about you. It didn’t seem healthy. Who wants to be…” He looks around and laughs. “Alone in the kitchen at ten o’clock on a Saturday night stuffing your face with marshmallows and peanut butter.”
“I don’t know, Dad. Sometimes I kind of miss my old life.”
“Oh, come on,” he laughs, as if he’s sure I’m joking.
I shrug as I glance away. Even though I’m definitely enjoying hanging out with my dad, I’m not sure I’m ready to bare my soul to him.
“You’re serious?” he says, putting down the marshmallows.
“What’s going on?”
I sigh. Where to begin? And how much did I really want to share? “For starters, I just had my first date with Simon.”
“Tonight was a date?”
I nod.
He leans back, surprised. “Your mom told me you were going out with Simon, but I didn’t realize it was an official date. How about that? It’s kind of like me and Mom, huh?”
“That’s right!” I say enthusiastically. “You guys were friends at first, too.”
“Not really friends. More like a one-sided love affair. It took me a long time to win over your mom. She used to come in every day and order the exact
same thing: coffee, no sugar, a hardboiled egg, and whole wheat toast with the butter on the side. I thought things between us were progressing pretty well. At least, until I asked her out.” He chuckles.
“And what did she say?” I had heard this story at least a hundred times before, but I thought it might do me some good to hear it once more.
“She thanked me and told me how flattered she was, but that she was in a relationship. And then she stopped coming in. About a year later, I saw her at a bar in town. I had lost about thirty pounds and cut off my mustache and started working out…I don’t think she recognized me, even though to this day she insists she did. Anyway, turns out that she had broken up with the guy she was dating. And I had moved on, too. I had graduated from school and taken a job with Cisco. Just that day I had bought two concert tickets and I thought, what the hell. So I asked her.”
My dad’s BlackBerry goes off and we’re both silent as he checks his messages. He shakes his head after he puts it away. “As for Simon…sometimes these things take time,” he says. “Time and patience. It’s like anything else.”
Lucy wakes me up at twelve-thirty that night to ask me how things went with Simon. Before my accident, she used to do this so she could tell me about her night out, and it’s yet another reminder of how different things are between us.
“Fine,” I tell her as I rub my eyes.
“Did he kiss you?”
I nod.
“And?”
I’m really surprised at what I say. “Actually, he’s a really good kisser.”
“Get out!” she practically yells. “I can’t wait to tell Marybeth. She said she could just tell he’d be a good kisser.”
I can’t help but wonder what there is about Simon that would make Marybeth think that.
“Guess what? I got asked to the fall festival!” Lucy shouts.
A chill runs down my spine.
“When I went to Jane’s tonight, I walked in the door and the first person I saw was Drew.”
I think I might pass out.
“Anyway, he kept following me around all night. No matter where I went or what I did, Drew was right there. Finally I was like, what’s going on? And then he basically asked me to go with him.”
I’m in a state of shock. I can’t do anything but stare at my sister, dumbfounded. My mom had been right about Drew after all.
Lucy stands up and walks over to her dresser. She takes a purple silk nightgown out of her bottom drawer. I curl up in the fetal position as my mind frantically tries to absorb everything my sister has told me. Maybe I was delusional when I told Mom I knew Drew better than Lucy did. Maybe I didn’t know him at all.
When Lucy gets into bed, she doesn’t say good night. Instead she says, “I’m glad everything worked out for us in the end. Aren’t you?”
I feel a burning sensation deep in my esophagus as I picture Simon in his tux and pray that the mere sight of him makes me want to kiss him and forget all about Drew. I keep praying until I fall asleep, when the sun comes up.
twenty-six
dry (verb): to fail to memorize lines.
On Friday I get to play practice twenty minutes late. Drew is sitting on a desk, his arms crossed in front of him. He looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.
“Hey,” I say casually.
I know why Drew is so angry. I’ve been late to play practice every day this week, each day a little bit later than the one previous. Although I normally hate being late, I would rather rip off my fingernails with my teeth one by one than endure another full day of play practice. As far as I’m concerned, I’m entitled to be mad at Drew for asking Lucy to the fall festival after I said no. If I had any nerve, I’d quit this play right now and he’d be left high and dry and without an actress for his stupid one-act. In fact, if I wasn’t pretty sure he’d just replace me with Lucy, I’d quit this minute.
“Why are you so late?” His eyes are practically smoking with rage.
“I had…some…some things to do.”
“Some things to do?” he repeats sarcastically. He stands up, his arms still crossed.
I try to give him my special I’m-not-afraid-of-you stare, but it’s been a long time since I’ve used it.
“What things?”
Yep, it’s not working. Surprise, surprise.
“Personal things,” I say simply.
The muscles in Drew’s jaw clench, and for a minute I wonder if I’ve gone just a tad too far. He looks as if he’s about to erupt into one of my dad’s furious tirades. But he just runs a hand through his thick black hair and says, “Megan, this is our last practice before the dress rehearsal. Let’s just…let’s just try to focus.”
Over the past week, every now and then Drew says or does something that makes me forget how upset I am that he went after Lucy and wish that we were back in my house kissing. This is one of those times. There’s something about the way he ran his fingers through his hair that makes me want to throw my arms around him and hold on forever.
God help me.
How can I still feel like this? I’d have to be crazy to still like Drew after he asked my sister to the dance.
Drew and I assume our positions at the front of the classroom. I start saying my lines but I’m having trouble concentrating. Still, I persevere and only sneak a peek at the script twice. Although that’s an all-time record for me, Drew looks annoyed, like he really can’t believe I’m not completely offscript yet. As we get closer to the kiss, my anxiety starts getting the best of me. I begin my mantra: I’m an actress—I’m an actress—I’m an actress.
“So…” So what? What is my line, anyway? I nervously glance toward the open script that is lying on top of a desk on the front row. Unfortunately, it’s upside down and more than five feet away. Although my eyesight’s good, it’s not that good.
“So we won’t call it a relationship,” Drew says quickly, feeding me my line.
“We won’t call it a relationship,” I mumble. “It’s just about what feels good. And this…this feels good.”
The script calls for us to kiss now, so I press my lips against his for a second and step away quickly as if he has a contagious disease.
“What the hell was that?” Drew asks, breaking character.
“What?”
“Your character is supposed to be totally head over heels in love with my character and determined to do whatever it takes to keep him.”
“I know but…”
“I’m not going to get the wrong idea again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Again? “What? I’m not…”
“No excuses. I don’t know what your deal is or why you’ve suddenly started playing games, but I’m sick of it. If you don’t think you can do this, walk out the door right now. I’d rather cancel the play than have to get on stage with an actress who doesn’t give a shit.”
Drew’s verbal attack has rendered me speechless. He takes a step toward me. “So what it’s going to be?”
I’m breathing fast and my fists are clenched at my side. I’m so furious I’m tempted to either slug him or just walk out of here and never come back.
“We won’t call it a relationship.” My voice is loud and clear. If he wants a kiss, he’s going to get a kiss. He’s going to get a kiss he will remember for the rest of his life. “It’s just about what feels good. And this…this feels good.” I grab him by the neck, pull him close, and kiss him.
The minute our lips connect, however, something happens. It’s like I’m being hit by that car in the rain all over again, but instead of being hurt, I feel more alive than I ever have before. His hands are clutching at my hips and his mouth starts to trail down my neck. I lose track of seconds and then minutes.
By the time he whispers “Megan” in my ear, I’m out of breath and on a totally different planet.
But then I crash back to earth, so hard it sends a jolt through my body and I leap away from Drew. When I see the longing in his eyes, I can’t trust that it’s real.
So I snatch my backpack and hightail it out of there as fast as I can.
twenty-seven
dénouement (noun): the moment in a drama when the essential plot point is revealed or explained.
Any enthusiasm I’ve managed to conjure up for the fall festival disappears the minute Simon and I arrive.
“This looks nice,” Simon says, as he glances around the gym. “They did a pretty good job with the decorations.”
Simon is full of crap. Becky Silva, a fellow junior and drama major, was in charge of the decorations this year and chose her favorite book, The Secret Garden, as the theme. Becky, although a talented actress, is no beauty nor does she possess an ounce of my sister’s “charm,” which meant the techies weren’t nearly as anxious to help as they were for my sister. Becky and a few of her friends ended up doing most of the work themselves, which (from the looks of it) amounted to tossing pots and vases filled with horrible-looking, fake plastic flowers around the room. The only thing Becky appears to have succeeded in is getting the janitor to unscrew the lightbulbs again.
“Allergy sufferers will be happy,” I say, motioning toward the fake flowers as I make a weak attempt at humor.
I had Simon pick me up early so I wouldn’t have to have an awkward encounter with Drew. I have managed to avoid Drew for twenty-nine hours and hoped to keep it up until dress rehearsal tomorrow morning, where we will be safely surrounded by techies. In the meantime, I am determined to stop thinking about him. Otherwise, I will lose my mind.
“Do you want to dance?” Simon asks, as he puts his arm around my waist. This uncharacteristic public display of affection only adds to my bad mood, a state of mind made worse by the fact that I have decided that I absolutely hate my black dress. It looks like I’m going to a costume party dressed like Morticia Addams. I should never have gone shopping alone, but the other choice was to go with Lucy, and there was no way I could have handled that.
I follow Simon to the dance floor and the two of us stake out a spot toward the side. As the DJ blasts Justin Timberlake I do my best to wiggle my torso to the beat but I feel stiff and unnatural, as if I’m playing the part of a girl who is happy to be at a dance with her boyfriend. And Simon doesn’t appear to be doing much better. Unlike the previous year when he imitated a chicken just to get me to laugh, this year he has taken on the serious air of a prince looking for someone to bear his children. He sucks in his cheeks and dances by shifting his weight from foot to foot as he snaps his fingers.