Her and Me and You

by Lauren Strasnick

  34.

  After school, Tuesday.

  Audrey Glick.

  I shot down the candy aisle of CVS, dropping jelly beans, Twizzlers, and mini Twix bars into my shopping basket. I’d been on an Audrey Glick kick all morning: Was she cuter than me? Smarter? Had Fred slept with her? Loved her?

  I paid for my crap, popped open a Twix, and wandered outside. It was sunny and cool. I looked left: an antique shop, a tobacconist, a tailor. To my right: the local library branch. I went inside, found an empty computer station at the back of the lab, and Googled “Audrey Glick.”

  There were hundreds of pages. A gazillion Audrey Glicks. One, a teacher; another, a bioengineer; yet another, a book blogger. I found my Audrey, Fred’s Audrey, on page eleven: “Audrey Glick . . . Brooksville Sacred Heart . . .” I clicked the link. There was a photo, an action shot—Audrey alongside two other girls in field hockey jerseys and knee socks. All three wielded sticks. She was the one hunched over, working the ball. She was shiny and clean; a sporty brunette. The braid down her back spoke volumes. It said, “I ride horses. I excel academically. Boys love me.”

  I closed the page and stepped away from the computer. A jealous twinge tickled my gut. I popped open another Twix and shoved the entire thing in my mouth.

  I found Mom upstairs, blinds drawn, asleep at four p.m. What now? I stepped forward into the dark. Her room smelled like stuck air and sleep. I put one hand on either shoulder and rocked her awake. “Mommy?”

  She rolled over.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m sleeping. What do you need?”

  “Nothing, I just—” I let my hands fall from her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She opened one eye. “Was she there? At Dad’s?”

  “Who?”

  “Come on, Alex.”

  I didn’t answer. I watched Mom watch me.

  “Let me sleep, please?” She rolled away, toward the wall.

  “Mommy—”

  “Please, Alex. Go downstairs and let me sleep. There’s a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge.”

  “That’s fine, I don’t want it.”

  “Alex.”

  “What?”

  She curled one shoulder toward the mattress and pulled the sheet to her chin. “Shut the door, will you?”

  I got up.

  35.

  “Are you ever gonna ask me inside?”

  Fred and I were sitting on Grams’s porch floor, using a picnic blanket for warmth. It was seven and dark. Mom was upstairs still.

  “I told you. You can come over but you can’t come in.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?” Fred looked glowy in the pink porch light. “I wanna see your room.”

  “It’s not my room,” I said. “It’s the guest room. My room is in Katonah.”

  “So take me there.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  I stretched my legs long, crossing my ankles. “Because that’s not—that’s not home either.”

  He gave me a sympathetic shrug, tugging the blanket up and slipping a hand between my thighs. The gesture was quick and sent a shock through me. I gasped.

  “Sorry.” He pulled his hand back. “I didn’t mean—I meant—I was trying to comfort you, not feel you up.”

  I put my hand where his hand had been. My leg pulsed. I looked at him.

  “Are you really freaked out? You look really freaked out.”

  I was shaking, only, “No.” I wasn’t freaked out. Or cold. I felt warm and alert. “You could’ve left it there,” I said.

  “What?” His voice sounded small.

  I took his hand and put it back were it’d been. I slid closer. So our hips and shoulders lined up. “Like that,” I said.

  His face flushed.

  After a minute: “Adina’s sorry,” he said. He whispered it.

  I wanted so badly to believe. Adina had given us her blessing and now Fred could love me freely and wouldn’t life be stellar, everyone loving everyone else?

  “She’s making Peruvian tomorrow. Come?”

  So much of me touching so much of Fred. “Peruvian, huh?”

  “I want you there.” He was like my own personal space heater. “We both just—really want to make things right.” Then: “She’s not a monster, Katonah.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He yanked his hand away, stung.

  “No,” I said, grabbing him back, pushing into him. “I’m sorry, okay? That was a shitty joke. I’ll come. Of course I’ll come.”

  He relaxed. “You will?”

  “Yeah,” I said, gripping his arm, feeling high. “I’ll be there.”

  36.

  I got there at five past six and rang the bell. I wore a dress—my only dress—pale blue, sheer, and sleeveless. Over that I wore a slim cardigan and my parka.

  “Hey, you.” Fred. He had on a holey sweater vest and his favorite cords.

  “You look nice,” I said, undoing my coat and dropping it onto the upholstered chair in the foyer.

  “You too—your dress.” He touched my upper arm gently. “You want anything?” He looked uneasy—glassy-eyed and drunk, maybe. “Adina hasn’t started cooking yet.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, following Fred past the den into the kitchen. Adina sat on a high chair at the end of the island drinking wine from a tumbler.

  “You’re sure? You want wine? We can open another bottle.”

  “Let’s,” said Adina, downing the last of it while pulling a second off the rack on the hutch. “You look like you could use a drink, Katonah.”

  I shut my eyes for a sec, steeling myself—and when I reopened them, Fred was passing me a glass.

  “Thanks.” I took a sip.

  “Hey, D.”

  “Mm?” Her hair was tangled and her sleepy eyes, muddied with kohl.

  “What happened to your Peruvian feast?”

  “I’m not cooking,” she said. I wondered if she’d smeared her makeup on purpose. “Your girlfriend’s all dressed up—don’t disappoint, she looks hungry.”

  “I’m fine,” I whispered.

  “It’s okay,” Fred said, hurrying to the pantry, pulling out pasta, jarred sauce, and pots. “I’ll cook, no biggie.”

  “I don’t need to eat anything,” I said, sounding shrill. My hands trembled. “I just—” I wanted it over with. I wanted to say my piece before dinner and drinks dulled my nerve. “Are we gonna talk about what happened or not?”

  She looked up. “Why, what happened? Did you two do it, finally?”

  “Adina.”

  “What? What’s the big deal? You guys are big prudes. You probably fuck with your eyes closed.”

  “Adina!” shrieked Fred.

  “What? What’re you looking at?” She was talking to me, not him. “God, I’m so sick of your flat little face.”

  My eyes flooded. My cheeks felt on fire. I turned away, walked to the living room, sat down on the couch, and cried. I missed Evie. Why was I here?

  “Hey.” This came moments later. “Hey, look at me,” Fred said. A hand touched my head. I looked up. Both of them hovered above.

  “I’m sorry,” said Adina. Her expression was blank but she sounded remorseful.

  “What else?” nudged Fred.

  “I didn’t mean what I said about your face.”

  I wiped my wet nose with the back of my wrist.

  “And what else?” continued Fred. “What about the rumor? The kiss?”

  She looked at him. “That wasn’t me.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not,” she said. “I told one person we kissed.” Her eyes shot back to me. “The story got twisted.”

  She’s lying. She never stops. “Adina,” I said.

  “Don’t say my name that way.”

  “What way?”

  “Like you hate me. Like I’m your enemy. I’m n
ot.”

  “Adina,” I said again. “We didn’t kiss. You, like, attacked me.”

  “Fine, whatever, I kissed you. It was nice, right? You liked it?”

  I searched Fred’s face. Was she crazy?

  She smiled at me. “Wait here, okay? I’ll go get the open bottle and some snacks.”

  She wandered away, back toward the kitchen. Fred sat down next to me. “You’re weirded out.”

  “She’s out of her fucking mind.”

  “She’s not, she’s just—her perspective is skewed.” Would it never end? Would he ever quit defending her?

  “She’s a fucking anorexic. Maybe if she ate something every once in a while, she’d stay sane.”

  “She’s not—she eats. She’s picky.”

  He couldn’t possibly be that naive. “Are you blind?”

  Fred recoiled. “No, I’m not blind.”

  “And her drinking—”

  “We all drink.”

  “Not like that, we don’t.” Silence. Death stares. “I think I should go.”

  Fred recanted. “No, no, Alex, don’t. Please.” He took my hand. “You’re right, okay? You’re right, I just—we all have to get along.”

  “Why? Why do we all have to get along?”

  “Because. She’s my sister. Stay, please?” His hand was hot. “Just drink something and stay? I’ll make us dinner. I can cook, I swear it.” His lashes fluttered. “Come on, you wore your dress.”

  I had, but why? Tonight had been a waste of good clothes.

  “Please,” Fred pleaded. “Please.” He kissed me. His lips tasted like ChapStick and tobacco.

  “Okay,” I said, relenting.

  “Yeah? Is that a yes?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” He bit his thumbnail. “You won’t be sorry, I swear it.”

  We’d finished one bottle and started another. My second, Adina’s third. She was piss drunk, hanging upside down off the side of the sofa, laughing and braiding a long lock of hair.

  “You guys look really great this way. All flipped around.” She righted herself. “Anyone want a peanut?” She thrust a plastic bag with five unshelled nuts in my face.

  Fred took the bag.

  I wasn’t sure why I’d stayed. Drunk Adina was only a fraction more pleasant than sober Adina. “I have candy in my car,” I offered. “I should get it.” We still hadn’t eaten. I stood, feeling woozy.

  “No thanks,” she said. Then: “Let’s play a game.”

  “I’ll be back in two secs—”

  “No, now.” She pulled me down by my dress hem. Fred winced. “Sit.” She pushed on her teeth with two fingers. “Truth or dare.”

  “Adina.” Fred.

  “What?” And then, to me: “Truth or dare, Katonah?”

  “I don’t—I don’t know. I don’t really care.”

  “Sure you do. You care about everything. Pick one.”

  “I— Truth.”

  “Alex, you don’t have to—”

  “Shut up,” she snapped at Fred. “Truth, great, I love it.” Then, sounding upbeat and impish: “Tell me about your secret relationship with my brother.”

  “There’s no secret relationship.”

  “You’ve been together, I know you have.” She stuck her chin out.

  “We haven’t.”

  “Come on, tell me what it’s like, with Fred.”

  Instant nausea. I looked at Fred, who wasn’t moving. “Please stop,” he said softly.

  “Stop what?”

  “Interrogating her. She’s telling the truth, we haven’t done anything.”

  “You’re lying to me,” she insisted, suddenly seeming so pissed. “I don’t ever lie to you. I don’t keep things from you.”

  “Once, okay? We kissed once.”

  She paused to chew a hangnail. “Like how?”

  He looked up. “Like, how people kiss, Adina. Like a kiss, I dunno.”

  “Like a peck?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Show me.”

  I froze, my eyes darting between twins. “No,” I blurted, getting up on my knees.

  “I was talking to him, freak, not you.”

  I winced as if I’d been hit. Fred kept his head down as Adina drunkenly inched her way closer. “Show me,” she repeated.

  “No.”

  “Show me.” She hovered nearby, taunting him.

  “Adina.” He straightened up, swinging his hand, intending to push her away.

  “Come on, show me,” she said, catching his wrist. “I want to see.”

  “Let go.”

  “No.”

  “Come on, quit it—let go.”

  She kissed him. Like a girl might kiss a boy. One forceful, angry, little kiss. It lasted seconds but I swear, seemed like forever—me, frozen in disbelief and Fred, swatting and squirming like a caged cat.

  “We’re even,” she said to me when it was through. Both watched me, looking startled. Their mouths matched—both splotchy and red.

  “Fuck.” After a quiet moment or two, came the squall. “What the fuck was that? What’s wrong with you?” Fred stood quickly, tripping in place.

  I watched Adina. I felt dreamy. Disbelieving. She seemed so frail now, hunched over, drunk. Banana circled her, meowing madly, pawing at her knees.

  Fred to me: “Are you coming?”

  I got up.

  37.

  We sat in the dark by the river, away from the Bishop house.

  “You okay?”

  Stupidly cold but, “Yeah.”

  “You want to go back to the car?”

  I mimed no, then wrapped my arms around my waist, bending forward. Fred threw a pebble into the water. It skipped twice, then sank. “We used to come here a lot as kids. She loved this place.”

  I picked a rock off the ground and rolled it between two fingers. What had changed? How had a kid who loved rivers and Audubon walks turned into such a malevolent freak?

  “What’re you thinking?” Fred asked.

  Why did I want to be a part of this? Something so insular and weird? “What do you think I’m thinking?”

  He touched my hands, then the ends of my hair. I flashed on Audrey, two towns over, in field hockey goggles and cleats. “Your girlfriend. She moved.”

  “Her dad changed jobs.”

  “Are you lying?”

  He looked hurt. I leaned over and scooped up a handful dirt.

  “What’s that for?”

  “This?” I held up my hand, inspecting it. The mud felt nice—heavy, cool. I squeezed it through my fingers and shook my hand clean. “Have you been with lots of other people?”

  “Other people?”

  “Like, other girls. Not Audrey. I know about Audrey.” I straightened up. “Adina says you’ve been with lots of other girls. That you’re a cheater. Is that true?”

  “Like, that I’ve slept with other girls?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That I cheated on Audrey?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Adina said that?”

  I nodded.

  “No, that’s not true.” I believed him. He looked so hopeless.

  “Come home with me?” I wanted that feeling back. The one from Grams’s porch. “Please?”

  “Yeah, of course I’ll come.”

  I grabbed Fred’s hand.

  * * *

  We didn’t do anything. We just lay there, side by side, fully dressed, not sleeping. Fred stroked my hair and I rubbed his feet with my feet. We talked about dumb stuff, crap we hated and shitty books and stuff, and then around two, Adina texted: Where are you? She texted twice, then called. Fred sat up. He watched his phone flash.

  “Don’t answer it. Please,” I pleaded. I wouldn’t let her wreck this. “Not now, okay? Everything’s so nice right now.”

  He smiled at me. He dropped his phone to the floor and curled an arm around my shoulders and chest. He’d chosen me. For once, it was me and not her. I backed into him, feeling like I’d won some
shiny prize. “Thanks,” I murmured, and Fred yanked the blankets tight, overhead. We stayed that way, under the covers, until it got hot and too hard to breathe. Later, when it was nearly light, Fred told me he’d had sex only once, with Audrey Glick. And that afterward she refused to touch him, and eventually they just stopped talking.

  “I’ve never had sex with anyone,” I said.

  “That’s okay.” He drew circles on my shoulder with his pinky nail.

  Six-fifty-four a.m., Fred’s cell again.

  I leaned over the edge of the bed, sweeping the floor for his phone. Jesus, Adina, get a boyfriend who’s not your brother. I checked the ID screen. “Oh. Hey.” I shook Fred. “Your dad.”

  Fred sat up, groggy. He took the phone. “Hello?” His cheeks changed shades. Pink to white.

  “Something wrong?”

  He waved me away. “Okay,” he said, folding his phone shut. Then, to me: “She crashed Dad’s car.”

  “What?”

  “They found an empty fifth of vodka on the floor of his Mercedes.”

  “When?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Well, where is she?”

  “St. Mary’s.”

  “Is she okay?”

  His face was blank. “I dunno.”

  My heart went nuts—racing, skipping beats. “What do you mean, you don’t know? He must have said something.”

  “They had to pump her stomach.”

  “Is she conscious?”

  He looked confused. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. Then: “I don’t know.”

  “He didn’t say?”

  “I don’t know.” I could hear him breathing. He pushed me sideways and stood up.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you have to stay.”

  “Why?”

  “Just—stay, please?” He rubbed one eye. “I’ll call, okay?” He grabbed his keys off my nightstand.

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “For what?” He seemed legitimately perplexed. “I’ll call you,” he said again. Then he walked out the door.

  38.

  “Babe, eat something.” Mom and I sat on the porch, wrapped in blankets. A dish of dry toast lay in my lap.