Beautiful Together

by Andrea Wolfe

  Feeling like a drunk, I hobbled out of the car and along the front walk. I got inside and started a pot of coffee before sitting down; caffeine was the only way I'd be able to finish my homework. I stared at the wall while the coffee maker quietly dripped in the corner. Shortly after I sat down, my mom walked into the kitchen.

  "You should have been at church today," she said, her tone as frigid as the day.

  I had actually totally forgotten about the morning by that point. "Sorry," I muttered.

  "How is Mason doing?" I don't know why she asked—she definitely knew how he was doing; everyone did at that point—but she did. I sensed everything except concern in her voice.

  "How do you think he's doing?" I said curtly, breaking down again. "He's dying. He'll be dead soon. Any day now. Every morning I wake up and wonder if today will be the day."

  "Well, then you need more faith," she snapped.

  "That's not gonna work," I said. "He just keeps getting worse. He's definitely not going to make it."

  She shook her head. "If God wills it, he will live," she said matter-of-factly. "If there is to be a miracle, He will provide."

  I felt my blood starting to boil, as hot as the water in the coffee maker. "Excuse me?" I asked. "A miracle?" I felt incredible defiance pulsing through my veins. Questions that had been bouncing around in my brain for months suddenly exploded. "Why does God have to put him through all of this in the first place? I thought He cared about us! Mason only wanted to help people, to help his mom. I know he's a good person!"

  My mom was unfazed. "He's not even a Christian," she said. "I could tell he wasn't actually a believer when we met first him. He was just paying us lip service."

  "That doesn't answer my question," I snarled. "Why is he being punished? What did he ever do wrong?" My hands were planted against the edge of the counter. I felt like I might rip the top right off at any moment. My mom's face was still placid, unaffected by my rising emotions.

  That drove me even crazier. I wanted her to respond to my outburst. Her coolness was only exacerbating the situation.

  But then it changed in a way I never could have predicted.

  "Well, maybe it's because of your sins," she hissed. "I found condoms in your room last night. Now I know what you were doing with him. God's punishing you because you're impure, because you're a slut! You thought you could ask for His help while you continued to sin behind his back? He sees everything! Everything!"

  I should have proceeded with more caution, but given the outrageousness of everything, I couldn't. "I only slept with him!" I shouted. "One person! How can you call me a slut? We didn't hurt anyone!" The blatant admission of premarital sex was an obvious mistake, but I couldn't defend my honor if I avoided it.

  "You hurt your whole family! I'm ashamed to even call you my daughter! Now you're dealing with God's wrath, and it ain't sweet honey, I'll tell you that."

  "Go to hell, mom!" I yelled. "Your boyfriend isn't dying right now! You honestly don't give a damn about Mason. You wanted us to break up! You only care about your god damn self!" Months of grief and bottled up rage exploded from within me, like bombs dropped from a plane. I couldn't stop.

  My grief-stricken words appeared to shake her straight to the core. Tears formed in her eyes, tears that mirrored my own. "You get out of this house!" she yelled. "Now!"

  I barely heard her at all, and I was so frazzled that I was acting on instinct. For some reason, I heard the word kitchen instead of house. I grabbed the coffee pot and started pouring it into my mug on the counter. "I'm just going to take some coffee and go to my room and do my homework."

  "You will not take any more of my food," she hissed, charging toward me. "You ungrateful slut! Get out!"

  Life was clearly not something I understood anymore. Here I was, eighteen, totally overtaken by grief and shock, arguing with my mom while my dad just literally ignored us in the other room. I knew I shouldn't have to deal with it. No one at my emotionally volatile age should have to deal with anything like that.

  She yanked the coffee pot out of my hand. A look of horror broke on my face. Instinctively, I tried to prevent it from spilling, which also meant I was fighting her to keep it stabilized. She didn't like that one bit and fought even harder.

  But it was too late.

  It fell to the ground, shattering to bits, sending a scalding flood across the floor. We both screamed and jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding burns on our feet.

  "Look what you made me do!" she screamed.

  "You started yanking a hot pot of coffee out of my hands! Are you nuts?"

  My dad, startled by the crash, came running in. "What's going on in here?" he shouted.

  "Our daughter made me break the coffee pot! Our daughter the slut!"

  "You're insane!" I screamed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "Okay, I'll go. I can't take it anymore."

  "Good riddance!" she shouted. "And don't come back!"

  As usual, my dad said absolutely nothing, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. I stared back at him, begging him for something. Begging him for anything. He could defuse the situation by stepping in and putting his foot down.

  It was up to him.

  But he was too timid as always. I glared back disgustedly and stomped out of the kitchen. I grabbed my winter coat and purse and put on my boots.

  "Hon," my dad said weakly.

  "You never help me, dad. You never help me!" I sobbed. "She's crazy!"

  I threw my mom's car keys onto the floor and charged out into the icy afternoon. Nothing made any sense to me. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't know where I'd end up.

  The only thing I knew is that I couldn't go back home...

  ...and that my tears would probably freeze on my face if I didn't get back indoors quickly. I went to the only place that made sense—Tanner's Coffee where Arielle worked.

  13

  Everything fell into place after that terrible kitchen incident—well, maybe it fell out of place.

  Arielle was instantly sympathetic. As soon as she saw me, she knew something was up and promptly made me a latte and took a break.

  The caffeine hit my system fast, and it was shocking how much it altered my emotions. The difference was like night and day. I suddenly felt alive, calm.

  If only I had gone to church with them¸ I thought. I might have avoided all of that. Usually, I could deal with my mom—but the earlier depressing conversation with Mason had totally wiped me out.

  Just as we sat down, this cute, little old lady came in with her white poodle. Its tail was dyed hot pink, and it wagged wildly.

  "She comes in every week," Arielle said under her breath. "She's the owner's great aunt, so he lets her bring the dog inside."

  I started laughing at the goofy animal as it proudly trotted along the rug, racing toward outreached hands. My laughing grew until it was borderline hysterical, and then I was suddenly crying. I didn't even care what people thought.

  "Oh, God," Arielle said, scooting close and stroking my back. "What the hell happened to you?"

  "I got in a huge fight with my mom," I muttered. "She called me a slut and told me to never come back."

  "What the hell?" she asked, her voice indignant. "How could she be so insensitive? Especially right now."

  "Because she's a lunatic," I blubbered. "I don't know what to do. I can't go back there. I'm screwed."

  Arielle immediately perked up and smiled. "Come stay with me, dude," she said. "We've got extra rooms. Stay as long as you want. I'll take good care of you."

  I buried my head in my hands, inadvertently wiping snot on my sleeve.

  "Gross," Arielle said after noticing. "Let me get you some napkins." She rushed over to the counter and came back with a big stack. "Here."

  "Thanks," I said, blowing my nose and wiping my sleeve. "I'm losing my mind," I remarked. "What did you just say?" I literally couldn't remember.

  "I told you to come stay at my house," she said. "You'll be s
afe there. Plus, my dad is loaded. And it's not like he's home much anyway. He's always traveling for work."

  I took another big sip of my latte. "I'll consider it," I said.

  "What else are you gonna do?" Arielle asked. "Just say yes. You don't need to feel bad about accepting help. Your mom will drive you to suicide if you go back there. I can't have that."

  "Fine," I said with obvious reluctance. "That'll be fine."

  "Cool." Arielle looked at her cell phone. "My shift ends in an hour, so just stick around and then we'll go, okay?"

  "Yeah," I said.

  She ran around behind the counter and brought me her backpack. She pulled out her laptop and set it on the table. "So you've got something to do."

  "Thanks," I whispered.

  Arielle smiled and went back behind the counter. "Just wait," she called as she left.

  And I did.

  ***

  After Arielle got out of work, we went to her house. As we approached the gargantuan structure in the yuppie part of town, I felt even worse than I already did.

  "I'm such a shitty friend," I confessed as she pulled into the long driveway. "The first time I'm seeing your house is only after I got kicked out of my own."

  "I never saw yours either," she said, lips pursed as she puffed on a cigarette. "And from the sound of it, that's not entirely a bad thing."

  I let out a muffled laugh. Everything was absurd.

  Arielle parked her car in front of the four-car garage and led me over to the side door. "If you ever need it, the code is five-five-three-two. Okay?" She pointed up at a digital alarm keypad and then punched in the numbers. There was the sound of locks clicking and then she pushed open the door.

  "Yeah," I said, making a mental note of the code. This already felt so serious and it had only been two hours since everything went down. There hadn't even been enough time for everything to digest.

  Arielle led me through the kitchen and a rec room, taking a sharp left and leading me down a long hallway with a number of doorways. "Take any of the rooms you want," she said. "Take a couple. Sleep in a new bed every night. I don't care."

  "Thanks," I said.

  "Don't mention it. Now let me get out of these work clothes so we can talk." She scurried down the hall and out of sight.

  I peeked inside the first room. It was nothing special, just a modest bedroom. I decided to keep going. After passing on the second room—it was ridiculous that I was being picky as a beggar, but then again, I was not my usual self—I discovered the walk-in closet in the third room and claimed it.

  I clicked on the light and opened the door. Instinctively, I grabbed for my backpack, but it wasn't there. I had literally nothing to unpack. I'd have to make a surreptitious visit home at some point, if that was even possible.

  Obviously I wasn't going to have my homework ready for tomorrow. But that was low on my priority list.

  Arielle suddenly popped her head in the door. "You good?"

  "Yeah. Why do you have so many rooms?"

  She stepped fully into view. Now she was wearing her familiar torn jeans and Sex Pistols t-shirt. "My mom and dad wanted to have a huge family. It didn't quite work out that way," she said.

  "I need to get my clothes and backpack at some point," I said. "I don't have anything right now."

  "Uh, when are your parents gone?" she asked. "I wouldn't go back right now, obviously. I also wouldn't try to sneak in at night."

  "During the day. While they're at work."

  "I'll pick you up at lunch tomorrow and drive you over there. Grab what you can and get the hell out."

  The idea brought me a lot of relief. "Okay," I said. "That sounds good."

  We went out to the living room and chatted for a while after that. Arielle made us drinks with her dad's fancy gin and we got a tad bit drunk.

  The alcohol eased me, and finally, I was able to tell her the whole shocking story. She stared back at me in amazement the whole time.

  "All that broken glass and hot coffee on the floor. Your mom should be institutionalized," she said.

  "I guess it was just bottled up rage," I said. "She's probably been waiting for an opportunity to say all that stuff for years."

  "That's such bullshit," Arielle said. "It's all so stupid. Judgmental people suck. That's why I'm not religious."

  I gulped hard. I should have expected such a stance from her, but it still caught me off guard. She seemed to notice my timidity.

  "I mean, it's cool if you're religious or whatever. It's just not for me."

  I nodded. I didn't know what I believed. I didn't have a family anymore, and the man I loved barely had a life. "I'm just... numb," I said. "I don't really understand how I got here."

  "You'll be okay," she said. "I'll make sure you're okay."

  "But you don't have to—"

  "I offered," she said. "I told you, my dad's got money and I want to help you. Just chill here for a while. Maybe things will pass, maybe they won't. We'll figure it out together. And I promise, this isn't part of some secret lesbian gang initiation ritual."

  I smiled and started laughing. "Thanks so much, Arielle. I don't know what the hell I'd be doing without you right now."

  "Probably suffering from frost bite," she said as she stood up. "I'll be right back."

  She disappeared down the hall. I looked around at the gorgeous high ceilings and beautiful, ornate furniture, the stainless steel appliances in the kitchen, the grand piano that looked virtually unused. It was a beautiful house.

  A minute later, she was back holding a monstrous, hand-blown glass bong, the color scheme a swirling palette of blues, purples, and whites. She sat down and lit up nonchalantly, the sound of bubbling liquid filling the room.

  Finally, she took a huge hit and closed her eyes. She held the smoke for what seemed like a long time, and then exhaled, sending an enormous white cloud above her head. "Want some?" she asked.

  I shook my head instinctively. "No, that's okay. It would probably make me crazy right now."

  "Okay. Well, if you ever want some, let me know. I have top-quality shit. Medical grade." Suddenly, her phone trilled. She set the bong down on the floor and grabbed her phone. "Ah, dammit," she said. "I promised someone I'd go out tonight. You wanna come? We're going dancing."

  "It's a school night," I said. "And I think I've already been through too much today."

  "Oh yeah, right," she said. "I forget that you were a grade below me sometimes. Take that as a compliment." She paused. "God, school. I barely remember it. But that's probably just from all the weed."

  I laughed and sat back on the leather couch. My drink was almost gone, but I wasn't about to pour another. Really, I just wanted some time to think. It was weird that once again, I was at someone else's parents' house and there was no supervision. At my house, my parents were always home.

  "My dad probably won't be home until next week," she said, almost as if she were reading my mind. "He's in Prague, and he loves Prague, so he always extends his trips. If you need any supplies, let me know. I've gotcha covered. There are towels in the bathroom if you want to take a shower. And you can use anything of mine that's in there. Deodorant, perfume, whatever."

  "Thanks so much," I said. "I mean, really, thanks again for all of this."

  "It's no problem," she said. "No problem at all.

  ***

  After she left around ten, I settled into my temporary bedroom. Just how temporary, I didn't know. I sat down in the chair in the corner, grabbing a random letter of the encyclopedia set off the bookshelf in the corner. It was one of the B's.

  I passed over images of birds, common birds, rare birds, weird birds. The pictures were pretty and distracting. Mindless entertainment.

  I paged through, but I continued barely processing anything. And then my eyes caught the title of a section: Birth Control.

  It was like a punch to the gut. I dropped the book on the floor like it had shocked me and sat back in the chair. My mom's shrill voice was hissi
ng inside my brain again. When my eyes closed, I could see that horrifying expression on her face, that expression of pure hatred. Hatred directed at me, her own daughter.

  I heard the word slut in my brain over and over again. It kept repeating, jarring my thoughts, jarring my whole brain like a battering ram. Suddenly, I was crying again.

  I was alone and crying.

  What if she was right? I thought. What if this is punishment?

  I didn't have a lot of mental fortitude left in that moment. Tears flowing, my mind suddenly returned to the cabin last summer. My mind returned to my desperate prayer, my demand for knowledge, my need for answers about college—and about Mason and me.

  I sought clarity. I sought something definitive.

  Then my mom's voice entered the thought: God's punishing you because you're impure, because you're a slut! You thought you could ask for His help while you continued to sin behind his back?

  Everything suddenly felt so clear, even if it wasn't. Maybe the leukemia was God's wrath. Maybe I was the reason Mason was dying right now.

  But why punish Mason? He didn't do anything wrong. That was the one part I couldn't understand. He was a much better person than I was.

  None of my rationality mattered in that moment, however, because I had finally stumbled upon the missing piece of the puzzle. I had begged for answers because I had been desperate, selfish about Mason and our future together.

  It was that idyllic thing I craved so badly, and I just had to have it at any cost.

  I wasn't patient or kind; I was neurotic and insane. Maybe God was teaching me a lesson for being so greedy.

  But this is also insane, I thought. And my mom was being crazy. Nothing fit. I was skeptical of everything, no matter what I thought.

  My brain went back and forth all night until finally, it just quit and I passed out—shortly after four.