The Truth about Us

by Janet Gurtler

  “Everything okay, Jess?” She piles the bacon on a plate and heads toward the kitchen table.

  I snag a piece of crisp bacon as she passes and take a bite, suppressing an urge to blurt out what I did last night. Drank coolers, stayed at Nance’s too late, and then got in a car with two boys I didn’t know.

  I imagine telling her I’m worried that Nance is a little too fond of flashing her boobs at boys and that her mom is too busy with her new boyfriend to notice. But it would send her back to her bedroom, so I keep chewing.

  “Everything’s fine,” I tell her.

  The toast pops up so I butter the slices and take them to the table.

  “You sure you’re feeling okay?” she asks. “You’ve lost weight. You’re getting too thin.”

  “No. I mean, I’m fine. Fine.” She used to be the kind of mom I could tell anything to. We used to have long talks. She used to want to listen.

  “Okay,” she says as I sit across from her. “But you’re not dieting, are you? You girls are both naturally thin. You don’t have to do that.”

  “Nope. No dieting,” I tell her. “How about you, Mom?” I ask her softly. “You okay?”

  For a second, our eyes meet. We stare at each other, and the pain that’s nestled inside her soul shines out. It breaks my heart and I drop my eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. She doesn’t say what for, but I know.

  For disappearing.

  “No,” I say softly. “You have nothing to feel sorry for.” I don’t look up because I don’t want her to see that I’m lying. I do blame her sometimes. I want her to get over it. Go through it or around it or under it, like the hunting song she used to sing to me when I was little. Sometimes I hate who she is now. Weak. Afraid.

  She’s left us to deal with things, and I, for one, am really messing it all up. I want to be allowed to get mad at her like Nance gets mad at her mom. Fight with her. Yell at her. Tell her off. But I can’t.

  She stares down at her plate for a moment, playing with a piece of toast, then looks up. Tries to smile. “Do you need some spending money?” she offers. “It’s almost time for back-to-school shopping. You and Penny could go.”

  I swallow my bitterness. She doesn’t acknowledge that Penny and I aren’t friends anymore. For years it was PennyandJess, the kind of best friends who could look across a room and know what each other was thinking. But I screwed that up. Now it’s me and Nance, and I’m living a life I never would have imagined.

  “Sure, I could go shopping,” I say. Dad already gave me money for back-to-school shopping, but it’s not like they’ll discuss it. She stands and walks over to the counter where she leaves her purse and pulls out her wallet.

  “Is five hundred enough?” she asks as she sifts through her cash.

  “That’ll buy me a pair of boots I have my eyes on,” I say, testing her, pushing for a reaction.

  “Really?” She looks up, but she doesn’t even give me the crap I deserve. Instead, she sighs. “Things are so expensive these days. I used to get my entire back-to-school outfits from a thrift store.”

  I don’t say anything. She grew up without a lot, but she made up for it by marrying Dad and also made a killing of her own selling real estate. There was a time she’d wanted Allie and I to have all the things she never did. The best schools, the best clothes. The best friends. I don’t know what she wants now.

  “You can take my credit card. You know the PIN, right?”

  “Yeah, I do. Nance and I will shop till we drop.” I emphasize Nance’s name and sound angrier than I intend. I pick up a piece of bacon, chew on the end, and stare at my mom, willing her to see me.

  She walks over and puts her gold MasterCard on the table beside me. “Put it back when you’re done and leave me the receipts. Not too overboard, right? A couple of tops and a couple of pairs of jeans to go with the boots. Maybe a dress. Okay?”

  “You know I don’t hang out with Penny anymore. I’ll be shopping with Nance,” I say, spelling it out for her.

  She sits and frowns down at her plate and sighs. “You know, I never really thought you and Nance would be such good friends,” she says. “Penny…”

  I hold my breath. Hoping she’ll ask me about Penny. Listen to me. Maybe even offer some advice. Tears pop up in the corners of my eyes, and I blink fast to keep them from spilling out.

  “I miss Penny,” she says. “You and Nance are so different.”

  My breath sticks to my throat, waiting for her to ask, silently begging her to ask. I remember how much it hurt to cry alone in my room when I lost Penny. It ached even more because I suspected my mom heard me. And I needed her. But she let me cry all alone.

  “How’s Carol?” Mom asks.

  I press my lips tight. She’s gone too, I want to tell her. But her absence is different. She has a new boyfriend. She’s finally over Nance’s dad fooling around on her and moving out, and she’s going on with her life, pretty excited to have new attention from the sounds of it. Nance doesn’t see her mom much either, but we don’t talk about that. She and I don’t talk the way I did with Penny.

  “Carol’s okay.” I press my lips tight. Blow out a big breath. “You know something, Mom?” I ask.

  She blinks. Waiting.

  “Me and Nance,” I tell her. “We’re not so different anymore.”

  Her eyes are getting cloudier and she frowns. We sit in silence for a while longer, both of us nibbling quietly at toast and bacon. Finally she pushes her plate away.

  “I’m feeling a little tired. I’m going to go up and have a nap. Would you mind cleaning up, sweetie?”

  “No.” I stare at my plate, holding in tears, wanting to cry, wanting to yell. Make a scene. Do something. Instead, I push my own plate away and stand and start piling the dishes. “It’s fine.”

  I’ll clean up and then I have to get out. I’ll choke on the quiet in the house.

  “I’m heading to Nance’s later when I’m done,” I tell her.

  She stands and moves away from the table, nodding. “Okay,” she says. “Have fun.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I mumble softly, but she’s already gone, shuffling up the stairs. She doesn’t hear me. Or maybe she pretends not to.

  I watch her leave me. It feels like the hole inside my heart is growing bigger instead of healing.

  chapter three

  I twirl my huge key chain around and around as I head down the driveway. I only have a couple of keys, but my chain is a huge wad of ornaments. People started adding to my collection of key chains when they noticed I was collecting them.

  I walk toward the dent-free Audi. Dad bought it for Allie and me. But Allie hardly even uses our car, since Doug drives her everywhere.

  He and Mom each have a Tesla electric car; he has the roadster, and she has the sedan, though she hardly drives hers anymore. He pretends buying hybrids and electric cars makes him green.

  I’m about to jump in the Audi when crying reaches my ears. It’s feeble, as if trying not to attract attention. I glance around and spot Carly, the little girl who lives next door, sitting on her driveway, clutching a piece of pink sidewalk chalk, crying. She’s an adorable kid, and the sight of her tugs on my dark heart. I’m no body language expert, but it looks like her entire world is crashing in. Like she’s been deserted by everyone. I know that feeling, so I walk slowly toward her. When I reach her, I bend down so I’m at her level.

  “Hey, Carly,” I say softly. “Are you okay?”

  She hiccups and rapidly sucks in breaths and blinks at me with her big eyes and manages to nod.

  “Funny. ’Cause you look a little sad to me.”

  Her teary eyes reach inside and wrap around my heart. “I’m supposed to be brave. I shouldn’t cry,” she tells me. She glances around. “My parents are getting a divorce,” she whispers. “I have to be brave.”

&nbs
p; My heart aches for her. Man, that sucks. “Being brave is hard sometimes,” I tell her and look around, wondering what I can do. The mini sock monkey on my key chain stares at me. Impulsively, I unhook it. “But I happen to have a solution.” I hand her the monkey. “This is a special monkey,” I say. “Her name is Brave Monkey. She has powers. Magical ones. Keep her close and she will help you be brave.”

  Carly opens her eyes wider, and I stand up.

  “I can keep it?” she asks.

  “As long as you promise to take good care of her,” I say solemnly.

  She clutches the little sock monkey in her hand and nods, her eyes big and her expression serious. The monkey was a present and it’s been on my key chain for a long time, but Carly looks like she needs it more than I do right now. I can always get myself another one to replace it.

  “Brave,” I tell her and wink.

  “Brave,” she whispers and nods again.

  I pat her on the head. “See you soon, Carly,” I say and walk to my car, watching her for a moment. She’s talking to Brave Monkey, probably telling her the way things are with her parents. With a sad smile, I drive off toward Nance’s.

  When I arrive, I park in her driveway and open the door to hear music rumbling from the back deck. No one answers the front doorbell, but it’s unlocked so I walk inside, slipping off my shoes and heading through the kitchen to the patio doors. Nance is stretched out on a lounge chair, and she waves and mouths hello to me but keeps talking on her phone.

  I strip off my shorts and tank, down to my bathing suit, and spray myself with sunscreen. A second later, her brother struts out on the deck holding a twelve-pack of vodka coolers. I smile and he openly checks me out without smiling back, emphasizing how inappropriately tiny my bikini is. Serves me right. I glance down at my skimpy suit. Not exactly a suit for swimming laps.

  He hands me a grape cooler and I take it, grateful for the drink even though I could do without him. I’ve known Scott since I was five years old, but he’s still a jerk who enjoys making me feel like an entrée in an all-you-can-eat buffet. He takes his eyes off of me and scowls at Nance until she reaches for her purse and hands him some bills, and he hands over the coolers. I stretch out on the chair beside her and he turns back to me. “All grown up, hey Jess-A-cup,” he says and chuckles. “Or should I say, Jess-C-cup.”

  I make a face at him, but my skin shivers under the hot rays of the sun. When he leaves the deck, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I know, Dad,” Nance is saying into the phone, and she rolls her eyes at me. “But Mom decided it wasn’t a good idea.”

  I try to remember the last time my mom made a decision for me. It’s a stretch.

  Nance hangs up and turns to me. “Hey!”

  I force a smile. “What’s up with your dad?” I ask.

  “He asked if I wanted to go to Vegas with him and his child bride. Mom nixed the idea. She was worried I’d roam around the whole weekend in the land of free booze and single men. Plus they didn’t invite Scott. Dad said it was because he’s working, but Scott can get time off whenever he wants. I don’t think the child bride likes him.”

  I don’t blame her but say nothing.

  “Party poopers.” She checks her phone again and then snaps a quick selfie and puts it down. It’ll show up on Instagram or somewhere later. Within minutes of posting, she’ll have fifty comments telling her how pretty she is. “The child bride is pissed off because Scott’s working at the golf club and Dad’s still footing all his college bills. Plus he told her about the campus tour he’s taking me on in September. Berkeley, Stanford, Brown, maybe Duke. She’s pissed off I’m not picking a school in Washington. Honestly I think she’s worried Scott and I are going to spend all the money before her child grows up. She doesn’t understand that he’ll never run out. He loves making money too much. It’s a competition for him.” She pauses. “Do you think she’s kind of low class?”

  It’s not the first time she’s asked, but I don’t answer. I’m not stupid. There is no way to win that conversation, so I do what I do best. Ignore it.

  “Ugh, colleges,” I say. “I don’t even want to think about them.” The year ahead has so many big decisions. Exams, colleges, career options. Maybe even taking a year off to travel, which would probably make my dad lose his mind.

  “You okay?” Nance asks. She flips onto her back and stretches her arms high over her head and points her toes. I glance at her wrists. The slight scars. She doesn’t hide them.

  “I’m fine,” I tell her.

  “Yeah?” She reaches for a pack of smokes under her chair and holds it out to offer me one. I don’t smoke, but she offers me one every time as if she’s convinced she’ll convert me. “Liar.”

  “I’m fine,” I say again. “I just don’t want to think about school or trying to impress people next year.”

  “It’s a big year. And we will rock it. But whatevs.” Nance rolls her eyes as she reaches for the lighter and inhales and blows out smoke in my direction. “So you actually made it home on time last night? Your dad didn’t freak?”

  “Yeah. It was fine.” I don’t mention the ride home or the boys, even though it would both surprise and intrigue her. They were hot after all. And it was pretty daring.

  “My mom was up this morning.” I’m not sure why I tell her that.

  “Yeah?” She watches me. “How’s she doing?” she asks softly, and her cheeks suck in as she inhales from her cigarette.

  “Okay.” I don’t think she wants to hear the truth. Not really.

  She waits for more, but when I don’t say anything, she sighs. “Our parents suck,” she finally says, and her voice catches. “We might as well be orphans.” She’s staring at the smoke from her cigarette as it fades away. The serious expression on her face surprises me. “My therapist says I’m acting out to try and get attention. He thinks I feel unloved.” She turns her gaze to me. Her eyes shine. As if she’s daring me to deny it. Or agree.

  “You’re seeing a therapist again?” I ask tentatively and make a shield with my hand over my eyes and pretend to gaze at some clouds.

  “Not again. Still.” She inhales deeply and blows out smoke again and then laughs. Bitter, angry laughter. “My dad insists. We all have secrets, you know. Not just your family.”

  I should say something, ask more. Why? What’s wrong? Obviously she has things she wants to say or talk about, but I pause too long. We hang out together for a reason. We don’t over examine things. We find ways to forget them.

  “You okay?” I ask, but insincerity stiffens my voice. My words sound cold and wrapped in bubble wrap.

  She laughs. “Nothing a few vodka coolers won’t fix.”

  “Seriously,” I say. “Oh, wait, I have news!” I reach down to my purse and, with great flourish, pull out the credit card and wave it in the air. “Gold MasterCard. My mom gave it to me to go shopping.”

  Nance stares at it for a moment. Presses her lips closed and sits up straight. “Nice,” she says. “I’m in. We can head to Seattle. How about the Shops at the Bravern? And then Alderwood Mall? I’ll get some cash from my dad.”

  Her dad supplies her with cash for clothes on a regular basis. Nance calls it guilt money. For ditching her mom for a younger woman and a new baby.

  “When do you want to go?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. It’s supposed to rain in a couple of days.” I tuck the card back in my purse.

  Nance crosses her legs and lifts her bottle in the air. I raise mine and then we clink and pull back and bring them to our lips, tip, and chug.

  I manage to finish the whole bottle in one go, but Nance still has half hers left when she drops it from her mouth. I grin and wipe off my mouth. “Beat that, beey-otch,” I tell her and smile wider.

  “You may beat me at drinking, but I beat you at life,” she says and belches loudly.

 
“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” I say, relieved the serious stuff is forgotten.

  “You would,” she retorts.

  I reach for a new vodka cooler as Nance blows another smoke ring into the air. I watch it drift up and slowly expand until it’s gone. The smell bothers me, but like many things with Nance, I put up with it and don’t say anything. She leans back against her lawn chair and grins.

  “So, liquor pig,” she says. “Let’s talk about boys.”

  “Boys?” I ask as if Nance asked a question.

  “Hot boys,” she says, and it makes me remember how Penny and I used to tease Nance about how guy crazy she was. At least that hasn’t changed. My cheeks burn remembering how Penny and I swore we’d be mature teenagers, not girls who cared too much about makeup, clothes, and boys. We swore we’d never do stupid things just to be popular. Like drinking or smoking.

  One of us was wrong.

  “We need to find summer flings,” Nance says. “Not Josh.” Josh being my on-again, off-again something or other. We’re off. For good, I hope. It’s awkward.

  “I’m over Josh,” I tell her and swallow back a healthy amount of the new cooler, enjoying the buzz that’s starting to lighten my head.

  “Good. I mean, despite his ‘good on paper’ pedigree, Josh’s not worthy of a summer fling.” Nance takes a dainty sip of her drink and watches me over the top of the bottle.

  “Good on paper?” I say.

  “You know what I mean. There’s a certain kind of guy that girls like us will be expected to date next year. But not this summer!”

  I pretend to gag, but she shakes her head sadly and blows out a smoke ring.

  “It’s true. We’re seniors this year, and everything we do matters. The right parties, the right people—we’re going to need Josh-like boyfriends. Only Not Josh ’cause he smells like chlorine.”

  The first part sounds like Carol talking. Nance’s mom worries a lot about what other people think. She’s already nagging Nance about who’s going to take her to prom. She wants it to be a boy with a good family name, to show the world she still has clout even if her husband left her. Her priorities are questionable, even to me.