MOTION

by Penny Reid

  Elizabeth squeeeeeed again and shifted on the couch so that she was facing me; she hugged a pillow to her chest, her eyes lit with excited merriment. “Start from the beginning! Leave nothing out, and tell us exactly what happened.”

  “And make sure to describe everything in inches. I can’t do the metric conversion in my head,” Ashley added, leaning back and sipping her red wine.

  I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. “Gah! I don’t even know where to start!”

  “Start with the taking off of the clothes!” Kat’s suggestion made me burn a brighter shade of red.

  “You don’t understand; a lot has happened.” I sighed; my hands dropped to my skirt and I picked at the hem. “I found out that Quinn is not…well, he is my boss, and then there is Jon and my sister, and then Kat, and the reason I was laid off…”

  “Give her a minute!” Fiona said, scolding the group, and then she added, “Let her gather her thoughts; otherwise, she might leave out the best parts.”

  I tried to tell them what happened, and I managed to relay the facts, but I was a woefully inadequate storyteller when it came to reciting intricate details.

  At one point, Ashley said, “Oh, my God, Janie. How can you make everything sound like a boring police report?”

  “Oh, geez…” Maria bit her lip, her blue eyes pinning me with concern. “Are you ok, hon? I can’t believe all that happened in one week.”

  “Obviously she’s ok,” Sandra interrupted, setting her knitting on the table and taking a gulp of her beer. “What I want to know is who won the game of strip poker?”

  Elizabeth grabbed my hand. “I can’t believe he owns the company. I did not see that coming.”

  “I can’t believe Jon slept with your psycho sister,” Ashley chimed in. “That bitch is cr-aaaaa-zy.”

  “Who won the poker game, Janie?” Fiona’s soft voice drew my attention, and her perceptive eyes were narrowed in a way that made me nervous.

  I swallowed. “It was a tie.”

  “Hmm…” Fiona pressed her lips together in a contemplative line. “So the two of you are dating?”

  I shook my head as though to clear it. “I guess so.”

  “And is that what you want?” Fiona pressed.

  I nodded before I realized my head was moving. “Yes.” My chin trembled a little. “Yes, but it’s scary, you know?”

  “Oh, Janie.” Fiona smiled at me, her elfish eyes twinkling. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

  I texted Quinn that night when I left knitting:

  Won’t be organizing my comic books; instead am planning to pass out from exhaustion as soon as I make it home.

  He responded:

  Ok. I’ll take a rain check on the call. See you tomorrow after work. FYI guards will make sure you get home ok.

  Then, a minute later:

  I miss you. You should spend the night here tomorrow.

  Then, thirty seconds later:

  Or you could come over now. I promise I’ll let you sleep.

  I thought about it.

  I thought about it; my head said no and my vagina said yes and my heart said I don’t know! I’m emotionally inhibited! Leave me alone!

  I was peripherally aware of and recognized the guards shadowing me on my short walk home. Marie lived in our neighborhood just three blocks away. Elizabeth had a night shift at the hospital and left the group a little early. It was a cold night, and my cheeks stung as the Chicago wind whipped against my face, threading through my loose hair and tossing it fretfully around my shoulders.

  The cold air felt sobering. I responded to Quinn’s last text:

  If I come over, I won’t want to sleep. Go to bed.

  I slipped my cell into my coat and ascended the steps to my building. Almost immediately, I felt the phone buzz in my pocket. I glanced at the screen as I undid the lock and headed for the stairs:

  You should definitely come over now.

  I smiled, my skin warming, my cheeks turning pink. He could make me blush via text message.

  I climbed the flights distractedly, touching the screen of my phone and typing a reply while grinning like a doofus.

  No. We both need sleep. Go to bed.

  As a second thought, and before I could stop myself, I added one last bit because it was true, and I suddenly wanted him to know:

  I miss you too.

  I opened the door to my apartment as I hit send on the phone, shut the door, and slid the lock. I took a deep breath and leaned against the partition. I allowed my head to fall against it as I closed my eyes and wondered how it could be possible that I’d only been away from home less than forty-eight hours. So much had changed since the last time I’d been here.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I stiffened, my eyes opening as wide as saucers as I searched for the owner of the voice. Even before I saw her, I knew who it was.

  Jem.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  She stood in the hallway with her shoulder against the wall. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her chin was tilted up in the proud, stubborn way she usually employed when faced with—well, anyone.

  She was dressed in dark wash jeans, brown boots, and a white long-sleeve shirt—clothes that were considerably tamer than what she usually wore; however, it was cold outside, I reasoned, and I didn’t actually see her anymore. Her hair looked like mine: long and curly, and generally unruly. It was even the same color. Even though she was at least two sizes thinner than I was, I immediately understood how I could be mistaken for her doppelganger, especially at a distance.

  I blinked at her, wondering at first whether she were real or imagined, and hoping for the latter. Before I could think to speak, Jem’s raspy Peppermint Patty voice interrupted my internal debate.

  “Well?”

  I considered her for a long moment before asking, “How did you get into the apartment?”

  Jem shrugged. “I pretended to be you. I told your super that I lost my keys. He let me in.”

  “Well, that’s just great.” I sighed heavily and stepped into the apartment. I pulled off my brown wool jacket, hung it on the coat rack, and eyeballed her.

  “Aren’t you happy to see your baby sister?” She shifted, her lips pressing into an irritated line.

  I walked past her into the living room then moved to the kitchen. I suddenly needed a drink. Jem followed me and hovered at the counter, leaning across it. She watched me as I poured myself orange juice and tequila.

  “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  I ignored the question and mixed the liquids together with a spoon.

  “You any better at holding your liquor? Last time I saw you drink you passed out from five shots of vodka.”

  “I didn’t pass out. I puked on my SAT proctor.” I wasn’t upset about it—not anymore. I just knew that when Jem was around, it was important to be as accurate and precise as possible.

  “Whatever.”

  “Why are you here?” I took a long swallow of my drink.

  “I told you I was coming to visit.”

  We stared at each other for several long moments, and then I asked her again. “Why are you here?”

  She straightened slowly and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m visiting Chicago, and I need a place to stay for a few days.”

  I shook my head. “You’ve been in Chicago for weeks. Why now?”

  Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as her chin lifted. “What do you know about that?”

  I took another swallow of my juice then set it down on the counter. “I know a lot.”

  As she studied me, I noted that her glare was hard and guarded, just as I remembered it. She spoke slowly as though choosing her words carefully. “Who told you I’ve been in Chicago for weeks?”

  “Jon.” I rolled my glass between my palms to keep my hands busy, wanting to move, wanting to escape, wanting to punch her in the face, wanting to eat a granola bar.

  Her expression didn’t c
hange; her gaze didn’t even waver. “He’s an asshole, you know.”

  “So are you.” That granola bar was sounding better and better. I set my drink on the counter and started pilfering the pantry.

  “Yeah, but I don’t pretend about it. He justifies all his douche-baggy behaviors by calling it love. Get me a glass.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, watched her unscrew the tequila. “Now you’re going to drink my tequila?”

  “Yes.”

  I shrugged then moved to the cabinet that held the cups; passed one to her then turned my attention back to the Hunt for the Red Granola.

  “What was the plan, Jem? Why did you do it?” I didn’t precisely care why she slept with Jon. Rather, I didn’t like the silence, and it seemed like a reasonable topic of conversation given the circumstances.

  “Blackmail, of course.”

  “Of course.” I found the granola bars and pulled out two, passed her one and ripped the other open with my teeth. I always struggled with opening single-serving items such as bags of M&M’s or condoms.

  “He, of course, fucks it all up by telling you the truth.” Jem poured a hefty amount of tequila into the glass but didn’t drink.

  “Why the blackmail?”

  “I needed the money.”

  “Why?”

  Jem held my gaze for a long moment, sniffed, and then moved her eyes over the contents of the small kitchen as though taking inventory. She took a swallow of the tequila but didn’t grimace.

  I took this opportunity to study her; for the first time I could recall in a long time, Jem looked patently uneasy. Abruptly, I found that I was enjoying the silence. I enjoyed smacking my lips when I took a sip of my Tequila and orange juice, and I enjoyed the way the loud crunch of the granola bar sounded magnified by her tense disquiet.

  When it became clear that she had no intention of answering my question, I decided to ask, with my mouth full of crunchy candied oats, “Can I guess?” A few of the loose pieces of my cereal bar flew from my lips and landed on the counter. It was obnoxious and gross, and I loved it.

  Jem shifted her weight from one foot to the other, swirling her neat tequila, still not meeting my gaze. “Sure.”

  “Ok, I’ll take three guesses.” I set my food on the counter, gulped my orange juice, and cracked my knuckles. “Guess number one: You need the money to go to college.”

  Her eyes lifted to mine; a small, genuinely amused smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Yep, that’s it. I got into MIT, but I just need the two hundred and fifty grand to cover the books for my first semester.”

  I returned her smile. I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled at her, sincere or not.

  I shook my head slowly. “No, no. That’s not it. Let me try again.” I cleared my throat, pursed my lips, and narrowed my eyes. “You plan to start a nonprofit organization and need the startup principal.”

  She nodded. “Ok, you got me. I want to help orphans learn how to fish for lobsters. If they don’t learn about lobster fishing from me, they’ll just learn about it on the streets.”

  “It’s not generally called lobster fishing. The main method for catching the Norway lobster is trawling, although the large Homarus lobsters are caught almost always with lobster traps.”

  “Fuck off with the Wikipedia bullshit, Janie.”

  My smile broadened, but I could feel the bitterness behind it; my mouth tasted like vinegar. “Ah, but I think that’s not it either. Ok,” I placed my index finger on my chin. I was surprised that she was playing along, joking with me, and it occurred to me that Jem might have no expectation that I would guess correctly. I inhaled deeply. “Let me think…”

  “Maybe it’s both of those. Maybe I want to go to college so I can start a nonprofit.”

  I snapped my fingers, almost startling her. “I’ve got it!”

  “You found me out. I want to adopt all the Dalmatians in Boston and turn them into a fur coat.” Her voice was, of course, deadpan as she said this. Jem lifted the tequila to her lips.

  “No…” I hesitated, and then took another deep breath. “You’re running from a skinhead named Seamus who has crazy neck tattoos, and he wants to kill you.”

  Jem held perfectly still, her eyes boring into mine, her glass mid-air. I allowed several seconds to pass. I noted that she didn’t appear to be amused anymore.

  My hand found and closed over the discarded granola bar wrapper. I crinkled it with my fingers and continued. “And you need the money so you can hide.”

  Jem took another gulp of the brown liquid then lowered the glass. Her expression was inscrutable. This was the Jem I knew. I couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t look at the world (and me) with a granite-like inflexibility. Her chest expanded slowly as if she was taking a calming breath.

  “How do you know that?” So quiet; her voice was so quiet that I almost didn’t hear the words.

  I tried to mirror her impassive mask, but I knew I was failing. I could feel the heat of resentment pour out of my fingertips and eyeballs. I felt the chilling warmth of it in every breath I took.

  “Lucky guess.” I licked my lips; they tasted sweet from the orange juice.

  We stared at each other in silence for a long time. I wanted to yell at her. I wanted to ask her if she ever thought about anyone but herself. I wanted to ask her when and why she decided to be the crazy Morris girl instead of the sweet, or gregarious, or well-mannered, or any other version of girl she could have chosen to be besides crazy.

  She broke the silence. “I need the money.”

  I sighed and glanced at my almost empty glass. My fingertips rubbed my forehead. I was going to have a headache.

  “I know.”

  “No, Janie, I really need the money.”

  My gaze flickered to hers, and I was surprised to find that fear had replaced some, not all, of the boulder of inflexibility. I sighed.

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “But Jon has money.”

  I shook my head. “I doubt he’ll give you any money.”

  “But he’ll give it to you. If you ask him, he’ll give you anything.”

  I bit my top lip to silence my abrupt and unexpected urge to scream at her. The impulse was so sudden I had to swallow. My hands were shaking.

  I was angry.

  I couldn’t speak, so I shook my head again.

  “Fuck, Janie! It’s the least he can do after cheating on you.”

  And then I laughed. At first it was a short burst, completely involuntary. Then, when I met her glare, another hysterical giggle spewed forth and I was lost. Soon I was laughing so hard that my side and my jaw hurt. I had to stagger to the couch to keep from falling to the floor.

  Nothing about this situation was funny. I was pretty certain I had just cracked up.

  “So, what? You’re not going to forgive me for sleeping with your douchebag boyfriend?”

  My mouth fell open. I didn’t think it was possible for her behavior to surprise me at this point. I was wrong.

  However, I was so practiced at numbing my feelings around my family—in their presence, when I thought about them, when I recalled my childhood—that my surprise was short-lived. It was like looking at them and my past through a microscope; they were an unfortunate science experiment.

  “Jem.” I lifted my hands from my lap and pressed my palms to my chest. “I can’t forgive you if you’re not sorry.”

  Her green eyes narrowed into slits. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Her head bobbed in a small movement, and her voice was quiet. “I’m not sorry. I’d do it again. And if you had another rich boyfriend who I thought I could get money from, I’d sleep with him too.”

  Her words made me flinch. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at her.

  Her raspy voice was closer when she next spoke. “We’re not so different, you know.”

  I didn’t open my eyes at this ridiculous statement; instead, I leaned further into the couch and willed her gone.

  Sh
e continued. “I don’t think Jon is a guy who is as faithful as his options. He thinks you’re it; you’re the one. You don’t seem to care that he cheated on you, and you don’t give a shit about him.”

  I huffed at this. “One minute you say he’s an asshole for cheating on me, and the next minute you’re telling me I’m the bad guy for not caring enough that he cheated on me. Jem, I broke up with him.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t seem too depressed about it.”

  I opened my eyes, but I was slumped so deeply into the sofa that my gaze made it no higher than the edge of the coffee table. “This isn’t going to work. I’m still not going to ask Jon for the money.”

  Jem’s face was unsurprisingly void of emotion. “You are just like me, Janie. You left Jon, an annoyingly nice guy who you dated for years, and who loves you more than anything, and now you feel nothing but relief; am I right? You’re relieved that you don’t have to be bothered about taking his feelings into account anymore. You have the means to save your baby sister from certain death, and you can’t even muster enough pretend sentiment to try. You’re incapable of feeling any depth of emotion, Janie, just like me—and just like mom.”

  I met her gaze calmly, even though her words met their intended target with swift precision. Jem’s overly simplified assessment of the Jon situation was very close to my current view of reality, but I wasn’t yet finished sorting through all the reasons why that relationship ended. It was true; I hadn’t been as attached to Jon as he may have been to me. It was also true that I was feeling mostly relief about the end of the relationship. However, he cheated on me, then tried to lie about it, and then had me fired. Those were all his decisions.

  I knew that I wasn’t blameless, but I was not the first girl in the history of forever to stay with a guy because he was ideal on paper. For the love of Thor! He was my first boyfriend. I was allowed to make mistakes.

  The other charge, about not having enough pretend sentiment to save Jem, was the one that made me furious. That fury reassured me that I was capable of emotional depth.