Complicated Girl (17 page)

I’m at the Tuesday night self-help group, which is weird. I don’t remember driving here.

OH MY GOD I’m not wearing any clothes. Everyone is staring at me. How did I get here with no clothes on, and not notice? This situation defies logic.

Feather takes off a stunning gray cape she’s wearing, which reveals an equally stunning baby, suckling at her breast. She’s ten feet tall. Working with only one free arm, Feather magically fashions the cloak into a dress. She graciously uses it to cover my nakedness.

With the new dress on, I look around the group. At least Drew isn’t here, to my relief.

“Your hair has certainly grown out nice and long,” says someone.

I look across the circle and find my mother sitting in a chair that’s higher than all the other chairs. I think it’s a throne. She’s got two gorgeous men sitting on either side of her, and they’re both grooming her like she’s a movie star. One is buffing her nails and the other one is rubbing night cream on her face.

This is definitely my mother, and not an impostor, because that’s her night cream that she smuggles in by registered mail. I’ve never asked why she can’t legally buy it here in America, because I don’t want to know.

As I’m staring at my mother’s face, wondering how she got back into town without me noticing, a woman walks up behind her and starts talking to me.

It’s her sister, Aunt Jane.

“Meenie, your mother’s speaking to you,” Aunt Jane says. “She said your hair is bleep gorp meep funf.”

I lean forward. “What?”

Everyone laughs.

Feather switches her baby to the other breast, and someone hands her a second baby, which she cradles to the first breast. I want to tear my eyes away, but I can’t stop staring at Feather’s chest. “Meegoop lebby snorb,” she says.

I turn and look at my mother to see if she can understand anything that’s happen.

“Your father called today,” my mother says. “He says to wish a belated birthday to Teenie, and an early one to you for next month.”

I look down at my body and see that I have very small knees and legs. All of me is small. I’m turning twelve, I think.

“That man has no balls,” my mother says, shaking her head.

“No balls,” says Aunt Jane.

The two men sitting on either side of my mother turn to me and say, in unison, “I’m sorry your father has no balls.”

I scream about them, “Shut up about my father!”

They stare at me with disgust.

I raise my tiny, weak arm slowly, pointing my finger at my mother. “You drove him away.”

She leans over to get a cigarette from one handsome man, then has the other light it. My mother hasn’t smoked in over a decade. I’ll have to talk to her about this smoking thing. She takes a deep drag and lets it out as she says, “How would you know I drove him away? You were just a tiny baby.”

“Aunt Jane told me.”

My mother turns to look up at her sister. “Is that true?”

Aunt Jane takes a cigarette for herself and sucks it down to the filter in a single inhale. “She’s your kid. How the hell should I know what goes on in her head? The other one’s fine. This one came out funny. You had them too close together. I told you, you shouldn’t have had this one, but you found out too late.”

I’m so furious with Aunt Jane, I could throttle her, but my little twelve-year-old hands wouldn’t even fit around her neck. I reach under my chair and find an entire birthday cake. I pick it up and throw it in her face.

She melts into a puddle and disappears.

My mother looks at the puddle and says, “I wish someone would have done that years ago.”

“Why are you here?” I ask.

She gets another cigarette. “You tell me.”

“I’m lost, Mom. I should have gone to Europe with you. My life here is no good. I need a foreigner.”

“What about that nice boy you’re dating? The dentist? I like him.”

“Teenie made me break up with him.”

“Meenie, don’t lie to me. I can always tell.”

“Fine. I broke up with him.”

Thunder rumbles. We take a break from our conversation while a herd of elephants runs through the room on their way to an investment workshop.

“Mom, is it because of you and Aunt Jane that I’m always such a ball buster?”

“This is your dream, so you tell me.”

Feather, still sitting in her regular spot in the circle, waves her hand. We turn to her, and she says, “It might be a form of overcompensating for your lack of feeling feminine, to attack a guy’s masculinity.”

My mother nods in agreement. “That’s why she gets paid to listen to everyone’s nonsense.”

The other group members mumble their agreement with Feather.

“So, what am I supposed to do?” I ask Feather. “Wear more dresses and lipstick? Will that make me nice?”

Feather gets up from her chair, both babies still held to her bosom. She’s about twenty feet tall now. “I’m going to let my assistant field this one.”

I blink, and suddenly there’s a new person sitting in Feather’s chair.

It’s me.

Me, but with a better wardrobe. I’m wearing really nice boots, and my hair falls in soft, perfect ringlets.

“Dresses won’t help,” says Better Me.

“Thanks for nothing. I guess I’ll just stock up on rescue cats.”

“Meenie, you don’t get it, do you?” Better Me gets a very smug look on her face. Is that how I really look when I feel smug? I want to throttle myself.

Through gritted teeth, I start to ask the question. It’s very difficult to say the words, but I need to know the truth.

At first, only a growl comes out. But I keep trying, and finally I say, “What’s my problem?”

Better Me sits up straight, the smugness gone. She is open and vulnerable. She looks terrified. I want to hug her.

“You keep testing them,” she says softly. “Many of them fail your test, and you’re so used to them failing, that when one passes your test, you fail him anyway.”

“Drew? He passed my test?”

“You pushed him away. You showed him how mean you could be, and he still invited you to dinner. He didn’t close the door. You did.”

I wake up.

It’s nearly eight o’clock.

I reach for my phone. Drew’s number’s not on here. Or his address.

The numbers flash in my head. I can see myself writing down his address for the delivery. I know the street and the block. I’ll just drive until I see his car.

I run out of the house, wearing the clothes I was sleeping in.

It’s starting to rain.

I get in the car and drive to Drew’s neighborhood.

My eyes are open, now that I’m willing to see.

I get to his block, and I see his car, but then I see it again. And again. There are three cars on this block that could be his, and I still can’t remember the final digit of his address.

The cold autumn rain is coming down hard when I get out of the car and run to the first house.

Nobody answers the door.

I run to the second house.

The door is answered by a sweet elderly couple who invite me in for tea to warm up. I thank them, and run back out into the rain.

I’m breathless when I knock on the final door.

It opens… to a house full of people in dressy clothes, drinking wine and laughing. A serious-looking woman holds the door, staring curiously at my drenched clothes.

“You’ll catch your death of cold,” she says. “Come in, come in.”

“Is this Drew Morgan’s house?”

The woman calls over her shoulder. “Drew!”

I start backing away, but she grabs my arm and hauls me in. “You’re Megan, aren’t you? He’ll fire me if I let you get away.”

The door shuts behind me. I shiver. Now I’m trapped in an entryway with a woman who knows who I am.

“How do you know who I am?” I demand.

She chuckles. “You’re the one who pulled her dental cap off with a pair of pliers. I’m Drew’s office manager. I know everything.”

“Everything?”

She gives me a serious look. “He’s a good guy. You’d better not break his heart again, or you’ll have to deal with me.”

Drew appears. “Patty!”

She ducks her head, looking innocent, and runs over to join the party happening in the living room. Drew and I are visible to about half the room, but people are politely pretending they can’t see us.

Drew takes my hand. “You’re freezing.” His brown eyes are full of so much sadness, I feel like running around in the cold rain with no jacket on was something I willfully did to hurt his feelings. As compared to, say, breaking up with him by text message.

“It’s raining out.”

“The flowers you sent are nice.” He grabs my other hand and warms them both between his palms. “I’m glad you’re here. I’d much rather have you than flowers.”

“Drew, I need to tell you something. I might have a problem or two. I think it comes from family stuff, surprise surprise, right? Those clothes I gave you, they were from my father.”

He turns to the side, so his body shields us from the people at his party. “I figured as much.”

“He left when I was too small to even remember him. To me, he was just this guy who sent us money for stuff. He wasn’t a deadbeat or anything, he just moved across the country and settled in with his new family, so he didn’t have time for us.”

“That’s awful.”

“I was never mad about it, though. I grew up with lots of aunts and uncles and plenty of love. I think I had a decent childhood, but…” I lick my lips and glance over Drew’s shoulder. “Is this some sort of wine tasting party?”

“It’s a book club. Would you like some wine?”

I wipe some of the rain from my face. “If you have a bottle open already.”

He nods for me to follow him, and we skirt along the edge of the living room, into a kitchen, where he grabs an open bottle of white wine, and two glasses. He keeps walking, leading me up a set of stairs and into a bedroom.

It’s a nice bedroom—huge, with a couch and a fireplace. He flicks on the gas fire and pulls me over to sit on the hearth with him.

The fire starts to warm me immediately, and the wine in my hand is a natural complement.

He reaches up to sweep damp strands of hair off my face. “You were saying? You had a decent childhood, but…?”

“I think that either my mother or my aunt gave me a bad attitude about guys. Or maybe it’s wrong to blame them. Maybe it was just society, or movies. I grew up watching all my mother’s favorite Patrick Swayze movies, and it’s hard for guys to live up to him.”

“A movie star made you send me that text message?”

I take a sip of the wine, warming up inside and out.

“No, that was all me. I take full responsibility for that.” I gaze up into his eyes. The look on his face is so hopeful and forgiving, it makes the sides of my neck ache. “I thought I was secure, because I can kick anyone’s ass, and I don’t usually care what people think of me. I thought that was being secure as a girl. But then, when it came to you, I was insecure. I think I pushed you away to test you.”

“That’s normal. There’s nothing wrong with you that isn’t wrong with every human being who’s worth being in a relationship with. I don’t know if I’d want to be with someone overconfident, who didn’t push me away a little.” He leans in close, until his lips are nearly touching mine, but stops short of kissing me. “Just don’t push me too hard, because I have feelings, too.”

The ache spreads up from my neck, into my eyes, stinging my nose.

I pull my head back, bumping the back of it lightly on the mantle of the fireplace. “Drew, I don’t want to push you away anymore. If this thing fails, I want to say I tried my best.”

“That’s all any of us can say.” He leans in and kisses me. Really kisses me. My head bumps against the mantle again, trapping me against his lips. My whole body softens, melting against him.

This is something.

His lips feel so right against mine.

His soul feels right, too.

My head is swirling, but I’m not dizzy. I’m perfectly clear.

Drew and I might be together forever, or we might come apart at the seams in another week. But if this thing fails, it won’t be entirely my fault.

I will try my best. I will stop testing him, and start testing myself. Can I let myself be vulnerable? How far can I go?

I want to try, and if I sometimes fail, I want to try again.

The fire is warm at my back, and Drew’s kisses take away my shivers.

We kiss for at least ten minutes, maybe longer, both of us still holding our wineglasses.

Neither of us spills a drop.