Ex and the Single Girl (13 page)

“
Then maybe Mags should have talked to me last night,”
I said, getting up off the bed, trying to minimize my vulnerability to a pissed-off Bev.
I had three full inches on her, and I still felt like I was about to get my butt tanned.

“
Maybe you should have stayed around like a grown-up, instead of throwing a tantrum like a spoiled little girl.”
Her voice was sharp. She may have raised two ditzy bro
ads, but Bev was no one to be trifled with. I took my tone down a notch when I answered her.

“
She should have told me.”

“
Told you what?”

“
That she found Jack. That he
’
s coming to visit.”

Bev narrowed her eyes at me. Instinctively, I straightened my posture.

“
And why does she owe you an explanation for that?”

I stared at her. “
Are you kidding me? He
’
s my father.”

“
Did it ever occur to you that
maybe
this has nothing to do with you?”

“
Nothing to do with me?”
I flapped my arms in lame confusion. “
Then why am I
here? Why
’
d she fake a bad back to get me down here? Sol could sleep with an Englishman? What the hell is going on, Bev?”

“
Let me tell you something, Portia,”
she said, her voice low and serious. “
Your mother loves you. She has always loved you, and she h
as raised you well. Right now she
’
s doing something she needs to do for her own reasons, and it
’
s time you stopped being her little girl and started being her friend.”

“
I
’
ve always been her friend,”
I said, anger rising in my throat, can of whoop-ass be da
mned.
“
Maybe it
’
s time she started being my mother.”

Whoosh.
The air left the room. Bev and I stared each other down and for the first time since the beginning of time, Bev looked away first. A moment later she was gone, slamming the door behind her. I sto
od in the room alone, wondering what the hell had just happened.

“
You
’
re right,”
Mags said, staring down at her fingers, which were clasped on the edge of the kitchen table. Vera and Bev sat on either side of her, and me opposite. “
I should have told you.”
I looked at Vera. She had been the one to let it slip, knowing full well it would get back to me, and while I wasn
’
t going to give her up, her reaction was a point of interest. Her face was blank, staring at an invisible focal point over Bev
’
s left shoul
d
er. Bev, on the other hand, leaned forward and put one hand on Mags
’
s arm, drawing a clear line on the battlefield.

“
So tell me now,”
I said. “
What
’
s going on?”

Mags sighed, gave Bev a helpless look. Bev shook her head. “
I can
’
t tell you yet,”
Mags said fi
nally, her voice so timid I almost didn
’
t recognize it.

“
Why the hell not?”
I said, half in fear, half in anger. There
’
d never been a secret among the Mizzes. This was new territory.

“
I just need you to trust me,”
she said. “
I
’
m sorry; I just need that.”

“
When were you planning on telling me he was coming? When I came home and saw him drinking lemonade on the front porch?”
Eyes darted back and forth. I stared at them defiantly. “
What?”

Mags looked up at me. “
We
’
ve been talking about September.”

I thought of
August 22, circled and starred on my wall calendar. I felt a coldness swivel down my back and I swallowed, working up the nerve to ask my next question. “
Was that his idea or yours?”

Mags was silent. I sat back, feeling my chest close in.

“
Are you ever go
ing to tell me what the hell is going on here?”
Mags looked up at me, her face pained. “
I can
’
t. Not yet.”
Bev
’
s eyes worked on mine, telling me not to make a big deal out of this. Telling me to grow up and be a buddy. I looked away.

“
Fine,”
I said, my voi
ce tight as I pushed up from the table. “
I
’
ll go get my things.”

Mags shot up. “
You
’
re not going back to Syracuse, are you?”

“
No,”
I said. “
I can
’
t go back to Syracuse. My apartment is rented. But I
’
m not g
oing to live here waiting for you to spring the next surprise on me. I
’
m going to the apartment over the Page.”
Bev settled both palms flat on the table, fingers spread wide, her eyes on Mags. Mags looked like she was about to cry. Vera kept staring at th
e
invisible spot over Bev
’
s shoulder. “
That
’
s probably a good idea,”
Bev said.

I froze.
A good idea?
I looked around the table. Not a one was looking at me. Not a one arguing. I couldn
’
t get a glass of orange juice without inciting an argument from the Mizz
es. Now I was moving out and they weren
’
t going to fight me? “
What
’
s going on?”
I said. “
What are you not telling me?”
Silence. I felt a brief inclination to back down, to give in to a gnawing fear of this secretive, combat-free zone we
’
d just stepped int
o.

But a girl can
’
t always rise above her raisin
’.

“
I
’
ll go get my things,”
I said quietly, and left the kitchen to go pack up my duffel bag for the second time that summer.

The door creaked as I opened it. The living area was large and open, with one door
leading to the bedroom and another to the bathroom. The hardwood floors were dusty, as was every surface: the windows, the counter that separated the kitchen nook from the wider living area, the naked queen-size bed that took up most of the bedroom. I wal
k
ed over to the kitchen nook and opened the valves under the sink, then turned on the faucet. The water, after a groan of complaint and a few sputters, was good. Clean.

“
Okay,”
I said to the hollow room. “
Okay, then.”

I dumped my duffel bag on the floor and
unzipped it enough to grab some bedding I
’
d taken from the house. Ian
’
s book was just underneath; he told me he
’
d signed it while I was in the shower, but I hadn
’
t taken the time to read what he wrote. I flipped open the front cover and looked inside.

Gl
ad to see you can walk in a northerly direction after all.

Hope you
’
ll do it again.

Ian

I smiled and shut the book, placing it on the counter of the kitchenette as I stumbled into the bedroom. Tomorrow I
’
d make a run to the Wal-Mart in Fort Oglethorpe and
get the rest of the stuff I
’
d need for the apartment. Tonight, there was nothing I wanted more than t
o fall into a deep, blank sleep.

***

I opened my eyes, focusing on the blurred movement I could see through the crack in the bedroom door. I floated my
hands over the top of my duffel bag and grabbed my glasses, then pulled myself up out of bed and stumbled out into the living area. “
Vera, what are you doing here? What time is it?”

“
It
’
s seven-thirty,”
she said. The kitchen counter was covered in plastic
grocery bags. Vera unloaded various food supplies into the cabinets and refrigerator, taking a moment to check the eggs cooking on the stove.

“
You didn
’
t have to do this,”
I said, sitting down on the bar stool by the counter, inhaling the spicy scent of th
e brew in my new Mr. Coffee. Vera plunked a mug down in front of me.

“
I didn
’
t do it for you,”
she said. “
You need to help me in the Page today.”

“
Where is Mags, Vera? What is she doing?”

Vera stuffed the last of the plastic bags under the sink
and shook the griddle with the eggs on it, but didn
’
t say anything.

“
I don
’
t get you, Vera. You slipped the Jack thing to Beauji. You knew she would tell me, which means you know it
’
s the right thing to do. So spill.”

Her eyes were sad and torn, but I knew
it didn
’
t matter. Vera was not a woman who changed her mind once it was made up.

“
What?”
I said, pouring coffee into the mug. “
Did the cards tell you not to tell me?”

She looked away. “
You can make fun of me all you like, Portia, but those cards have neve
r steered me wrong.”

I huffed. “
I think Bridge Wilkins might have something to say about that.”

Vera
’
s back straightened, and she gave the eggs one violent shake before sliding them off the griddle and onto a plate. She put the plate in front of me, slid t
he salt and pepper my way, and nodded toward the toaster oven sitting on the counter.

“
Your toast should be ready in a minute,”
she said. Her eyes were watery, and I realized I
’
d taken it too far.

I released a breath. “
Vera...”

Without looking at me, she t
urned her back and headed toward the door.

“
I
’
ll see you downstairs.”

I watched her leave, then sat down at the counter and stared at my eggs for fifteen minutes before abandoning them to hop in the shower.

Chapter Five

“
Oh, please,”
Beauji said, tossin
g a bright pink alarm clock in my basket as we wandered through Wal-Mart
’
s home furnishings section. “
She and Bridge split up like, what, ten years ago?”

“
Eleven.”
I put the clock back on the shelf and grabbed a plain black one. Beauji shook her head and w
addled ahead of me, her yellow shirt making her look like a mama duck.

“
You need color in your life,”
she said.

“
You
are
the color in my life, darlin
’,”
I batted my eyes at her. “
Then you
’
re much worse off than I thought.”
Beauji gave me a bright grin and
kept moving. “
What are you doing for furniture?”

I shrugged. “
There
’
s a couch and coffee table and a bed in there, under about eight years of dust, and anything else I need I can pull up from the basement.”

Beauji made a better-you-than-me face. “
At least
it
’
s just temporary. Anyway, it was one little comment. You shouldn
’
t be beating yourself up about it like this.”

“
She hardly talked to me at all today. And you know Vera
—
she never stops talking.”