Heartache and Other Natural Shocks (37 page)

“New Morning”

About a week after the
Hamlet
fiasco, I’m sitting on my bed painting my toenails, when Ma and Pa walk into the room, and right away, I can tell something’s wrong. “What?” I ask. “Is it Nonna Cabrielli?”

“No, nothing like that,” Papa says.

“We have something to tell you,” Ma says, “but you can’t tell anyone, not even Debbie and Marlene,
capisci?
”

“All right,” I say. “What’s the big secret?”

“It’s the Epsteins,” Pa says. “They’re getting a divorce.”

“Wow!” I say, picturing Mrs. Epstein and Loverboy. “How could she do that to her family?”

Ma huffs. “It’s not
her
, it’s
him
.”

“What?” I gasp.

“It’s
Mr
. Epstein. He’s been having an affair in Montreal. He’s dumping Natalie for a twenty-year-old!”

“Holy shit!” I say.

Ma’s nostrils flare.
“Puttana
,
”
she spits.

“What do you know about her?” I ask Ma.

“I know she went after a married man, and that’s all I need to know,” Ma snorts.

I am shocked. I only met Mr. Epstein twice, but he always seemed like such a nice guy. “Why would he ditch his family like that?” I ask.

“Age,” Ma sneers. “He’s chasing his youth. Men are afraid of getting old. They get flattered by these skinny young girls, and the next thing you know, they flush their lives down the toilet.”

Papa gives me the male point of view. “Some men just can’t keep it in their pants,” he says.

“Tony!” Ma says.

“It’s the truth,” Papa says.

“But not all men are like that,” Ma assures me.

Papa grins. “You’re right,
cara
. Some men fall in love for a lifetime. And lucky for you, I’m one of those.” He gives Ma a big fat smooch on the lips.

“Ew, can you please stop that?” I say.

But Ma is lucky, and so is Pa. And when I get married, the guy better know where his own bed is, ’cause if he cheats on me, I’m going to cut off his balls. I can’t imagine how Julia feels. “Does Julia know?”

Ma nods. “She found out over the Easter weekend. She went back to Montreal and caught them in her own house. What a slap in the face.” Ma wipes away a tear. “No wonder the poor girl went bananas.”

And suddenly it all makes sense: the way Julia got totally
smashed at my party, her zombie look at the hospital, the way she flipped out onstage with Ian …

Ma says I should go over and talk to her, but what am I supposed to say? Sorry your dad is a stupid prick? Sorry you had a nervous breakdown? It’s not like we were friends before. And nobody likes a pity visit. It would just be awkward, so I do nothing.

It’s May by the time Julia shows up at school again, and her first day back is a real bummer. She’s like Moses parting the Red Sea; when she walks down the hall, people step back and gawk, like she’s some kind of three-legged circus freak. Even the grade tens snicker.

“Hey, isn’t that the crazy girl from
Hamlet
?”

“Yeah, she’s the one who attacked that cute guy.”

“I heard she went totally psycho.”

“Is she, like, a transvestite or something?”

They say these things really loudly, and they don’t give a shit that she hears. But most of them never even saw
Hamlet
. They don’t know how talented she is.

At lunch, I sit in the caf with Deb and Mar, in our usual spot. Julia sits in the corner reading. Everyone stares, ’cause she looks like shit with her hair hacked off and those dark circles under her eyes. She’s way too bony in the face. Ma would want to fatten her up.

“God, her hair looks terrible,” Deb says. “And really, that was her only good feature.”

“I bet it sucks to be her,” Mar says.

“I heard she got electric shock therapy,” Deb whispers.

“Really? Like Frankenstein?” Marlene giggles. “Maybe that’s why she looks so fried.” They laugh and crane their necks for a better view. And yeah, maybe I’d be dishing the dirt too if I didn’t know what was really going on. But I do know, so it pisses me off.

“Why don’t you stick your eyeballs back in your head,” I snap. I snatch up my lunch and push away from the table.

“Where’re you going?” Debbie asks.

But I don’t need to explain anything to anyone. I march straight over to Julia’s table.

“If Dogs Run Free”

“Is anyone sitting here?”

I look up from my book, and there’s Carla Cabrielli. She has a lunch bag in her hand and a fake smile on her face. At nearby tables, people watch us like they expect a confrontation.

“I guess this seat isn’t taken,” Carla says, “ ’cause half the people in this room think you’re going to pull a knife on them.” She laughs to let me know it’s a joke.

“Carla, what do you want?” I ask. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the flavor of the month.”

“Oh, I noticed,” she says, sitting down opposite me. “And yeah, some people can be so rude!” She pulls out her lunch and spreads it on the table: a sandwich, an orange, chocolate milk and cookies. She arranges the items in a neat little row. Then she stares across at my untouched sandwich.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” she asks. “ ’Cause according to
Cosmo
, you don’t want to get
too
thin. I mean, it’s better to be too thin than too fat, but you’re on the verge of overdoing it. Especially with your new short hair. You know, if you got a
decent cut, it actually wouldn’t look so bad. I go to Mario in the Bayview mall. He could give you a Twiggy cut. Short and feathery. It works for her, and Mia Farrow. And you’re super skinny, just like them.” She stuffs a straw into her chocolate milk and sucks on it.

“Do you ever say anything nice to anyone?” I ask.

Carla smirks. “I don’t think so,” she says. “But just ’cause I’m a bitch doesn’t mean I’m a bad person.” She grins. I shake my head. “Well, it’s true,” she says. “I know I’m blunt, but at least I’m honest, and honesty is something I admire in people.” She bites into her sandwich. “Ian was like that too, wasn’t he?”

I look away. Is that why she’s here? To talk about Ian? I don’t say anything. I wonder if she knows where he went. I’d like to ask, but instead, that’s what she asks me.

“Have you heard from Ian lately?” she says.

“No,” I say. “Why would he contact me?”

“Because he liked you,” Carla says.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did.” Carla stares at me. “Come on, Julia. I know you two had a thing going on.”

“You’re wrong,” I say.

“Oh, really,” she says sarcastically. “Then tell me, when you stole his swords, how did you know where to find them, hmm?” I hesitate. Carla leans across the table. “I’ve been to his place plenty of times, and I never saw any swords around. But you knew exactly where to look. You knew because you’d
been there before. Which is also how you knew about his key.” She tosses her hair and gives me a self-satisfied smile.

“You’d make a good detective,” I say.

“Yeah, I figured it out.” She shrugs.

“But you have it all wrong,” I say. “He only invited me over once. And he only wanted to fence with me.”

“Yeah, well, he only wanted to fuck with me,” she says dryly.

“I’d say you got the better deal,” I reply.

Carla blurts out a laugh. “Touché.”

“Salute.”

“Well, at least I didn’t stab him with a sword,” she teases.

“At least I didn’t break his nose,” I retort.

We’re both smirking now, enjoying the verbal jousting. We’re fencing with words, and we’re well matched. This is not what I expected. Not from someone who’s been tormenting me all year. But strangely enough, she doesn’t scare me anymore. In fact, if anyone’s trying to be nice here, it’s her.

“So, why did we fall in love with that jerk?” Carla asks.

“You call that love?” I ask. “In the end, I hated him.”

Carla looks me straight in the eye. “You know, for someone who’s so smart, you don’t know very much about love.” She juts out her chin. “You know what my nonna Cabrielli says? ‘Love and hate are two sides of the same coin.’ I think with Ian it was kind of like that. And not just for you. For both of us.”

I consider this. Perhaps she’s right. There is no halfway place with love. That’s why it hurts so much when they leave.
Like with my dad. I glance up at Carla, and suddenly I understand why she’s here.

“You know about my dad,” I say quietly.

She nods. She looks embarrassed and annoyed. “Yeah. I heard. That really sucks. Men can be such idiots. Always thinking with their dicks. I mean, what the fuck does he think he’s doing? A twenty-year-old? Give me a break! That is not love. That’s some sick porno fantasy. You don’t dump your family for that kind of shit! What an asshole!” She grinds to a halt, like perhaps she’s being a little insensitive? After all, I am the asshole’s daughter. She hesitates, but then, in her typical Carla way, she sees the line and steps right over it. “Marriage should be a holy thing,” she says, “not that I’m religious or anything, but I have my rules, and the first rule is: Married men don’t fuck around.” Carla sighs. “Look,” she says. “I’m not saying your dad’s a pig. I don’t know the man personally. But he sure knows how to roll around in the shit.”

I stare at her. And then I crack up. It’s not really that funny, but I can’t help it. All day long, I’ve been walking a tightrope, expecting someone to push me over, and suddenly I’m free-falling and laughing with Carla Cabrielli. How bizarre. And perfectly hilarious. People stare, but we couldn’t care less. We’re a couple of fuckups in the love department, and all we can do is laugh our heads off.

“Hey, what’s so funny?” Geoff says. He slides in beside me. Benjamin sits beside Carla.

“Oh, nothing,” I say, wiping my eyes.

“Men,” Carla says. “Right, Jules?”

I glance at her. Is it
Jules
now? It’s not like we’re actually going to be friends. Not after everything she said and did. Those mean things could fill a book.

Carla’s orange rolls across the table. Geoff catches it and tosses it into the air. An orange. My sandwich. Benjamin’s apple. He’s juggling, and he’s a bad juggler.

“Hey, I want to
eat
that apple,” Benjamin says.

We laugh.

Carla unwraps her mom’s cookies. She pushes them into the center of the table. I pick one up and take a bite.

Does it take a village to complete a novel? Writing is a solitary affair, but much gratitude and appreciation goes to those who encouraged, read drafts and offered wise counsel along the way. Many thanks to Max, Sarah, my parents and the extended Leznoff clan, who endured hours of mumbling and groaning (on those rainy cottage days) as I read chapters aloud and muttered, “Not now!” to their questions. Thanks to fellow writers and test readers, young and old, who offered their generous feedback. Hugs to Jane McBride for providing the Maui refuge and to Janice McDonald for escapes abroad (how lucky can a girl get?). Carolyn Bateman offered her valuable insights. Douglas College gave me a term away from teaching to write: Thank you! Super-agent Ali McDonald magically plucked the manuscript out of the ether, and my wonderful and wise editor, Sue Tate, coaxed me down the final stretch. Finally, I want to thank my smart, funny, lifelong friends, some of whom date back to those childhood and teenage years in Montreal and Toronto: You were there then, and you’re still here in my heart now.