If We Kiss (7 page)

thirteen

TESS WANTED ME to go as half a banana and she’d be the other half, so together we’d be, obviously, a banana—split. But I’d already had another idea so she did the banana thing with Jennifer. I went as a lawn: green turtleneck, green cords, and a pink flamingo Beanie Baby pinned to my shoulder. We loved ourselves, how witty we were. Darlene wanted to come over before the party, too, so I said sure, despite dreading that she’d be dressed, as usual, as a prostitute. But no, she pulled through. She had on a whole roll of tinfoil, poufed out over her miniskirt, and a beret with a long white paper coming out the top that said “La Hershey La Hershey” on it.

“I give up,” I said.

“I’m a French kiss!”

Even Jennifer had to admit that was pretty good.

My mom came down in the witch’s hat that she wears every Halloween, and a new black sweater with her black jeans and boots.

“Is that new?” I asked.

“Yes,” Mom said, running her hand over her stomach. “Thanks for noticing.”

I hadn’t intended it as a compliment, though the sweater did make her look good. Curvy. My father’s wife, Suzie, wears blouses and floral prints that hang nowhere near her body. I used to like it that my mom was less inhibited than Suzie.

“Can we just go?” I asked.

Tess smirked at me. “Getting psyched, huh?”

I ignored that. She had mentioned our kissing pact a couple of times and though I tried to point out that I hadn’t officially agreed, Tess was, like, have your lawyer call me, you’re not getting out of the pact, you wimp, so you’d better practice puckering.

We piled into the car. I sat in front. Mom put on Bruce Springsteen, who was moaning “If you love me tonight I promise I’ll love you forever.” More pacts. I closed my eyes.

“Mom?”

She said nothing but turned down the music a bit.

“You’re not staying, are you? At the party?”

“I thought I might,” she answered. “It’s a family party, adults as well as kids. That’s what I heard. All ages welcome.”

Tess and Darlene groaned in the backseat.

“No, Mom, it’s not.”

“But . . .”

“Mom, we’re in ninth grade!”

“Yes, Charlotte, I am aware of that, but . . .”

“Forget it.” I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on the sound of the saxophone. I played saxophone in middle school and it never sounded remotely like that.

“Is that okay?” my mother asked me quietly. “If I stay?”

No. Obviously, not.

But I said nothing. What more could I say? She obviously didn’t care when I said it was NOT a party for her, it was for me, us, the kids.

I didn’t open my eyes until she stopped the car and put it into park. My friends were already spilling out the back doors.

“Your costume is great,” Mom whispered.

“Thanks,” I grumbled.

“Do I look okay?” she asked.

I opened my door and turned away from her.

“I mean I know it’s hackneyed,” she said. “But I was thinking that was kind of the fun of it, unless people don’t get it and think it’s just unimaginative . . .”

“Which people?” I got out and shut the door, not really wanting to hear her answer.

I caught up to my friends and went up the walk to the back door. Tess said, “You okay?”

I shrugged.

“My mother would never want to be at a party with me,” Darlene said.

“Lucky,” I said.

“You think?” Darlene asked.

“Let’s just go in,” Jennifer suggested, so we did. I don’t think they really wanted to show up at the party with my mom either, so we let the door close behind us as Mom was heading up the walk.
Too bad if that’s rude,
I decided.

The party was in the room I think was supposed to be the dining room, except that instead of a dining table there was a pool table. I spotted George as soon as I got there. Well, he was pretty hard to miss. George is not what you’d call a skinny guy, though he is definitely not fat; he told me once that his mother said he has big bones. He was wearing a white turtleneck that was all bulged out by a pillow or two underneath, and a furry panda bear hat tied onto his head. He gave me a big smile and headed toward me.

“It’s gonna be hard to kiss him past all that,” Tess whispered. “You’ll have to make him sit down.”

“Shut up,” I said, scanning the room, subtly I hoped, for Kevin. I located him beside the drinks table, dressed as a vampire. It was just black pants, white button-down shirt, red bow tie, his hair slicked back with gel, and some makeup—whitened skin, black around his eyes, red on his mouth. In a sane state of mind I would have dismissed that get-up as being as hackneyed as my mother’s witch suit, but my hormones had apparently knocked me semiconscious: He looked so hot my mouth dropped open.

“Hey,” George said.

He startled me. I’d forgotten him again.

“What?” I sounded defensive, even to myself, and beside me Jennifer jumped at the shrillness of my voice.

“Good article,” George said.

“Right.”

“It was.”

“I couldn’t even find it,” I said truthfully. I had had to read through the entire paper twice, once at school and later at home, before I could find my piece. It had been that kind of week.

“Come on,” George said. “It was there.”

“It was a tiny block, with no byline.” I had intended to sound confident and shrugging so the poutiness of my own voice surprised me.

George touched my shoulder. “Well . . .”

“And it had almost no information—only the date, time, and location of the board meeting.” Penelope had cut all my musings and filler. It was basically more of a notice than an article. “How did you even know it was mine?”

“You told me you were covering it,” he said. “So I looked.”

“Nice party,” I commented to change the subject.

“Yeah, I guess. You look, um, nice. Good. As always. But, um, what are you dressed as?”

“A lawn.”

“A lawn?”

“Yeah. Get it?”

“With a Beanie Baby left out on it?”

“A flamingo. Get it? Like, you know, when people put plastic flamingos on their lawns?”

“Who does?”

“Some people,” I said, trying to look past him at Kevin, who wasn’t budging from his spot across the room.

“Really? Plastic flamingos? On their lawns? Why would people do that?”

“I don’t know, George. What are you supposed to be?”

He tilted his head and tried to make eye contact with me. “A panda.”

“Oh,” I said, hating myself for being such a bitch. “Good one.”

He stood there for another second or two, then said, “Thanks.” When I still wouldn’t look at him, he looked away, then asked, “You see the weather report today?”

“The what?” I asked. Then remembering having been all freaked out on the phone with him about the weather report and its lack of long-term significance, I said, “No.” I’d figured he wasn’t even listening that day. I wasn’t really talking about the weather report then, anyway. It was just a metaphor, as my English teacher, Ms. Lendzion, would say, for how bad it was that Kevin liked me for such a short time I hardly got to enjoy it. Not that I was about to explain that to George, my boyfriend. Boys don’t get metaphors.

“Oh,” he said, and kept standing there, with his face turned away.

Then I felt guilty for acting that rude, so I reluctantly asked, “Why did you want to know about the weather?”

“I saw it,” George said. “The weather report.”

“Yeah?” I said, thinking nastily,
And your point is?

“Yeah,” he said. “Right up there on the top corner of the newspaper.”

I so did not want to talk about the weather. “Oh,” I said. “Is there anything we should know about tomorrow’s weather, then? Because I guess it’s too late for today.”

“Nope,” he said. “Nothing at all. Just . . .” But he didn’t say anything else and after a minute he walked away.

“Ouch,” Jennifer whispered.

I let out my breath. “I hate parties,” I whispered.

“Let’s get drinks,” Tess whispered to me.

She grabbed my belt loop but I hung back.

“Lighten up, drama queen,” she whispered. “Come on.”

“I’ll go,” Darlene said.

“Okay.” Tess shot me a look and crossed the room with her. Jennifer and I leaned our backs against the wall for a few minutes, watching the girls who had the guts to talk to the boys. I couldn’t hear what Tess was saying or see her face, so I just stared at Kevin’s, and watched a slow, sexy smile spread across his mouth to reveal plastic white fang teeth.

A little sound escaped from somewhere in my throat.

I watched him looking at Tess. It was all I could do to stay upright.

“Yeah,” Jennifer said. “Want to find the bathroom?”

I nodded and pushed off from the wall. But what I should’ve known by then, after what happened at my own party, was that you never know what you might find around a corner at a party.

fourteen

WE WANDERED AROUND for a few minutes, but there wasn’t an obvious bathroom. Kevin’s house is all on one level, very modern-looking. We were about to head down a hallway when Kevin’s best friend, Brad, rounded the corner. He is a nut. He was dressed as a pregnant cheerleader. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Jennifer asked him.

“Next to the front door,” he said. “Have fun!”

“Shut up,” Jennifer said. She started chewing her cuticles. It occurred to me that even Jen might have dramas of her own going on. We headed toward the front door.

“Hey,” I said to her, leaning close. “Do you like . . .”

“No,” she answered quickly. I decided not to push it.

Jennifer knocked on the slim door beside the massive double front door. A voice from inside said, “One sec,” sounding surprised and embarrassed.

“Was that Kevin?” I whispered.

Jennifer nodded.

We took a few steps away, not wanting to embarrass him when he came out, not wanting him to think we were listening. I remember in kindergarten there was a bathroom in our classroom, and it was so incredibly hard to do what you desperately needed to do because you knew there were other kids right outside the door hearing you.

But when the door opened, it was not Kevin who emerged. It was Kevin’s dad.

AND:
my mother.

With no lip gloss, only F.K.G.

And behind them was not the bathroom, I couldn’t help noticing. It was a coat closet.

Nobody said anything. What was there to say? What the hell were you two doing in the coat closet? That is not exactly a question you want to be asking your mother.

“What the hell were you two doing in the coat closet?” I asked.

“Charlie,” said Mom, properly identifying the asker.

“We, um, hanging . . . coats,” said Kevin’s father. “Up.”

“I . . .” I didn’t know what else to say. I felt Jennifer tugging my sleeve.

“Did you need to, um, hang a coat?” Kevin’s dad asked. “Up?” His face was red and I noticed he was wearing a tux and the bow tie was crooked. What was he dressed as, a fancy man? How creative, a fancy man. A coat check man? Or just a checking-out-my-mother-in-the-coat-closet man? Oh, what a cool costume.

“Sorry,” Jennifer said, and yanked me away, toward the kitchen. “Come on,” she said to me. “Let’s take a walk.”

Jennifer and I walked around the block without talking, and then around again. As the house came into sight, she asked, “How you doing?”

“Don’t tell anybody,” I said.

“I won’t.”

“I know,” I said. I looked at her and took a deep breath. I prayed Jennifer wouldn’t give me any bull like it’s okay, your mom is entitled, they are both single consenting adults and doesn’t she deserve to be happy. I had all that going on in my head, doing battle with the other side that was screaming
but she is my mother!

Then another thought hit me. “Aren’t your parents friends with Kevin’s parents?”

“Yeah,” Jennifer said.

I covered my face with my hands. “Great.”

“Some things are private,” Jennifer said. “Even from parents.”

I nodded. “Thanks. You’re a good friend.”

“I know,” said Jennifer. She put her arm lightly around my shoulder and we went back inside.

“I can’t believe his mother is in Iraq,” I said.

“Whose mother?”

“Kevin’s. Flying fighter jets,” I whispered. “In Iraq. Right? Or Iran, maybe?”

“Idaho,” Jennifer said. “She’s in Idaho. I don’t think she flies anything. Maybe a kite occasionally. She’s the most aggressively mellow person ever; she, like, goes on marches for peace. A fighter pilot? That is a really funny image. My parents would love that. Why would you think she was a fighter pilot?”

“Tess said you told her . . .”

Jennifer cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. “Tess says a lot of things.”

“Then why do Kevin and Samantha live with their father?”

Jennifer shrugged. “My parents said that’s the arrangement that everybody wanted. But who really knows?”

By then we’d gotten back to the party room. I half-expected Tess to be making out with Kevin, but luckily I was spared that one horror. Darlene and Tess were dancing over by the stereo, talking to Brad, who was choosing music. Kevin was shooting pool with some of the other guys. George looked up as I came in. His flash of a smile changed to a perplexed look, and he mouthed, “You okay?”

I nodded and looked away. I knew I was completely incapable of conversation right then, especially about if I was okay and why not. The last thing I wanted ever, but particularly right then, was a scene. I just wanted to have fun, enjoy the party, not deal, forget.

But no.

Kevin’s dad and my mom tromped into the room, holding a stack of pizza boxes. They were smiling as if they were the parents of the house, and we were a winning Little League team. “Who’s hungry?” Kevin’s dad asked. He put his two boxes down, and my mother put her two beside his.

“Hot!” she said, and I almost could have killed her on the spot.

I may have actually flown across the room. I don’t remember walking, certainly, and there was a pool table between us; anyway, there I was, and I grabbed her arm, hard. “Can I talk to you?”

“Sure,” she said. “Ow.”

I stormed out of the room and she followed me. I think probably everybody was watching us but at that point I didn’t even care. Or not that much. Well, I cared but I added that humiliation to all the other stuff I was blaming her for in my head.

“What is wrong with you?” I calmly asked her in the hall. Well, calmly might be an exaggeration. I kind of yelled. Kind of might be an exaggeration, too. Okay, I was shrieking.

“Charlie,” she said, incredulous.

“Right again,” I said.

“What?”

“Why are you ruining my life?” I asked, even louder, if that’s possible.

“Charlotte Reese Collins,” she said. “Control yourself.”

Two girls dressed as goths went by. Mom and I both smiled and nodded as they passed, then turned furious faces back to each other.

“Control myself?” I asked. “Look who’s talking!”

I thought she was going to slap me, I really did. Her hand went up toward my face. She’d never slapped me before and she believes it’s unforgivable to strike a child, but in fact I am probably not a child anymore so I wasn’t sure if all bets were off on that rule, and besides, I kind of deserved it. Still, I was a tiny bit proud. It usually takes me until the next day to think of a good comeback.

Instead of slapping me, though, she grabbed my shoulder and steered me, hard, toward the kitchen. There were like six or eight people crowded around the refrigerator, grabbing stuff. We tried the living room but it was wide-open and white, looking like
don’t come in
.

We stopped there in the hall and faced each other. We took deep breaths. The spot was not ideal but the battle had to take place somewhere. Gettysburg, Normandy, Kevin’s Front Hall.

“Charlie,” Mom said softly. “This is not how I wanted to have this discussion. . . .”

“Well, then you shouldn’t be catting around in coat closets with . . .” I interrupted her but she interrupted me back.

“I’m not
catting around
, Charlie. I think I’m falling in . . .”

I grabbed her because at that moment, Kevin turned the corner. His cape fluttered behind him when he stopped short, spotting us. He looked in my eyes and, I felt fairly certain, knew instantly what was going through my mind.

Brad crashed into Kevin from behind, and yelled, “Hey, watch where I’m going, bub!” He smiled broadly, but then, when nobody grinned in return, he asked, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Kevin and I both said.

“Jinx!” Brad grinned his crazy grin.

“Let’s go,” Kevin said.

After they passed us, I grabbed my mother and dragged her back into the coat closet. It was the only place to get any privacy in that dumb house, obviously. I shut the door. Mom found a light switch on the wall beside the door.

“Pretty familiar with this coat closet, huh, Mom?”

“Charlie,” she said. “Please stop. Listen to me. I see this is making you very uncomfortable, and I’m sorry about that. I know it’s surprising—nobody is more surprised than I am, myself. I certainly never planned this, didn’t go looking for this. You know me, Charlie. All I wanted was you and me, and American history, some clear nights looking at the lake, and maybe tenure before I turned forty. And I got it; I got all that, and I was completely happy. Or completely satisfied, I should say. But then, well, I’ve been getting to know Joe . . .”

“Joe,” I said, trying to support my woozy self against the wall and knocking over a battalion of umbrellas in the process.

“Yes, Joe,” Mom said. “And the strangest thing is happening to me, Charlie. I never thought it would. I thought I was beyond all this craziness. But the truth is, I’m falling in love.”

I turned around and smashed my head into the closet wall. Falling in love. My mother. My safe, sane, stable mother. Falling in love? And with Kevin’s father? “Why should he buy a cow?” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I banged my forehead against the wall a little harder.

“Charlie, please. It doesn’t take away from my happiness with everything else, it takes away nothing from you . . .”

“From me? I’m not a baby, Mother! Why are you treating me like a baby?” As if I was thinking it was some sort of competition for her affection. That was, like, the one problem I hadn’t considered. Well, until she brought it up.

“I’m trying to treat you like an adult.”

“Well, you’re failing,” I said. There was, to be fair, nothing she could do at that moment that would be right.

“Charlie.” She reached out to try to gather me in her arms.

She smelled different. Like
him
, I realized. I pulled away. “Don’t hug me,” I said. “Haven’t you done enough groping already in this closet tonight?”

Then she did slap me, smack across the face. “You have no right to talk to me that way, little miss,” she spat out, quiet now, angrier than I’d ever seen her. “Not ever.”

We stood there face-to-face, both breathing fire.
So, then, I guess I’m really
not
a child anymore,
I thought. That realization hurt as much as my cheek. More.
I
am your baby
, I wanted to yell.
You just hit your baby. You are supposed to be an adult, to be strong and selfless and think of how your actions will affect me!
I touched my hot face. When I saw her expression soften with concern, I took the opportunity to spin around and throw the door open.

It smashed Kevin full-force in the face.

His hand was on his cheek like mine was on mine. “And another thing, Kevin,” I yelled at him. “If your closet is going to look so much like a bathroom, you ought to put up a sign!”

“What?” He looked baffled.

I stormed past him to his front door, which I tried to yank open. I tugged so hard that I was grunting but it didn’t budge. I stamped my foot and cursed, trying not to cry. Beside me, Kevin whispered, “Hey.” He reached in front of me and turned the bolt lock. I flung the door open and ran down his front steps and across his damp lawn, to where it was dark.