Love in the Time of Cynicism (11 page)

Oh god
. I’m in deep, I realize as a sudden nervousness riddles by bones. Even though this whole thing is a misplaced fantasy and exceedingly unlikely to actually happen, I can’t help but wonder. Will he be a good kisser?
Duh
, my head answers. Will
I
be a good kisser?
Doubtful.

And then I’m thinking about my kissing experience which has, up to this point, been very limited.

The last (and first, sadly enough) guy I dated, I was fourteen. Eric Gainsborough. He was seventeen, much to the dismay of my mom. She tolerated him, though, because she was good friends with his parents. We’d never been in the same school or even known each other except in the vaguest sense until my freshman year and suddenly, with the frankly disgusting amount of advanced classes I was taking because I still cared about my future, he was always there. Didn’t even realize I wasn’t a Senior until I told him.

I don’t remember exactly how it happened. One day we were a couple and it was everything I was supposed to want, according to my mother and step sisters. He was perfect. Respectful. Always arrived on time. The kind of guy Michael called ‘son’ and mom baked for, once she grew past the age difference and saw his perfect grades and perfect  face and perfect rich family. We dated for practically a whole year before he kissed me. It took him a while to get up the guts, I think. When Eric kissed me, there were no sparks. No fireworks. No string quartet. Unlike the rest of the relationship, it was so weird and awkward and uncomfortable for me. Everything went downhill from there and I can’t help but shudder at the memory of the horror of my second kiss.

Two kisses. One nice and one awful.

That’s what I’ve got under my belt, which means one thing.

I need to figure out how much experience Rhett’s had, both from selfish desire and from the blatant curiosity constantly in me when I talk to him.

Chapter Six – Miraculous Days

When Rhett takes me back to his house a few hours later, Tannis is already outside waiting not for her brother, but for me. We dismount from the beast and Rhett give Tannis a meaningful look that urges her not to rush me until he’s done talking with me.

“Sorry you had to sit through my entire shift,” I say while searching for something better.

“It’s hard to think decisions through when a dashing lad is calling, isn’t it?” He smiles, hands shoves in his pockets as if he’s itching to reach out and touch me. After my brief and strange poetry fantasy, I feel the same way. “Honestly, though, it wasn’t bad. I never get time to myself around here, what with all the, ah-” he shoots a glance at his younger sister, who’s tapping her foot anxiously “-distractions. It was nice to have time to myself, you know?”

“Not really,” I answer honestly. “My house is, as a rule, dead silent whenever I’m home. Being here is amazing, weirdly enough. There’s lots of, I don’t know,
life
here, I guess.”

He shrugs. “Fair enough. We could trade off every once in a while.”

We both choose to ignore the fact that there’s no way he’s welcome at my house or ever will be.

Rhett takes his hand out of his pocket and takes my fingers in his. The golden sun is setting behind him and it punctuates the moment between us as the napkin with his phone number passes from his hand to mine. The mere touch of it is enough to make me feel connected to Rhett in a way I haven’t been with anybody.

Tannis interrupts our prolonged eye contact with a groan. “Done being a sap yet, big brother?”

“Never,” he responds cheerfully, then leans in and whispers in my ear. “Good luck, Cordelia Kane, with Tannis. You’ll call me tonight?”

I nod, grimacing as the thirteen year old charges me and her brother retreats into the house.

“What’s up, kid? Bra advice? Makeup tips?”

Tannis sighs heavily and shakes her head. “Boys.”

“A complex topic indeed.”

“Right?” Her eyebrows knit together in frustration. “But I figured since, you know, you’ve obviously got some boy experience now that you’ve reeled in my brother-”

“No comment.”

“And he’s practically putty in your hands, you could give me some advice.” The sun dips below the horizon and the sky grows darker by the moment. I need to get home ASAP. “There’s this guy in my math class and he keeps, like, asking me for help and stuff? And yesterday he poked me to ask for a pencil.
Twice
. But I could totally see that there was a pencil case in his backpack. Does he like me?”

I put on an old-wise-sage face, lips pursed, eyes shut as if I’m thinking hard about this absolutely puzzling conundrum. Then my eyes pop open in a gesture of grand epiphany and see Tannis watching me expectantly. “You should…wait for it…
ask him
!”

She protests vehemently, “It’s not that easy!”

Calmly, I reply, “Isn’t it though?”

She nods, clearly taking this to heart, and smiles. “I will!”

“Make sure you update me next time we see each other on the status of your mission.”

“Will do,” she tells me seriously. She salutes, then heads back inside.

And I drive back to my too-quiet house.

Amanda, as anticipated, is waiting for me when I arrive. She’d nearly slipped my mind through the day’s usual and unusual antics, and now it’s come back to haunt me. The decision to sneak out with Trent’s truck before dawn could be seen in many ways and she will surely relate any thoughts to our ‘parents’ after wringing my neck (possibly literally) for more a more detailed report.

I’m already late by at least an hour (a bunch of needy customers came in right before my shift was up and then there was the whole Tannis thing), although it doesn’t seem like mom or Michael is home judging by the quiet and the dark.

Normally, even though they like to keep a very, very quiet home, my ‘parents’ are always making some amount of noise. Whether it’s the incessant flipping through of Michael’s piles upon piles of paperwork or mom’s humming in the shower and babbling about baby talk with her friends, there’s always some background noise. Now, though, as the door slams loudly behind me and I kick off my squeaking shoes in the foyer, the only sound is from my step sister’s judgmental gaze. In my admittedly short experience on this planet of ours, never have I encountered such a loud sound as that of Amanda’s stare. God, it’s deafening.

“You’re late.” Her voice isn’t quite harsh enough to be an accusation. In fact, it almost sounds sad.

I decide on a tactic to combat this strange reaction. I was expecting blunt and unbridled scorn, if not full out shouting and barbarous laughter. Sarcasm, being my general first choice, becomes the easiest option available to me. “Thanks for letting me know. What an astute observation.”

“Can we not do this, Del?” Amanda flips her long blonde hair over a shoulder for the sheer emphasis of it. “We need to talk.”

“What about?” I ask as if I don’t know. “We aren’t exactly notorious around here for our good ole fashioned sister-to-sister talks.”

She rolls her eyes, which are smudged with makeup she doesn’t need to impress boys she doesn’t like in a school she hates going to, and tells me, “You went out with your brother’s truck to see that guy from mom’s announcement party, right?”

Something weird – confidence? Stupidity? Hard to tell – comes over me and I tell her completely truthfully, “Yeah, I did. He invited me over for an apology breakfast and we spent the day together.”

“I figured.” At this point, she plants herself on the steps and puts her head in her hands.

Okay, I’m a bit concerned now. I’m in a position I’ve never been in before where Amanda is showing me some vulnerability. It’s strange and weird and my previous relational training (which mostly consisted of hanging around in corners and suffering through silences) hasn’t prepared me for this. Awkwardly, I position myself next to her and my rarely seen or expressed compassionate side comes out for the first time in a while for someone living in my house.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I try, “I mean, not to brag or anything, but I
did
coach a thirteen year old through a boy crisis less than an hour ago.”

She unloads on me without hesitation and it’s very strange. “When I saw you leave this morning, I was
so
ready to tell dad and mom on you when I got home from school. Then, during third period, I was still thinking about it and I started talking to Dylan about it-” her longest-lasting boyfriend of a whopping year and a half “-and he asked me why it was bugging me so much and I realized it. I’m
jealous
of you, Del.” The words slip out. She’s as shocked an embarrassed as I am until she explains. “You’ve only known this guy for, like, a week and you’re already willing to wake up ungodly early and steal your brother’s truck and sneak around against mom’s orders for him. That says something about both of you, I think, and I want to have a relationship like that. With
passion
where everything’s spontaneous and free and amazing.” Her face burrows even farther into her hands. “I told Dylan I had to call it off.”

“Seriously?” Amanda’s been terribly devoted to this boy for so long, nobody thought she’d be the one to break up. “This happened because you saw me leaving for Rhett’s?”

“Yeah. I don’t know, I just…” She trails off for a moment, eyes lingering on the family portraits in the foyer. There are pictures of Michael and mom, of me, Trent, and mom, and of Amanda, Mal, and Michael, but none of the whole clan together. Mom’s been trying to arrange a group photo for years, but it’s never been serious. “I really think we should try to fix this, Del.”

I’m dubious, to say the least. “Fix
what
, exactly?”

“
This
.” She gestures emphatically at the space between us. “We should try to be sister, like for real.”

I’m taken aback. For the year or so we’ve coincided in this dwelling, the general agreement has been don’t speak unless provoked or provoking. This is…surprising. “I, ah. Why?”

“It’s super sad we don’t get along well, right? I mean, our parents are married and we’re going to have another sibling soon who’ll be related to both of us and I think we should make an effort to, like, bond. Spend time together or do whatever sisters are supposed to do.”

“Seriously? This isn’t some grand plot to get me in trouble?”

“Cross my heart,” she says earnestly while drawing a little x over her chest with an index finger.

“Okay…” I straighten on the step and think. Breathe. Of all the crazy things that have happened today, this was
not
one I was ready for. “What do you…um…want to, like,
do
in order to…bond?”

She pops up from the step and beams. “You should let me give you a makeover tomorrow morning, for whenever you see Rhett again.”

“If you let me do your hair and makeup and pick out your outfit, fine,” I reply, figuring she won’t agree to this as the simple idea of showing Rhett whatever my, ah,
sister
could think up (which would almost definitely involve a dress, heels, and enough makeup to scare even Tannis away) makes me flustered in ways that freak me out.

“Okay!” She’s so pumped, it’s comical. “We’ll, like, look just like each other!”

I nod, then tell her, “I promised Rhett I’d call him tonight, so I’m going to head upstairs. If you, um, need anything, let me know.”

The moment I’m on my feet, she wraps me in a tight hug. “Thanks for being so cool about this, Del.”

I pull back and smile. “If we’re going to be proper sisters or whatever, you can start by
not
calling me Del, alright?”

“Awesome…
Cordelia
.”

Taking back my own name, one person at a time, feels empowering. Though the four syllables sound better on Rhett’s tongue than the ever could on Amanda’s, the knowledge that she’s committed to this is almost nice, if not freakishly odd and out of character.

She follows me up the stairs until we’re both in our own room. I look around once the door’s shut, debating with myself when the best time to redo the room would be. Though my room has been a mishmash of styles – from the punk band poster-covered walls phase to the stark white I’m-going-to-run-away-at-the-earliest-convenience phase and everything in between – as long as I’ve lived here, this one has been wearing on me quicker than normal.

White fairy lights trace the top edges of the frost blue walls, the main source of light for me. I put them there as a passive protest against living in Lightfoot. In Oregon, there were these spectacular, snow-capped winters where the sunlight would sparkle against the hills until it was like looking out over a sprawling mirror of the sky. That’s the biggest thing I miss about my past life, besides my dad.  The seasons were so pungent. Each one had a different smell and taste and feel to it. Here, they’re muddled together and slur by without anyone taking notice or caring. Thus, the holiday lights.

Sighing again (I must be in a sighing mood), I walk over to the dresser and slide out each drawer to see what’s going on the pajama department. The laundry desperately needs to be done. My basket of dirty clothes cries for me to wash it but I only glare as I rifle through the near-bare drawers. None of the new clothes mom and I bought are suitable sleepwear besides the gross frilly bras. Tonight, though, I’m more in a sweatpants and tank top kind of mood. Luckily, my last pair of disgusting green, amazingly warm man sweats are waiting for me at the bottom of the last drawer, right next to a tight black tank which I probably haven’t worn in several years. I undress fast and yank them on very gracefully. Then I take out my contacts, put on my crooked glasses, and let my hair down.