Undertow (23 page)

“Okay. Well, that sounds easy enough.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice as she replayed the scene in her head of her mother last night, weeping in her arms after she drank half a bottle of red wine and fell into her usual pity pot. If that wasn’t stressful, she didn’t know what was.

“It will be essential to understand that you aren’t responsible for the burdens that others carry, Marissa. Like we discussed last week, your mother’s unhappiness is not your fault.”

“She thinks it is, though. She said it’s my fault dad bailed on us, my fault about Bethany, my fault Gil molested me. At least, that’s what she says when she drinks.”

“You do know that what she said is not true, right? Those words are just your mother’s pain spilling out. You weren’t responsible for any of those things when they happened, and you aren’t to blame now. She chooses her own way to handle life, her own unhappiness.”

“Yeah. I know. But I still believe it, sort of.”

“Can you forgive her? And your father?”

“I don’t know.”

“Not all stress is external, Marissa. A lot of stress comes from inside, from carrying around guilt and resentment, anger and shame.” The psychologist looked at her kindly. “Sometimes this internal stress is more powerful than anything else we have to deal with in our lives. Letting go of some of these toxic emotions will help you heal faster and stay well.”

“Okay.”
If it were so easy to just forgive and move on
, she thought,
I’d have done it already.

“We’ll talk more next week about ways you might work on forgiveness. Today, our time is up.” The psychologist rose to her feet. “You’re doing very well, Marissa. I believe you will be ready to return to school after spring break. Two more weeks, is it?”

Had the weeks really passed so quickly? “Right. Two more weeks. Good thing, too. Mom’s getting pretty sick of me!”

She didn’t add,
I’m pretty sick of her, too
.

Thirty-Two

“I’
m taking a light load this quarter. Botany’s tough, but the others are cake—Art History and Environmental Ethics. Taking it easy.” Marissa hiked up her shoulder to shift the weight of her backpack. The April warmth was unexpected, and she started to break a sweat from the walk across the quad to the student center. “Hey, I’m about to meet up with my group to work on a project for the Enviro class. I have to go in a few.”

Kelly’s voice sounded as sunny as the day. “Okay. When are you coming home again? I have tons of news, but it’ll wait till I see you.”

From the tone in her voice, she probably had a new boyfriend and couldn't wait to tell her all about his greatness
.
“This
is
home, Kelly. But I’ll be up there next Friday to see my counselor.”

“Let’s do lunch in Portland—there’s a great new place in the alphabet district. Best Thai in town. Seriously—it’s actually called Best Thai! How original, right?”

Mike and Alisha were already hanging out in the commons when she walked in. She shrugged off her pack and jacket and eased into a chair next to the table where they’d spread out their stuff.  “Is Theresa coming?”

“Yeah—she called to say she’ll be late and we should go ahead and get started.” Alisha set down the stainless steel water bottle she carried with her everywhere, her personal symbol of being green. Part neo-hippy, part post-punk, everything else was colorful about her, too: this week she had bright orange hair, which detracted only slightly from the shock of piercings that peppered her face. Marissa wondered why anybody would do that to themselves, unless they were
a masochist.

Mike, the designated Type-A in the group, held his pen and pad at the ready. “So, let’s brainstorm. Remember, no critiques—just think of all the ideas we possibly can, okay?”

He has to be gay
, Marissa thought. He was too clean, too cute, too well dressed.
Bestest friends forever material, for sure.

Alisha had the attention span of a fly and looked bored already. “How about recycling? That’s easy.”

“Easy, but lame. I think we need a bigger project. I need an A from this class.” Marissa said.

“Girls, girls.” Mike actually clicked his tongue. “No judging of ideas yet. Stifles the imagination.” He tapped his pen against his chin and suddenly swung his arms out to his side, sending his pen flying across the room as he extended his fingers in what looked a lot like jazz hands. “I got one: point source pollution controls!”

“Huh?” Both girls stared at him.

Mike fetched his pen from where it landed ten feet away, at the pedicured foot of an annoyed girl holding a paperback copy of
Hamlet
. He smiled at her apologetically. Returning to the two girls, he said, “It’s all my roommate’s talked about since the quarter started.”

“What the hell is ‘point source pollution control’?” Alisha asked.

“I have no idea,” Mike laughed. “But I could butter up Roger and try to get him to explain it to me.”

Marissa snorted and caught Alisha rolling her eyes. “We could do something involving the oceans,” she offered. “Like dead zones.”

“I like it!” Mike said. “Oops. Forgetting my own rules—value judgment on a brainstorm. My bad.” He lit up like he was plugged in. “I got it! We can combine the two. You know, point source pollution and dead zones.”

“Maybe something’s going on at Hatfield that could help.” This project might turn out to be pretty cool, she thought. All her crazy obsessions could be useful after all.

“Field trip to the beach!” Mike’s voice was loud enough to attract the notice of several other students studying nearby. The girl with the polished toes threw him a scathing look. “Oh, yeah! That’s what I’m talking about.”

Alisha slouched in her chair. “Whatever. Beach’s good.”

The girl’s got the motivation of a sloth
, she thought, wondering how Alisha managed college at all.

Theresa arrived as they were finishing drafting a timeline for their project. “Sorry guys.” She dropped her bag on the ground beside her chair and planted her butt on its arm. Marissa tried not to gawk at the rectangle of flesh exposed by the low-cut jeans and stared sideways at Alisha. 

Alisha, however, didn’t bother being polite. “Eww, girl, cover it up, will ya?”

Theresa turned and flashed a smile at Alisha. She raised one eyebrow.

“Yuck. Please.” Alisha looked away, shaking her head and feigning disgust.

“Cat fight. Girls, please behave.” Mike read the list of ideas the three had generated to Theresa and said, “Guess which one’s the fave?”

“Recycling? Sounds easy enough, right?”

Alisha pumped her fist in the air beside her head. “See. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Projects are like girls,” Mike said. “Neither should be too easy. Better to keep it challenging, don’t you think?”

Theresa groaned. “Whatever. That’s what I get for being late, I guess.”

Marissa checked the clock on the wall. “Speaking of being late.” She stood up. “I’ll see you guys later. I got to meet up with Jim now.”

“Lovebirds.” Mike blew her a kiss and she laughed.

He’s right
, she thought, as she walked back to her car.
He is
so
right
.

“So, will you do it?” Jim had his begging face on and Marissa smiled in spite of herself. He shouted, triumphant. “I knew you would! Oh, sugar. Thanks for saving my ass.”

“Hey, what else good am I? But how exactly does going with you to your cousin’s wedding in Denver save you?”

“Um . . . well . . . there’s this thing. About the bride.” Jim looked away for a moment, uncharacteristically evasive.

Her heart sank. “What about the bride?”

“Yeah. Well, I’ve known her since I was about fourteen.” Jim still wouldn't meet her eyes.

“And? So what?”

“Just that I know her pretty well, that’s all, and . . .”

“How well is ‘pretty’ well?” She didn’t like where the conversation was heading.

Jim looked up with a pained expression. “We dated in high school.”

Marissa shrugged. An old flame, no big deal. “That’s cool. Everybody dates in high school.”

“Yeah, I know. Thing is, we were pretty serious.”

“First love?”

“First engagement.”

Marissa inhaled sharply.
That
serious? Her mind reeled, imagining Jim with this other girl, playing, kissing,
proposing
.

She stammered, “Oh. I get it. Yeah. Uncomfortable.” There was an awkward moment of silence. “So she hooked up with your cousin after you broke up?”

“Before we broke up, actually.” He sighed. “That’s why I left Colorado. I didn’t want to have to see her again.”

She chastised herself for being so jealous and reached out to take Jim’s hands in hers. “Been there, done that. Hurts like a beast, right?”

He nodded and leaned in, kissing her lips, fusing with her for a long while before leaning back. “But now I have you.” He smiled. “Nothing better, babe. Never.”

“There’s something I forgot to tell you, though,” Marissa said.

 “What’s that?”

“I’m afraid of flying.”

He laughed. “No worries. I got your back. I’ll hold you tight all the way there.”

Thirty-Three

T
he pungent fragrance of lemongrass lifted her mood as she chased a baby corn around with her spoon. Even on a warm May afternoon, the soup was her favorite comfort food. Sipping the spicy broth, she looked past the Buddha statue beside the front window and out at the shoppers on the sidewalk. A few women who reminded her of her mom strolled toward the new age book store around the corner—it still attracted women who dreamed of running with wolves, communing with angels, or meditating their way to Universal bliss. None of that had worked out so well for her mother, but the lack of any notable benefit didn’t keep her from trying.

“Pick a country, any country.” Kelly twirled her fork through a plate of Pad Thai, wrapping the noodles around its tines until it looked like a little ball of orange yarn. She stuffed it into her mouth and fixed Marissa with a challenging stare.

“First, second, or third world?”

“There’s no such thing as ‘second world.’ And ‘third world’ isn’t politically correct anymore. Do your homework.” Kelly speared a square of tofu.

“Oh. Excuse me, Miss Political Correctness. Developed, or developing, then?”

“Semi.”

“Spanish speaking?”

“Yes.”

“Central America.” She wasn’t having nearly as much fun with this game as Kelly obviously was, and struggled to keep the irritation from her voice.