Complicated Girl (11 page)

“It’s Saturday night. I’m sure you have plans.” I turn and look at the clock on the dining room wall. “Look at the time! I hate to dry hump and run, but… I really need to dry hump and run.”

“Again?”

I hold up my hand. “Thanks, but I’m good. That one should do me for a while.”

He turns and starts packing his things back into the leather doctor bag. “I guess I’ll see you Tuesday?”

“You will if you have the balls to show up to group again.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.

His face is in profile to me now, and his expression stays neutral. He finishes packing the tools into the bag.

“What do I owe you?” I ask brightly.

His voice flat, he says, “The glue and the house call are on me.” He mutters, “As for the dry hump, I’ll send you a bill.”

The joke falls so flat, I can’t even muster a pity chuckle. I just say, “Sounds good.”

He finishes packing his bag and heads back through the house, to the front door. I trail after him, keeping at least five feet between us at all times.

“See you Tuesday,” I mumble when we reach the door.

He mumbles something about looking forward to it, then he leaves.

I lock the door behind him and slide down to sit on the floor.

Muffin suddenly appears at my side, thrusting his head at my hand.

“Sure, now you show up,” I say to the ginger cat. “Why are you so shy around new people? I could have used you as comic relief just now, dude.”

Muffin arches his back and creepily stares at a spot on the wall for no reason at all.

“Why can’t I be a normal girl?”

He keeps staring at the mysterious spot, his tail twitching. Cats can see things on the UV spectrum, so there’s probably a shadow or reflection there that he can see and I can’t.

There are plenty of things I can’t see.

I hear my thoughts in my head, as clearly as a person speaking.
I keep looking without seeing.

My eyes are hot, and my jaw hurts. Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks. Drew would still be here right now, if I hadn’t driven him away. Why do I do that? What the hell is wrong with me?

(Don’t answer that.)

On Sunday, Rory comes over to do laundry. I’m feeling a little less devastated about last night’s dental encounter with Drew, but I’m on edge.

Rory and my sister usually do laundry together and hang out in the TV room watching movies on Sundays. I join them about half the time, once I’m done my Sunday baking. It’s the one day of the week that the flower shop is closed, so we try to get housekeeping stuff done, even though Mom’s not around to kick our butts.

Rory looks a little lost. Maybe I’m projecting my emotional state on her, but she seems, for lack of a better word,
wobbly
.

She stands in the kitchen, her cotton laundry bag of clothes strung over her shoulder. She’s wobbling, swaying like a wildflower in a windstorm. It’s just the two of us today, so that could be what’s throwing her off. Rory looks scared that I’m going to scream PANTIES or start talking about double penetration.

I put the cookie tray in the oven as I explain to her, “Teenie had to drive Luca around for some garage business. She’ll stop in later, but she said you should try to have fun with me.” I set the timer on the oven. “I promise to behave.”

She looks like she’s struggling with the decision to stay, which makes me feel like crap. I’m already beating myself up over driving Drew away last night, and now this rejection by her feels like the lard icing on the crap cake.

“I don’t want to impose,” she says.

“This is practically your house as much as mine, Rory. You’re like our third sister. Don’t be silly. Let’s get the laundry going.”

I dash around the house, grabbing my clothes, and join her for sorting.

When it comes to laundry with Rory, you need to know the rules, and not freak out. The first load is her underwear, which she has to throw into the machine directly from an opaque bag, with nobody looking. She tops up the load with other clothes, and sets it washing.

Rory doesn’t mind me or Tina seeing the panties after they’ve been washed, but the initial step is too intimate. She’s also unable to purchase underwear, so Tina and I have to buy everything for her. She wears the same size bra as I do, so I’m her fit model. When we go to the mall together, she goes to get frozen yogurt while we purchase her undergarments.

I dump out the hamper, and the pliers fall to the floor with a clunk. I let out a guilty laugh.

She looks at the pliers, then at me. “Meenie, now what have you done?”

“Nothing odd, I swear. I had a loose filling that was bothering me.”

She’s not buying my story. Her amber eyes are burning into my soul. She’s known me too long to buy my bullshit.

“I did a stupid thing,” I admit begrudgingly. “I pulled my dental cap off and called that guy Drew, the one you met at the pub. He came and glued it on, then we kissed for a bit, then I drove him away because it got weird.”

She takes a long drink from her takeout coffee.

“You did more than kiss,” she says.

“My clothes didn’t come off, but there was some heavy breathing.”

“You guys seem to have a lot of chemistry. He really likes you, Meenie.”

I roll my eyes. “No, he doesn’t. He’s looking for a rebound lay, or some sort of cure-by-magical-p-word.”

She winces at my near-mention of the word pussy.

We keep sorting the remainder of the laundry. To my surprise, even though I’ve been talking about a guy, she doesn’t pull her disappearing act. Tina mentioned Rory was doing a little better lately, but I didn’t believe it until now.

“What do you mean by cure-by-magical-p-word?” she asks.

“The whole Manic Pixie Dream Girl thing. Where the guy meets a girl, and she’s wild and crazy, but she’s actually just what he needs. Like an antidepressants prescription, only the kind he wants to take, because he can put his dick in her.”

Rory shudders visibly, and I apologize for saying the D-word.

Slowly, carefully, she asks me, “Did he put his D-word in you?”

“No, he did not. But I sat on his lap and rubbed up against it for a bit.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “Because it feels good.”

“Does it?”

“Yes. Rory, it feels really good. When the guy is cute, even holding hands feels good. What else do you want to know?”

She keeps sorting the laundry. She’s not talking, but her face keeps moving, like she’s having a conversation with herself.

I remember my promise to behave, so I won’t push her to share when she’s not ready. It’s tempting, because I’d much rather focus on Rory’s problems than think about mine.

The timer for the cookies goes off, so I run back to the kitchen and pull the trays out.

For the next few hours, we do laundry, talk about safe topics like food, and eat cookies.

As we’re folding up the last load, she says, “I watched some gay porn.”

My jaw practically hits the floor.

“The porn with two guys,” she says. “And then three guys.”

“Good for you,” I say with the measured cheerfulness of a Kindergarten teacher complimenting the world’s ugliest finger painting.

“It was interesting,” she says.

“Lots of women watch gay porn. It doesn’t mean you’re gay, Rory.”

“I know that,” she snaps back.

“Sorry.”

We fold laundry in silence, then she says, “I saw Howard.”

“My ex? Was he in the gay porno you watched?” I snort. “That would explain a lot.”

“No, I saw him at work. We’re catering his engagement dinner.”

She bites her lip, like she’s on the verge of telling me something.

I prompt her with, “And?”

“Howard’s a nice guy, Meenie. He told me some of the things you said to him when you were breaking up. They were pretty bad. And I just wanted to hear your side of the story.”

Rory flicks her amber eyes up to meet mine, and I feel like a wild animal trapped in a corner. There’s an intensely smelly wave of judgement coming off her.

“If you must know, I was terrible to Howard. There’s no excuse for what I said to him. I’m a toxic person, Rory, don’t you know that? You shouldn’t have told me about the gay porn stuff, because I’ll probably bring it up in front of other people. I’m just an awful, horrible, toxic waste dump of a person.”

“But why?” She looks genuinely curious, which only irritates me more. “You grew up with a nice family. Not like mine.”

“Rory, shut up about how bad you had it. Maybe some of us are just born screwed up. Have you ever thought about that? You blame your family for how you are, but maybe you just came out that way, already wired to be screwed up. Everybody feels sorry for you, and bends over backward to accommodate your little quirks, but nobody feels shit for me.” I’ve stopped folding, and my hands are just waving around the air with no purpose. “I’ve got nothing. Nobody cares about me except for my self-help group, and now even that’s ruined because of Drew. So, thanks a lot for bringing up Howard and making me feel bad about things from the past, because I wasn’t feeling bad enough already. Thanks a lot.”

She finishes stuffing her clothes into her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

“Good talk,” she says, and she leaves the laundry room as fast as she can.

I should chase after her and apologize, but I don’t.

After a moment, I pick up the pliers from the folding table and chuck them against the wall as hard as I can.

My day has gone from bad to worse. Just like my whole life.

I’m still a wreck on Tuesday, and I seriously consider skipping the self-help group.

At ten minutes to eight, I’m still pouting in the bath tub. Muffin is sitting at the edge lapping up the warm bath water.

“You’re the reason I can’t have soapy bubble baths,” I tell him.

He gives me an innocent look and keeps drinking. Then he sits up, licks his paw, and gives me a look, as if to say,
Meenie, get your weirdly pink, non-furry body out of this tub and go to your Tuesday group. The nights you feel too depressed to go are exactly the nights you should be there. Why don’t you have any fur? Here, I will lick your shoulder, because you are weird and pink like a kitten. I love you. I love you and I want you to stop moping around here, crying in the tub like a weird furless kitten.

“You’re right,” I tell him.

He blinks slowly.
I’m always right.

I pull out the drain plug and climb out.

He trots ahead of me.
Oh, you’re going out? If you’re going to be late, you should leave out some extra food, in case I get peckish.

I sneak into the group session as quietly as I can, considering how squeaky the door is. The gang is all here. There must be sixteen people, a couple of them new. Drew is here, and he barely flicks his gorgeous brown eyes up at me.

I appreciate his discretion, and cross my fingers that when it’s his turn to share, he doesn’t talk about being dry humped by a psychotic after-hours dental patient.

Feather keeps talking, reading from a book about boundaries that she’s recommending to the whole group. It sounds a little touchy feely to me, but Drew asks her to show him the cover, so maybe the book’s worth looking into.