Glass (29 page)

I half-expect him to ask

to come inside, smoke

a little, make love a little.

Instead, he turns to me.

I know you’re mad at me.

But please understand…

“I do understand. Not

your job to babysit me.”

Kind of mean, but oh well.

Okay. Right. But please

be careful. This is a major

quantity. Don’t leave it…

His money. I understand

that, too. “I’ll be careful. I

want to off this right away

and pay you back. Will you

let your people know how

to get hold of me?”

No problem. I trust you to pay

me back.
He pauses.
I just

want you to know I never

expected Angela to come

home or I wouldn’t have…

I still care for you, you know.

That phrase again. Everyone

cares for me. They just don’t

know how to love me.

About Trey coming tonight?

I still love him. But I can’t

seem to find that high-

blood-pressure anticipation.

Maybe it’s knowing some

other girl has sent him on

his way. Maybe it’s because

I’m on my period and can’t

make love to him, anyway.

Is it because I’m not buzzed?

Regardless, I dial his number,

with the usual result, leave

him directions to the motel,

sans an “I love you” addendum.

Wonder if he’ll even notice.

Wonder if he’ll even care.

Wonder if he’ll drop in, score,

drop back out of my life again

until he needs to restock.

Maybe I should get buzzed.

Next, I call Mom. “Sorry I

missed your birthday, but I

had to move out of the Red

Rock house…. No, the guy’s

wife came back and they

don’t need a nanny anymore….

I’m in a weekly for now. Can I

come out tomorrow and bring your

birthday present? See you then.”

Maybe I shouldn’t get buzzed.

Who knows if or when Trey

will get here? I flip on the TV,

debating whether or not to get

buzzed. An hour passes. Two,

with nothing but reality shows

to keep me company. Who needs

that kind of reality? I pick

up the phone and call Quade.

We talk for a long while, and

after we hang up, I get buzzed.

On the door, I am very buzzed

and almost beyond caring

that he has finally arrived.

One look at him and all that

changes. He’s shaken, pale.

He stumbles through the door

and I lock it behind him,

invite him into my arms.

“What’s wrong?” I guide

him into a chair.
I, uh…just

had a major blowout with

Brad.
He catches his breath,

chooses his words.
I went out

there first, looking for ice.

Angela was over the top.

How was I supposed to know

she’d gone to Narcotics Anonymous

and made Brad go too?

How was I supposed to know

she’d fucking freak out and

threaten to call the cops?

I mean, standing on the door

step, screaming. Damn, she’s

crashing hard. Then, when I

told her to shut the hell up, Brad

went off the deep end. I thought

he was going to haul off and hit me.

I can picture it all clearly. But

there’s a puzzle piece missing.

And it has something to do with,

“Crashing?” How did he know

she was using, let alone crashing?

I never noticed it, not even

sitting across the table from

her. What hasn’t he told me?

“What haven’t you told me?”

He stops ranting, studies me,

trying to decide how much

information I can handle.

Promise you won’t get mad?

I don’t want to fight with you,

too.
He looks like he could break.

This can’t be good. But

what the hell? I’d almost

given up on ever seeing

him again, anyway. If this

is the last straw, I don’t have

to get mad, do I? “Promise.”

You know the girl in Stockton,

the one I told you about?

Truth is, it was Angela.

Bang! Everything falls

right into place. I do get

mad. Jealous. Insanely so.

My mouth tries to open.

But I won’t let it. Not yet.

Not until I’ve had enough

time to completely digest

his confession, consider

its implications. I did promise.

I figure we might as well

ingest a little crystal.

Maybe not the best idea,

but I can’t just sit here staring at him like a fool.

Anyway, I need more

information and this is

the best way to get it.

The monster knows

the right questions to

ask. Finally, it pries

my mouth open. “Did she

leave Brad for you?”

The monster supplies

answers.
Not exactly.

I mean, we flirted a little.

I think that convinced

her she wanted to see

other men. But she didn’t

come directly to Stockton.

And when she did, she

dated other guys too.

A bigger question looms,

one I don’t want to ask

because I might hate

the answer. “Are you

in love with her?” Is

that really why he went

over there tonight?

He comes over, kneels

in front of me, looks up

into my eyes.
No. I told

you it was sex only. In

fact, I was relieved when

she informed me she was

going back to Brad.

The guilt, believe it or

not, was incredible. Not

only because of Brad,

but because of you.

I love you. And I don’t

ever want to hurt you.

Kristina wants to kiss him

with every fiber of her

being. But Bree wants

him to pay, or at least

sweat it a little. We

reach a compromise.

“Does that mean you’ll

quit sleeping around?”

His immediate answer

surprises me. No, it

shocks me.
Only if

you ask me to.

“I’m asking.”

Okay.
He tilts his face

up toward mine, requesting

a meeting of lips.

“One more thing.”

What?

“Answer your damn phone.”

We take my car home.

Mom and Scott didn’t

meet Trey before, but

they might recognize

the Mustang. I want

them to like him. Need

them to love him, one-

tenth as much as I do.

I hold a dozen supermarket

roses in my lap. Scentless.

What happened to red rose

perfume? Has the monster

stolen my sense of smell?

No, I smell tobacco, too

strong in my hair and

clothes. I smell deodorant,

his and mine. I smell

leather seats and a faint

aura of crystal. But still

no red rose perfume.

Frustrated, nervous, I

decide confession is

in order. “Remember

a few months ago when

you dropped me off at

home? Mom told me

never to bring you there.

That’s why I wanted

us to come in this car.

I want them to get to

know you without thinking

you’re a meth fiend.”

Well, I’ll do my best to make

them think otherwise.
Then

he poses an interesting question.

But what if that’s what I am?

With a frosty
Hello.
The Queen

of Cool assesses Trey. Finally

she offers,
I’m Marie.

And you are…

Trey does his best to be

pleasant.
Pleased to meet

you. I’m Trey, Kristina’s…

He crash-lands on
fiancé.

Mom’s mouth drops wide,

in perfect unison with mine.

Is that a fact? Kristina

forgot to mention it.

Unfazed, Trey trumps

Mom’s clichéd hand.
We

only decided last night.

She wanted to surprise you.

I interrupt the uneasy

introduction with a bouquet

of scentless red roses.

“Happy birthday, Mom.”

Trey, as already noted,

is a major player.
Yes,

happy birthday…Mom.

He gifts her with his great smile.

Mom is not appreciative.

Ahem. Let’s go inside…
Her

unfinished sentence hangs midair:

before anyone notices you here.

The first is Hunter, who

can now not only crawl

but also pull himself up

and walk, holding on to

the coffee table. He’ll be

off and running soon.

Where has the time

gone?

The second is Jake, whose

voice has lowered into

bass range. I guess we

haven’t spoken enough

the last few months for

me to notice the shift.

Where has my little brother

gone?

His girlfriend is inside

too. They wade patiently

through the obligatory

introductions, disappear

upstairs to spend time

alone in Jake’s room.

Where has propriety

gone?

Despite Mom’s clear

disapproval of Trey,

Scott seems to accept

him. They talk sports.

Talk college. Talk me.

Mom remains aloof.

Where has solidarity

gone?