Hurricane Days (16 page)

Watching the game, I was relieved that Dad was too busy with his work in the state legislature to come down. Usually, he hated to miss a homecoming game. Lucky for me, he couldn’t manage it this year. I imagined my parents meeting Adrienne, wondering what they would have thought of her or what she would have thought of them.

Back in reality, I noticed everyone around me still grumbling about the last call.

“It
was
an interception,” I insisted.

“Whatever,” Carol said. “Who the fuck cares?”

“Well, it seems like you do now.”

She smiled sheepishly. “Well, how could you not? Look at his tight little pants. I’m not proud, you know.” She held her hands up like she was squeezing someone’s butt. “I just wanna squeeze ’em, you know?”

She was referring to her on-again, off-again relationship with one of the tight ends. Of course, the irony of the position he played wasn’t lost on me.

“Yep, your tight end has a very tight end,” I joked. “And you’re turning into a major slut.” Chomping on popcorn, I looked around the stadium distractedly.

“With any luck. Aw, he waved at me.”

“He has something in his eye.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Carol glared at me. Then she added, “Trust me, I wish I didn’t like him. He can be a total asshole. But face it, as women we’re screwed. You can’t deny biology.”

Just then, I saw Adrienne and Sean walking hand in hand down the bleachers to their seats. “That’s my roommate,” I said.

“Wow,” Carol exclaimed. “She’s a hottie. Lotta hair.”

I smiled to myself. I hoped Carol wouldn’t see. “Yeah. She spends hours on it.”

Carol eyed my popcorn greedily. “You gonna eat all that?”

I was distracted by the vision of Adrienne laughing at something Sean said, so I absentmindedly handed the bag to Carol. I watched Adrienne push her hair back behind her left ear, the one that had a hoop pierced through the top. I’d never seen an ear piercing that wasn’t in an earlobe. There was something sexy about that top piercing, and the way she smoothed her hair behind her ear, exposing it. I felt a shove. “What?”

“I said it needs more salt!” Carol screamed over the crowd.

“Sorry!” What did she want me to do? It’s not like I kept salt packs in my purse. That was my mother. Now I was annoyed that Carol jerked me out of my thoughts.

“I’m just sayin’!”

* * *

That evening, I returned to the room to find Adrienne sitting up in bed, reading a paperback. I rarely ever found her with a textbook. “Hi,” I said.

“Hey.” She flipped a page.

“Did you have fun at the game?” I asked.

“Yeah. I thought I saw you.”

“I thought I saw you too.” I set down my backpack.

“Who was that girl you were with?” Adrienne’s question surprised me. Was she jealous?

“Carol,” I answered casually. “She’s in film.”

“Oh.”

I reached for a bottle of soda out of the miniature fridge. When I stood up, I caught a glimpse of Adrienne taking a pill and throwing it back with water. “Hung over?” I asked.

“No. Birth control.”

My heart sank. “I didn’t know you took that.”

“Only about a month now. Don’t tell anyone.”

“It’s none of my business.” I looked away, feeling like a fool. The only saving grace was the fact that no one but me knew exactly how big a fool I was. It was a secret I’d take to the grave.

“Oh my God,” Adrienne said. “You won’t believe what he did!”

I purposely checked my watch. “Oh no! I’m late!” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I promised Carol I’d study with her.” I grabbed my bag and almost made it safely out of the room.

Adrienne held my arm. “I was hopin’ you could party with us tonight.”

“I promised Carol,” I repeated. The more I said it, the more it sounded true. “I really have to go.”

But Adrienne wouldn’t let go. “Wait, please.” Her plea seemed so earnest, I stopped. “What is it?” she asked.

“What’s what?” I had to give an Oscar-winning performance now.

“You don’t like my friends.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to.” The hurt in her eyes, the tone in her voice, was clear. “You can’t possibly have that much to study.”

“You’d be amazed. Of course I know the concept of studying isn’t something you’re familiar with.” The haughty snob took over whenever I was threatened or embarrassed.

“Fuck you!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“C’mon!” she thundered. “Level with me. I can tell you don’t like Nancy. And I
know
you don’t like Becky.”

I released my backpack. “You want the truth?”

Adrienne nodded.

“Really?” I repeated.

“Yeah.”

“They act really stupid when they’re around guys. I hate that.”

“You’re so arrogant.”

I flipped my hair and thrust my chin into the air. “Maybe I am. I don’t care. But I think girls have to show they’re just as smart and strong as guys, or we’ll never be taken seriously.”

“You’re such a
feminist.
” The word slithered off her tongue like a snake.

“Have you ever looked up that word in the dictionary?” I asked in a most condescending tone. “It means someone who advocates equal rights for women. What’s wrong with that?”

“They want everyone to think like they do.”

“You know, I don’t give a shit what you think.” My own words shocked me, and probably Adrienne, but they felt good. I decided to start saying “shit” a little more often. “I’ve seen corncobs back home with more sense than you.”

“You wanna be an uptight bitch your whole life?”

“If you’re the alternative!” I grabbed my backpack again and slammed the door behind me. I rushed down the hall, but I couldn’t outrun my tears.

Chapter Thirty

Rachmaninoff crackled on the turntable. The aroma of brewing hazelnut coffee floated in the air. Carol’s dorm room was a lot messier, but I could breathe here. I watched the needle bounce up and down on black vinyl. “I haven’t seen one of these in years,” I sighed. But my casual chitchat was eclipsed by the sadness in my eyes. And Carol saw it. Of course she would; she was highly perceptive, like some advanced life form—a life form whose fuzzy brown hair kept sticking inside her glasses, but advanced nonetheless.

“You gotta really dig to find ’em now,” Carol replied, trying to straighten up papers to no avail.

I stood in the middle of clutter—piles of
Newsweek
, papers, junk food wrappers. Rows of candles were lit under the window like in a church. And on every wall were posters of classic films—
Dial “M” for Murder, Gone with the Wind, Casablanca, The Searchers
. I looked up, trying to take it all in.

“Want some coffee?” Carol asked.

“Sure. Where’s your roommate?”

“She’s usually sleepin’ over at her boyfriend’s. It works out, ’cause I’d rather live alone.”

“What about Mr. Tight End?”

“Uh…” Carol hesitated. “We had a little difference of opinion.”

“Again?”

“He’s always too aggressive after a game,” Carol explained. “He can’t admit that I’m right about everything, and he’s always wrong.” She smiled, seemingly undaunted by their rocky romance.

“Well,” I said. “You’re lucky your roommate’s never around.”

“You don’t like your roommate?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way.” I squinted at the neon raspberry rug. “She thinks I’m uptight.”

Carol poured the steaming coffee into a cup. “Yeah, well, she’s got too much hair. Stereotypes are for lazy people.”

“Yeah, she’s lazy. God, she pisses me off.”

“Look,” Carol said, handing me the mug. “Most people don’t get along with their roommates. It’ll be okay. You can come over anytime you want.”

“It’s not that. Oh, God. Carol, I really need to talk to someone about something.”

“Huh?”

I started to pace across the raspberry rug, tightening my sweaty palms into fists and breathing rapidly like I was about to give birth. “I really hope it’s okay to tell you this. But if I don’t tell someone, I’m going to explode.”

Carol eyed me suspiciously and lit up a cigarette. “You can tell me anything.”

I watched the smoke float in front of my face. “Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

“Oh, please.” She waved the smoke away. “Tell me.”

“Okay. My roommate—”

“Is a bitch.”

“Sort of, but not really. Actually, that would make it easier. I don’t know. It’s me.” I threw my head into my hands and collapsed onto one of the beds.

“What’s you? Speak English.”

“I’m scared.”

“What, she’s stashing weapons?”

I laughed nervously, crouched over into the letter “C,” holding my torso. “No. I’m scared of how I feel.”

First, Carol looked confused. Then a slow smile broke out across her face. “I get it! You got the hots for her!”

My face filled with fear. To hear it aloud… Was I that obvious? I touched my cheek to feel it burning.

“It’s okay,” Carol said. “I’m bisexual.”

“What? You never told me that!”

“You never asked.”

“Oh please! You only talk about guys.”

“Well,” Carol said, “your dad is a conservative Nazi, so I didn’t know how you’d take it.” I was greatly surprised at this new information. She continued, “It’s true. My fifth-grade teacher, Ms. Kessler. A dead ringer for Susan Sarandon.”

“Really.” I sat in awe. I needed to process this.

Carol stared off into space. “That was the only time I ever liked math.”

“I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“I even stayed after class.”

“I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“I’m the crazy one. I turned into a little stalker. I followed her home from school once.”

“That’s sort of sweet. In a sick, twisted way.” I laughed.

“So does she know?”

I raised the coffee cup to my mouth with shaking hands. “It’s so screwed up. No. I wish I had the guts to tell her.”

Carol pondered the situation a moment, slowly sucking on her cigarette. “I don’t know that I would. I’ve seen that gang of metalhead fuckers she runs around with.”

“I can’t eat. I can’t sleep.”

“You’re lucky. I gain thirty pounds.” Carol tapped ashes off into a Styrofoam cup. “Every time I like someone, thirty pounds. A really big crush, forty pounds.”

I managed a smile. “I wonder how you know, how anyone knows. I mean, I’ve never slept with a girl.”

“You don’t have to sleep with someone to know who you want to sleep with. It isn’t rocket science, kiddo.”

“I guess not. But God, Carol. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this year. I mean, it’s all I can do to just act normal.”

“What’s normal, anyway?” Carol spat.

“Acting like I’m happy while she dates this jerk.”

“Well, in that case, normal sounds pretty fucked up.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Was Robin really willing to give up everything because this woman suddenly resurfaced in her life? As she tied her light blue scarf in the mirror, she was either not positive of her decision or simply too numb to feel.

When she came downstairs, she was startled to see Tom with Jimmy and Abigail, having their coffee in the living room.

She overheard her father saying to Tom, “You know what it’s about?”

Tom answered, “No.”

A hush fell over the room when Robin entered.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said. “Abigail.” A polite nod. She could see the questions on their faces. She could hardly look at them, especially her father. She couldn’t bear his disappointment. A sick sensation came over her, as she began to doubt if she could go through with it.

“It’s all over the papers.” Jimmy’s voice boomed.

“Your blood pressure, dear.” Abigail patted his leg.

“Front page story about you talkin’ with that woman last night.” Jimmy set his cup down. The frown lines between his eyebrows deepened. “I can’t imagine what in Sam Hill possessed you to talk to her. It doesn’t look good. And at this late date…”

“I’m holding a press conference shortly,” Robin replied.

“So Tom tells us,” Jimmy said. “What’re you saying?”

“I can’t talk about it,” she said firmly.

“That’s just great,” Jimmy exclaimed. “A surprise press conference.” He patted his chest. “The old ticker can’t take any more surprises, Robin.”

“With all due respect, Daddy, it’s my career.” She folded her arms, refusing to let him make her feel guilty.

Abigail’s eyes shifted back and forth. She was a bundle of nerves, but sipped her coffee quietly as the drama played out.

“Promise me one thing,” Jimmy said, gesturing to Robin and Tom. “Y’all are stayin’ married.” Seeing Robin’s puzzled face, he added, “It looks like you’re my only hope for more grandchildren.”

“Stop that,” Abigail scolded him. “She’s too old for that. She’s in that age group where the risk goes up.”

Jimmy seemed confused.

“For things…not goin’ right.” Abigail blinked.

“She might not be the sharpest tool in the tool shed,” Robin said, glowering at Abigail. “But she loves you, Daddy. She’s a keeper.”

“Excuse me?” Abigail was offended.

Robin had no filter this morning. With everything that had transpired, she was too fatigued to keep up pretenses anymore.

“Dear, sweet Abigail,” she continued. “I’m sure you weren’t trying to call me old.” If there was one thing Robin couldn’t abide, it was any commentary about her age.

“Well of course not, dear.” Abigail tried to smooth out her ruffled feathers.

“Now, Daddy, what do you mean about grandchildren?” Robin asked, taking a seat across from her father.

“I’m afraid we got some unpleasant news,” Jimmy said. “Kenneth and Sheila are callin’ it quits.”

“What?” Robin rubbed her temples.

“You got your migraine pills?” Tom asked. He was always very solicitous of her.

She nodded. “How can this be?”

“It’s true.” The crease over Jimmy’s brow was now a crater. She could tell he was sad and anxious.

“It can’t be,” she said. “You know Kenneth. He just likes to stir the pot.”

“Afraid that’s not the case this time.” The way Jimmy didn’t look at her, the way he rubbed his knees nervously…it was true.