Just Like Fate (9 page)

An hour later, I’ve got my feet in a tub and the massage chair
on high. Natalie’s squirming in a chair next to me as a woman
rubs a pumice stone over her heel: She’s super ticklish.

“I hate this part,” she says when she realizes I’m looking
at her.
“Think of something else,” I say. “Read your magazine.”
“I can’t focus! Distract me!” she pleads.
“Uh . . . okay,” I say, trying to think of something to say
that isn’t about our family; I don’t want to talk about Gram.
The only other person on my mind is a guy. “You remember
Joel Ryder, right?”
“Lauren’s boyfriend?” she asks with a curled lip, then
squirms in her seat. The woman tells her to hold still.
“You don’t like him?” I ask, surprised.
“Not him,” she says. “Lauren is devil spawn. She majorly
screwed over a good friend of mine last year, and I heard that
she’s still up to her old ways this year.”
“Good,” I say, relieved, “because I made out with her boyfriend. Twice.”
The cosmetologists stifle giggles. Natalie’s eyes widen
and her mouth drops open, but I see a hint of amusement like
she thinks it’s good gossip and not the horrifying kind. Plus
she’s finally sitting still. She turns her shoulders toward me
and leans in a little. “Tell me everything.”
For twenty minutes I tell Natalie the story of Joel, from
the day we met to my longtime obsession to his out-of-theblue kiss in the auditorium to the fairgrounds to his giving
me the brush-off at school. Nat is completely engrossed in the
story—and I can tell by her face that she’s absorbing without
judgment. Maybe we really have moved past our issues.
When I’m finished, she sighs.
“Okay, so first of all, let’s just get one thing straight: That
guy’s a complete bag,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re a
total catch! I mean you got Dad’s tall, skinny genes—jerk!—
and your hair is straight and shiny—I’ve always coveted it.
Plus you’re smart and funny—you’re the whole package. He’s
a loser if he’s not into you.”
“Thanks, Nat,” I say, embarrassed. I can’t remember the
last time she’s given me a compliment, let alone a whole string
of them like that.
She likes my hair?
“Now, I’m not into this whole cheating thing—it’s beneath
you,” she says, managing to sound more friend than parent.
“But I’ve heard gossip about Lauren’s exploits at school; the
girl’s not exactly a one-man woman if you know what I mean.
So, don’t feel too guilty about her.” My shoulders relax a bit
before Nat adds, “But seriously, Coco, cheating—whether
you’re the cheater or the cheatee—only makes you feel bad
about yourself.” Her eyes hold mine so intently that I think
she might have experience in this area. I want to ask whether
she’s been cheated on, but she keeps going.
“What you need to do is get Joel to tell you how he really
feels and then move on from there,” she says. “If he was just
looking for a hookup, then fine, you can get over that. There’s
a cute guy in my Spanish class I’ll set you up with. But if Joel
really likes you—and if he’s going to break up with Lauren—
then great.”
“Thanks. I really . . . it’s nice to talk to someone about this
stuff.” I pause, considering, and then I just go for the sentiment. “It’s nice to talk to
you
.”
“I wish it didn’t take Gram dying to force us into hanging
out again,” she says with a sad smile. “But I’m glad we got here
one way or another.”
“Me too,” I say.
The massage feature on my chair stops abruptly, and I
reach over to restart it. I look back at Natalie, thinking that I
might tell her I love her, but she’s already reading about the
latest celebrity breakup while the pedicurist paints her toenails bright red. So, I leave it alone for now.

“Can I tell you something, and you promise not to judge me?”
I ask later at Simone’s house, just before taking the biggest
bite of pizza known to man.

“Shoot,” Simone says, distracted by a magazine she’s flipping through.
“I’m embarrassed about the whole Joel thing,” I say, lowering my eyes. “Both that I fell for his tortured soul routine
and the fact that I’m super sad that he didn’t leave his plastic
girlfriend for me. I’m a horrible person, right?”
“Not nearly as horrible as I’d be.” She grins. When I don’t
laugh, she throws her arm over my shoulders in a side hug.
“Linus, you’re easily the nicest person I know. Joel fed you
some lines—lame ones, but whatever—and you believed him.
I’m pretty sure that makes him the jerkoff in this scenario.”
“I guess,” I say. Simone pulls away and grabs her own
slice of pizza. “Before Gram died,” I start again, “she told me
to be careful of who I love, to not let them take too much.”
“Gram was a smart lady,” Simone says through a mouth
full of food.
I smile. “Yeah. She was. She also told me to not let a bad
choice ruin my life. Does Joel count as one of those?”
“Definitely.”
I nod, thinking it over. I’m not in love with Joel, even
though I’ve dreamed of him for years. But if it can still hurt
this much, I can’t imagine how much
real
love must suck.
“You know,” Simone adds, “I’m reading an interview in
Rolling Stone
with the lead singer of Electric Freakshow, and
he said he wrote their last song about the whole concept of
choices and where they lead.” She smiles. “Maybe Gram read
that same article.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure River Devlin was a huge source of
inspiration for her.”
“Anything’s possible.” When she leaves to grab us Cokes,
I feel unsettled. Because I can still hear the sorrow in Gram’s
voice when she said, “Never let them take what’s
you
.”
I resolve at that second to end this drama with Joel, to stop
sneaking around, to stop waiting for him. I won’t let him take
what’s me. So later that night, after the room falls quiet with
only Simone’s soft snoring in the air, I sit up, throw off the
covers, and use my phone to guide me out into the hallway.
Then, I type, without thinking, what I need to say to him.
IT’S CRAP THAT YOU IGNORED ME FOR TWO DAYS.
WE NEED TO TALK—OR ACTUALLY, YOU DO. WHAT DO
YOU WANT?

I hit send before my rational side realizes what’s happening. After it’s gone, I go back and reread the text—that’s when
the worrying starts. I stare at my phone for a full two minutes,
willing it to chime.

He’s with Lauren—of course he’s not answering my texts.
Spending time with Natalie and then Simone must have
pumped me up enough to harden my heart—even a little—
because although I’m aware of the taste of rejection in the
back of my mouth, I’m happy that I sent the message. At least
he knows what’s on my mind. At least he knows I’m not some
pathetic wimp. Maybe I dodged a bullet here.
I creep back into Simone’s room and climb under the air
bed covers. And this time, I fall asleep.

When I wake to Simone’s mom’s heels clicking on the hardwood floors at seven the next morning, I stretch and yawn and
smile at the ceiling—it was a peaceful rest. But my blood pressure rises when I tap on my phone: At two in the morning,
Joel wrote back. It’s just one word, but it sends shivers down
my spine—and in the light of the new day, my girl power faded
from sleep, I’m not sure whether they’re the bad or the good
kind.

Saturday evening, I’m loading the dishwasher when my phone
rings from the counter. My stress level climbs as I lean over
and check the caller ID, worried it’s my mother, who I haven’t
spoken to, or wondering if it could be Chris, who has yet to
actually call me.

When I see it’s Simone, I swallow hard. I never called her
back after our last conversation. My hand is actually shaking
when I bring the phone to my ear.

She’s quick to squash that lie.
“Oh, hey,” she responds with fake peppiness. “Guessing
you’re not coming out tonight—seeing as you’re not here. But
that’s okay. I’m getting used to you bailing.”
“The party.” I close my eyes, remembering that I agreed
weeks ago to show up at Alan Fritz’s annual October bash.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I forgot; I would’ve—”
“Would you have, Caroline?” The hurt is thick in her
voice, and although I know it’s my fault, I’m not sure what to
say. “You said you were moving to your dad’s to deal, but all
I know is that you seem to have cut me out of your life. I’m
drowning here without you. I—” She chokes up, and I lower
my head, feeling horrible for how I’ve been treating her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Don’t you see that that’s the problem?” she asks, her
voice picking up a higher pitch. “You never fight for anything.
Stand up for your goddamn self and fix things.”
Her words tick me off, maybe because I know they’re
partly true. “You sound like Natalie.”
“Yeah? Well, at least your sister isn’t leaving her friends to
live in some guilt-free fantasy world.”
“It’s far from guilt free,” I snap back. My father pokes
his head in the room, surveying my stance at the dishwasher
before retreating back into the living room.
“Staying there isn’t going to make it better,” Simone says.
“I wish you could just see that.”
I’m silent for a long time, and Simone waits. I almost
expect her to hang up on me, but then I remind myself that
Simone would never hang up on me. And she’d never cut me
out of her life. Not for anything. I let my anger roll away, shove
it away, so that I can claim back a little bit of myself.
“Do you still want me to go to that party with you?” I ask.
“I’ll drive back right now.” I realize that I mean it.
“No,” she says, her voice softer. “Alan’s lame anyway. But
maybe you can call more often. Or at least acknowledge that
you still care about me.”
“Mony, you’re my best friend. I’ll come home tomorrow,
okay? We’ll . . . we’ll go out for fro-yo or something.”
She laughs, and the sound of it makes me smile. “Bribing
me with frozen treats?” she asks. “You know the way to my
heart. Speaking of heart, I thought you should know that Joel
Ryder has not only been asking about you, but that he and
Lauren have ended their star-crossed romance. Looks like
he’s wide open for you.”
I wait for a flutter, a tingle, anything to happen. But my
heart is calm. “Actually,” I say. “I think I might be over him.”
Simone’s gasp is long and dramatic. “You little minx.
You’ve met a boy, haven’t you?”
I lean against the granite counter, grinning as I tell Simone the details of my random encounters with Chris. She’s
riveted, enough so that she forgives me for being a coward. If
only I could forgive myself.
Simone makes me promise that tomorrow will be just us—
no other friends or hot guys—and that I have to re-create my
entire life through charades so she doesn’t feel left out. When
I agree, we hang up.
I stand at the sink for a while. The dishes done, the house
quiet, I let myself think of Gram. It was just a few weeks ago
when I told her I was sick of doing the dishes and that we
should start using paper plates. She smiled from her comfy
chair, still sorting through the ads in the Sunday paper. She
told me that dishwashing would make me a better person. I
told her it worked both ways.
Then my seventy-five-year-old grandmother came over
and took the sponge from my hand. She brushed back my hair
and told me to finish my homework.
I burst into tears, wishing for even one moment back. One
irrelevant moment. My shoulders shake with my cries, but
then I hear the clank of the washing machine lid in the other
room.
I wipe quickly at my face and turn the knob of the dishwasher, filling the room with a familiar
whoosh
. I wipe down
the counter and then wander out of the kitchen in search of
life. In search of distraction. I find Dad and Debbie in the
laundry room.
“For the millionth time, the soap goes in
here
,” Debbie is
saying, her voice teasing, not exasperated like Mom’s always
used to be when schooling Dad on housework. Debbie isn’t
nearly as stereotypically evil as a stepmother should be. And
it’s clear that she really does love my father. Even if he seems
to be clueless half the time.
“Hi,” I say from the doorway. They both look up and
smile. “Dishes are done.”
“You didn’t smash any?” my father asks, acknowledging
the fight he witnessed.
“No. Simone and I just had to work through some things.
We’re cool now. I’m going to visit her tomorrow.”
“Thank you so much for helping out around the house,
Caroline,” Debbie says warmly. “You really didn’t have to do
that.”
“Yes, thank you, Coco,” Dad says, and the sound of my
childhood nickname from him feels nice. “You saved me from
having to do it . . . wrong.” He smirks at Debbie; she swats him.
“You load with no order,” she says.
“There’s a method to my madness,” he counters. “You
just can’t see it.”
“No one could see it,” she says, laughing. Then she
remembers I’m standing there. “We’re going to watch a movie;
would you like to join us?”
Although at one time that thought might have made me
cringe, now it actually seems comforting—almost like a hug.
“I’d like that,” I say, a little timidly. “Let me just go upstairs
and change. I’ll be back in a few.” I turn to leave them with
their linens.
“Oh, and Caroline?” Dad says, more serious this time. I
turn to face him. “Your mom called again today. She’d really
like to talk to you. Maybe you want to give her a ring before
the movie?”
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” I say, then turn and walk away.
I’ve only talked to my mother once in the past three days; I
might never speak to my sister again. Teddy has been keeping
me up to date on the goings-on with Gram’s estate—which is
leading up to a battle between my mom and aunt since Gram’s
will wasn’t that clear. The thought turns my stomach, my
grandmother’s possessions being sorted through and fought
over, proving she’s never coming back.

An hour later I’m settled in, watching the movie with Dad and
Debbie—on a Saturday night—when my phone rings. I grin
from ear to ear when I see Chris’s number. He’s finally calling.

“Sweet Caroline. Bah da da. Good times never seem so
good—”
I hang up and cover my mouth as I laugh. I told him not to
sing that damn song. He must have continued his chorus for a
while because my phone doesn’t ring again for a few minutes.
My father glances over at me, his finger on the pause button,
but I tell him to go on without me. Then I take my phone to
my room.
“I thought we had a deal,” I say the minute I answer.
“I said I would try. I have amazing willpower, but tonight,
I just couldn’t resist.”
“You’re a terrible singer,” I say. I stop in front of my dresser
mirror, sliding my hair behind my ear; there’s already a blush
high on my cheeks.
“Since karaoke’s out,” Chris says, “where would you like
to go on our date?”
“I don’t remember agreeing to a date.”
“You don’t remember asking me out?” He pretends to be
surprised. “You seemed pretty insistent, and I interpreted that
to mean that you’re completely and hopelessly in love with
me. Did I read too much into it?”
“Wow.”
“In fact, I thought we both decided this was fate. And
believe me, Caroline. You don’t want to tempt fate.” He sighs.
“I think we have no choice but to see this thing through. It will
be difficult, but I think we’ll persevere in the face of—”
“Oh my God. If I say yes, will you shut up?”
“Yep.”
I close my eyes, biting back my smile. “Since I’m new in
town, maybe you should pick where we go. But nothing fancy.”
“Would it worry you if I said I already had an idea?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’ll pick you up in a half hour.”