Lipstick Apology (18 page)

“What?” I asked, feeling analyzed.

Anthony pointed. “You have seven unused canvases. Ten unused paintbrushes.” His lips moved silently as he counted. “Twelve Bic gel pens.
Twelve?
Stacks of books and two of the same iPods. Do you like buy in bulk or something?”

I picked up the iPods. “One is for music, one is for audio-books.” I looked around. “If I like something, I want to have a duplicate. You know, in case something happens to the first one.”

Anthony got a look on his face—his dark eyes kind of crinkled for a second and his eyebrows scrunched together. Then it passed. “What about the canvases—they're all blank. Are you ever going to paint something?”

“I guess I'm just waiting to see if someday I'll discover I have my mom's artistic ability.”

He walked over toward my bookshelves and leaned in to examine my photos. He pointed to the picture of my parents that I took the summer before the accident. In the photo, Mom is on her knees in her tomato garden. She has on a big straw hat and lime green gardening gloves. She's so engrossed in her tomatoes that she doesn't see my dad sneaking behind her, about to spray her with a water hose.

“Your parents?”

I nodded and smiled.

“Wow, your mom is really pretty.”

I didn't correct the tense.

I leaned over his shoulder, taking in Mom's shoulder-length blond hair and the way her smile lit up her whole face.

Anthony used his thumb to wipe off the thin layer of dust and examined it closely. “You look like her.”

A big lump stuck in my throat and my eyes started to well up. Anthony glanced up at me.

“You know, if your eyebrows weren't so bushy and your cheeks weren't all pouchy like you had nuts hidden back there.” He put the frame down and playfully filled his cheeks up with air and messed up his eyebrows. “You're sort of a squirrel-like version of your mom.”

I slapped him on the shoulder. “God, you're so annoying.”

“Hey,” he said. “I knew it was about time for you to start freaking out.”

I thought back to that day a few weeks ago and laughed. Imagine: Anthony kissing me. It seemed so ridiculous now. He was like a big brother, warm and comfortable. Then thinking about kissing brought an image of Owen's soft lips to mind. I blushed.

“Okay,” I said, refocusing and taking out my lab book. “I'm totally ready to conquer this report.”

Unfortunately, I was wrong. After three straight hours of Anthony walking me through the calculations, my head throbbed and I still didn't know the difference between pressure and volume. And now Anthony was throwing around the word
solubility
. I massaged my temples.

“Let's take a break,” Anthony suggested. “If you don't mind walking a few blocks, I know a place I think you'd like.”

It was overcast and breezy. Anthony shoved his ungloved hands into his coat pockets. We walked briskly down 11th Street to the intersection with Bleecker Street. Most of the trees had lost their leaves, and scattered Halloween decorations popped up in window displays. Anthony stopped in front of a small bookstore. A black awning draped over the green-painted building. In white print it read:
Biography Bookshop.
Hundreds of books were stacked on a table out front. Anthony opened the door, and I stepped inside. The warm air enveloped my body.

“This place is really cool,” I said, looking at the thousands of books crammed into the wooden shelves.

“I know. It's awesome,” Anthony said. He held up a book:
Chemistry for Dummies
.

“Ha Ha,”
I snickered.

After browsing around for about thirty minutes, we met up at the cash register. I found two novels. Anthony was holding
101 New Italian Meals.

“It's my mom's birthday next week,” he said.

We paid for our books and headed outside. I followed Anthony across the street.

“Okay, I'm probably asking for trouble getting you all hopped up on sugar, but this place is unbelievable.” He opened the white door.

“Magnolia Bakery?” I asked. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because,” he said. “It's where all the celebrities go to break their diets.”

“I can't believe you shop the competition,” I teased.

“It's the cupcakes,” he said, smiling. “They're the best.”

We each ordered a vanilla cupcake and then crossed the street to the small park. We sat on a bench. Across from us a white-haired man in a suit had his tassled loafers propped up on a stone table.

Looking at Anthony, with a small blob of frosting below his nose, I felt a certain kind of ease. And even though I had spent more physical time with Andi and Lindsey and more mental time obsessing about Owen, with Anthony, I felt a level of comfort that is typically reserved for early childhood friends—someone who knows your history and requires no explanation.

“Can I ask you something?” I looked up from my cupcake.

Anthony smirked. “Only if my answer will not turn you into a raging lunatic, like it has before.”

“Seriously,” I said.

“Okay, what?”

“Say you were dating someone . . .” I started.

“Now, why do you make that sound so far-fetched?” he interrupted.

“Hush! Let me finish! Okay, say you were in a
committed relationship
. . .”

Anthony shook his head, laughing.

I continued. “Would there ever be an innocent reason for you to do something with a
different
girl? Like, could it be just a
friends
thing?”

“What is it with you girls and your drama?” Anthony leaned back on the wooden bench and took a bite of his cupcake.

There was shouting and we saw a tall man dressed like Tina Turner arguing with another man dressed like Cher. They entered the park.

“Is today Halloween?” I asked, confused. I'd thought it was only October 26th, but considering how disconnected I tended to be lately, it was hard to say. I took one look at Anthony, though, and realized I was wrong.

Anthony laughed at my reaction. “Every day here is an education for you.” He chuckled again. “Jolie said you guys were going to watch
When Harry Met Sally
tonight, right?”

“What does that have to do with it?” I asked.

“The whole basis of that movie is that guys and girls can't just be friends.”

“Really?” That sounded intriguing. “Do you believe that?” A breeze blew and a few crinkly leaves landed in my lap.

“I'm here with you, aren't I? Unless you don't consider me a friend,” he joked. “Just your chemistry warrior.”

I smirked at him. “I tolerate you the best I can. Now, back to my question: Does, say, touring the Statue of Liberty qualify as a friendship activity, or is it too romantic?”

“Is this about Owen? Because I don't think he tours the city with Aidan. Especially not at One If by Land, Two If by Sea.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Yes, I know that you guys went out. It's a small school, Em.”

I swallowed and ran my fingers through my hair.

The two drag queens passed by our bench. “Mmm. Lovers and their cupcakes. Too cute!” the shorter one said, grinning at the other as they left the park.

I blushed and looked back at Anthony. He raised his eyebrows and I giggled. “Actually,” I said. “This is not about Owen.”

He crinkled his forehead with curiosity.

I explained about finding Mom's cards and photo. “The date on the photo,” I started.

“Were your parents married at the time?” Anthony asked tentatively.

My stomach tightened. I nodded. “But it could have just been a friends kind of thing, right? It doesn't mean that she . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to finish my own thoughts.

He rubbed his mouth with his hand. “That's a little dicey. I don't know . . .” He paused.

I felt the back of my throat start to burn like I was getting ready to cry. The cold air nipped at the back of my neck.

“I don't know, Em,” he said again. “Maybe you should give up on the search for answers to your mom's apology. You're not really getting anywhere, and you might stumble into some stuff that maybe you don't want to know.”

I knew that he was trying to protect me, but suddenly I was angry. I swallowed hard and blotted at my eyes. “You were the one that told me you would ransack the house. You told me to Google her name. YOU told me I should stop being afraid!”

The two college-age girls sitting on the bench next to us glanced over.

Anthony smiled a sad smile. “Sorry, Em. Sometimes my advice is all wrong.”

I couldn't look at him for a minute. I just stared down at the little heart that was carved into the wood of the bench, pressing into it with my chapped finger. I was so angry. Look for answers, don't be afraid. Don't look for answers, they might hurt you. I felt like I was trying to rock a vending machine to free a jammed bag of candy. Back and forth. The harder I pushed, the more the candy got wrapped around the wire coil.

Anthony's phone rang. He glanced at the screen, sighed, and put his phone away.

I tossed a napkin across the bench at him. “Wipe your mouth,” I said. I got up from the bench. Birds cawed through the cool gray October sky. “And go call your mom back,” I added. “I'm sure she's wondering where you are.”

I walked away, toward the park gate, and rested my hand on the cold railing, staring at the people bustling by in their fall jackets and scarves. I wondered how many of them were hurrying home to their mothers.

ANTHONY WAS UNUSUALLY QUIET
as we walked back to the apartment.

“Sorry,” I said finally. “Sorry I snapped.”

The corners of Anthony's mouth quivered, then he burst out laughing. “Man, you are hanging on by a thread! But how come I'm always the one around when it snaps?”

I smacked him. “Shut up.”

Back at the apartment, Anthony handed me a sheet of study notes to help me prepare for our quiz on Tuesday.

After he left, I called Georgia and told her about finding the cards and picture. I was waiting for her to cheer me up, tell me a long story about the latest drama going on at school, but Georgia was unusually quiet.

“G, you knew my parents better than anyone,” I went on. “You know how Mom stuck Post-it notes in Dad's briefcase every day. And how she sat through all those Eagles games even though she hated sports. And remember on his fortieth birthday when she made that two-tier cake from scratch? I mean, she really loved him. Right? She wouldn't have cheated on him, would she? Do you think this is linked to the apology?”

Georgia let out a long breath. “I don't know. Maybe the Statue of Liberty thing was just an innocent friends thing.” She said what I wanted to hear, but her voice was flat and unconvincing.

“That's what I was thinking.” I stared at my oversized shadow on the long bedroom wall. I could hear Georgia breathing. Again, I imagined rocking the jammed vending machine. When would the candy bar finally break free and rid me of this permanent state of dangle? I changed the topic. “Speaking of friends, have you ever seen
When Harry Met Sally
?”

“No. Why?”

“Jolie and Anthony said the whole movie is about whether guys and girls can be friends. It's supposed to be really good. I want you to rent it and tonight at seven call me so we can watch it together.”

“Sounds like a plan. Oh, and Em?” She lowered her voice slightly. “Maybe you should lay off trying to understand your mom's apology.”

I swallowed. “Well, what am I supposed to do now? Give up on finding my answers?” Now that I had finally found the courage to start searching, I knew there was no way I could stop—not with the feeling of possible revelation growing deep inside my gut—a feeling of both fascination and fear.

It was silent on the other end for a few seconds. Georgia let out another exhale. “Do what you have to do, Em. Okay, talk to you at seven.”

I invited Lindsey over, because to Jolie's shock, she hadn't seen the movie either.

Lindsey and I camped out on the floor, dressed in sweats, propped up against the coffee table. Jolie came home with two large boxes of pizza and paper plates.

At seven sharp, Georgia called. I handed the phone to Lindsey and my two friends finally met.

Lindsey handed the phone back to me. I plugged in my earpiece and we popped the DVD in.

Trent bounded through the door, a bag of popcorn in one hand and a six-pack of Diet Coke in the other. “I can't believe you started the movie without me,” he whined.

“It's just the opening credits,” Jolie said.

Trent pointed a finger at my phone and earpiece. “I need the 411 on this.”

“Georgia's going to watch the movie with us,” I explained.

“Thank God for free nights and weekends,” Trent said, sitting on the couch next to Jolie. “The evolution of Sally's hair through the years is the best part of this movie.”

“Shut up and let us watch,” Jolie said.

From the moment Harry and Sally took off toward a new life in New York, I knew I was going to like the movie. Trent grabbed my earpiece and debated with Georgia about which haircut best suited Sally.

Jolie, Lindsey, and I argued whether men and women could just be friends. After all, in the movie, Harry and Sally did get married.

“I just hope one day I can find my own Harry,” Lindsey said, turning around and propping her elbows on the coffee table.