Love & Lies: Marisol's Story (17 page)

They seemed to be chronological, and Olivia was in them all. There was an adorable toddler who already had thick black hair, then a stubborn-looking grade-school girl, a breathtaking teenager in a bikini, and, finally, a picture of Olivia with her arms around a very handsome man that looked like it could have been taken in Harvard yard. I was surprised by that one at first, which seemed to be a portrait of a happy couple. But then I decided that no, the guy must be her brother. After all, both of them were better looking than 99 percent of the college students I’d ever seen.

I accidentally brushed the keyboard with my hand, and the screensaver photos dissolved into a menu page. I knew I shouldn’t look at it, but it was hard not to—I craved information about Olivia, and there it was in front of me.

There were only a few folders listed in the menu, but one of them was called Lillian. The novel! I’d never thought of myself as sneaky before, but there it was, the book about which Olivia would tell me nothing except the title. Just a couple of clicks away. I could just take a peek. The shower was still running. I clicked.

At the top of the page in bold capital letters was the title:
LILLIAN, WHO SAYS SHE LOVES YOU
. Which of course
reminded me that I had just said the same thing. I wondered if poor Lillian had felt as dumb afterward as I did. There was no chapter one or any other heading underneath the title. Instead, this seemed to be a series of notes about the character of Lillian.

—Hatred of her parents colors her life. She can never forgive their betrayal of her.


—Moves to the East Coast, hoping to leave her ghosts behind. At Harvard she is a brilliant student.


—So beautiful that everyone falls in love with her. They blur in her mind, one no different than another, all of them too privileged for their own good.


—She falls in love with everyone, and no one.


—Trusts no one but herself—the only way to be safe. Safety is being alone, with the door closed.


—No sadness. Lill is done with sadness. She intends to come out on top.


That was all that was written on the page. Interesting, as far as it went, but it only hinted at what the novel might actually be about. The notes about Lillian moving to the East Coast and being “so beautiful” pointed to an autobiographical element to the book, which made me feel better about my own story. If Olivia could do it, so could I. But the sentence that made me shiver was, “Safety is being alone, with the door closed.”
I suspected it said more about who Olivia really was than she’d ever told me herself.

Guiltily, I clicked back to the menu page. Where, I wondered, were the chapters themselves? But before I could see what the other files were, the shower stopped.

What was I doing snooping around on Olivia’s computer? She would be furious if she knew. I lowered the laptop case so she wouldn’t see that the screensaver was gone, then got up and walked across the room. By the time she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in terry cloth, I was sitting on the end of her bed staring blindly at a copy of
Film Comment
magazine I’d found on the floor.

I kept my eyes on the magazine while she dressed silently. Things were weird between us now, and I didn’t know whose fault it was. Who was acting stranger, Olivia or me? There was only one more kiss to come my way that afternoon, at my front door, and it didn’t tell me anything I wanted to know.

*  *  *

Sophie got the job at the bakery. They wanted her to start there right away, and Doug told her to go ahead, he’d figure out something. It was an easier job for her—only five mornings a week and only baking pies, no mixing up tuna salad or making meat loaf for the dinner crowd.

“I’ll be done by noon,” she told me. “Four hours of work a day is plenty for me; unfortunately, I’m not gettin’ no younger either.”

“I’m glad you got something good, Sophie,” Doug said. “You earned it.”

Sophie pressed her lips together tightly. “You know I’m
gonna miss this place, though. All these years of us being a team here. Seems a shame it’s all over with, just like that.” She snapped her fingers to show the speed of change.

“We’ll still be here awhile longer. You can come visit us,” Doug said with barely a trace of emotion in his voice. He was planning to retire once the Mug closed for good, and he acted like he was looking forward to it, but I knew he was actually having a hard time. I’d walked in on him when he was sitting on a box of tomato juice back in the storage room, making a gurgling sound in his throat and dabbing at his eyes with a chef’s apron. I’d backed out quietly.

Pete, the short-order cook, was going to take some of Sophie’s hours, but we wouldn’t have a baker on site anymore—we’d be getting ready-made pies from a wholesaler.

“Place is going down the tubes,” Sue, the early-shift waitress, said when I came in to relieve her on Thursday. “I’m gonna look for something in Boston. You?”

“I’ll stay here until the Mug closes,” I said. “Then I might just get temp work, you know, from an agency.”

“Marisol is going to college next fall, aren’t you, honey?” Sophie said, proud on my behalf, thinking she was coming to my rescue.

“Um, yeah.”

Sue rolled her eyes. “If that’s the case, why are you even working here in the first place?” She balled up her dirty apron and shoved it in the laundry hamper, then turned to leave before I could think of an answer. I could have said, “I have to pay rent too, you know.” But in fact I didn’t have to. My mother happily gave me all the money I needed. And Dad
had offered to find me a paid internship at MIT too, but I hadn’t wanted that. I wanted to move out of my parents’ house and get my own job and write a novel. I wanted to get going on life, to grow up. But when I thought about people like Sue or Pete or even Sophie, I realized that choosing to grow up was a luxury, one they hadn’t had.

Lee came in at three thirty as usual, and I joined her in her booth for a minute.

“So, are you getting excited about going to Provincetown?”

“I am,” Lee said. “I looked it up on the Web. It says it’s been a gay mecca for half a century. That’s pretty cool.”

“You won’t believe this place,” I assured her. “It’ll make you glad you’re gay.”

She frowned. “I
am
glad I’m gay. Don’t you think I am?”

“Well, you’re not exactly the Gay Pride poster girl.” Oh, man, was I stepping on her toes again? “Maybe it’s just that you’re depressed about having to leave Indiana.”

“I didn’t
have
to leave. I wanted to. They didn’t buy me a bus ticket and say, ‘Get outta town,’ the minute I came out!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I could have stayed. It’s not like there aren’t any gay people in Indiana, you know.”

“I know,” I said, but I wasn’t sure I did. I wasn’t at all clear about what lay between the East Coast and California. Who were all those people?

“No, you don’t know,” Lee said, obviously picking up on my ambivalence. Her voice got louder. “You think I’m a hick
from Cowtown. You probably think everybody in the Midwest still rides around in stagecoaches and gets their mail from the Pony Express!”

“I do not! Why are you getting all pissed off?” I asked.

She sighed and sipped at her tea. “Sorry. I’m not pissed off. I’m just homesick. It’s weird to live someplace where people don’t know a damn thing about the place you grew up. Or
care
.”

“That’s not true,” I said, because I felt I should.

“Oh, no? Tell me something about Indiana. Here’s an easy question: What states border it?” Lee stuck her chin out, challenging me.

“Well, Ohio, for one,” I said, pretty sure of that guess.

“What else?”

“Um, let’s see. Iowa, right?”

She made that
you’re wrong
beeping noise.

“Really? Not Iowa? Are you sure?”

She made the noise again.

“Okay, then, it must be Illinois.”

“Lucky guess. Two more to go.”

“Really? Two?” I tried to picture a map of the United States, but I was drawing a big blank on that whole middle part.

“Maybe Wisconsin?”

Beep.

“Minnesota?”

Beep.

What the hell else was up there? “North Dakota?”

“Okay, you lose. You’re not even close. It’s Michigan to
the north and Kentucky to the south. Which just goes to show that your geography skills are lousy and that nobody in the East gives a damn about the Midwest.”

“Oh, come on. I’m willing to learn! Especially now that I know there are gay people all the way out in those boondock states too.
The virus has spread!
” I said, trying to get her to laugh.

Which worked, sort of. She snorted and then looked away, reluctant to let me cheer her up completely. Well, if I couldn’t, I had an idea who could.

“Hey, you should come with me to dinner tomorrow night at my parents’ place. Home cooking to chase away homesickness. Not that my mother cooks, but at least it will be cooked in her home. Besides, they’d like to meet you. Well, Mom would, and Dad will be cordial anyway.”

“Really?” She looked skeptical.

“I told you my mother is a total gay-rights cheerleader. She’s probably planning my wedding ceremony already—you know, a cake with two brides, a gift certificate for a sperm donor . . .”

Lee shook her head. “Amazing. Sure, I’ll go. Then I’ll have even more proof for my claim that you are the luckiest person I know.”

F
RIDAY AFTERNOON
S
OPHIE GAVE ME
a big weepy hug before she left, and I had to work at not bawling myself. It was odd how you could get so close to people you didn’t even know very well just because you worked together. In four months the Mug had begun to seem like a huge part of my life. It was odd; when I was in high school, everything revolved around school or home, and that was about it. Of course, I met Gio, and later Diana, through my zine-writing, but they were high-school kids too. Now my world had gotten so much larger: a job, an apartment, an incredible (if sometimes puzzling) girlfriend. So far I was a real fan of this growing-up stuff.

Lee was waiting for me in the pit after work. “So, was this Sophie’s last day?”

I nodded. “I feel kind of sick.”

“Because you had to say good-bye to her?”

“Because I had three pieces of her lemon meringue pie.”

“Three!”

“I had to! When will I ever have it again?”

“I thought you said she’d be working at—”

“It won’t be the same!” I yelled.

She put her hand on my arm. “I think you’re having a sugar meltdown. Let’s go get some protein at your parents’ house.”

“I can never eat again.”

My mother threw open the door and grabbed me in her usual engulfing way. I introduced Lee, and Mom smothered her, too. Oops, I’d meant to warn Lee about that. She knew now. Dad showed up behind Mom and kissed me on the forehead, then politely shook hands with Lee.

“So, Marisol tells me you just moved here from Illinois!” Mom said as she ushered us into the living room, which she insisted on referring to as “the parlor.”

Lee smiled, and I ducked my head. “Indiana, actually. I’ve been here about six weeks.”

Mom grabbed her hand. “Well, we hope you’ll love it here and decide to stay. This is a very supportive community for gays and lesbians. And I think there’s a gay-straight alliance at your high school, Rindge and Latin, isn’t there?”

Lee was a bit taken aback at how rapidly Mom had gotten to the point; she shot me a quick look of surprise. Of course none of it surprised me.

“Yeah, there is,” Lee said. “I haven’t joined it, though. I mean, I don’t really know those kids.”

Mom thought that over. “My friend Madeleine’s son goes to Rindge—he must be in the GSA. Let me call her and find out about it for you. You should meet Theo anyway—he can introduce you to everyone. The GSAs around here are very vital, very active.” She was on a roll. “Do you think your parents would be interested in getting some materials from PFLAG? I certainly don’t want to force this
on them, but if you think it might be . . .”

On and on she went. Saving people: her life’s work. I could see Lee’s initial hesitations melt away; before long she and my mother were old buddies. Mom even got her to promise to ride on the PFLAG float in the Pride parade next spring.

“Unless, of course, by that time you’re involved with some other gay organization and you’d rather ride with them. I would completely understand that,” Mom said, smiling.

As we walked into the dining room, Lee whispered in my ear. “Your mother is so cool!”

“I know,” I said, but in truth I forgot it sometimes.

Over salmon patties and baked squash Mom continued to shine her high beams on Lee. “Now, tell me again where you two met?”

“Marisol and me? I came into the Mug, where she works. We just started talking one day.”

“Well, that’s not terribly romantic, is it? We’ll have to come up with a better story than that. I’m thinking you met down by the Charles River during the annual regatta. Marisol was sitting under a tree, reading, but she couldn’t help noticing when you—”

“Mom!” I interrupted. “You’re jumping to conclusions! Lee and I aren’t dating each other—we’re just friends.”

Her smile deflated. “Oh, dear. I thought, when you said . . .”

Dad, however, looked relieved. “Helen, I don’t know why you insist on trying to push Marisol into dating. She’ll find someone when she’s ready.”

“I wasn’t pushing. I just thought—”

“Actually, Marisol
has
been seeing someone,” Lee said. “Haven’t you? The woman who bought you the necklace?”

“You have?” Mom said. “You’re seeing someone and you didn’t tell me?”

“Mom, it’s not a big deal. I went out to dinner once or twice. I don’t report it to you every time I eat a meal with somebody.”

“You don’t?” She actually looked crushed. This is the downside to having a cool and involved mother. She thinks she’s cool enough to be involved in every single thing you do.