Pretty Hate (New Adult Novel) (19 page)

“She was not there. The three of us made those on our own,” I said.

“Because
she
was probably at work,” my mother said and drank her beer.

“Or
she
was in a bar picking up some strange,” I said.

“Holy shit,” Ivory-Lou said under his breath and put his fork down.

My mother looked at me and pointed.

“That’s real nice talk, Beth, real nice! You know, I--”

“Another beer, Tandy...Mrs. Munroe?” Yolanda said and stood from the table.

“Yes, thank you,” my mother said and stared at me. “That’d be real nice.”

“See, Yolanda,” I said, “you discovered the secret to shutting her up...offer more alcohol.”

“Beth?” Ivory-Lou said and shook his head.

Yolanda handed my mother another beer and she took a sip and stared at me.

“I spent very little time in bars when you kids were young,” she said.

“Bull!” I said. “You know, India and Sahara are included in the dinner parties at the house because their parents want their kids around them.”

“Oh, that sounds nice...parents partying with kids! That I never did,” my mother said as she looked at Ivory-Lou and nodded. “My girls were always safe.”

“Different strokes,” Ivory-Lou said and sighed.

“Yeah, well Lucia hangs with a higher caliber crowd than you do, Mother,” I said.

“Let’s stop beating around the bush and get to the bone of this, Beth,” my mother said and took a sip of her beer. “Because I didn’t craft, ask your opinion and party with you, you’re saying I didn’t care? Is that right?”

“Something like that,” I said and picked at the cover of the sour cream container on the table.

“Well, maybe if I had a rich man to take care of me like
Lucia
, I coulda done all those things, but I didn’t. My husband died, Beth, it was not my fault. And your father--”

“Never gave a shit about you,” I said and stared at her.

“Beth?” Ivory-Lou said and kicked me under the table.

“Maybe so...can’t say, but what I can say is that everything I did, I did for you and your sisters. And, I did it by myself,” my mother said and pulled her chair in closer to the table. “Tell me, Beth, where are you hiding your rich man who’s taking care of you?”

I stared at her and shook my head.

“Thought so,” she said. “Not around, huh? Oh, well, I guess you can just live here and sponge off your sister and her boyfriend for the rest of your life, creating imaginary relationships and imaginary problems to torture everyone with. Seems to be your way.”

Rebel Love gasped and reached across the table.

“I never said
sponging
, Beth,” she said. “Me and Ivory-Lou love having you here. We’d have you here forever if you want. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yeah, right, love it...forever. Why don’t we change the subject?” Ivory-Lou said as he cut into a piece of turkey on his plate.

“I don’t have imaginary relationships, Mother. They are very real. And I will find a man who loves me and he will also be very real.”

“Everything about your life is a fantasy, Beth, and that’s a huge problem,” my mother said. “You need to get your ass out of the clouds and come back down and take a look around you.”

As she held her beer bottle to her lips and drained it, I seethed as I thought of Nicolas.

She put her empty bottle on the table and looked at Yolanda and nodded. Yolanda stood from the table.

“Do you want another--”

“Nah, Yolanda,” Ivory-Lou said. “Have a seat.”

“Since when is living like you the right way?” I said to her. “I want better and that’s considered a problem? Why is my ass in the clouds for that?”

My mother sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest as she stared at me.

“Because you are a lazy little girl who expects everything to be handed to her because she’s pretty,” my mother said.

“No, Mama,” Rebel Love said and shook her head, “Beth does not think that way. She doesn’t even...know.”

“The hell she don’t! What was she always doing when she was little? Chasing up after you all the time...
Rebel Love, put makeup on me!
,
Take my picture, Rebel Love
! That girl,” she said and pointed at me, “had her face in the mirror 24/7.”

“That was my fault, Mama, not Beth’s,” Rebel Love said and stared at me.

“Nothing is your fault, Rebel Love,” I said and smiled.

“She’s right,” my mother said, “that’s all on her. Oh, I tried to tell her to stop looking at herself, to stop being so damn conceited. I tried to drill it into her head that no one cares what she looks like, but she’s so damn pig-headed she never listens! Shit, I couldn’t even have my boyfriends around. She’d always be flitting around like a butterfly...
look at me, look at me!
All she ever did. It was embarrassing.”

I looked at Ivory-Lou and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and nodded.

“Boyfriends, Mother, really?” I said and stared at her. “Who were these boyfriends? You mean your
boyfriend
from the electric company?”

“Beth!” Rebel Love said as she gasped.

“What?” my mother said and looked around the table and then at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“That guy who worked for the electric company! You remember, don’t you?” I said.

Rebel Love moved closer to Ivory-Lou and whispered into his ear.

“Oh, fuck,” he said as he looked at me and shook his head.

“No, no,” my mother said, “we’re all adults here. There doesn’t have to be any whispering. I have no idea what Beth’s talking about, as usual, and she’s just making up lies, as usual, to make herself feel better about her sad life.”

“You blew the guy from the electric company so he wouldn’t turn our power off!” I said as I slammed my hands on the table.

Ivory-Lou put his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes. Yolanda looked at her plate and shook her head. And Rebel Love looked like she was about to cry.

“Beth,” my mother said, “I have no earthly idea--”

“You gave a stranger a blow job and you do so know what the fuck I am talking about! I was there! And it must have been a really bad blow job because two weeks later, they still turned off our electricity!”

My mother looked down in her lap and sighed. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood as she looked at Yolanda and smiled.

“It was very nice meeting you,” my mother said.

“Um,” Yolanda said as she looked at me.

My mother turned from the table and walked out the door. I looked at Rebel Love and shook my head.

“I’m sorry,” I said as Rebel Love stood.

“It’s okay,” she said and ran after our mother.

Me, Ivory-Lou and Yolanda sat at the table and stared at our plates.

“You white people sure do get hella crazy during mealtimes,” Yolanda said as she stood up and walked away from the table.

I looked at Ivory-Lou and he stared at me.

“Sorry,” I said as I pushed a pea that bounced out of my plate around the table.

“You stood up for yourself,” he said and grabbed his knife and fork. “Good.”

“See, I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Didn’t say that, just said you stood up for yourself and standing up for yourself is good. Don’t read into it,” he said as he cut into his turkey. “Did she really blow a guy so he didn’t cut off your electric?”

“Well don’t say it like that,” I said and shook my head. “It wasn’t a noble deed.”

“Yeah, you’re right, damn,” he said and shook his head. “So, Billy...”

I looked at him and winced.

“Yeah, Billy. Um, Stephanie said the chick, his new, whatever, was there and...”

“Not hurt,” he said as he spooned some mashed potatoes into his plate. “Seems whoever did it only wanted to make sure there were no witnesses.”

“And there weren’t...witnesses?”

“Not a one,” he said as he poured gravy over his food.

“Thank you,” I said and stood from the table.

“For what? I didn’t do anything.”

“Okay, um, I’m going to unpack or lay down or something.”

I grabbed my things out of the living room and walked toward my bedroom.

“Hey, Beth?” Ivory-Lou said.

“Yeah?” I said and turned around.

“You’re welcome,” he said and smiled.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A few nights later I was staring at Nicolas’ Facebook page as I sent him psychic demands to email me when a post popped up on his page that sent me over the edge. Again.

“India!” I said when she picked up her phone. “Nicolas...Facebook! Now!”

“Oh my God!” she said after she loaded his page. “
Your the bees knees
? Who the hell even says that anymore?”

“Well, apparently Portia Heim-Delmonico does. And she doesn’t know how to spell!”

“No! I know her!”

“You know Portia Heim-Delmonico? Oh my God, you do! You’re our mutual friend. Go to her page, now!”

“I’m on it,” she said.

“Is it open? What does she look like? Is she prettier than me?” I said.

“God, no, Beth. She has a face like a can of smashed assholes!”

“Oh, that sounds bad,” I said as I stared at her post on Nicolas’ page. “I’m sick over this, India.”

“He also liked the picture of her in Bermuda with her friends. She’s in a bikini,” India said.

“No!”

“Yeah, Beth, he did.”

“Does she still look like an asshole can? What did you call her?”

“Yeah, except in this picture she has a face like
two
cans of smashed assholes. You cannot let him do this to you anymore, Beth. It is humiliating and it’s fucking with your psyche. You must end it now.”

“But, how? An email?”

“Yes. Go to your messages and I’ll tell you what to type,” India said.

“Okay, I’m there. What do I do?”

“Type in:
Nicolas, I am done with this insignificant, superficial correspondence. You apparently have loads of other girls to fuck with and even like girls whose faces look like cans of smashed assholes, so you should play your games with them. I am in pain. Goodbye.
Type that all, Beth and hit send.”

I did as India instructed and stared at it with my cursor poised over the send button.

“Should I, really?” I said. “I don’t feel good about this.”

“You are stalling. You’ve been crying over this guy for weeks while he’s trolling Facebook liking other girls’ bikini shots. You need a partner who emotionally supports you and your path, not admires other girls. It’s not fair, Beth. Do it!”

And I did.

I felt sick as I looked at that message and even sicker when I saw that instead of “girls whose faces look like cans of smashed assholes,” I typed, “girls whose faces look like smashed asshole cans.”

And thirty minutes later, as I was still talking to India, Nicolas Miles called me.

“It’s him! What do I do?” I said as I stared at his number.

“Answer it,” she said.

“No, voicemail. I cannot talk to him. It’s too embarrassing.”

“You just told him off via email, he’s obviously read it, answer it and see what he has to say.”

“No, I will not. I told him he likes girls whose faces look like smashed asshole cans. I can’t talk to him. Probably, ever. I’m going to go listen to the song, India.”

“Wait, I have something that may cheer you up. Do you want to hear it?”

“That would probably be really good right now.”

“Well, I was talking with Declan and he asked about you. Like asked, asked, Beth.”

“What?” I said and sat up. “What did he ask?”

“Everything. I suggested you to him as a friend and told him to request you. He goes under Nalced Etihw.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s his name backwards,” she said and laughed. “Keeps the groupie stalkers at bay.”

“Why do you think he asked about me?” I said.

“Why do you think, Beth?”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“India, no.”

“Beth, yes! Jesus, don’t be a spazz.”

“I am a spazz, India. It’s my role. Wow, Nalced Etihw asked about me,” I said.

“Yep, guess you impressed him. He never asks about anyone,” she said and sighed, “they only ever ask about him.”

“India, is this weird, I mean, talking like this about him with you? He is your stepfather.”

“Was
my stepfather. That was many years ago. And weird, what's that? I have a brother named Kimmy Dickless and you have a sister named Matthew. We are bonded by weird, Beth.”