Slow Burn (8 page)

Mom is an RN at Golden Valley Hospital
.  She practically lives there.  If you’re going to hide from your own life, the hospital is the perfect place to accomplish that.  I never see her anymore.  Even when she’s here, she’s not here, you know?

“I don’t go in until four,” she finally answers me.  She pushes her dark hair away from her face, and stares down at the table.  “Guess what you forgot to do last night?”

“Lock the door?  Feed the dog?”

“We don’t have a dog.”  She smirks.  “The laundry…?”

I stare at her blankly for a second.  Then...  “Oh, crap!  I forgot to move the clothes to the dryer!”

Mom waves her hand dismissively.  “It’s okay, I took care of it.  I ran it through the wash again.  It’s drying right now.  When it’s done…”

“I know.  I’ll put it away before I go,” I promise her.  “Hey, did you see what I left you in the fridge?”

“The clam chowder?  Yes, I had some early this morning.  It was fantastic.”  She gives me a tired smile.  “Thank you.  I think I’
ll go have a shower now.”

I watch her wearily climb to her feet, using the chair to brace herself.  “Okay, Mom.”

“Oh, what are you going to do about Sleeping Beauty out there?” she asks before she goes.

“Absolutely nothing.”

When she’s gone, I let my head fall back onto the table.  It comes back up a second later when I suddenly remember something.  My gaze shoots to the wall Johnny’s fist left that big old dent in yesterday.

It’s fixed!

I jump up and rush over to inspect it.  He must’ve patched it, then painted that whole wall last night—you can tell, since it’s brighter and whiter than the other walls in the kitchen.  It still smells like paint in here—that’s what I was smelling!  How did Mom not notice?  When did he do this?  Last night, obviously.  He just broke in, and did a little home improvement while I cried myself to sleep.

My heart tries to melt, just a little.  Then my brain reminds it of Johnny and
that girl in the laundry room.  Way to go, Brain.

Stupid spin cycle.

******

Chapter 6

Once the laundry’s done, I fold it and put it away.  I can’t help but glance out the window to see if Johnny’s still there.  He’s not, and his truck is gone.  I’m relieved, and also slightly disappointed.  Shaking my head, I head upstairs to my room to get ready to spend the night at my dad’s. 

I forgot to text
Heather!  She’s going to be pissed.  While I pack my bag, I call her up and fill her in on all the drama she missed.

Why did I wait so long to call her?  Her profanity-laced rant against Laundry Room Girl, Johnny—and guys in general—brings tears to my eyes and a smile to my face. 

“Oh, my god, Jule,” Heather says, after she finally takes a breath.  “I never told you this before, but—I know people.  People who can make accidents happen.  Know what I mean?”

“No, I don’t.”  I switch her to speaker phone, and start rifling through my drawers for a sleep shirt.  “
And how do you know these people?”

“My uncle—Josiah?  I don’t know if you
’ve ever met him.  He works for these guys, and…anyway, I could call him.  Johnny can kiss his NFL career goodbye,” she says seriously.

“What?  No.  Don’t call anybody.”  I let out an incredulous laugh.  “It’s done, we’re over.  I don’t want revenge, I just want to get over him.”

“Mm-hmm,” Heather hums wisely.  “You know, they say the best way to get over somebody is to get
under
somebody new.”

“Yeah, I think that would be about the worst thing I could do,” I say wryly, pushing my hair back.  “I think I’m go
ing to give up boys for a while—maybe forever.”

“Aw!  I always knew you’d make a great lesbian!”

“Thanks.  Look, I have to go.  Call you later, okay?”

“Yeah, you’d better.”

Shaking my head, I hang up with her.  I scoop up my backpack and a jacket and after a quick goodbye to Mom, I’m running out the front door.

And tripping over something on the porch.
  I land on my face, of course.

“Ouch.”

Rolling over painfully, I sit up to see what could have made me fall.  My eyes land on the huge bouquet of roses, and the giant teddy bear—wearing my former sleep shirt—lying in front of the door.  Unbelievable.

Groaning quietly, I quickly scan the street for any signs
of Johnny trying to slink away after nearly killing me.  All I see is the old lady next from next door, standing on the lawn with her fluffy gray cat.  They both stare at me like I’m a dog crapping in their yard.

I rise to my feet and dump the roses and the
giant bear in the trash can.  The stuffed bear barely fits, so I have to smoosh it in there.  Pathetic, Johnny.  Because nothing says I’m sorry I cheated on you like roses and a stuffed animal.

Sigh.

Dad lives one town over, in Hidden Cove.  He rents an apartment over Nico’s Pizzeria, and consequently, the whole place
always smells like bread and pizza sauce.  I can gain weight just by inhaling.  Weirdly, it always makes me hungry for tacos.

Dad and I
used to get along great.  He’s pretty funny, and he used to make me laugh with his dorky sense of humor.  Now…

Now we make awkward conversation, at best. 
When he can’t think of anything to say, he asks about Mom.  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, “She’s as miserable as you are, dumbass!”  Of course I’d never call him a dumbass.  Not to his face.

He’s doing a little better than she is—having been on at least a few dates since the divorce
six and a half years ago
.  Of course the women he’s gone out with—not the cream of the crop.  My dad’s a good-looking guy, and he can be kind of charming in his own clueless way.  I know he can do better.  The last woman he dated was three hundred and twenty five pounds (don’t ask me how I know), and sold sweaters made out of cat fur on the internet.  She made one for me—a sweater, that is.  Mirella said she used the fur of her two favorite cats, Tinkles and Cooter, to knit it.  It was a nice gesture, and I really did try to appreciate it—but I couldn’t go near the sweater without dry-gagging.

It smelled like musty cat.  She did, too, come to think of it.

So, basically, the weekends consist of Dad and I sitting around the table, eating pizza, and trying to fill the uncomfortable silences with meaningless chitchat.  He’s my father, and I love him, but sometimes being with him is pure torture.

The highlight of my visits is when Michelle comes to get me.
  She’s my dad’s baby sister, but she’s more like a cool older sister to me than an aunt.  We go shopping, to the movies—anywhere I want to go.  I’m not sure why, but I act more like a teenager with Michelle than I do with friends my own age. 

“My favorite niece!” Michelle exclaims, letting herself into the apartment.  “Are you ready to go shopping with your favorite aunt?”

“God, yes!”  I lunge forward.  Then, composing myself, I turn back to Dad.  “Um, is that okay?  I could stay—”

“No, no, it’s fine!”  He tries not to look relieved.  “Go have fun.  Do you need money?  I could give you my credit card…”  He fumbles in his back pocket for his wallet.

“Dad, it’s okay.  I have money.  Thank you, though.”

He nods vaguely.  “You girls have fun.”

Michelle rolls her eyes at him.  “Bye, Dan.”

As soon as we get into her cute little convertible, Michelle turns to me.  “Okay, spill.  What’s up with you?  And don’t tell me nothing, girl.  I know that look on your face.”

I take a deep breath, and let it out in a slow controlled hiss.  “First…let’s get lunch.  Anything but pizza.  Chinese sounds good.  I could go for some pot stickers.”

“Okay.”  Michelle fastens her seatbelt and flashes me a smile.  “Chinese, it is.”

We end up at one of her favorite restaurants in town, The Lotus Garden.  It’s great—unapologetically gaudy, with Buddha statues everywhere, and gold tassels hanging from the ripped paper lanterns above our heads.

I wrap my hands around the tea cup, savoring it
s warmth, and blurt out the now over told tale of How Johnny Cheated on Juliet and Broke her Little Virgin Heart.  It’s the edited version, of course.  Some things I’m just not willing to share, even with my super cool aunt.

“And now I’m stuck going to Leclare on Monday,” I conclude with a sigh.

“Wow.”

Michelle sits
back in her seat, shaking her head.  She takes the sunglasses that are sitting on top of her head, and sticks it in her purse, shaking back her curly brown hair.  “Do you think they were really having sex in there?”

I grimace, looking down at my tea.  “I don’t know.  He says no, and it’s not like I looked closely, you know?
  But whether he did or didn’t, he still cheated on me, so…it’s over.”

I choke back a sob, and try to turn it into a cough.  Michelle’s not fooled.  She reaches over and pats my shoulder. 

“Oh, Juliet.  All the things I want to tell you are the things my mom said to me when I was your age and got dumped by a guy.  But I remember wanting to throw my Coke in her face when she said them, so I’m not going to do that to you.  Not when you have hot tea.”

A chuckle escapes me.  “It’
s lukewarm now.  But—just tell me one thing, okay—no matter how lame.  I think I need to hear it.  Just one, though.”

She smiles sympathetically.  “It’s not the end of the world.  It’s trite, but true. 
Shoot, I thought my boyfriend in senior year was the love of my life—now I can’t even remember his name.  Greg or Craig.  And he was my first.”

I almost feel h
orrified for her.  “You can’t remember his name?”

Michelle throws a fortune cookie at me.
“Hey, that was—shit, almost twenty years ago!  And it wasn’t that great an experience, you know?  Oh, well, I guess you don’t know yet.  But you will.  Hey, I guess I do have some advice for you:  don’t have sex in high school!”  She points her chopsticks at me for emphasis.

I make a face at her.  “Okay…”

“No, seriously.  Aside from the obvious reasons—you’re too young, teen pregnancy, stds, blah, blah, blah—wait until you’re older, and the guy is older and more experienced.  Your first time is going to suck, anyway.”  She laughs like she said something funny.  “But if you’re with a guy who knows what he’s doing, and is patient—then it can be an…eh…okay experience.  High school guys, though—zero patience and horny as hell.”

“Hm,” I say, not exactly agreeing.

“The worst thing?” she mumbles through a mouthful of noodles.  “Their egos are more fragile.  So, not only do you have to suffer through these painful techniques they learned from watching porn—you have to pretend to like it, or they get all butt hurt on you.”

She’s nodding at me wisely right now, chewing her noodles and looking kind of proud at having shared her insights with me.

“Wow,” I say, my appetite suddenly gone.  “I don’t…I don’t know what to do with that.  Thank you, though.  For the advice.  I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Seriously
though.  I’m so sorry, Juliet,” Michelle says sympathetically.  “I know how you felt about him.  But you’re going to get through this, okay?  And—I hate to say this—but maybe it’s for the best.”

My brow furrows in consternation.  “I said tell me
one
thing, Michelle.  Something else I wouldn’t mind hearing?  ‘You’ll learn to love again.’  But ‘it’s for the best?’  That’s like, the shittiest thing you could say!”

Michelle smiles apologetically
, but her gaze is pitiless.  “You told me yourself—the two of you were fighting more often than not, and you said his possessiveness was driving you crazy.”

“Yeah, we were a mess
, but I loved it.”  I sigh, slumping back into the cracked red vinyl of the booth. “The drama, the passion…it made me feel a part of something special.  Like, here’s this gorgeous amazing guy, and he’s totally obsessed with me.  That means there has to be something out of the ordinary about me, right?  Something special.”

Michelle lets her head fall into her hands.  “Lord help me, and the misguided teens of the world,” is what I think she mutters.
  “When did being dysfunctional become sexy?  Yanni, the janitor at my office? He tells me he’s in love with me every day.  He leaves melted Hershey’s Kisses in my chair, and collects every strand of hair that has fallen out of my head at my desk for the past five years.  He made a doll out of it—don’t laugh, it’s not funny.  He’s fifty and balding—and he would kill for me.  Does that sound sexy to you?”

“Oh, Michelle,” I say.  “That’s like comparing apples to…pig turd.  The question is—
are you going to report him?”

“Hell, no.  He makes me feel special.”

We look at each other, then burst out laughing.  It’s exactly the kind of release I need.  Afterwards, I prop my chin on my hand, and smile at my aunt.  “Does Uncle Derek know about your secret admirer?”