The Brenda Diaries (14 page)

“My dad was married before. I have a half-sister. She goes to NYU.” Wyatt sits opposite me, his focus on peeling a sticker off the back of his skateboard. “I’ve only met her a few times. She and my mom don’t get along.”

“That’s too bad.” I set aside the books and tuck my legs under me. “Maybe, once you get older, you can get to know her better.”

“My mom wouldn’t like that.” Wyatt shrugs his shoulders, rolling his neck to crack it. “Especially now—she doesn’t even want me talking to my dad.”

“Parents can be real a-holes when it comes to stuff like that. Anyway, it’s your parents who are splitting up. You’re not getting divorced from your parents. As screwed as this is and might get, it’s not about you.”

“Really?” He lifts his bangs so he can make sure I’m not jerking his chain. His gaze is bright and clear. Maybe he’s finally gotten over his pot stage. It would make my job a lot easier, but I won’t hold my breath. 

“Trust me. Relationship crap is never about anyone but the two people in the relationship,” I say. “And sometimes only one of them knows just how crappy things are. Anyway, if you need to talk, I won’t charge you for it unless you ask a homework-related question.”

“Thanks, Brenda.” He steps on his skateboard and rolls back and forth in a tight line. “They’re just being a couple of major a-holes, but I’ll cut them some slack.”

“You’re a nice kid, Wyatt.”

He smiles at me and I watch him take another turn around the pool before I suggest going out for pizza. My treat.

Wednesday, September 14:

Jared stopped by to watch me work my retail magic then took me out to lunch. If I wasn’t still feeling like such a bad girlfriend, the whole thing would have been so sweet and romantic.

Thursday, September 15:

Even though we’re going to be spending a very long weekend together, I make a big show of asking Jared to sleep over. I even repack his suitcase and stow all his toiletries in a Ziploc bag before bed. But I draw the line at spooning—I need to get some sleep.

Friday, September 16:

At the airport with Jared waiting to board our flight up to San Francisco to visit his parents, as promised. He has a whole list of places he wants to show me. Now I feel kind of bad for not introducing him or even mentioning him to my parents. Add that to my Bad Girlfriend tally.

Saturday, September 17:

I wake up to Jared’s boner poking me in the small of my back. His parents have put us up in what they call the “au pair cottage” which is a separate apartment off to the side of the main house and a hundred times nicer than anything I’ll ever live in.

I guess Lynn and Kent aren’t fooling themselves about the fact that we’re boning or really don’t mind that we might do it sometime over this weekend. Not likely. I’d never have sex under his parents’ roof, even a separate one, and I started my period mid-flight the night before. Sometime today, and soon, I’ll have to dash into a drugstore for tampons because I’ve already used the three I carry in my emergency kit.

“Good morning, Brenda,” Jared says into the back of my neck, his boner still going strong. “You want to fool around?”

“No.” Even if I wasn’t on my period, I’d turn him down. I’m not necessarily opposed to sex first thing in the morning, but only
after
peeing and tooth brushing.

“Come on. Just a bit of dry humping.” He nuzzles my neck, snaking his hand under my Elmo T-shirt to grab my boob.

“Freak!” I hop out of bed. “You’re one of those weirdos who gets off by getting off at his parents’ house. I knew it.”

I wash my face and brush my teeth, looking out the bathroom window. It faces the side of the house which has a wraparound deck that overlooks the bay, with the Golden Gate Bridge just to the left. I’m about to spit into the sink when Jared’s dad wanders out to the deck absolutely naked except for the cup of coffee and newspaper he’s holding. My spitty toothpaste spatters the window.

“Gross!”

I grab a hand towel to wipe it off as he leans his hip on the railing, giving me a good look at where half of Jared’s DNA spurted from some 24 years ago.

I choke on what’s left of my toothpaste. Jared rushes in to pat me on the back.

“You okay?” he hands me a towel, his pecker still standing at attention.

“You’re dad is enjoying every inch of his morning.” I point out the window. Jared glances out and turns bright red. “So this uncircumcised thing is a family tradition. Good to know.”

Sunday, September 18:

Jared’s mom drives us to the airport making desperately chipper attempts at conversation the whole way. I try my best, but there’s not much I can say (which only makes it more obvious that Jared, sitting in the back seat, hasn’t said a word). Lynn keeps glancing back which is making me nervous.

I want to tell her she just needs to let him pout and when he’s ready, he’ll snap out of it. But as I already am on Kent’s shit-list, I don’t want to piss off the one parent who still seems to like me or is at least very good at pretending she does.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving, Brenda?” she asks after another long glace behind her shoulder. “Is your family in Los Angeles, too?”

“Yes, all of them.” I grip my hands in my lap to keep myself from reaching for the steering wheel. While I enjoy the view of the Golden Gate Bridge, I like driving over it a lot less so. Since we’re cutting our stay short, Lynn insisted we drive through San Francisco to get to the airport so I at least get to see some of the city. “Except for my grandpa on my mom’s side who died a few years ago.”

“That’s nice.” She’s not really listening to me, but I don’t blame her. I’d be distracted, too, if my husband and son had just almost come close to punching each other during Sunday brunch. “What about Thanksgiving—”

“For Christ’s sake, give it up, Mom!” Jared leans forward, poking his head between the front seats. “There’s no fucking way I’m coming home again until he apologizes. No way!”

“Jared, please. You’re father had a bit too much to drink.” Lynn glances toward me. We all know he was stone cold sober.

That Jared’s dad doesn’t like me now, if he ever did, was obvious enough, but him saying out loud it just as the waiter approached the table to take our order was plain rude. And he wasn’t drunk. “He didn’t mean it, honey.”

“He has no right to criticize my life, my choices or my girlfriend,” Jared spits out, his face getting red with anger. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Well, yeah, he kind of does, Jared. He’s the guy who pays your rent, credit card bills and will be footing the bill for screenwriting school. I don’t say this out loud, but I’d bet it’s what Lynn is also thinking. The only one who seems to be in the dark about the reality of his situation is Jared.

“So is this Golden Gate Park?” I ask as we speed past a sign that says it is. “It’s very pretty.”

Monday, September 19:

I’m wearing jeans, Chucks and v-neck shirt under the Harvard hoodie sweatshirt Jared left at my apartment. It’s the perfect outfit for moving file boxes into storage and shredding documents for Glenn. Who said temping under the table was not a life of glamour and intrigue? Probably me.

Tuesday, September 20:

Ivan’s wife has finally gotten her visa and is flying in from the Ukraine at the end of the month. He asked me to go to Bed, Bath & Beyond to help him pick out, as he put it, “lady stuff” to make his apartment look nice. We got some candles, a throw for the sofa, other odds and ends. He paid, carried the bags and didn’t let me move any of the heavy furniture on my own, but stood back as I fussed around arranging things. When I was done I asked him what he thought and he said, “Looks hunky dory, Brenda.”

Sweet.

I haven’t heard from Jared since he dropped me off on Sunday night. Not so sweet.

Wednesday, September 21:

I’d given up on seeing Jared this week so I’d taken a break from shaving my legs and other bits. Which is why I’m not surprised that he decided to drop by without calling. I excuse myself to the bathroom with quite a bit of foliage to take care of. 

“Brenda?” Jared drums his fingers against the bathroom door just in case I’m not already painfully aware that I have no choice but to come out. “Are you okay in there?”

“Yes. I’ll be right out.” I dab at my ankle where I nicked myself before slapping on a Band-Aid. I pull on my jeans and open the door.

He’s sitting on my bed, fully clothed and looking like he wants to have one of those talks.

“Do you want to go to the movies or something? It’s still early. Or we can grab something to eat and then go to a club.” I’ll do anything, even go to Magic Mountain and ride roller coasters, as long as it doesn’t involve talking.

“Nah, let’s just hang out here.” He kicks off his shoes and scoots up to lean his back against the headboard. He pats the space next to him. “Where’s Maya?”

“With Armie.” I climb on the bed next to him, going a bit limp as he pulls me into his chest. Within seconds, my left arm is asleep. “As usual.”

She’s been spending nights with him—not at the house he shares with his wife or at hotels—but somewhere else. She won’t tell me where so that makes me think it’s a condo. Maya once told me that she’d never live in a condo. “They’re only for sad, divorced women and people who think they’ve made it but have actually failed to make anything of themselves.” When I asked how she could justify living in my dinky apartment and sleeping on my pull-out couch she flipped me off and borrowed my new sweater without asking.

I start kissing Jared’s neck, eager to avoid any further conversation. He usually falls into a deep sleep after sex and if I screw him hard enough, maybe he’ll be knocked out until morning. He kisses me on the top of my head and gives me a warm pat on the shoulder. Not very sexy. I try harder, pushing his T-shirt up and trailing kisses down his chest and stomach, heading toward the fly of his Levi’s. He tugs me back up.

I’m annoyed. What kind of guy turns down a blow job? Okay, I’m mostly offering because it’ll get me out of taking my own pants off so he doesn’t have to see the botched job I did while trying to speed shave.

 “Let’s talk.” He lies down, bunching my pillows behind his head.

“About what?” I stare hard at my cuticles.

“I’ve been getting vibes from you lately,” he says.

I want to blurt it all out—I don’t like his dad and not just because he doesn’t like me, his mom needs to go on meds, I pretty much slept with Cal and, worst of all, I think his screenplay sucks. Then Jared can decide if he can still stand to be with me.

“Jared, I want to tell you something and I don’t know—”

“Brenda! Where are you?” Maya bursts through the door and flips on the overhead light, blinding us.

“Hey!” I yelp, covering my eyes. “We’re kind of having a moment here.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Her face is flushed and she looks insanely happy. “Guess what happened. Guess! I dare you!”

“I’m not in the mood to guess so just tell me. Hurry up before you give yourself an aneurysm.”

“This!” Maya climbs into bed between us holding her left hand up to my face. “This!”

I take her hand so I can look at the ring more closely. It has a big, yellow stone surrounded by lots of diamonds that also cover the band. And it’s not a fake. I worked the jewelry counter at Bloomingdales and learned to tell the real from the fake from the really expensive fake.

“What is it?” There’s fear in my voice.

“It’s a promise ring.” Maya holds her hand up to the light, moving it so it sparkles. She scoots in and gets comfortable “He’s going to leave his wife.”

“He promised to leave his wife and gave you this ring?” I ask.

“Shut up, Brenda,” Maya snaps, reality temporarily clouding her pie-in-the-sky vision.

“Excuse me.” Jared climbs out of bed and flees for the safety of my bathroom.

“What’s up his butt?” she asks.

“The usual,” I say. Maya smiles at me and I’m too good of a friend to put a damper on her good news by sharing the news of my crappy relationship. “I guess I should say congratulations. So, congratulations.”

Thursday, September 22:

Visiting with my grandma tonight and have been instructed to stop by the drugstore for Brach's Milk Maid Royals, jimmies and lube. ("The one from the commercial that heats up.") Fine, whatever, hooray for old people practicing safe old people sex.

What my grandma does with her whisker biscuit is none of my business. What irks me is because she’s hooking up with the old guy from 101C, she can’t show her face at bingo. The other ladies of the old folks home are kind, sorta, really pissed at her. Instead we’re going to hide out in her in her condo and watch Project Runway. I love my grandma, but I wish she wasn’t such a slut. I was itching to play bingo and win some Starbucks money for next week.