The Pretty One (22 page)

twenty-four

catharsis (noun): a moment of high tragedy at the emotional climax of a play, followed by an emotional cleansing for the characters and the audience.

When I get home, Lucy is in our parents' room with the door shut. I knock but she doesn't answer. I turn the knob and peek inside. She is wearing a bright yellow sweat suit, listening to music on her iPod as she writes in a spiral notebook.

“Hey,” I say.

She doesn't bother to glance up.

“I just wanted to tell you that I'm going to the fall festival with Simon.”

Lucy pauses a split second before glancing at me.

I've been around Lucy enough to recognize a nice dramatic moment when I see it, so I seize the opportunity, turning on my heel and shutting the door behind me.

I'm halfway down the stairs when I hear the bedroom door open. “What do you mean you're going with Simon?” Lucy calls out.

“He asked me and I said yes,” I reply.

“What about Drew?” she asks, following me.

I shrug. “What about him?”

“I thought…”

Even though I'm kind of happy Lucy is speaking to me again, I can't have a conversation about Drew with her right now. I turn away from her and hurry into the kitchen. I begin rummaging through the cupboards with all the nervous energy of an addict. I find a half-eaten bag of Oreos and rip it open.

“When did all this happen with Simon?”

I twist an Oreo apart and pop the slightly soggy and stale creme-covered side in my mouth. I chew a couple of times and then say, “Well, things have been weird since the beginning of the year. He told me last week that his feelings for me have changed and he wanted to go to the fall festival with me.”

“Wow,” she says, dropping into a chair.

I sit down across from her and pop another Oreo into my mouth without bothering to twist it apart. I swallow the huge glob in one gulp.

“So do you like him?”

“Of course I do. He's my best friend.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I, well, I guess I'll find out. He just called a few minutes ago and asked me out on an official date this weekend.”

My sister's brow is furrowed and I can tell she's feeling something unpleasant. But what? Guilt? Remorse?

“Look,” she says. “I'm sorry about the other night. I just, well, things are weird this year, you know?”

It's good to hear Lucy apologize, but when she doesn't tell me that I don't have to give up Drew, my heart feels almost hollow.

“So what are you and Simon doing this weekend?” she asks.

“We're going to go see the new movie about the space invaders on Saturday. Maybe get some coffee afterward.”

“You should wear my yellow BCBG top,” Lucy says with a smile. “It looks so awesome on you. Or maybe my pink Michael Kors instead. Let's go try them on and see which one looks better.”

My sister stands and extends her hand to me. I accept her hand and tuck the package of Oreos under my arm, hoping that somehow Lucy will do something unscripted.

         

On Saturday night, Simon picks me up for our official date looking like he's going to his mother's country club. He's wearing ironed khakis and a starched button-down shirt topped by a blue blazer with gold buttons. I know he dressed up for me, and although on some level I'm sure a little part of me appreciates the effort, the majority of me just finds it annoying. I have not dressed up for him. In spite of my sister's protests, I'm not wearing any makeup and my slightly dirty hair is pulled back in a ponytail. I'm wearing my loose-fitting jeans and one of my old hoodies. Why bother dressing up? I'm more comfortable this way, and since Simon likes me for who I am on the inside, I figure he couldn't care less what I looked like. Right? Obviously, I'm still a little frustrated that he and I are in this situation in the first place. I really wish he never gave me an ultimatum. I know that Simon knows me a lot better than Drew, but if he really loved me, would he/could he have walked away from more than two years of best friendship?

But, as I kept reminding myself all week, he hadn't actually
done
anything. He had just
threatened
it. I have to believe that if push came to shove, he would've been happy with whatever level of friendship I offered.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Due to the fact that I fell off the Lucy diet this past week and consumed more calories than I would've thought humanly possible, I have pledged to drink only Diet Pepsi for the next two days. But as we walk into the movies Simon asks me if I want anything to eat and I order a box of Dots and a small popcorn with butter. (Simon insists on paying even though he bought our tickets.)

As we take our seats I glance at his hand perched on our communal armrest and wonder if he will try to hold my hand. I hold the Dots in one hand while using the other to shovel popcorn in my mouth just in case. After the movie, we climb back into his Honda Civic and he drives us back to Federal Hill. We stop at Spoons and Simon orders a black tea and I order an iced mocha cappuccino and a chocolate chip cookie. And even though I manage to whip out a ten-dollar bill, Simon beats me to the punch, handing the cashier a crisp twenty. We take seats across from each other and I keep my hands in my lap as I bend over and suck my drink out of the straw.

“It's nice,” he says, finally. “Being out with you like this.”

I think about how weird it is that only a week ago I was with Drew and he was kissing me. “Me too,” I say, reaching into my purse for a tissue. And then I realize what I just said doesn't make any sense. I don't bother to correct myself. Instead, I blow my nose and take another sip of my drink.

“You look great,” he says.

I catch sight of my reflection in the café window. I definitely look a lot better than I did last year at this time, but I couldn't look much worse if I tried. Which, of course, I had. “Thanks,” I reply stiffly.

We stare at each other in silence.

“Do you want something else to eat?” Simon is trying to be a gentleman here but I keep imagining myself with Drew.

This just isn't fair. To either of us.

I wipe my nose again. “I don't think so. I've been eating nonstop all day.” Then I finish off my cookie and order a brownie with icing.

When I'm done making a pig of myself, Simon takes me home. As he drives, I study his profile, paying close attention to his aquiline nose, his curly brown hair, and his lopsided grin. He isn't bad-looking. And he's sweet, funny, and smart. So why can't I stop thinking about Drew?

Simon parks in front of our house and hurries to get my door for me. “I had a great time tonight,” he says, as he walks me up the steps of our row house.

I can see him hesitate and I know he's working up the nerve to do something. As tempted as I am to escape inside and lock the door behind me, I keep my feet firmly planted. I can do this. This is Simon. And I adore him.

Simon sweeps his hand around me, pulling me in to him and giving me a big, long, and passionate kiss.

Wow. I knew Simon had learned a little more than how to play the clarinet at band camp, but I didn't know he could do
that
. But despite the expertise of his kiss, the electricity I felt with Drew isn't here. Not even close.

Simon slowly backs away. When I open my eyes, I see him grinning. “I'll call you tomorrow,” he says happily before shuffling down the sidewalk.

As I creep into the house, I hear a noise coming from the kitchen. I know it's Mom, because Lucy is at a party tonight. But when I enter the kitchen, I see that I'm wrong.

“Have you seen the Oreos?” my dad asks.

twenty-five

cheat (verb): to make an action onstage look realistic without actually performing it; e.g., an actor looking toward the audience in the general direction of the person he is talking to is cheating.

“I ate them all,” I tell my father as he rummages through our cupboards.

“The whole bag?”

“They were stale anyway,” I reply. Like that makes it all okay.

“What about the pretzels?”

“I finished those off, too.” I brace myself for the lecture I'm pretty sure I'm going to get by chewing on my thumb cuticles. All my dad likes to talk about now is how good-looking I am. I'm pretty sure he won't be happy to hear that I've reverted back to my old eating habits.

Instead, he turns around holding a container of peanut butter and says, “You look nice.”

What? This wasn't the response I was expecting. I guess when you have a pretty face no one notices little things like un-washed hair and dirty jeans. “Thanks,” I say.

“Where were you?”

I pull my thumb away from my mouth. “I went out with Simon.”

“Oh, that's right,” he says, setting the peanut butter down on the counter and turning back toward the cupboards again. He pulls out a grody-looking open bag of marshmallows that I'm pretty sure we bought for sleepover camp in fifth grade. “Your mom said you were going out with Simon tonight.” He unrolls the bag of marshmallows, unscrews the top of the peanut butter, dips a marshmallow in, and pops one in his mouth.

I'm not hungry in the slightest and the marshmallow–peanut butter combo looks about as appetizing as a cold bowl of spinach, but I still reach into the bag and follow suit, taking out a marshmallow, dipping it in the peanut butter, and eating it.

My dad grabs a couple more marshmallows out of the bag. We both sit there looking at each other. “These are terrible,” he says finally, opening up his hand and studying the marshmallows cupped inside it.

“Awful,” I agree, taking another one.

“And I'm not even hungry,” he admits.

“I'm stuffed,” I say.

“Like father, like daughter.”

Even though my dad isn't exactly paying me a compliment, I don't mind. I'm just happy to be sharing something with someone I love. And if it can't be an oversized nose and puffy cheeks, it might as well be a bag of stale marshmallows.

“My mom was the same way. She always ate when she was stressed.”

“I wish I had met her,” I say quietly. My dad's mom died right after Mom and Dad got married. According to my mom she was smart, funny, and quite round.

“She would've just loved you. You got your love of art from her. She was always dragging me and my sister to museums every chance she got.” He smiles. “And she would've been so proud of how you've handled everything the past year.”

“I'm not sure there's so much to be proud of,” I say, thinking of the turmoil in my life. “It's been a little tough since I went back to school.”

“I bet it has. But you're obviously dealing with everything. It's nothing like how things used to be. Christ, every time I turned around Lucy was going out to one party or another and you were sitting home all by yourself.”

Ouch. I put down the marshmallow.

My dad's eyes shift from my discarded marshmallow back to me. “Sorry,” he says. “All I'm trying to say is that I used to worry about you. It didn't seem healthy. Who wants to be…” He looks around and laughs. “Alone in the kitchen at ten o'clock on a Saturday night stuffing your face with marshmallows and peanut butter.”

“I don't know, Dad. Sometimes I kind of miss my old life.”

“Oh, come on,” he laughs, as if he's sure I'm joking.

I shrug as I glance away. Even though I'm definitely enjoying hanging out with my dad, I'm not sure I'm ready to bare my soul to him.

“You're serious?” he says, putting down the marshmallows.

“What's going on?”

I sigh. Where to begin? And how much did I really want to share? “For starters, I just had my first date with Simon.”

“Tonight was a
date
?”

I nod.

He leans back, surprised. “Your mom told me you were going out with Simon, but I didn't realize it was an official date. How about that? It's kind of like me and Mom, huh?”

“That's right!” I say enthusiastically. “You guys were friends at first, too.”

“Not really friends. More like a one-sided love affair. It took me a long time to win over your mom. She used to come in every day and order the exact same thing: coffee, no sugar, a hardboiled egg, and whole wheat toast with the butter on the side. I thought things between us were progressing pretty well. At least, until I asked her out.” He chuckles.

“And what did she say?” I had heard this story at least a hundred times before, but I thought it might do me some good to hear it once more.

“She thanked me and told me how flattered she was, but that she was in a relationship. And then she stopped coming in. About a year later, I saw her at a bar in town. I had lost about thirty pounds and cut off my mustache and started working out…I don't think she recognized me, even though to this day she insists she did. Anyway, turns out that she had broken up with the guy she was dating. And I had moved on, too. I had graduated from school and taken a job with Cisco. Just that day I had bought two concert tickets and I thought, what the hell. So I asked her.”

My dad's BlackBerry goes off and we're both silent as he checks his messages. He shakes his head after he puts it away. “As for Simon…sometimes these things take time,” he says. “Time and patience. It's like anything else.”

         

Lucy wakes me up at twelve-thirty that night to ask me how things went with Simon. Before my accident, she used to do this so she could tell me about
her
night out, and it's yet another reminder of how different things are between us.

“Fine,” I tell her as I rub my eyes.

“Did he kiss you?”

I nod.

“And?”

I'm really surprised at what I say. “Actually, he's a really good kisser.”

“Get out!” she practically yells. “I can't wait to tell Marybeth. She said she could just tell he'd be a good kisser.”

I can't help but wonder what there is about Simon that would make Marybeth think that.

“Guess what? I got asked to the fall festival!” Lucy shouts.

A chill runs down my spine.

“When I went to Jane's tonight, I walked in the door and the first person I saw was Drew.”

I think I might pass out.

“Anyway, he kept following me around all night. No matter where I went or what I did, Drew was right there. Finally I was like, what's going on? And then he basically asked me to go with him.”

I'm in a state of shock. I can't do anything but stare at my sister, dumbfounded. My mom had been right about Drew after all.

Lucy stands up and walks over to her dresser. She takes a purple silk nightgown out of her bottom drawer. I curl up in the fetal position as my mind frantically tries to absorb everything my sister has told me. Maybe I was delusional when I told Mom I knew Drew better than Lucy did. Maybe I didn't know him at all.

When Lucy gets into bed, she doesn't say good night. Instead she says, “I'm glad everything worked out for us in the end. Aren't you?”

I feel a burning sensation deep in my esophagus as I picture Simon in his tux and pray that the mere sight of him makes me want to kiss him and forget all about Drew. I keep praying until I fall asleep, when the sun comes up.