The Trouble with Lexie (14 page)

“You?” Daniel yanked the sheet off Lexie and then repositioned himself so that he could kiss her soft middle. “They probably think Janet Irwin is eighty. But you . . .” With one hand on each of Lexie's shark-fin hip bones, Daniel kissed his way down to her pubic mound. He looked up at her and said, “I bet those boys are wacking off every single night while thinking about you.”

Lexie shook her head. “That is totally and completely disgusting to even imagine.” She tugged Daniel up. He pressed himself against Lexie and she turned so that he was shelled around her back, his arm dangling across her belly, which she reflexively sucked in. Lexie wondered if the Ruxton boys ever did have a crush on her. You couldn't tell. Most of them were usually a little flustered and nervously attentive. Except Ethan. He was as comfortable with Lexie as if she were his aunt. She doubted he had a crush on her. Lexie put her hand on top of Daniel's and tried to suck in further. She held her belly like that. Barely breathing. Until she fell asleep.

There was a knock on the door. Lexie opened her eyes. It took a second to remember where she was and who was behind her. Daniel unstuck himself from Lexie and rolled off the bed. Lexie pulled the sheet up to her eyes. She was hiding, or mostly hiding, even though there was no chance she knew anyone who worked at the inn (and by the end of the night she would be a single woman). But it was late afternoon and they were naked—to have anyone enter the room was to announce that they'd had sex.

Daniel went into the bathroom. Seconds later, he emerged wearing the hotel's white, waffle-weave robe. He opened the door and let the uniformed, bald man roll in a cart with a thick, white tablecloth and two silver-lidded platters. Lexie's eyes darted from Daniel to the man, who politely looked at the floor as he waited for Daniel to sign the check. Daniel wrote his name so quickly, Lexie imagined his signature couldn't have been much more than a straight line. The uniformed man nodded his head, said thank you, and quickly left. Daniel rolled the cart closer to the bed.

Lexie sat up, pulling the sheet with her. Daniel sat on the edge of
the bed, facing her. “While you were sleeping, I remembered something that happened with Mrs. Harrison when I was a student.”

“Oh yeah?” Lexie pulled the silver lids off both platters. She picked up the bowl of three perfectly round scoops of chocolate ice cream and slid in the silver spoon. Then she readjusted the sheet again, pulling it tighter under her armpits. Light streamed in through the sheer curtains. Lexie felt too illuminated to sit naked while eating ice cream.

“For some reason I had stopped in at her apartment in Rilke one night before homecoming and she pointed at my chest and said ‘Take that shirt off and let me iron it! You're not going out looking like a hobo who stepped off the rails!'” Daniel did a good approximation of Dot's voice. It brought forth the quiverings of a cry in Lexie's throat. She shoved a giant spoonful of ice cream into her mouth and swirled it around without swallowing. As she focused on the cold, velvety ice cream, the urge to cry fizzled out.

“So, I agreed to stay in Dot's place, in Rilke.” Lexie dug her spoon into the bowl again.

“And they'll let your fiancé live there with you before you're married?” Daniel took a bite of Frito pie.

“No. I'm leaving him. I'm calling off the wedding.” Lexie casually flipped the ice cream balls over with her spoon so she could get to the melty, soft bottoms. She didn't want to look at Daniel for fear she'd be disappointed by his reaction.

“That's fantastic.”

Lexie finally looked up. Daniel had paused with a spoonful of Frito pie hovering in the air. The edges of his mouth were creeping into a grin. “That's the best thing I've heard in a long, long time.” He shoved the Frito pie into his mouth and chewed with his mouth
shut while smiling. The crunching sounded like boots walking on gravel. “How'd your fiancé take the news?” He took another big bite of Frito pie.

“I haven't told him yet.” This gave Lexie a jolty feeling that smoothed out when she took an enormous bite of ice cream. If Daniel hadn't been there, she would have leaned over the bowl and sucked in an entire chocolate ball—choked herself with it.

“Are you going to tell him about us?” Daniel looked like a man at an awards ceremony who wasn't quite sure if the emcee had announced his name as the winner or not. Half happy, half anxious.

“I hadn't planned to.” Why was he asking this? Wasn't he officially separated? The confidence she'd felt seconds ago was suctioned out of Lexie like dust up a vacuum hose.

“Tell him after Jen and I are out of the closet with this separation.” Daniel stirred the Frito pie. “Tell him when Ethan graduates.” He was relaxed. And he appeared undeniably happy that Lexie was leaving Peter. Confidence flitted around her—particles that hadn't yet coalesced.

“So, you think we'll be seeing each other eight months from now when Ethan graduates?” Lexie needed more confirmation. She wanted Daniel to answer quickly, before her brain filled in the silence with every crazy, heartbreaking scenario: Daniel no longer wanted to see her now that she was available. Daniel was using her for sex. Daniel liked the challenge of fucking his son's counselor. The bad possibilities were limitless.

“If it were my choice, you'd be my official girlfriend starting right this second.” Daniel leaned his head down and looked into Lexie's face. “But maybe you need to figure out how you feel about me.”

After weeks of trying to ignore her feelings for Daniel Waite,
Lexie felt free to look openly and directly at her heart. She was in love. Undeniably and completely. And now that she could admit these feelings (if only to herself) she was seeing their first encounter, on the lawn at Ruxton, through a different lens. True love had been there from the start, Lexie decided. Exactly as it had been with the three other men she'd loved in her life. (With each one she'd immediately felt a blood-rushing intoxication. She had never gotten to know someone better and
then
realized that he was the one.)

“Tell me this—” Lexie said. “To whom, other than me, are you actually going to say the word
girlfriend
if you're not out with the separation?” If she was going to be his girlfriend, the breakup with Peter would be permanent. No delicate easing out. No taking it through palatable stages. She'd have to stay in Dot's place until she . . . moved in with Daniel?

“I might tell a couple of my close friends. And I'd definitely tell my brother.” Daniel talked about his brother more than he talked about Ethan. He was immensely proud of his younger sib, a Silicon Valley hotshot.

Lexie swirled the remainder of the ice cream into an icy pudding. “Hmmm, I'll agree to be your girlfriend if you pass a three-question test.”

“Do I have to get all three right?” Daniel was grinning.

“Yes.” Lexie had no idea what the questions were. She'd make them up as she went along.

“Yes? Shit. You're hard.”

“Question one.” Lexie spoke in the stilted announcement voice Don McClear used when he approached the microphone in the dining hall or the auditorium. “Have you ever named your penis?” She licked a dollop of ice cream off her spoon.

Daniel nodded toward where the named or unnamed object resided. He looked at Lexie and said, firmly, “No.”

“Correct!” Amy had advised Lexie long ago to never get involved with a man who referred to himself in the third person and to never, ever, sleep with anyone who had named his dick. (Amy had once ended a date midcoitus when she discovered that the guy had named his dick Carbuncle.)

“Question two.” Lexie took another mouthful of ice cream. She swirled it in her mouth while she thought up the question. “Have you ever cheated on a girlfriend or wife?”

“No.” This answer came out quickly, with an upswing in tone as if it were an impossibility.

“Correct!” Mitzy once told Lexie a story about a Dear Abby column. A reader wrote in to say that it wasn't true that men never left their wives for their mistresses because her lover had left his wife and had married her. Abby replied something along the lines of
Congratulations! You're married to someone who cheats on his wife!
At the time, Lexie wondered if Mitzy was trying to tell her that she had stolen Bert from another woman, a wife, perhaps. But she didn't ask. No need to learn more than what Lexie already knew.

“Okay, question three.” Lexie put the ice cream bowl on the cart and pushed the cart away from the bed. “Do you want to have sex one more time before I run out of here for dinner duty?”

“Yes, but I'm fifty-three. Even a girl as amazing and beautiful as you can't bring this”— Daniel pointed at his crotch with his thick, square hand—“this never, ever, ever been named and never-ever-ever-cheated-on-anyone dick back to life only an hour after orgasm.”

Lexie wanted to laugh but she knew, from Amy mostly, that
it was unwise to laugh when a man was discussing his penis. “You pass!” Lexie said. “I fully accept the position of girlfriend!”

“And I am the winner.” Daniel leaned back against the headboard and Lexie curled into his chest where the robe was gaping open. “Hey, Peter's not violent, is he?”

“No, not at all.” The small, wiry hairs on Daniel's chest tickled Lexie's face. When she pushed into him the hair felt spongy and aerated. This was a new sensation. She'd never been with a man whose chest was filled in with fur.

“He's not going to try to hurt you when you tell him you're leaving?”

“No! He makes guitars.” Lexie looked up at Daniel.

“If I were him, I'd want to kill someone. You sure he's not going to El Kabong you?”

“Huh?”

“It was this cartoon when I was kid. This guy, I think he was Spanish or Mexican—wait, he may have been a Mexican dog . . . or no, he was a horse. Anyway, he played guitar and when he got mad he'd lift the guitar and smash it on people's heads and yell
‘El Kabong!
'
”

“I can't imagine Peter causing harm to any of his guitars.” Lexie wanted to burrow into Daniel's chest and hibernate—his hair as a blanket over her body—until the Peter breakup had passed.

“Yeah, but a broken heart can make people a little crazy. You know, make them act out in ways that even they themselves would never have imagined.”

“Half the problem with Peter is there's nothing about him that challenges the imagination,” Lexie said with certainty. “I'll never be surprised by him.”

P
ETER WAS WAITING WITH A COFFEE CUP WHEN LEXIE WALKED IN
the house. He hugged her, the drink in his hand hot against her back, and rocked her in his arms as if he were mothering a child.

“I'm okay.” Lexie pulled away from the hug. She took the drink, gulped down a mouthful, and then jerked her head back and coughed. It was Irish coffee. And stronger than she would have made it. But probably a good thing considering what she had to accomplish tonight. She took another couple glugs before handing the cup to Peter who slurped from the top as if it were too hot to swallow (it wasn't).

“Yeah?” Peter brushed the hair from Lexie's face. “Are you ready to talk about . . . your shitty day?”

The whiskey in the coffee gave Lexie a cottony feeling in her head. But it wasn't enough to provide the courage needed to break up with Peter. Why hadn't anyone started a business where you could hire a surrogate to do the hard things that should be done face-to-face: breakups, quitting jobs, asking for money owed,
telling someone they'd disappointed you? After growing up in a household where conflict was the central interaction, Lexie was so averse to confrontation that she regularly accepted the normally unacceptable (being overcharged in a restaurant, Janet Irwin's petty demands, a student complaining about a grade, etc.). Lexie took the cup from Peter and sipped down as much as she could before he removed it from her hands.

“I'll be ready in a second.” She felt the alcohol like an elevator rising into her cottony skull.

“Did she ever answer your grandmother-of-the-bride email?” Peter finished off the coffee. Maybe to keep Lexie from sucking it down so quickly.

“No. I hope she read it, though.” Lexie stared at Peter. How awful would it be if she did this by text? Beyond reproach, she knew.

“I bet she did. She probably was going to say yes in person.”

“Will you talk to me in the bedroom while I pack?” Lexie walked upstairs ahead of Peter. Maybe she could put off the conversation until after she'd packed her bag.

Peter sat on the bed, watching while Lexie filled her rolling bag. Next, she got the big, ancient suitcase from the hall closet, the one she'd used when she'd moved from California to the East Coast.

“How many nights do you have to stay?” Peter lay back, his arms crossed behind his head.

“Hmmmm, not sure.” Lexie felt like vomiting. Was it possible to load everything into the car and then tell Peter seconds before she drove away? It would serve the face-to-face obligation while saving her the agony of discussion. More than anything, Lexie
didn't want to see Peter's reaction when she told him it was over. She didn't want to feel his feelings.

“Can I stay there with you?”

“No. Ruxton might buy condoms for the students, but there's no way they'd let two people who aren't married sleep in the dorm together.”

“We should move to Amsterdam. You could work at a private school there and we'd sleep together and smoke pot at night and I'd sit out on the quad and play guitar.”

Lexie actually laughed. “Yeah, all those quads on the canals in Amsterdam. And I looove pot, don't I?”

“We could live on a houseboat. I'd play guitar on the boat deck.”

“And smoke pot on the boat.” Lexie surreptitiously wrapped a sweater around her wooden jewelry box, placed it in the big bag, and then zipped everything up. “Okay, this is it.” Was she actually going to do it this way? Was she so conflict avoidant that she would break up and then drive off?
Say it,
Lexie thought.
Do the right thing and tell him now. In the bedroom.
Lexie looked at Peter. She opened her mouth to speak but before a word came out, Peter got off the bed, hoisted up the giant bag, and held it against his chest. He walked out of the room and carried it down the stairs. Lexie slipped the engagement ring off her finger and then placed it on the nightstand next to Peter's side of the bed. She grabbed the rolling bag and hurriedly bumped it down the stairs to catch up with Peter.

“I don't understand why you have to take all this stuff. This is crazy.”

He hasn't seen crazy yet, Lexie thought. Crazy was minutes away if she didn't sit him down in the living room and explain as
well as she could what was going on. Without context, this breakup would feel as random and unexpected as a bomb deployed on Western Massachussetts.

Peter let the big bag drop on the landing by the front door. He stood straight and took a few deep breaths.

“Peter,” Lexie said.

“Yeah?” Peter leaned down and picked up the bag again—it looked like he was carrying a coffin. Lexie opened the front door for him and stepped aside. She waited a couple minutes before following him out as she tried to figure out how to start. Nothing sounded right in her head. It would be so much easier if they'd been fighting and miserable for weeks on end. Maybe she'd lie and tell him she was afraid of marriage.

Lexie stepped out of the house pulling the roller bag behind her. Peter stood at the open trunk staring down at the big bag that filled the space.

“Let's put that one in the backseat.” Peter shut the trunk. He took the roller bag from Lexie and put it in the middle of the backseat where it sat like a squat child. “I'll follow you down to help you get the big one out of the car.”

Lexie felt a bolt of shame run through her. How could she do this to a guy who was nice enough to follow her twenty minutes to school to help her schlep a suitcase out of the trunk? “There are a hundred able-bodied boys there who can get it for me.”

“If you prefer the young boys, that's fine by me.” Peter pulled Lexie in and hugged her, hard. Lexie was unable to formulate the breakup sentence. Words were backed up in her throat like train cars stuck in a tunnel. “It'll only be a few days, babe. Don't worry.” Peter squeezed her tighter. Lexie wished she could burst
into flames and burn up instantaneously. Disintegration would be easier than conversation.

“I have to tell you something.” Lexie spoke into Peter's chest. Hairless. It felt hard as a piece of plywood.

“Hmm?” Peter didn't loosen his grip.

“I have to say something.” Lexie pulled away and looked at Peter. Tears released from her eyes and streamed down her face.

“About Dot?” Peter wiped Lexie's face with his index finger. Lexie shook her head no. Yes. No. She was almost choking from the softball in her throat.

“I—” Again, the words didn't come. Lexie inhaled, sniffed, and then pulled away from Peter and got in the car. She turned the key so she could roll down the electric window. “I'm sorry.” She cried in a sniffy, little way—her head rocking against the back of the seat. “I'm sorry.” Lexie said again.

“What are you sorry about? I'm sorry your friend died. I'm sorry you have to live in her musty old-lady apartment until they find someone to move in there. I'm sorry I won't get to sleep with you tonight.” Peter leaned in through the window and kissed Lexie on the lips.

“I'm sorry.” Lexie was making squeaky hamster noises as she tried not to cry. She knew she should get out of the car, go in the house, and talk to Peter, but it felt as if her body was working against her, her hands were working against her. She started up the engine. “I—” Lexie's head shook and the hamster noises increased.

“It's gonna be okay.” Peter's forearms were folded on the open window ledge. He was so gentle, so patient. Lexie thought of llamas—their soulful faces, their human eyelashes.

“But . . .” Lexie squeaked out. “I want to cancel the wedding.”

“You do?” Peter looked surprised, but not crushed.

“Yes.” Lexie's voice was so high, she barely recognized it as belonging to her. The shaky-head, twittering cry continued.

“That's fine, babe. You know we were always doing it for you. I never needed a wedding.” Peter reached in and rubbed Lexie's forearm.

“We're going to lose a lot of money. All those deposits!” A choky wail came out.

“It's only money. I want you to be happy.” Peter leaned through the window again and kissed Lexie once more.

“I'm breaking up with you.” Lexie pushed out the words and instantly felt herself zoom away from her body so that she was floating on the ceiling of the car. It was an art she had practiced all her life—floating on the living room ceiling as her parents threw half-full cans of beer at each other; floating on the locker room ceiling when the girls teased her about her underwear; floating above her bed at night when she realized her father had abandoned her and she might never see him again.

“What?” Peter's face went through a series of emotions that was almost cartoon-like in its rapidity. Lexie focused on how boneless his flesh was and not on what he was feeling. She looked down at herself and could see that she was crying, but she could no longer
feel
the crying.

“I'm permanently moving into Dot's apartment.” Yes, she had used the word
permanently
. Lexie had heard it all as if it had been spoken by a stranger sitting beside her.

“Wait.” Peter flashed a smile of confusion. “You're really breaking up with me?”

“Yes.” Lexie checked on herself and was glad to see the crying persisted.

“I don't understand. You're leaving me? Why?” Peter's face continued to flip from one expression to the next, like someone flicking through channels with a remote control. Lexie stayed afloat and watched. She knew she wasn't going to turn off the motor. She knew she was about to do the supreme asshole move and simply drive away.

“I'm sorry.” Lexie sniffed. There was nothing on which she could wipe her nose and she didn't want to use the sleeve of her blouse or the back of her hand, at this age, at this time. She sniffed again. “I'll come back soon to get the rest of my stuff.” She let down the emergency break.

“WAIT!”
Peter's voice screeched. “What happened? I don't understand what happened!” He started sobbing, his face a wild-eyed, rubbery mess of emotion.

Lexie watched herself as she put the car in neutral and let it roll back down the driveway. She hoped that of everything she ever did in her life, this would be the cruelest act. In that case her worst self would soon be behind her.

“Turn off the car. Come inside! I don't understand what happened?” Peter walked along with his hands on the window. Lexie checked in on herself again. Was she still crying? No, she wasn't. That was the thing about detachment. When you did it right, you became emotionally novacained.

“I don't love you anymore.” Lexie hadn't wanted to say it, and she wasn't even sure it was true (she had no idea how she felt, other than numb), but it was the sharpest knife she could use: a
swift, metallic cut, rather than sawing through Peter with a plastic utensil.

“Do you love someone else?”

“No.” As promised, she wouldn't tell Peter about Daniel until Ethan knew about his parents' breakup. Lexie put the car in reverse and stepped lightly on the gas. Peter ran along with her, crying in hiccupping gulps. Lexie gunned the car to break free of him. She backed to the bottom of the driveway, shifted into gear, and zoomed away.

Once she had turned the corner, Lexie landed back in her body and a hysterical wailing poured out of her. It felt more like vomiting than crying. She pulled the car over and put her face onto the steering wheel, delirious with guilt, shame, and grief. Sick with it.

Lexie's cell phone rang. She looked at Peter's face on the screen. “I'm sorry,” she said aloud. She shut the phone off, shoved it to the bottom of her purse, and then wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

TWO SENIOR GIRLS FROM THE LACROSSE TEAM WERE WALKING
across the parking lot when Lexie pulled in.

“Can you two help me get this bag to Rilke?” Though she'd had them in her Health and Human Sexuality class, Lexie didn't know these girls well. One had already been recruited to play lacrosse for Hopkins, the other had been recruited for Dartmouth.

Orange-haired Megan Haliday reached into the trunk and pulled out the big bag with two hands. “Is there a body in here?” she asked.

Lexie laughed and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“You okay, Miss James?” the other girl, Toni Bell, asked. Her black skin was so shiny in the lamplight she looked like she'd been polished.

“Oh you know, it was a hard day today.”

“I'm sorry about Mrs. Harrison,” Toni said. “She was your friend, right?”

“Yeah, she was a great friend.” Lexie held back from crying. It unbalanced students' sense of things when they witnessed their teachers being too human. Crying was as bad as being drunk or half-dressed.

“I had her for English three times. She was hilarious,” Toni said. She and Megan held each side of the giant bag and walked with Lexie toward Dot's old apartment. Lexie pulled the roller bag.

“I only had her for English freshman year,” Megan said.

“She sang all the time in AP English. She even made us sing once.”

“Oh my god, I would have died if I had to sing.”

“At least she had a good long life,” Toni said.

They were at the door to Rilke. Lexie swiped her faculty ID. At the end of the hallway, she used the key Don had given her to open the apartment. She stepped back so the girls could walk in with the big bag.

“Should we put it in the bedroom?” Megan asked.

“Yes. Please.” Lexie stood in the center of the living room and stared at the old, stuffed furniture. The floral couch was so overused it sank in on one end; next to it a side table was stacked with books.

The girls returned from the bedroom and stood near Lexie.

“Doesn't it look like someone's sitting there?” Lexie pointed to where the cushion dipped in the shape of a bottom.

“Totally spooky,” Megan said.

“Her bedroom's going to freak you out,” Toni said. “The bed's unmade, there are clothes everywhere, and there's a cup of tea on the nightstand.”