by Robin Roseau
She shrugged. "Um. I've never been kissed. Romantically, I mean."
"My first romantic kiss was my sophomore year in college," Cassidy said. "That was when I figured out I was gay. Before that, I just thought I was a late bloomer. I sort of made up for it over the next couple of years."
"Not me," I said. "I've known for years. Well. Maybe four or five. But I had to hide it."
"You said your cousin ratted you out," Maggie said. "But you didn't say how she knew."
"She caught me on a date last summer," I said. "We thought we were being careful. I guess not careful enough. Her name is Pat, so I could say I was going out with Pat and let everyone assume. She even has one of those voices that is a little indistinct, so she could call, and if she pitched her voice just a little lower than normal, you couldn't tell she was a girl." I shrugged. "I can't say I'm happy at how all that turned out, but I wouldn't have met Cassidy otherwise. So maybe that's just how it had to be."
"That's sweet," Maggie declared. "I told three, but you only told one, Cassidy."
Cassidy laughed. "All right. When I was really young, I wanted to be an astronaut."
"What happened?"
"I get airsick."
We laughed. "That might get in the way," Maggie declared.
"You think?" Cassidy asked. "For a while, I thought I wanted to be a fireman."
"Why didn't you?"
"Greed," Cassidy said. "Do you know what firemen make?"
"That's terrible!" I said.
"But true. Okay, fine. My grandmother sat me down one day and said, 'Cassidy, you might be an adequate fireman.' She pinched my pathetic arm. And then she poked me in the head. 'But you've got a brain in there, and you could be amazingly good at any job that requires you to use it.' I always liked school, but when I started looking at colleges, I talked to her, and then I talked to her some more when I was picking a major." Then she looked away. "She died before I graduated."
"I'm sorry," I said. "That had to suck."
"Yeah," Cassidy said. "It did." She made a disgusted noise. "Okay, no depressing topics!"
"Well, the rest of the story was sweet," Maggie said. "Your grandmother sounds like she was an amazing woman."
"She was," Cassidy said. "I didn't fully appreciate that growing up, but she really was amazing."
Then they both looked at me. "Your turn," Maggie said.
"I don't have anything to tell," I said. "Between the two of you, you both know everything about me."
"I don't think so," Maggie said. "Tell us something embarrassing."
I laughed and immediately began blushing, but they stared at me intently, and finally I said, "Fine. Fine." I sighed. "I still wore Hello Kitty clothes into my teens."
"No way," said Maggie. "I quit when I was nine." Then we both turned to Cassidy.
"Hey, don't look at me. Old lady here. Hello Kitty postdates my childhood." Then she cocked her head while looking at me. "You'd look really cute in a pair of Hello Kitty ears."
"Yeah, I don't think so," I said.
"Two more," Cassidy said.
"And they have to be embarrassing," Maggie added.
"Yeah, I don't think so," I repeated. "Fine. Two more. I know how to shoot a gun. My Uncle Steve taught me when I was fourteen."
"Really?" Cassidy asked. "What kind of gun?"
"All kinds, I guess," I said. "We started with a .22 rifle, but then later he taught me to shoot a shotgun and handgun." I shrugged. "I wasn't very good, but if I fired carefully, I could hit the target." I smiled. "We never told my parents. My mom would have freaked, and my Dad thought Uncle Steve was crazy, so he'd probably have thrown a gasket."
"Was he crazy?"
"I didn't think so," I replied. "Third. During my junior year in high school I decided I was vegan."
"Then give me that," Maggie said, reaching for my plate of kung pao chicken. I pulled it away from her.
"I told my family. No one said a word. But the next morning was Sunday. Mom made bacon."
Cassidy laughed. "Shortest vegan stage in the history of vegans?"
"Just about," I said. "It was bacon, eggs, and pancakes. We all sat down, and Mom handed me a glass of orange juice. I reached for the pancakes, and Mom reminded me they had eggs and milk, and she was sure I'd slather them in butter besides. Then my dad grabbed a piece of bacon, bit into it, and started moaning like it was the best piece of bacon he'd ever had."
"That's kind of mean," Maggie said.
"If I'd been serious about it," I said, "I'd have been immune. In their defense, neither of them teased me when I grabbed my own piece. That was the end of the conversation."
We made friendly small talk for the remainder of the dinner, all of it orchestrated by Cassidy. While our first date had been clumsy about that, I now realized it was due to the unusual nature of that date. She really was quite comfortable leading the conversation. And so we had a pleasant dinner.
Eventually the three of us retired to the living room. Cassidy subtly sent me to one of the easy chairs so she and Maggie landed on opposite ends of the sofa. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Cassidy said, "Well. Did you want to talk?"
Maggie lowered her eyes, but she nodded. "This is hard though."
"I understand," Cassidy said. "We're not here to judge. Lord knows, I shouldn't judge the choices others have made."
Maggie looked up at that and came to some sort of conclusion. "My parents are divorced."
Cassidy cocked her head. "I think I knew that, but I'm not sure. And?"
"And... Honey said something."
Cassidy looked at me. "Your roommate?"
"Yes. But Honey and Maggie went to high school together."
"Longer than that," Maggie said. "We weren't close friends or anything like that."
"All right. What did Honey say?"
"She told me I blame every bad choice I make on my parents' divorce."
"Ah. Do you?"
"Probably not every bad choice," Maggie said, lowering her eyes again. "But some."
Cassidy looked over at me. "What do you think?"
"Honey has said that to me about Maggie, too," I said. "But I don't trust Honey's judgment. There are reasons Maggie knows about you and Honey doesn't."
"Right. But do you think she's right?"
"I think there are times that Maggie's bitterness about the divorce comes out, but I think that's a reasonable reaction to the situation."
"How long have they been divorced, Maggie?"
"It was the summer between freshman and sophomore years in high school. I didn't deal with it very well."
"And now?"
"I think Honey might be right, or at least partly right."
"Identifying the problem is the most important step to resolving it. Well, if you consider this a problem."
Maggie stared at her hands. Cassidy waited for a while, then asked, "Was there something you wanted to change?"
Maggie looked up at me. "I'm fat."
"Ah. And you blame that on your parents?"
"Not directly. But I think I rationalize some of my behavior as a reasonable reaction to the situation."
"Such as?"
"How much I eat. And getting depressed so I eat more. And then not doing anything to work it off."
"Do you like to exercise?"
"That's the other thing," Maggie said, suddenly showing stronger emotions. "I had to sell my horse! They were so damned selfish. Why did they have to get divorced? And it wasn't any easier for my little sister. We had to move and share a bedroom." Maggie looked down. "First world problems."
Cassidy watched her for a minute then said gently, "You loved your horse I bet."
That was when Maggie started crying. Not sobbing, just tears crawling down her face. "They made me sell my horse like she was a used car. I know, I know. Horses are expensive, and I was lucky to have her growing up. But they treated her like a used car."
"It sounds like you have some justified bitterness."
&nbs
p; "First world problems."
"Your love for your horse isn't something you need to minimalize. I never had horses, but I've had dogs, and it would kill me to give one up. It killed me when they died. It's not any different at all, is it?"
"No!" Maggie said. "I'm so damned mad at them."
"I don't blame you," Cassidy said. "Was there more?"
"I know we're supposed to accept ourselves for who we are."
"Yeah, well, if you ever figure out how, please tell me. I'll help you write a book, and we'll make millions."
Maggie laughed. It was a little ragged. Then she wiped away the tears.
"All right. It sounds like there are a few things here. Have you tried talking to a professional?"
"No."
"Well, I'm not a professional, but maybe I can give some perspective. Let's review. You have justified anger with your parents. You find yourself making choices because of it. And you have self-image issues."
"My weight isn't healthy," she pointed out.
"All right. And that. And there's the loss of your horse."
Maggie nodded, not saying anything.
"I don't know how to help you with that part," Cassidy said. "It's grief."
"If she died, I could maybe get over it. But I worry. Are the people who bought her taking care of her? Are they treating her right? Is she happy? Does she miss me? What if they're neglecting her?"
"Have you tried to visit her?"
"Dad wouldn't tell me who he sold her to. He and Mom thought I should have a clean break. I'm afraid they did something terrible with her."
"All right," said Cassidy. "I think I'd have a frank talk with my father, but I don't know what kind of relationship you have with him."
"It's been crappy lately," Maggie said. "He's remarried. I've been pretty shitty to his new wife."
"Ah. So another issue. Does she deserve it?"
Maggie paused before answering. "No."
"Maggie, you need to forgive them. I know it's hard. But this is going to wear at you. You don't have to forget, but you need to forgive. They didn't do any of this to hurt you."
"I know," she said in a small voice.
"I can't tell you how. Frankly, forgiveness was never something I was that good at myself. But you need to tell yourself they didn't do any of this to hurt you, and remind yourself that adults make mistakes. Parents make mistakes. Divorce happens when two people forget to work at the relationship, and after a while, they don't know how to get back to where they were when they got married."
Maggie sat quietly, and after a moment, Cassidy continued. "This is going to be hard, Maggie, but it's part of becoming an adult. What I would consider is inviting myself to dinner. And then over dinner I would apologize to your dad's new wife. Tell her you know you've been a bitch and that you're sorry. Don't offer excuses. You don't even have to explain yourself. They both will understand. But don't offer excuses. You're sorry. And mean it."
Maggie nodded at that.
"And then I'd tell your dad that you're really torn up about your horse, and tell him you need to see for yourself that she's doing okay. Don't make it an ultimatum, but tell him as long as you're worried about her, you can't move past it."
Maggie nodded again.
"You know it's going to be hard though. You have to decide if you need to see her, or if you just somehow need assurances she's okay. I can't imagine going back and seeing one of my dogs, but know it's my last time."
Maggie sighed. "I'll think about that a little. I think I need to see her. I need to see where she lives."
"Maybe pictures would be enough," Cassidy added. "Maybe they wouldn't. You have to decide that for yourself. But you know you're going to cry, whatever happens."
"I know. What if she's not okay?"
"Then you come back and we'll figure something out."
"Okay," Maggie said. "What about... the rest?"
"Well, you have two related issues. You blame your parents for your poor choices, and amongst those poor choices are those related to your weight." She paused. "Are you ready for me to be blunt?"
"I guess."
"Your weight is going to be a problem for you if you don't fix it. It's going to lead to health issues. And while it shouldn't, people are shallow, and it's going to cause difficulties for your social connections."
"I know."
"You're not obese, but I suspect you're on the way, aren't you?"
Maggie nodded. "I gained another ten pounds already this school year."
"Well, it sucks, but people judge us. You can say you shouldn't live your life for what other people think. If it weren't for the long-term health issues, I'd tell you to fuck 'em." She sighed. "Look. I don't have any great wisdom on this, either. You're going to hate this advice, but Maggie, you're going to have to basically man up and act like an adult. You are the one making these decisions, not your parents. It may be easy to blame them, but the reality is you're the one engaging in the behaviors you feel are unhealthy."
"I know."
"Look, I'm going to tell you something. It can be really hard to get out from under the shadow our parents cast over us. When I was your age, I was still making a lot of my choices based on what my parents would approve of. The reverse of that is to make choices based on their disapproval. It's called rebellion."
"How did you stop?"
"I didn't. Not exactly. I met someone. She became a sort of surrogate. So I started making my choices to please her instead of my parents. That's not really any healthier. The thing is, we broke up nearly 20 years ago, and I haven't talked to her in over 10. But I still catch myself making choices based on whether or not it would please her. When I find myself doing that, I have to ask myself what I want."
"So you're saying it's hopeless?"
"No. I'm saying you have to make conscious decisions. You have to decide what you want your life to be, and then you have to make the choices that give you that life."
Maggie looked over at me. "Kind of like Astrid did."
"I suppose so," Cassidy said. "I'm not a fitness guru. But I can tell you what works for me."
"What?"
"I don't worry about what I eat. I worry about how much of it I eat. I find that for most foods that are deemed fattening, I'm just as happy with a small amount as I am if I gorge. I have my weaknesses. I don't keep Fritos in this house, because I will plow through a monster bag in an afternoon."
Maggie laughed. "Oreos."
"Yeah, I don't keep those in the house, either. When I do buy sweets, I buy very high-quality sweets. I buy Godiva chocolate, not Hershey's."
"Because it's expensive, so you don't buy as much?"
"No, because the quality is so high that one Godiva truffle is worth three Hershey's bars easily. And then I make a big deal of enjoying it. I let myself really show it." Cassidy smiled. "I moan in pleasure."
"Do you really?"
"In public. I eat it slowly and really enjoy it. When the quality is high, that's easier to do. I don't have to pig out. You notice it's foods like Fritos and Oreos that you pig out on. Or that I do, anyway. Yeah, they're good, but..."
"I can see that."
"I then make other choices. At work, I take the stairs instead of the elevator. I don't hunt for the closest parking spot."
Maggie nodded again. "Basically, act like an adult."
"Yes. I know that's not very profound. It's pretty obvious, and you probably already knew that. Maggie, these are your choices to make. Stop letting your parents make them for you."
"I suppose that's what it is, isn't it?"
"It's not as easy as it sounds. You're going to slip. You're going to see that bag of Oreos and you're going to polish off a half a row, and the temptation is to get depressed at having made a poor choice and compound it by eating the other half."
"I do that now."
"Well, stop it. It's not doing you any good."
Maggie laughed. It was somewhat ragged, but she laughed. "You're right."
&nb
sp; "We all do things we wish we hadn't done. That's life. Accept it but don't let it own you."
Maggie nodded. "I'll try."
"One last thing. You're not going to get everything you want. Forgiving your parents isn't going to be easy. But whether you forgive them or not, this is your life. These are your decisions. You can stay upset with them and still make good choices in other areas of your life. You can stay upset with your dad but stop treating his new wife poorly. You see?"
"Yeah. I see." She took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. "I think I knew all that."
"But you needed someone else to say it."
"Yeah, I guess I did."
"Nothing I said is profound," Cassidy said. "Nothing I said is anything you couldn't figure out for yourself. I've never found solutions in profound statements. I guess down to earth works better for me."
"Thanks, Cassidy," Maggie said. "This helps."
"You're welcome, Maggie."
"I'm going to go clean up," Maggie said. She climbed from the sofa and went in search of the bathroom.
Once I heard the door closed, I said softly, "Thank you."
"Of course," Cassidy said. "If a single talk like this is enough, then she's a stronger woman than I was. If she needs to talk again, you know that would be fine. Come sit here." She patted the sofa next to her, so I moved into place, and by the time Maggie returned, we were cuddling and murmuring at each other.
Maggie stopped in the doorway and leaned against the wall. We turned to face her.
"You two are cute," she said.
"Thanks," said Cassidy. "Cute isn't exactly how I see myself."
"I should go so you two can have the last half of your date."
"We'll drive you," Cassidy replied. "It's too far to walk, and the busses are terrible."
"Before we go," Maggie said. "Maybe this is terrible. Astrid hasn't told me very many details. But she's told me some."
"You're curious," Cassidy said.
"Yeah. I wouldn't tell anyone."
"How much has she told you?"
Maggie glanced at me. I didn't say anything. So she replied, "She said you have something she calls a tickle bench. You lock her in and tickle the crap out of her."
Cassidy smiled. "That's true, although I wouldn't put it that way."
"Hey!" I said. "Don't blame me. She's paraphrasing."
