“Over here!” Delia waved. “We saved you a seat.”
I dropped down in the empty spot and Shay asked, “What did Gladwell want?”
“She wants me to help out with the winter festival.”
Shay smiled. “I love the winter festival!”
Nothing could have surprised me more. “You love the winter festival? Did three ghosts visit you last night?”
“I like the holidays,” she said defensively.
“It just doesn’t seem like you,” I said.
“What does seem like me?”
Setting traps for Santa? Changing out candy for coal in little kids’ stockings? Shoving Christmas trees up chimneys? But I didn’t say any of those things out loud because I enjoyed living.
Delia intervened. “You know why Ms. Gladwell chose you, right?”
“My fantastic bone structure?” It couldn’t have been because of talent. Of the three of us sitting there, Delia was easily best suited for the job I’d been assigned. Why hadn’t they asked her?
“It’s because they give the new teachers the crap work thanks to your probationary year. They know you won’t say no. It’s unfair, but that’s the reality,” she explained. “My first year I got assigned to clean out the cages of all the room pets before winter break.”
Shay jumped in with, “Gladwell had me doing setup and takedown for all the PTA meetings.”
“They’re having me make decorations. Something called a pom. And something else that involves cotton balls and fishing wire. I don’t even know what fishing wire is.”
“Oh no!” Delia gasped.
“Do they not know how bad you are at that stuff?” Shay asked, equally horrified.
“I tried to tell them!” Well, I hadn’t tried very hard because I really did want to please Ms. Gladwell and keep my job. This probably had something to do with my childhood, but I didn’t have any time to unpack it just then. “You guys could help me!”
“Sorry, but I’m already in charge of organizing the donated toys for children’s charities,” Shay said. “And Delia’s running the ice-fishing booth. We’ve all got to pay our dues.”
I could tell the moment Owen walked in the room because of the look on Shay’s face and the fact that the temperature dropped twenty degrees. I knew he was currently mad at her because she was threatening to fail the quarterback, which would mean he couldn’t play Friday’s game.
While I’d never gotten the full story of everything that had happened between those two, I knew it was bad. One night when Shay had been overly tipsy (her term, not mine), she had confessed that if she ever found herself in some life-threatening situation she was going to write Owen’s name on her body with a Sharpie pen just so that he’d be the primary suspect. She later claimed to have been joking, but . . .
“Look at that, there’s the new substi-cute teacher taking over Jennifer’s class.” Delia pointed across the room to a good-looking guy in his late twenties. “His name is Kyle. I think maybe he should be my new boyfriend.”
My phone buzzed before I could properly assess Kyle. It was a text from Brad. I tried not to groan. He was supposed to be leaving me alone.
“From Brad? We should talk. I thought you guys were done. What is this?” Shay demanded.
Too late I realized that I hadn’t thought to cover up my screen in case something like this happened. My hand flew up to cover the message even though the damage had already been done. “It’s just—”
Her hand dropped to my wrist, where she noticed Brad’s bracelet. I didn’t know what had possessed me to put it on that morning. It didn’t mean anything. I had just . . . wanted to wear something sparkly.
The hope that when Tyler got back he might notice it, might even ask where it had come from, maybe have a twang of jealousy about it?
Yeah, that had crossed my mind.
But considering that I couldn’t be with him, I couldn’t exactly confess my ulterior motives to my friends.
Shay said, “Where did this bracelet come from? And know there are only two acceptable answers here. One is from Tyler in his quest to convince you to become his girlfriend and the other is in your mother’s couch cushions.”
I couldn’t have lied to Shay even if I wanted to. Not only because she was my friend, but because she’d always been able to see right through me.
It was annoying.
Covering up my wrist with my sleeve I said, “It was a gift.”
“From bad Brad?” Shay had never liked Brad, and with good reason. The first time they’d met, he’d hit on her. I wasn’t around and they didn’t know who the other one was. He approached her saying, “Hey. My name is Brad. What’s yours?”
“Not interested.”
He didn’t take the hint. “You look like a good girl. I make good girls go Brad.”
She had rolled her eyes, trying to ignore him.
“Come on, I’ll be the best you’ve ever Brad.”
“No thanks. You’ve left a Brad taste in my mouth.”
He’d somehow seen this as a sign of interest. “That’s the idea.”
She got rid of him by telling him to go away before she harmed the protruding parts of his body. When she told me later, after I had properly introduced them, I knew it was true. Partly because of the idiotic punning, but also because it wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that. When I’d confronted him, he tried to play it off like he’d known exactly who she was and it was a joke/misunderstanding. He’d said by way of excuse, “Like I’d ever hook up with a girl who had purple hair.”
The truth was, Brad cheated on me constantly. I would find out, he would beg for forgiveness and promise to never do it again. Then my parents would start in, telling me to take him back, that sometimes men couldn’t help themselves, that everybody was human and made mistakes. And I did it. I kept taking him back. Over and over again.
I’d often wondered how many times he’d cheated when I hadn’t caught him or heard about it from someone else.
Shay said, “It is from Brad. Why on earth would you accept?”
Reminding myself of all that had happened before should have convinced me that I was being dumb; instead it only made me slightly defensive. Like when you knew you were wrong but dug your heels in anyway because you were embarrassed. “What? How could I refuse?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe with your dignity and self-respect still intact? You don’t even like this guy. So much for you being over dating rich guys. Why are you accepting presents from him?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” Because it had been so long since I’d had something pretty? I knew how shallow and petty that would sound. “It’s over. We both know it’s over.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, pointing at my wrist.
“Yes. And now I have this token to remember. It wasn’t all bad.”
“And what, you think the good outweighs the Brad? And you still haven’t explained how you got the bracelet.”
“He came to see me at my parents’ house. You know, the night when I moved into Tyler’s. Anyway, that’s when he gave it to me. He apologized and promised to change and said he would be committed to me now.”
Shay narrowed her eyes at me. “Does he know what the word committed means? Like, he understands that he has to stop having sex with other women, right?”
“He knows.” At least, I hoped he did.
She shook her head. “I’ll fall in love with Owen James before Brad is faithful to you.”
Delia put her hand on mine. “But you guys broke up, right? I didn’t hallucinate that part?”
“No. You didn’t. It’s definitely over. He said he’d give me space.” Something he was failing miserably at.
I could see Shay winding up, could already imagine the words that she was going to say. But Delia’s uncharacteristically snarky response shocked all of us. “Give you space? Well, he’s good at that already.”
“Nice.” Shay nodded.
As if he somehow sensed that we wer
e talking about him, another message buzzed in.
“Unless he’s thinking of you moving on with someone else, he should just be quiet,” Shay said.
Ms. Gladwell entered the room, raising both of her hands. “If I could have your attention please, I would like to start the meeting.”
As the room began to quiet down, I wondered if I needed to make things clearer to Brad. That maybe I hadn’t been as definitive as I could have been, since some teeny part of me hadn’t wanted to write him off publicly and risk the wrath of my mother. Both of my parents would react so badly. But could things really get worse? I hadn’t been invited home for Thanksgiving. While I’d had a great day with Shay and her mom, part of me had missed being at home. They had effectively written me off and had only called me when they wanted something from me. They’d dangled Brad and a possible relationship with them in front of me like a carrot.
I needed to cut that last tether between us. I needed both him and my parents to understand that this was over. It was going to be awful, but I was strong enough to do it.
It was time to let them know that things were definitely over with Brad.
No matter how scary that prospect was.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A few days later, I was hunting under the bathroom sink for a bottle of window cleaner. Which I had, in my naivete, assumed only cleaned windows. As per the label. While cleaning the mirror I’d been using the kitchen cleaner, which had falsely labeled itself as “all-purpose.” It was not all-purpose and made bathroom mirrors streaky. “Deceitful advertising,” I mumbled to myself.
Once I found the window cleaner, the internet recommended I not use paper towels but since this wasn’t 1996, we didn’t have any newspaper. I also highly doubted that Tyler had microfiber cloths.
The paper towels worked well enough. Which freed me up to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes: daydreaming about Tyler.
It was one of the few ways to make chores entertaining. I imagined him coming home, finding me in the bathroom, washing the mirror. He would sneak in behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, nuzzling my neck. I’d lean against his brawny frame, loving the way he felt and how he touched me. Shivers of anticipation would rack my frame, making me rely on his strength to keep me upright.
Then he’d whisper words hotly against my ear. “There’s something I want to ask you.”
My rib cage would constrict my breathing, my heart speeding like a jackhammer. “Yes?”
“Madison . . . how did you get the mirror so clean?”
Ugh. It had been so long since I’d been with someone that even my fantasies were lame.
I scrubbed at the mirror harder and wondered how Tyler cleaned the one in his bathroom. Or if he had someone else do it for him.
Someone like Oksana.
“Oksana, Oksana, Oksana,” I muttered as I continued cleaning the mirror. It was weird to be so deeply jealous of someone I knew nothing about.
I had just finished up when I heard a noise. I figured it was Pigeon, but then she came in to sit on the floor next to my feet. She was whimpering.
Which meant . . . I went down the hallway and found Oksana in the kitchen.
I tried not to gasp. I’d chanted her name and had accidentally summoned her.
She had spread groceries all over the counter. A large pot sat on the stove, and I heard bubbles popping, as if something was boiling.
For all that was holy, I hoped it wasn’t a bunny. Whatever it was, it smelled a little like dirt and sulfur. Wasn’t that how brimstone was supposed to smell?
Maybe she was cooking up something for her good buddy, Satan.
“Hello.” I smiled and waved at her.
She had a cigarette hanging from her lower lip. She paused from cutting up a head of cabbage to glare at me and then resumed her cutting.
When it was obvious she wasn’t going to respond, I opted to be more direct. “What are you doing here?” Did somebody accidentally leave the gates of hell unlocked? I hoped I didn’t come across as too accusatory. I was genuinely bewildered to find her in my apartment again.
Her eyebrows went up, as if my question were stupid. “Cooking.”
“Oh. So, what are you, uh, making there?”
“Borscht.”
That was a kind of soup if I remembered correctly. “What do you use to make borscht?”
She glared at me again, obviously not in the mood to talk, and it kind of surprised me when she answered. She held the large knife she was using against her shoulder, making me feel the tiniest bit of fear. “Beets. Cabbage. Knucklebones. And other things.”
Knucklebones? Like . . . from people? What other animals had knuckles? This concerned me.
“Well, that sounds . . . great. Have fun. I’m going to go clean.” She so didn’t care what I was going to do. I wanted to ask her not to smoke because I was a big fan of my own lungs and breathing in general, but I didn’t know if I had the authority to say so.
I scampered away, trying not to think about how unfair it was that she not only looked that way but could cook, too. She’d probably never stick a cast-iron pan in the dishwasher.
When I got back to my room, I called Shay. Somebody needed to commiserate with me.
She answered and I said, “Oksana’s back.”
“Back where?”
“She’s in the kitchen. Cooking.” Something that had not seemed great initially but now smelled utterly divine.
“Is she clothed?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m afraid I may have accidentally used the dark arts and conjured her by saying her name three times while looking in a mirror.”
Shay played along. “Obviously.”
I knew that I was being weird about this Oksana thing. I figured some of it had to be, like, guilt. Or some manifestation of my subconscious and conflicting desires. I wanted to be just friends with Tyler but I also wanted to fight Oksana in a death match for his hand in marriage. So . . .
“Do you know her last name?” Shay asked. “I feel like we should do some deep diving into her social media.”
“No. And there’s no way for me to get it.” Unless I asked Tyler, which was something I didn’t really want to do. His girl situation was just that—his girl situation. I shouldn’t be involving myself in it. Especially if I wanted to maintain some emotional distance from him. He was supposed to be home in a few hours. He could deal with it then.
“Okay, maybe if we just do a more general search. I’m looking up hot girls named Oksana . . . oh! No! Oh, whatever you do, don’t do that. Ugh. I’m going to have to bleach my eyeballs now. But speaking of hot, you should tell Tyler.”
I was confused. “That Oksana’s hot? I think he knows.”
“No, that you think he’s hot. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“Um, he could hear me when I say it? You seem to forget that he has a girlfriend who is currently making him soup. What can we do?”
She chose to misunderstand me. “That’s the spirit! What can we do?”
“Nothing. I’m going to go. I need to vacuum.”
“Spoilsport. I’m going to think of a good way to find out her last name. I’ll call you back when I have an idea.”
I hung up my phone and slid it back into my pocket. “Pigeon, vacuum.” I always tried to warn her first, and she went running by me, into my room and presumably under my bed.
I’d gotten really good at vacuuming since I did it so frequently. I’d spent my last few evenings trying to create poms and failing miserably. I’d already had to replace two packages of tissue paper. At first they looked like giant garbage balls of tissue or a deranged loofah. Then they were squished, as if someone had sat on them, or flopping over too much on the top, like a dead fish.
After watching multiple tutorials I realized that I was making several mistakes, which included making the accordion folds too big and the wire in the center too tight. I learned how to round the corners and now they were sort of resembling the right shape. I
had five that I thought weren’t too bad.
This also meant that there were tissue paper slivers everywhere all the time, hence the vacuuming.
Of all my chores, so far vacuuming was my favorite. Barring the Sock Incident, the Penny Episode, and the other time that involved hoovering up the cord from the blinds, I had been doing well. I hadn’t had to replace the vacuum yet, so I was putting that in the win category. It made me feel accomplished to witness the dirt container filling up. I could actually see my success. It wasn’t the same with something like washing counters. I felt like they generally looked the same after I was done.
Although maybe that was an indication that I wasn’t doing it right.
I went down the hallway and stopped where it met the kitchen and living room. Usually I’d go in and do the front room, too, but I sort of didn’t want to go in there at the moment. So I decided, even though I didn’t need to, to vacuum Tyler’s room. Since he was coming home tonight I thought it would be a nice surprise while also being a way for me to avoid being in the same room as Oksana. Win-win.
Tyler’s room was done in dark blues and grays that felt masculine and relaxing. I made sure to avoid the sheets and blankets on his bed so as to not add to my list of vacuum-related issues, and made my way over to his bathroom.
As I passed his walk-in closet I felt the urge to stop and investigate. I turned the vacuum off. When I opened the door, I was immediately hit with his distinct and amazing scent that probably could have lured me to my death like those moths Delia had told us about.
Glancing over my shoulder, I said a quick prayer that Oksana wouldn’t catch me. The first thing I noticed was that Tyler was a secret slob. While he had an extensive collection of ties and suits hanging up, the floor of his closet was covered in clothes. Like the dryer had thrown up in here. Since I worked with second graders and tended to be messy myself, I ignored it as I stepped into the closet. Considering he was currently on a business trip, it was surprising how many things were still here. He had a wardrobe almost big enough to rival mine. Or, my old wardrobe back when I could buy whatever clothes I wanted without considering the cost. I was running my index finger down the length of an expensive blue silk tie that I’d seen on him before, one that made his eyes look even lighter and more piercing, when my phone rang.
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