Everyone Else's Girl

by Megan Crane

  “Yeah,” Hope agreed, finally weighing in from where she lay sprawled across her bed with her head upside down toward the floor. “You can tell this isn’t an actual war council because when you guys had war councils back in the day, you wouldn’t let me be part of it. I had to be the so-called sentry in the hallway while the three of you giggled and told each other secrets.”

  She subsided, possibly just then noticing that all three of us were staring at her.

  “What?” she demanded, swinging into sitting position. “I feel pain too, you know. You guys aren’t the only ones with baggage from the past. Of course, my baggage is Vuitton.”

  Jeannie rolled her eyes and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, like she feared it might be infectious. Christian didn’t even bother rolling his eyes. Hope looked from one to the other and then smiled to herself.

  “What page are we supposed to be on?” Christian asked me as if Hope hadn’t spoken. “Mom’s back, Dad’s in a walking cast, we can all go on with our lives. Right?”

  “I’m not so sure,” I said. “Mom got a little scary about the fact that her amaryllis wasn’t in appropriate condition, but other than that she was acting as if nothing was weird.” Which had the immediate effect of making me think that nothing was weird. Maybe it hadn’t been such a big deal that she hadn’t come home. Maybe that had been our drama.

  “Like she didn’t in fact prefer to spend her husband’s convalescence romping around Europe,” Hope said, as if reading my mind.

  “And again,” Christian said, impatience laced through his voice, “who cares? This no longer has to be any of our business. For which I would like to offer a hearty hallelujah. This summer has been nuts.”

  “My brother,” Hope said with a sigh. “The humanitarian.”

  “We had to send out the invitations without a final list from her,” Jeannie chimed in. “You probably don’t think that’s a big deal, but just imagine what her reaction’s going to be if it turns out she forgot to put her best friend from college on the list.” She shuddered. “Carnage.”

  “You actually have a point there,” Hope said, sounding grudgingly impressed. “It’s not like Aunt Marion would be gracious about that kind of thing either.”

  “Maybe she just has jet lag,” I said hopefully. I was still holding out for one of those Lifetime movie speeches.

  “I don’t care what she has,” Christian said, crossing his arms over his chest. “As long as she has it here at home.”

  I helped Dad down the rickety stairs into the basement for the pre-dinner fish feeding. He sighed with pleasure when he saw the soft, humming light from the tanks.

  “You must be excited to be back down here.” I was all kinds of jovial. “All the fish missed you. They could tell I didn’t quite have the touch.”

  “It’s good to have things back to normal,” he said, ignoring my attempt at fish bonding. He did produce that smile of his, the genial one he aimed around the room without hitting anything.

  “Mom’s back home, you’re back in the basement.”

  I was actually agreeing, but it didn’t come out that way. I wasn’t sure how it had come out, as a matter of fact, and tried to smile brightly so he’d overlook it.

  Dad focused on me then. “I’ll call up if I need help.”

  “But what if you—”

  “Really, Meredith,” he said, with more of that unfocused geniality. Almost. “I need to get back in the swing of things.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “You’ve done more than enough.” He turned his back then, and limped across to one of the big tanks. Only then did he turn back and offer a smile. A small one, sure, but his eyes twinkled just a little bit to match it, and it was real.

  I smiled back.

  “I’ll admit it, Meredith,” he said then, the smile deepening. “I like being down here alone with them, where I can breed them up. Whole worlds to play with. It’s good to be back.”

  The following day dawned hazy and overcast. The clouds were low and dark. The humidity felt like a sweaty boa constrictor, and outside, the streets smelled of slate and heat. But there was no rain in sight.

  Even Hope knew enough to get her butt out of bed before ten. Mom viewed sleeping in late as a direct declaration of sloth and vice. When Christian and I had been home from college on vacations, we’d gotten it down to a science—the number of mornings per week you could sleep in until, say, eleven versus the mornings you put in an appearance earlier (with the expected naptime later on). But no one would want to draw Mom’s fire so soon after her return.

  Which was how the McKay women found themselves descending upon the local supermarket as a big group that morning.

  “I feel like someone else,” Hope complained in the produce aisle, looking ahead to where Mom was frowning over a bin of apples. “Someone who wants to spend her summer vacation grocery shopping with her mother. Which, let’s face it, just isn’t likely to lead anywhere fabulous.”

  “Just put the carrots in a plastic bag.” When she only sighed, I did it myself. “You could have stayed at home.”

  “Yeah, right.” Hope snorted. “And face the Wrath of Mom? Not in this lifetime.”

  Not that the Wrath of Mom was in evidence in the supermarket. On the contrary—the supermarket was where Mom touched base with the community. Women went out of their way to say hello to her. They called out her name and told her small anecdotes she always laughed at. More often than not, they thanked her for something or other she’d done. It was like walking around with the suburban New Jersey version of Madonna.

  “I thought Deborah Singer was going to talk about her hip surgery all morning,” New Jersey’s Madonna said now, walking up to us. “I told her to use the surgeon Mary Catherine Reading recommended so highly, but she insisted on using a friend of her husband’s down in Baltimore.”

  Clucking her tongue, Mom took control of the cart and set off at a fast clip toward the frozen food.

  “That Mary Catherine Reading,” Hope whispered in my ear. “She’s just such a know-it-all.”

  I stared at her. “Who is Mary Catherine Reading?”

  “Like I know.” Hope’s attention was caught by the glossy magazine racks, and she drifted away to catch up on the happenings in Hollywood.

  At home, we were on bag transportation duty, and marched around to begin unloading the back without comment. Mom made as if to help us, but was pulled up short by the appearance of Mrs. Van Eck at the foot of the driveway. I was convinced that the slight prickle on the back of my neck wasn’t actually sweat but an early warning Van Ick alert.

  “She always knows when Mom’s about to pull into the driveway,” I hissed at Hope, rubbing at my neck. “I think she might have telepathy. Evil telepathy.”

  “Actually, I’ve thought a lot about this and I think that she has all the neighbors’ driveways wired, with sensors or something. So she can track everyone’s comings and goings.” Hope squinted at her. “I bet she hides the monitor in that stupid hat.”

  “Gladys!” Mom called warmly. “So sorry about yesterday, I was absolutely drooping with jet lag.” She hurried over to appease the old hag, leaving Hope and me with the shopping bags.

  “Mom might be the only person in the neighborhood who’s nice to that woman,” I said under my breath. “Seriously—listen to how happy she sounds. She might even like her.”

  “You should know better than that,” Hope said, shaking her head. “As if.”

  “Mom always seems to see the good in irritating people,” I argued. “It’s a gift—one I definitely don’t have.”

  “Mom knows how to work a room,” Hope retorted. “And she knows how to make people feel so good about themselves that they can’t wait to whip out their checkbooks and give money to her organizations. She’s the best actress I’ve ever seen.”

  “She’s not acting.” But I wasn’t sure. “She just thinks it’s important to be as nice as possible to everyone. She’s good at it too.”

  “Mer
edith, you need to wake up and smell the politics.” Hope laughed. “Someday I bet she runs for mayor.”

  On our second trip out, Mom was still talking to Mrs. Van Eck, although it looked more like Mrs. Van Eck was doing the talking while Mom just listened and nodded at irregular intervals when the woman paused to inhale. Isabella, her tiny head festooned with small pastel bows, growled at us and lunged against her leash.

  “Ugh. That dog.” I’d read once that dogs were cowed by eye contact—a whole alpha dog thing—and tried to dominate Isabella from afar with a cold stare. She just howled with rage and started dancing around in a little circle on her hind legs. I averted my eyes.

  “I can’t believe you’re letting Van Ick talk to Mom,” Hope said, pausing to stretch and simultaneously display her gorgeous and actually concave belly. The bitch. “What if she really was watching that whole Scott Sheridan night? What if she tells Mom?” She considered, and I forgot about her toned abs. “I wonder what Mom would do. I mean, as heinous as it would be to have Mom know about your sex life, imagine how much more heinous it must be to be a mother and hear that your kid—”

  “Jesus Christ, Hope,” I said weakly. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

  “Oh.” She tried to suck in her smile. “Sorry.”

  But I had bigger fish to fry. I thrust the grocery bag I’d been holding at Hope and practically dove down the length of the driveway to interrupt Van Ick and hopefully head her off at the pass.

  Mom smiled at me. Van Ick glared.

  “It’s so nice to have Meredith here,” Mom told her. “I’m so lucky that she was able to help out.”

  “Mom,” I said quickly. “Don’t you want to head in?”

  “I was just telling your mother,” Van Ick began, alarmingly.

  “I think it’s about to rain,” I interrupted her. I turned back to Mom. “Also, I’m not sure Hope knows where to put anything and we should probably use her before she heads back to bed.”

  I felt bad—briefly—for throwing my baby sister to the sharks. Then I thought about her whole “musing on Van Ick” routine and got over it.

  “That child will be the death of me,” Mom said, in that offhand way she had of talking to people, so no one took such statements seriously. “You take care, Gladys, and don’t worry about the Hendersons’ bushes. I’m sure they’ll take care of them once they’re back from the Vineyard.”

  She let me herd her indoors. I glanced back in time to see Isabella pop a squat on the lawn again, and inferred more than saw Van Ick’s scowl.

  “Mrs. Van Eck can go on for hours,” I said, by way of explanation. Lame, it’s true.

  Mom just eyed me as she put her bag down on the kitchen counter. “Gladys Van Eck is just a lonely soul,” she said evenly. “You kids have always given her such a hard time.”

  “She’s the neighborhood menace,” I replied, because Hope had already vacated the kitchen and it was up to me to say such things in her absence.

  “She’s a sad old woman whose own children left her high and dry years ago,” Mom retorted. “That weirdo son of hers is off in Alaska, last I heard, and that daughter.” She sniffed, as if still too affronted to comment further. I had forgotten about the Van Ick children, but was somehow unsurprised they’d skedaddled as soon as possible for points unknown. Or maybe not entirely unknown, if Hope’s sensor idea had any truth to it.

  “I don’t know, Mom.” I started unpacking the closest bag. “What gives her the right to be such a busybody?”

  “I don’t think she knows how else to relate to people.” There was more than a faint hint of reproof in her tone. “It’s not as if she would get many visitors, now is it? What you call being a busybody is probably the only human contact that woman gets all day.”

  Funny how my mother was so good at making me feel tiny.

  “Okay,” I said. “But those dogs of hers . . .”

  Mom glanced at me. “She must spend hours every day with those bows. I think it’s wonderful that she has something to care so much about. You don’t know what it’s like to grow old, Meredith. It’s good to have things to love.”

  I should have been more specific in my wishes for Lifetime movie moments. I could see that now. I should have indicated that I wanted to be the heroine who listens to the speeches that make everyone else grow and learn, not the person to whom those speeches were directed.

  We unpacked in silence for a while. The brown paper bags crackled, and were damp from the humidity when I tried to fold them.

  “Your father can’t say enough about how helpful you’ve been,” Mom said. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

  Come home sooner? I thought.

  “Well,” I said. “I’m glad I could help.”

  “I don’t know what your schedule is, when you can get a flight out,” Mom said, “but I hope you’ll stay for one last supper. I’ll make your favorite.”

  “My favorite?” I echoed. I was just looking at her blankly. What was she talking about?

  “You used to love my fried chicken,” Mom continued merrily. “I’d be happy to make that, if you like. Although you might want to wait and see what the storm is like before you head off.”

  “Where am I going?” I asked, confused.

  Mom turned from the refrigerator and looked as confused as I felt.

  “Home,” she said.

  Which is when I realized that I hadn’t even thought about going home in ages. I couldn’t think of the last time I’d thought longingly of Atlanta or my life there. Even when Travis had visited, I’d given lip service to the idea of leaving New Jersey, but I hadn’t really thought about it. I hadn’t been counting the days until Mom returned and I could leave. Quite the contrary. It was like I had amnesia and had forgotten I had somewhere else to be.

  “Home to Atlanta,” Mom continued, possibly worried by my silence. “And that nice Travis. You must be anxious to see him.”

  “Oh,” I said faintly. I tried to rally. “I don’t know where my head is today.” I mustered up a smile from somewhere. “I just need to call the airline.”

  “I can’t believe you’re really going,” Hope whined later that day, lounging against the door frame. I’d spent the day packing, and was changing the sheets on my bed in my old bedroom so Mom couldn’t accuse me of treating the house like a hotel. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you girls to think of others, she’d said throughout our youth whenever we’d failed her exacting laundry standards, which required a PhD and far more interest in detergent than I’d ever possessed.

  “You know they’re just waiting to go nuts. The minute you leave”—Hope made a big arc with her hands—“boom.”

  “They’ll be fine.” I smoothed out the coverlet with my palms. “They’re always fine. And you do what you want anyway.”

  “There’s doing what I want without parental interference, and then there’s doing what I want with parental interference,” Hope said dryly. “It’s all about the irritation level.” She straightened. “I think you should stay. What’s in Atlanta anyway?”

  “Travis.” His name stuck in my throat. I fluffed up the pillows and swatted them into place against the headboard. “Maybe if I throw myself prostrate at his feet and am the best girlfriend who ever lived for the next, oh, two hundred years, I’ll be worthy of him.”

  “Yeah,” Hope said. “Or maybe he’s not the one for you and you might as well not bother.”

  “I’ve been with him a long time.” My voice was low. “That has to mean something.”

  “Maybe it means you were with him a long time.” Hope sounded unimpressed. “Are you actually happy in Atlanta? Really happy?”

  “Life isn’t about being happy,” I informed her. “It’s about making choices and sticking with them.” This happened to be what my mother had told me when I’d decided I wanted to switch majors in my senior year, which would have necessitated extra years of school, way more money, and a good deal less angst on my part.

&
nbsp; My sister rolled her eyes, but chose not to respond. Which greatly resembled my own response to the original statement, if I thought about it. Outside, thunder grumbled in the clouds, and occasional lightning fizzled through the air. Hope groaned.

  “Just rain already!” she told the sky. “God!”

  “I have a job I’m really good at, an apartment I love in a great neighborhood, the perfect boyfriend who I don’t deserve—an entire life,” I continued. Fiercely. Because obviously, I needed reminding. “I don’t need to be here anymore. In fact, I never wanted to come back here in the first place. I had better things to do than troll Hoboken in a tacky yellow Hummer, let me assure you. I knew I should have refused to go to that stupid party, and to hell with what Mom and Jeannie thought!”

  “Are you going to tell him?” Hope asked, interrupting my rant.

  “You told me it was better not to,” I reminded her, staring. “Why share the pain, I think you said. Do you think I should tell him? What’s the point of confessing now?”

  Now that it was over, I meant. Now that the madness was about to end and be nothing but a bad memory.

  “Scott,” Hope clarified, with a small smile she made no attempt to hide. “Are you going to tell him you’re leaving?”

  I made Hope drive me around his block twice, as I gathered my nerve. I had only been to his place once before, the night I had to stop pretending I wasn’t a full participant in whatever it was we were doing. The night I’d gone to him when I could have stayed inside, stayed away.

  Scott lived in half of a two-family house just at the border of the next town over. I could see his lights on inside the house. It was just past five, and I was surprised he was already home. Surprised or relieved?

  “Looks like he’s home,” Hope pointed out, as if I couldn’t see the lights. “I’ll just be here,” she continued. “So you go ahead and take as long as you—” She caught my eye. “Okay, I’m being totally silent.”