Screwed

by Laurie Plissner

  “I’m sure they would love that. Do you want me to set you up on Skype?” Charlie asked.

  “No, dear, the telephone is much better for someone my age. I’m sure your parents don’t want to be staring at my prune face right before they have dinner.”

  “Aunt Helen, don’t say that. You’re beautiful, and timeless.”

  “Just like the Sphinx, my love. Now, while I do that, why don’t you and Grace set the table. The cloth is already on. The dishes are on the sideboard. You just need to rinse the silver first. Otherwise everything will taste like Tarn-X. There will be five us — the three of us, and George and Vera — make that six, since Jennifer is coming for pumpkin pie.”

  “What about Ada?” Charlie asked.

  “Ada has taken a couple of days and gone to visit her family, so it’s just us.”

  In the dining room, Grace and Charlie walked around the table, arranging cutlery, plates, and glasses. “Your aunt has such lovely things.” Grace held a cut crystal wineglass up to the light.

  “She does. It’s nice that Jennifer is coming over,” Charlie said, not particularly interested in Helen’s dishes or her guest list, but feeling awkward in Grace’s presence. Small talk set his teeth on edge, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Mrs. T. thought having my best friend here would make the holiday a little easier … since my parents aren’t around.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “It is, but she didn’t need to. I feel so close to you … and to your aunt. It’s weird, but you’ve become my family these last few months.”

  The pause wasn’t lost on Charlie, and he smiled, although when she said family, he prayed she didn’t think of him as a brother. “I’m glad. When we finish here, do you want to go for a walk?” Maybe his tongue would untie itself if he exposed it to a blast of cold air.

  “Before … my dad and I always used to go for a long walk on Thanksgiving Day.”

  “We don’t have to, then. I don’t want to stir up bad memories.”

  “No, it’s all good. I’d love to go for a walk with you, Charlie Glass.”

  The sky was a silvery gray, and only a few brave leaves still clung to the branches as Grace and Charlie walked up the trail by the old reservoir. It was the same hike Grace used to take with her father.

  Grace looked up at the sky. “It feels like it might snow if it were just a little bit colder.”

  “Are you warm enough? Here, take my coat.” Charlie started to take off his jacket.

  “No, Charlie, I’m perfectly warm. But thank you. Where do you come from? No boy has ever tried to give me his coat before.”

  “I don’t think lending you my jacket is exactly going out on a limb. It’s not like I’m offering you a kidney or something.” If it ever came up, Charlie was fairly sure he would, but Grace didn’t need to know that right now.

  “But you’re so good to me. You’re always thinking about what I might need or want.” Grace was on a fishing expedition out at the reservoir, hoping Charlie might give her a hint as to his real feelings. Was he simply the most thoughtful person on the planet, or was it something more? Not daring to hope that it could be something more than just good breeding, Grace tried to find the right words to force the issue without sounding like she was making a play for him.

  “I’m good to you because we’re friends,” Charlie said simply, afraid to say anything more explicit.

  In the weeks and months since they had become unlikely housemates, Charlie had tried to find things wrong with Grace in a useless effort to contain his rapidly growing feelings for her. But the more closely he examined her, the more smitten he became. Her uncertainty and her vulnerability highlighted her strength of character. Her slowly blossoming body was incredibly feminine and sexy. Her quiet sorrow over her undeserving parents showed how honorable and loyal she was.

  “I think you’re my best friend these days. I love Jennifer to death, but sometimes I think she’s kind of annoyed with me for not going through with the abortion. In her mind, I made my life ridiculously complicated for no good reason. I wish I could make her understand.”

  They had reached a steep part of the path, and Charlie took Grace’s hand to guide her. If she fell, he would never forgive himself. When the trail flattened out again, he didn’t let go, and she didn’t either.

  “It’s a very personal decision, and what’s right for one person may not be right for everyone,” Charlie said.

  “You should be hanging out at the embassy with the other diplomats. What would you do if you were seventeen and pregnant? Or your girlfriend was?”

  Charlie stopped walking and took Grace’s other hand so they stood facing each other.

  “I would love her and stand by her, whatever she decided to do, because we’re in this together.” He had purposely switched tenses, hoping Grace might pick up on his subliminal suggestion that he wanted to be the one standing by her.

  “Oh.” A single tear rolled down Grace’s cheek as she stared up at Charlie, hating herself for not waiting for someone who looked at her the way Charlie was looking at her at that moment. A lifetime of thoughtful decisions abandoned on a balmy evening on a country road, and now she was looking at the face of what should have been her future, but now could never be. Even if Charlie and Mrs. T. could accept her many imperfections, his perfect parents never could.

  Charlie leaned over and kissed Grace’s cheek. It would have been so easy to kiss her sweet mouth, to telegraph his longing to be something more than her other best friend. But something stopped him. So disoriented, Grace would probably kiss him back, but what would it mean? Better to be patient and be sure.

  When Charlie drew back, Grace exhaled slowly and looked at the ground. She had been so sure he would kiss her on the lips. When Charlie gazed into her eyes, she felt as if they were the only two people on earth, but she had obviously misunderstood. It had happened before. Nick’s adoring looks had been vacant promises. Best friend would have to do. It was better than nothing.

  At the top of the trail they peered over the rocky edge into the pewter-colored water. Stepping back quickly, grabbing onto a tree trunk to anchor herself, Grace made a face. “I don’t like that.”

  “Don’t like what? Do you feel sick?”

  “I’m afraid of heights … along with all the other things I’m scared of.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have brought you up here.” What was supposed to be a romantic walk in the woods was turning into a therapy hike. Charlie felt like jumping into the icy water. Nothing he tried was working.

  “No, I need to start facing my fears, so I’m glad we came here.” Grace smiled up at Charlie, wishing she had the nerve to tell him how wonderful he was, how she never wanted to let go of his hand.

  “I’d say you spend plenty of time facing your fears these days.”

  “Trust me. I’ve barely scratched the surface.”

  “Well, I think that’s enough for today. Let’s go home.”

  Charlie held out his hand and Grace took it, knowing that she should be grateful for this special friendship, instead of wasting time wishing it could be something more. No boy on earth, not even one as sensitive and mature as Charlie, would hitch his wagon to a girl who had someone else’s bun in her oven. She knew she had no right to expect a miracle.

  Thanksgiving dinner at the Teitelbaum home was nothing like the Thanksgivings Grace was used to. As formal and gracious as Mrs. T.’s setup was, that’s how casual the meal was. Because it was a holiday, everyone was pitching in. Vera was the only one not allowed to get up from the table, because she had done all the cooking. Everyone had to say what he or she was grateful for, which ran from Grace thanking everyone assembled for treating her like a member of the family to George thanking Mrs. T. for buying a space-age snow blower for the coming winter. Conversation was light, and they spent as much time laughing as they did eating.

  At Grace’s house, although the setting was far more casua
l, the meal was anything but. There was lots of talk about politics and the economy and the state of the Supreme Court. Sometimes Grace felt like she should be taking notes, because there might be a test before dessert. Having never spent a holiday with anyone but her own family, Grace had assumed that was normal. But after a relaxing meal that did not include a single reference to the president or the Middle East, Grace began to see that her parents were just serious people. Maybe they were simply unable to lighten up, which would partially explain, although not excuse, the fact that they couldn’t see past Grace’s pregnant belly.

  Jennifer knocked on the back door as Grace was stacking dishes next to the sink. “Hey, Princess Grace. Here.” Jennifer thrust a pie covered with Saran Wrap into Grace’s hands. “My mother said I couldn’t come empty-handed, but once you taste her pecan pie, you’ll wish I had.” Jennifer stuck out her tongue.

  “I’m sure it’s delicious. I hope you didn’t act like that in front of your mother.”

  “Not to her face.”

  Charlie walked in carrying the turkey carcass on a huge silver platter. “Ah, the man of the house. Grace, how did you train him so quickly?”

  “Shock collar, and lots of positive reinforcement,” Grace said.

  “I’m into discipline,” Charlie said, baring his teeth and growling.

  “Enough,” Jennifer said, clapping her hands over her ears. “You two need to get a room already.”

  Charlie cleared his throat and flipped the switch on the coffeemaker. “I’m just going to finish clearing and bring in dessert. Grace, why don’t you and Jennifer go sit down and relax in the dining room.”

  When Charlie was out of the room, Jennifer whispered, “Either he’s trying to impress you, or he’s channeling Martha Stewart. Which is it?”

  Grace shook her head. “He’s not gay. He says things, and the way he looks at me sometimes …. There’s no way. And he had a girlfriend when he was living in Paris.”

  “Elton John used to be married … to a woman. I’m just saying.”

  “He’s not gay. I’d bet you anything,” Grace whispered just as Charlie came through the door, juggling plates and bowls.

  “The dining room is that way,” he said, putting down the dishes, picking up two pies and disappearing through the swinging door.

  Jennifer said, “Let’s go meet the in-laws. And by the way, it’s a bet. I want proof, straight proof. Bring me his boxer shorts.”

  After another hour of laughing and more eating, Thanksgiving was over at the Teitelbaums’. Charlie jumped up. “Aunt Helen, you and Vera and George are dismissed. Jennifer, Grace, and I will clean up.”

  “But sweetheart,” said Vera, “there’s so much to do, and I’m an old pro. It won’t take me long.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Grace. “You made such a wonderful meal. The least we can do is wash a few dishes.”

  “Don’t argue with them,” said George.

  “Goodnight, children. Thank you for letting the old people go to bed. I must admit I am a bit tired.” Helen blew a kiss and went upstairs.

  Charlie clapped his hands together once. “Okay, Jennifer, you wash, I’ll dry, and Grace can count the silver to make sure we didn’t accidentally throw anything away.”

  “Why do you get to be in charge?” Jennifer demanded.

  “It’s his house,” Grace pointed out. No wonder Jennifer couldn’t attract a guy.

  “Sorry, sir.” Charlie saluted. “I await your orders.”

  Not expecting Charlie to give in so quickly to her brattiness, Jennifer said, “What you said was fine, but why can’t we stick everything in the dishwasher? You have two of them.”

  “The detergent will ruin the sterling, and the gold trim on the plates will wash away in the dishwasher,” Charlie explained.

  “That’s stupid.”

  Grace laughed. “That’s all you’ve got?”

  Jennifer scowled and turned the hot water on full blast, squirting way too much dish soap into the sink. After she’d washed exactly two dishes, her cell phone buzzed with an incoming text. “That’s my mom. She says I have to come home and wash her dishes. Sorry.”

  “Why are you smiling?” Grace asked. “Dishes are dishes.”

  “Not true. Our crappy dishes aren’t made of gold and our stainless steel silverware can go in the dishwasher. See you later. Grace, remember what we talked about. And Chuckles, you wash and let Grace dry.”

  With one last evil cackle Jennifer was out the door, and Grace and Charlie were alone in the quiet kitchen. “You heard the boss. Here’s the towel, unless you’re tired, and then you should go to sleep. I can finish this myself.”

  “Charlie, I’m pregnant, not sick. And there’s no way you’re doing all of this cleanup yourself.” Grace snatched the towel from Charlie’s hand and stationed herself next to the sink. “Let’s get to it.”

  “It’s so bright in here. Can I turn off some of the lights?” Charlie flicked off the big fixture over the marble island. With just the lights on over the kitchen table and the sink, it was almost romantic, in spite of the piles of dirty dishes and leftovers. “So what were you and the mean girl talking about before?”

  “Nothing,” said Grace quickly.

  “You expect me to buy that?” Charlie rolled his eyes.

  “It was nothing. Just Jennifer being Jennifer.”

  “She doesn’t like me, does she? She thinks I’m kind of a freak, which I guess I am. It’s just so different here than it is in Europe.”

  “No, she likes you.” Grace tried to figure out a way to put Jennifer’s bet to rest without humiliating herself and Charlie. “She just thinks it’s impossible for anyone to be as nice as you are — there must be something else going on underneath the surface.”

  “Like what?” Charlie asked, blowing a handful of soapsuds at Grace.

  “I don’t know,” Grace said, knowing how dumb she sounded when she tried to play dumb.

  “Maybe I’m nice to you because I like you,” Charlie said, wondering if his sudden attack of bravery was a consequence of being alone together in the dimly lit kitchen, or more likely, the four glasses of wine he’d drunk with dinner.

  “I like you, too,” Grace said.

  “I kind of think I might like you more,” Charlie said, drying his hands on the towel Grace was holding, pulling her towards him.

  The kitchen light flipped on, and Helen was standing in the doorway. Grace and Charlie stepped away from each other, and the wet towel fell to the floor.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Tell me again why we’re in the children’s section of the bookstore,” Jennifer said as a toddler ran up to her, threw his arms around her knees, and then backed away crying and hiccuping, having realized that he was not hugging his mother. “It’s so noisy … and sticky, and the chairs are really, really tiny.”

  “Don’t you listen to anything I say? I’ve decided that I don’t want to have contact with Molly while she’s growing up, but I do want to give her a birthday present every year, so I want to buy all of them now, and then her parents can give them to her.”

  Books were such an important part of Grace’s life, and she wanted to share her favorites, which she had read over and over, with Molly. They had been milestones in her own childhood, and she knew that even if she couldn’t sit at the end of her daughter’s bed and read these books out loud, Molly would be able to feel her love flowing through the words of E. B. White and Beverly Cleary. Even if Grace couldn’t be there, knew she shouldn’t be there, she realized she had a lot of things she wanted to share with the bean.

  “Are they going to tell her they’re from her real mother?” Jennifer asked.

  “Biological mother,” Grace corrected. “I hope so. Whatever happens, I just want Molly to know what she means to me.”

  The whole parent-child thing was never far out of Grace’s thoughts, not just because of Molly, but also because of the mess with her own mother and father. It had never occurred to her before the bottom dropp
ed out of her world back in August that the relationship that had defined her life could be shattered as easily as her father’s coffee cup on the slate floor of the sunroom.

  “You could have ordered them on Amazon. It would be way easier than crawling around in munchkin land.”

  As much as Jennifer adored Grace, she was having trouble relating to her friend’s overflowing love for what Jennifer still considered to be nothing more than a bean, albeit a girl bean. Of course, she knew the baby was more real to Grace, who could feel the little bugger swimming around in there, but she couldn’t understand how Grace could feel so strongly about this baby when Nick was the father. She knew it wasn’t the baby’s fault that she had a fuckface for a dad, but how could Grace fall in love with the thing that had pretty much trashed her life? If Jennifer were in Grace’s shoes (not that that would ever happen, considering she was nearly eighteen and had never gotten past first base), she would have run to the abortion clinic without a backwards glance. In Jennifer’s eyes, two wrongs definitely didn’t make a right, and bringing an unwanted child into an already overpopulated world, even if some yuppie couple was waiting to carry it off into the sunset in their BMW SUV, was definitely a second wrong. Under no circumstances would she ever share these secret thoughts with Grace. What good would it do to second-guess Grace’s decision, which, as tortured as it was and as complicated as it had made her life, was for her clearly the right way to deal?

  “But this is fun for me. I wanted to do this because I want to remember the buying part of it, since I won’t be around for the reading part.”

  In five or six years someone else was going to be reading Stuart Little to her daughter. Grace wouldn’t be there to hear Molly giggle when Stuart’s father lowers him down the drain to retrieve the ring or ask the question she had asked her own mother — how can human beings give birth to a mouse? When she thought about those moments, Grace was plagued with second thoughts about her decision, but then Jennifer’s sometimes grating but always practical voice would cut in, telling her that giving up her own life to raise a child she wasn’t ready to have was the opposite of good parenting. And then Grace would be jolted back to reality — giving her baby to perfect strangers wasn’t how it was supposed to be, but when you fuck things up you’re not allowed to fuck things up more by being selfish on top of it.