Complicated Girl

by Mimi Strong

  His face is in profile to me now, and his expression stays neutral. He finishes packing the tools into the bag.

  “What do I owe you?” I ask brightly.

  His voice flat, he says, “The glue and the house call are on me.” He mutters, “As for the dry hump, I’ll send you a bill.”

  The joke falls so flat, I can’t even muster a pity chuckle. I just say, “Sounds good.”

  He finishes packing his bag and heads back through the house, to the front door. I trail after him, keeping at least five feet between us at all times.

  “See you Tuesday,” I mumble when we reach the door.

  He mumbles something about looking forward to it, then he leaves.

  I lock the door behind him and slide down to sit on the floor.

  Muffin suddenly appears at my side, thrusting his head at my hand.

  “Sure, now you show up,” I say to the ginger cat. “Why are you so shy around new people? I could have used you as comic relief just now, dude.”

  Muffin arches his back and creepily stares at a spot on the wall for no reason at all.

  “Why can’t I be a normal girl?”

  He keeps staring at the mysterious spot, his tail twitching. Cats can see things on the UV spectrum, so there’s probably a shadow or reflection there that he can see and I can’t.

  There are plenty of things I can’t see.

  I hear my thoughts in my head, as clearly as a person speaking. I keep looking without seeing.

  My eyes are hot, and my jaw hurts. Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks. Drew would still be here right now, if I hadn’t driven him away. Why do I do that? What the hell is wrong with me?

  (Don’t answer that.)

  Chapter 16

  On Sunday, Rory comes over to do laundry. I’m feeling a little less devastated about last night’s dental encounter with Drew, but I’m on edge.

  Rory and my sister usually do laundry together and hang out in the TV room watching movies on Sundays. I join them about half the time, once I’m done my Sunday baking. It’s the one day of the week that the flower shop is closed, so we try to get housekeeping stuff done, even though Mom’s not around to kick our butts.

  Rory looks a little lost. Maybe I’m projecting my emotional state on her, but she seems, for lack of a better word, wobbly.

  She stands in the kitchen, her cotton laundry bag of clothes strung over her shoulder. She’s wobbling, swaying like a wildflower in a windstorm. It’s just the two of us today, so that could be what’s throwing her off. Rory looks scared that I’m going to scream PANTIES or start talking about double penetration.

  I put the cookie tray in the oven as I explain to her, “Teenie had to drive Luca around for some garage business. She’ll stop in later, but she said you should try to have fun with me.” I set the timer on the oven. “I promise to behave.”

  She looks like she’s struggling with the decision to stay, which makes me feel like crap. I’m already beating myself up over driving Drew away last night, and now this rejection by her feels like the lard icing on the crap cake.

  “I don’t want to impose,” she says.

  “This is practically your house as much as mine, Rory. You’re like our third sister. Don’t be silly. Let’s get the laundry going.”

  I dash around the house, grabbing my clothes, and join her for sorting.

  When it comes to laundry with Rory, you need to know the rules, and not freak out. The first load is her underwear, which she has to throw into the machine directly from an opaque bag, with nobody looking. She tops up the load with other clothes, and sets it washing.

  Rory doesn’t mind me or Tina seeing the panties after they’ve been washed, but the initial step is too intimate. She’s also unable to purchase underwear, so Tina and I have to buy everything for her. She wears the same size bra as I do, so I’m her fit model. When we go to the mall together, she goes to get frozen yogurt while we purchase her undergarments.

  I dump out the hamper, and the pliers fall to the floor with a clunk. I let out a guilty laugh.

  She looks at the pliers, then at me. “Meenie, now what have you done?”

  “Nothing odd, I swear. I had a loose filling that was bothering me.”

  She’s not buying my story. Her amber eyes are burning into my soul. She’s known me too long to buy my bullshit.

  “I did a stupid thing,” I admit begrudgingly. “I pulled my dental cap off and called that guy Drew, the one you met at the pub. He came and glued it on, then we kissed for a bit, then I drove him away because it got weird.”

  She takes a long drink from her takeout coffee.

  “You did more than kiss,” she says.

  “My clothes didn’t come off, but there was some heavy breathing.”

  “You guys seem to have a lot of chemistry. He really likes you, Meenie.”

  I roll my eyes. “No, he doesn’t. He’s looking for a rebound lay, or some sort of cure-by-magical-p-word.”

  She winces at my near-mention of the word pussy.

  We keep sorting the remainder of the laundry. To my surprise, even though I’ve been talking about a guy, she doesn’t pull her disappearing act. Tina mentioned Rory was doing a little better lately, but I didn’t believe it until now.

  “What do you mean by cure-by-magical-p-word?” she asks.

  “The whole Manic Pixie Dream Girl thing. Where the guy meets a girl, and she’s wild and crazy, but she’s actually just what he needs. Like an antidepressants prescription, only the kind he wants to take, because he can put his dick in her.”

  Rory shudders visibly, and I apologize for saying the D-word.

  Slowly, carefully, she asks me, “Did he put his D-word in you?”

  “No, he did not. But I sat on his lap and rubbed up against it for a bit.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “Because it feels good.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yes. Rory, it feels really good. When the guy is cute, even holding hands feels good. What else do you want to know?”

  She keeps sorting the laundry. She’s not talking, but her face keeps moving, like she’s having a conversation with herself.

  I remember my promise to behave, so I won’t push her to share when she’s not ready. It’s tempting, because I’d much rather focus on Rory’s problems than think about mine.

  The timer for the cookies goes off, so I run back to the kitchen and pull the trays out.

  For the next few hours, we do laundry, talk about safe topics like food, and eat cookies.

  As we’re folding up the last load, she says, “I watched some gay porn.”

  My jaw practically hits the floor.

  “The porn with two guys,” she says. “And then three guys.”

  “Good for you,” I say with the measured cheerfulness of a Kindergarten teacher complimenting the world’s ugliest finger painting.

  “It was interesting,” she says.

  “Lots of women watch gay porn. It doesn’t mean you’re gay, Rory.”

  “I know that,” she snaps back.

  “Sorry.”

  We fold laundry in silence, then she says, “I saw Howard.”

  “My ex? Was he in the gay porno you watched?” I snort. “That would explain a lot.”

  “No, I saw him at work. We’re catering his engagement dinner.”

  She bites her lip, like she’s on the verge of telling me something.

  I prompt her with, “And?”

  “Howard’s a nice guy, Meenie. He told me some of the things you said to him when you were breaking up. They were pretty bad. And I just wanted to hear your side of the story.”

  Rory flicks her amber eyes up to meet mine, and I feel like a wild animal trapped in a corner. There’s an intensely smelly wave of judgement coming off her.

  “If you must know, I was terrible to Howard. There’s no excuse for what I said to him. I’m a toxic person, Rory, don’t you know that? You shouldn’t have told me about the gay porn stuff, because I’l
l probably bring it up in front of other people. I’m just an awful, horrible, toxic waste dump of a person.”

  “But why?” She looks genuinely curious, which only irritates me more. “You grew up with a nice family. Not like mine.”

  “Rory, shut up about how bad you had it. Maybe some of us are just born screwed up. Have you ever thought about that? You blame your family for how you are, but maybe you just came out that way, already wired to be screwed up. Everybody feels sorry for you, and bends over backward to accommodate your little quirks, but nobody feels shit for me.” I’ve stopped folding, and my hands are just waving around the air with no purpose. “I’ve got nothing. Nobody cares about me except for my self-help group, and now even that’s ruined because of Drew. So, thanks a lot for bringing up Howard and making me feel bad about things from the past, because I wasn’t feeling bad enough already. Thanks a lot.”

  She finishes stuffing her clothes into her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

  “Good talk,” she says, and she leaves the laundry room as fast as she can.

  I should chase after her and apologize, but I don’t.

  After a moment, I pick up the pliers from the folding table and chuck them against the wall as hard as I can.

  My day has gone from bad to worse. Just like my whole life.

  Chapter 17

  I’m still a wreck on Tuesday, and I seriously consider skipping the self-help group.

  At ten minutes to eight, I’m still pouting in the bath tub. Muffin is sitting at the edge lapping up the warm bath water.

  “You’re the reason I can’t have soapy bubble baths,” I tell him.

  He gives me an innocent look and keeps drinking. Then he sits up, licks his paw, and gives me a look, as if to say, Meenie, get your weirdly pink, non-furry body out of this tub and go to your Tuesday group. The nights you feel too depressed to go are exactly the nights you should be there. Why don’t you have any fur? Here, I will lick your shoulder, because you are weird and pink like a kitten. I love you. I love you and I want you to stop moping around here, crying in the tub like a weird furless kitten.

  “You’re right,” I tell him.

  He blinks slowly. I’m always right.

  I pull out the drain plug and climb out.

  He trots ahead of me. Oh, you’re going out? If you’re going to be late, you should leave out some extra food, in case I get peckish.

  I sneak into the group session as quietly as I can, considering how squeaky the door is. The gang is all here. There must be sixteen people, a couple of them new. Drew is here, and he barely flicks his gorgeous brown eyes up at me.

  I appreciate his discretion, and cross my fingers that when it’s his turn to share, he doesn’t talk about being dry humped by a psychotic after-hours dental patient.

  Feather keeps talking, reading from a book about boundaries that she’s recommending to the whole group. It sounds a little touchy feely to me, but Drew asks her to show him the cover, so maybe the book’s worth looking into.

  I have mixed feelings about self-help books. My mother’s got an old dog-eared copy of The Rules. That’s a book by two trainwreck ladies with a bunch of divorces, all about tricking guys into not thinking of you as an actual person, but as a prize to be won.

  Tina and I like to dramatically read quotes from The Rules at parties, or have people take the quizzes from a Cosmopolitan magazine. Tina acts like it’s a big joke, but I’ve heard her quote Cosmopolitan articles with zero irony.

  Everybody scrapes their chairs on the gray floor to make room for me, and I squeeze in next to Abbie. She gives me a sweet smile, and I’m so glad Muffin made me come here tonight, that I surprise Abbie with a big hug.

  For the next hour, I keep my problems to myself and listen to the others share their problems. I offer a few comments, keeping it honest and respectful. I start getting that high feeling I get from group.

  Tuesday nights are the best part of my week. Hearing that bad things happen to other people doesn’t exactly make me feel better, but it puts my bad feelings in perspective.

  So what if I dry humped a hot dentist? The way the older ladies in the group keep smiling at Drew, I think they’d sell a kidney to get to experience what I did.

  (Note to self: That would be an interesting way to run a drive for people to fill out their organ donor registrations. Give a Kidney, Dry Hump a Dentist. It’s like the modern version of a Kissing Booth, which is something I’ve never, ever, ever seen in real life, yet is a staple of sitcom plots and romantic comedy movies, as common as people meeting their friends for a casual hangout, IN THE FRIGGING MORNING before they go to work. Like regular people get up at five a.m. to pop by each other’s houses for a few jokes before even beginning their commute.)

  Feather calls my name. “Meenie, is there something you’re ready to share tonight?”

  “Have you guys ever seen a Kissing Booth in real life? Do you think charities actually do them? I wouldn’t think so, considering sexual harassment lawsuits, not to mention mouth herpes.”

  The group laughs uncomfortably, which is not an uncommon reaction from them when I talk.

  Feather says, “Anything else?”

  I look over at Drew for a microsecond, then pull my eyes away. It’s too late. I’m sunk. He’s wearing a chunky, cable-knit sweater, and he’s never looked so huggable. He’s like a human teddy bear.

  I look back to Feather’s blue eyes, and I’m transported to the ocean. All is safe here. Feather sees my soul. She gives me a reassuring smile, as if to say, Meenie, you’ve only dry humped one person here at the group, which is only about a five on the skank-o-meter, but who amongst us is perfect? Let she who has not dry humped anyone, or grabbed their hot dog at an inappropriate moment, throw the first stone. You came here to share, and you’re paying for it, so share.

  “I was depressed today, so I didn’t bake anything,” I tell the group. “Sorry.”

  Abbie puts her arm around me. “Honey, we love you anyway.”

  “Of course you’d say that. You’re nice. What I want to know is… why can’t I be nice? Why can’t I say sweet, supportive things? I’m always wrecking everything by being mean. I could try changing my name, but I don’t think it will help.”

  I look up at the people across from me. They’re all avoiding eye contact, because it’s true.

  One of the men speaks up. “You have a gift for honesty, and I might not have kept coming to group if it wasn’t for you.” He looks around at the group apologetically. “No offense. I like everyone, and you’re all great in your own way, but Meenie’s the only one who calls me on my bullshit.”

  Abbie gives me another squeeze around my shoulders. “Not everyone was meant to be sweet, my dear. Some of us are more… savory.”

  Drew lets out a loud “Hah!”

  The group turns to face him. Feather says, “Is there something you’d like to share with us?”

  He gazes deeply into my eyes, making me feel like I’m tumbling off my chair, even though I’m sober and perfectly still.

  “Just that she’s perfect,” he says. “She’s not mean. There’s nothing wrong with her, and she doesn’t need to change.”

  Feather leans forward with very interested, very suspicious body language. “Interesting,” she says.

  I exchange looks with Drew: We are both getting in BIG trouble from Feather after this session. She knows all about you giving me a dental exam with your tongue, Mr. Teddy Sweater.

  Drew smiles back at me, all innocent sex appeal, like a hot teacher who doesn’t know he’s hot. “Last week, Meenie was saying that guys couldn’t take a little teasing from her. I’ve been thinking about it, and she’s right. There’s nothing wrong with her.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  He winks at me. “Guys razz each other all the time. I’ve got some friends I used to play rugby with, and if we’re not talking about the smallness of each other’s private parts, we’re talking about nailing each other’s mothers.” He grimaces
and looks around at the seniors present. “Sorry to be so coarse, but it’s relevant.”

  They motion for him to go on. I might not be impartial, but Drew’s speech so far is definitely one of the top ten moments of group since I’ve been coming.

  He fixes his eyes on mine, sucking my soul out of my body and over to his for a soft, fuzzy, sweater hug with his soul. “Meenie just needs to find a real man, who knows who he is. Someone who can take her over his knee and show her a firm hand when she’s—”

  Feather interrupts, “DREW!”

  He keeps looking into my eyes. Yeah, I said it, his look says. You’re just a naughty girl who needs a good spanking, and I’m the guy to give it.

  My nipples are so amped right now. They are trying to tunnel out of my bra and shirt, along with the rest of my body. I’m on the edge of my seat.

  One of the new faces, a woman a little older than me, raises her hand. “My husband and I enjoy a little light spanking.” She pushes her glasses up her nose. “I read that Fifty Shades book, and I turned into a wild sex animal. You all should try it.”

  Abbie nods in agreement. “Spanking is the new oral.”

  Another lady chimes in, saying she thought anal was the new oral, and from that point, the group basically becomes a free-for-all of sex tips and book recommendations.

  I look over at Feather, and see that she’s smiling. That’s weird. Everybody’s talking at once, yet she doesn’t mind a bit. She even reaches up to wipe away a glistening tear of happiness from one eye. Wow. Those pregnancy hormones must be a real roller coaster.

  I’ve been avoiding looking at Drew since his offer to spank me, but I can’t avoid his eyes forever.

  I turn to him and give him a sexy tigress look.

  Over the noise, he says, “I meant what I said.”

  I keep nodding. “Game on,” I tell him. Game on.

  Chapter 18

  While the other group members surround the snack table after the session, Drew and I make a hasty exit.