Someone Else

by Rebecca Phillips

  It was interesting to see how the upper-class celebrated. Dad and Lynn’s parties typically involved a grill, spinach-artichoke dip, and beer, and we all pitched in to clean up afterward. None of those things were in evidence at Michael’s parents’ party. First of all, it was catered. There were actual servers milling around, carrying trays of bite-sized snacks. Champagne flowed. The well-dressed crowd, which consisted of various relatives and some co-workers of Michael’s father’s, stood or sat around in groups, sipping drinks and chatting demurely. My father, with his booming laughter and lack of internal filter, would have been like a bull in a china shop at this party. I felt a little out of place, myself. Only at times like this was I reminded of the fact that Michael’s family had a lot of money and mine did not.

  The second I arrived, Michael’s mother got a hold of me and started introducing me around. If it had been anyone else I would have felt uncomfortable standing there next to her with her arm around me as she escorted me from group to group, presenting me to people I had never seen before in my life. But she was such a genuine person, so open in her affection for me, that I didn’t really mind.

  Finally, after about twenty minutes of polite mingling, Michael came to rescue me. “Bored yet?” he asked, skillfully detaching me from his mom’s side.

  When I shrugged, he took my hand and led me down to the family room, where his sisters and several of the younger cousins were racing around like maniacs and climbing on the exercise equipment. A large man was stretched out on the sofa, eyes closed, seemingly unaware of the racket around him.

  “Hey,” Michael said, nudging the man’s leg. “Are you hiding?”

  The guy opened his eyes and grinned, and I couldn’t help but gawk at him. The smile, the hair, the eyes...it was all Michael’s. “Just taking a break,” he said, sitting up. “It’s not like I came down here for the peace and quiet.” One kid let out an ear-splitting scream at that moment, proving his point.

  “This is my brother, Josh,” Michael said to me, breaking me out of my momentary trance. “Josh, this is Taylor. My girlfriend.”

  Josh stood up, towering over both me and Michael, and offered me his hand. As I shook it, I noticed the edges of a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, blue-gray eyes steady on mine. It was unnerving, seeing Michael’s features on this tall, beefy, slightly scary-looking man. He’s been in prison, I thought, swallowing. He’s a criminal.

  Introductions out of the way, Michael sat down in the chair and pulled me down on his lap. “I used to hate these parties when we were kids,” he said, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. He looked very cute in his formal clothes. “I still don’t like them.” He looked at Josh, who had resumed his sprawl on the couch. “Remember when we used to sneak away in the middle of it and play video games?”

  “Or we’d go outside and shoot hoops if the weather was good.”

  They were quiet for a moment, and I could tell they were both wishing they could go outside and shoot some hoops right now, if only the ground weren’t so slick from the freezing rain that had fallen earlier.

  “But I guess we should stick around,” Michael said.

  “Yeah,” Josh said. Then suddenly he perked up. “Or…we could cut out the back door and go shoot some pool. Want to?”

  Michael’s face lit up and he turned to me. I shrugged and said, “Let’s go.”

  The three of us managed to duck out the basement exit without attracting any attention. We skidded down the icy walk to Michael’s car, feeling like prison escapees. Josh no longer looked exhausted, and he laughed and joked all the way into town. I could see why Michael liked him—he had an easy, playful way about him. He was the type who could make pretty much anything seem like fun.

  The guys and I ambled into this hole-in-the-wall place called Pockets, each of us ridiculously overdressed for a seedy pool hall. The clientele in here were a stark contrast to the guests of the party we’d just left. All the girls were wearing jeans and casual tops, and a few of them raised their eyebrows at my scoop-neck sweater, long skirt, and high-cut boots. The rest of the females were too busy checking out the handsome brothers to even throw a glance in my direction.

  The place was fairly crowded but most people were in the glassed-off bar section or zoned out in front of the slot machines, so getting a table wasn’t a problem. I had played pool a couple of times in Michael’s friend R.J.’s basement, but I wasn’t very good. Tonight I was content just to watch Michael and Josh. The mood between them was lighthearted at first, but I knew Michael had a strong competitive steak in him. It wasn’t long before I realized that Josh had an even stronger one. They started off with a ruthless game of 8 ball, all the while harassing each other over illegal shots and penalties. I just sat there silently on my creaky plastic chair, sipping 7-Up from a straw and trying to stay out of it.

  When Michael won the first game, Josh complained good-naturedly about having a sore shoulder. After Michael smoked him a second time, he mumbled something about feeling tired and then took off for a bathroom break.

  “Sore loser,” Michael said after his brother had left the room.

  Josh returned five minutes later, looking re-energized. “Cut throat?” he asked, and Michael agreed. Josh beckoned to me. “Come on, Taylor. We need three for cut throat.”

  I deposited my 7-Up on the table next to my chair and reluctantly stood up. I had no burning desire to play pool at the moment, but I knew Josh wouldn’t take no for an answer. He couldn’t win against Michael tonight, but surely he could win against me.

  “I’ll show you how to rack ‘em.” Josh gathered up all the balls and the triangle rack. I’d played this game before and knew how to rack, but I humored him. “You put the one ball here, and six and eleven go here. You want to start?”

  “I guess.” I took the cue stick from him.

  “Okay. I’ll go second. You go third, Mike.”

  “Got it,” Michael said, amused by his brother’s tutorial.

  “Now,” Josh said as I attempted to set up my opening break shot. “The object of the game is to sink our balls before we sink yours.”

  Michael and I laughed, but Josh ignored us and leaned across the table to study my stick-holding technique. Obviously it was wrong because he stopped me right away.

  “You’re too wobbly.” He moved over to where I stood. “Your front hand needs to act as a solid base for your back hand so you can guide the cue correctly. Here, let me show you.”

  Before I could react he was behind me, his arms encircling my upper body. He leaned his chest into my back and placed his large hands over mine, adjusting my frame. I felt my cheeks go warm.

  “Watch it,” Michael said.

  “I’m trying to teach her a valuable life skill,” Josh said with a trace of humor in his voice. I glanced up at him and he winked at me. “As cute as she is, she’s way too young for me.”

  Josh, I decided, was a shameless flirt.

  “I think she gets it,” Michael said, and Josh backed away from me, laughing. Completely flustered now, I took my shot and almost missed the cue ball altogether. The end of my stick skimmed against the side of the ball, sending it rolling slowly, but it made almost no impact at all against the others.

  “Do I need to show you again?” Josh asked, still laughing.

  “That’s okay,” I said at the same time Michael said, “No.”

  Josh let out another chuckle and then left the room again. Michael watched after him, wary. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was doing out there. Going by his breath when he was leaning over me, my guess would be drinking whiskey. I’d smelled enough liquor at parties to distinguish one from the other.

  Michael leaned against the pool table and muttered, “And there goes that.”

  “What?” I asked, even though I already knew.

  “Nine fucking days,” he said. I blinked, surprised to hear him use that word. He rarely swore. “That’s all he could ha
ndle.”

  I assumed he meant nine days out of jail without falling off the wagon. “I’m sorry,” I said, taking his hand. He seemed so jaded about the whole thing, as if he’d known this would happen all along. As if he’d known the only reason Josh had suggested pool in the first place was because he knew there’d be a bar close by. Which, of course, was the truth.

  Josh stayed gone for twenty minutes this time. Michael and I got tired of waiting and hung up our pool cues. It was closing in on eleven-thirty and I was more than ready to leave.

  “Going out on a high note, are we?” Josh said when he joined us again. I watched him carefully for signs of drunkenness but he was acting the same as before, only maybe a little louder and more jovial. I suppose when you drank as much as he did, it took a lot to make a difference. “Packing it in before I get a chance to beat you. Smart.”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Michael said wryly as we stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was raining now, the heavy mist kind, and the roads appeared to be washed clear of ice.

  “Cut throat’s my specialty, you know.”

  “I thought losing was.”

  Josh turned to me as the three of us walked toward the car. “Are you going to let him talk to me like that?”

  I just shook my head, thinking it wasn’t a smart idea to engage him.

  “You see, Taylor my darling,” he said, putting a heavy arm around me as we reached the Volkswagen. “My little brother over there may be smarter than me, nicer than me, and better-looking than me, but I’ll always be the charming one with the scintillating personality. You remember that, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said, and he lowered his arm from my shoulders, sent Michael an exultant grin, and climbed into the car. Michael made a scoffing sound as the two of us slid in after him.

  As we pulled away from the curb, Josh leaned in between our seats, his strong alcohol breath wafting into the front of the car. “Drop me off at Kelsey’s, would you, bro? I’m meeting some friends there. ”

  Michael didn’t answer. Instead, he drove across several blocks as if he knew exactly where he was headed. The car came to a stop in front of a small, run-down bar. A hanging wooden sign above the door read Kelsey’s and below that another sign, this one bright blue neon, promoted beer on tap and giant-screen TVs.

  “Thanks, bro,” Josh said as he got out of the car. “I’ll call a cab in a couple of hours. See you, Taylor.”

  “Bye.”

  Michael pulled away from the bar and drove toward the highway. When I glanced over at him, his face was void of expression. He unconsciously reached over to turn on the radio, filling the car with a blaring commercial for a mattress store. I had no idea what to say. Michael obviously didn’t either because he didn’t speak again until we were almost back to his house.

  “This is going to kill my mother,” he said, his eyes on the road in front of us. “And my father…” He swore again and I reached over and placed my hand on his leg. I knew how hopeful he had been that his brother would succeed in staying sober for the duration of the holiday, at least. “I did it,” he added as we turned into his driveway. “I brought him there, to a place with a bar. Then I drove him to another bar. What the hell was I thinking?”

  “You didn’t force him to drink,” I said, glancing up at the house. Only a few cars remained, but the house was still ablaze with color. “There was alcohol at the party too.”

  “He couldn’t drink anything here, not with my parents around. So he tricked me into getting him away from the house. I should’ve known.” He unbuckled his seat belt, his mouth a thin line. “You know, he’s the reason I limit my drinking at school. Because I don’t want to end up like him, a user with no conscience.”

  “You think he has no conscience?”

  He glanced behind him as though Josh was still there, listening to every word, “I’m sure he feels regret for the things he does when he’s messed up, but he buries it under more alcohol or drugs to shut it up. He doesn’t have the balls to take responsibility for all the promises he breaks.”

  I dug my nails into my palms, gathering the nerve to say what I was about to say. What I needed to say, whenever the right opening came along. I hated to use his brother’s relapse as a springboard, but now, with the impact of the past two hours still lingering between us, I knew he’d tell me the truth.

  “What about you?” I asked, as if I were simply curious. “Have you ever broken a promise?”

  He looked at me, his face bathed in the glow of the house lights, and when my meaning dawned on him he turned away, gazing out the window and into the darkness. He stayed that way for a while, his jaw twitching like it did when he was tense.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “A couple of weeks ago I called you and that girl answered your phone. Lauren. It sounded like she’d just woken up.” My voice sounded small and hurt, which was exactly how I’d been feeling since it happened. Now that it was finally out, I expected to feel better, cleansed, but if anything I felt worse. Especially since Michael wasn’t saying anything. He just sat there, staring and twitching. “So.” The word sliced the thick silence. “Do you regret anything?”

  Finally, he turned back to me, his jaw tight but still. “I’ve never cheated on you,” he said slowly. “And I never will. You know that.”

  Do I? I thought, and then realized that no, you could never be truly sure of anyone. “But you’ve been tempted at Avery. Lauren’s been tempting you. She wants to be more than friends.”

  “We hang out sometimes, but we’ve never—I haven’t done anything to feel guilty about. It’s crazy up there…the girls…”

  “I get it.” I didn’t want to hear anything about “the girls” at Avery. My imagination was unsettling enough without adding factual details. “And I never thought you hooked up with her, but I can tell there’s something going on with you two. I’m not stupid.”

  “She knows about you and she knows nothing can happen. Jesus. I’m doing the best I can. You think it’s easy for me?” He paused when he realized he’d raised his voice. “I’m trying,” he said more calmly, “but I’m still human. You can’t tell me you’ve never felt attracted to anyone else.”

  I thought of Dylan’s dimples. His lips on my hair as we danced.

  “No, I can’t tell you that,” I agreed. “I have a Lauren too.”

  It felt good to say that and then watch the insecurity I always felt cross someone else’s face. And, like me, his hurt usually surfaced as anger. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “A friend who wants it to be more even though he knows it can’t happen.”

  “And you’re attracted to this guy?”

  “There’s something there. Just like with you and Lauren.”

  I didn’t look over at him, but I sensed his reaction from where I sat. He was mad. Hurt. Jealous. The same things I felt, only now he would share the burden. We sat that way for a long time, the two feet between us feeling more like two miles.

  “I’m going to take you home now,” he said, finally, his words coming out strained in his effort to control himself. “I just need some time. Okay?”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I needed some time too. Time to deal with the can of worms I’d just opened and dumped all over the front seat of Michael’s car. Time to figure out a way to contain the mess we’d made before it slithered beyond repair.

  Chapter 12

  “How about this for Mom?” Robin held up a book entitled Your Defiant Teen: 10 Steps to Resolve Conflict and Rebuild Your Relationship. “Rebuild,” she said, sliding the book back in place on the shelf. “How can you rebuild what you never built in the first place?”

  “Christmas will be over soon,” I said, starting down the next aisle. We were at the book store in the mall, on the hunt for a particular graphic novel that Emma had said she wanted. Hers was the last Christmas gift I needed to buy.

  “They’ll be back to ignoring me by Monday. I can’t wait.”

  When I called R
obin that morning to invite her to go shopping with me, she’d jumped at the chance to get out of the house. Her mother and stepfather had both taken this week off work, and according to Robin, they were driving her crazy with their “let’s pretend we’re a happy family at Christmas” attitudes. “They put up a tree,” she’d told me on the way to the mall. “And they wanted me to decorate it with them. I mean, what the hell? I never had Christmas trees growing up. Never. So she marries Alan and all of a sudden we’re the goddamn Brady Bunch?”

  Leave it to Robin to suspect an ulterior motive in Christmas tree trimming.

  “Here it is,” I said now as we stood in the graphic novel section. I picked up the book Emma wanted and turned it over to check the price, then wished I hadn’t.

  “Emma’s so cool,” Robin said, grabbing the book from me and idly flipping through it. “When we were her age all we did was try on makeup and read those stupid fan magazines. She has much better taste than we did.”

  More like expensive taste. I trotted up to the cash register and handed over the rest of my shopping money. With that done, we headed toward the food court.

  “I have exactly seven dollars and eighty-three cents to my name,” I said. “Fries?”

  “Well, duh.”

  We joined the huge lineup. It was the day before Christmas Eve and the mall was insane with last minute shoppers. While we waited, Robin took three calls on her cell and spent the rest of the time texting. This was what she did now on the rare occasion we were together. She had a whole new set of friends, exciting friends whose sole mission in life was to party with a capital P. They kept her pretty busy.

  “So I was going to ask you something,” she said, stuffing the phone in her purse. “This guy I know is having a huge New Year’s party and everyone who is anyone is going. I was wondering if you and Michael had plans already or if you wanted to go.”

  I studied the menu board. “Um…”

  “What?”