Anatomy of a Single Girl
Page 6
“Now,” Mom begins, “we know this is unexpected, but—”
“You’re pregnant?” I scream.
“Dommie, please …”
I don’t hear her over the pounding in my ears. I just recall Amy teasing me about how after I went to college my parents would rejuvenate their sex lives by getting it on all over the apartment since they wouldn’t have to worry about me walking in on them.
“Oh, God!” I wail, envisioning their fleshy bellies jiggling while they do it against the kitchen counter, without protection, no less. “You know, when I was little I used to beg for a brother or sister, and now, when I don’t even live here anymore, you—”
“Get a grip!” Dad yells. “We are not expecting a baby.”
My heart’s still lurching. “You sure, Mom?”
“Of course! Nor do we desire another child.”
“You’re handful enough.” Dad crosses his arms at me.
“So”—I catch my breath—“just tell me!”
“We’re relocating!” Mom chirps.
Dad then reveals that a big-time law enforcement consulting firm in Gainesville phoned three weeks ago to offer him a higher-paying job. “Your mom and I can’t wait to take this boat out lake fishing there—”
“Wait … We’re moving? And you’ve known about this since June?”
“You were still studying for exams when Daddy got the call, so we thought it best not to distract you.”
“Anyhow, your mom and I needed time to consider this on our own. We only just decided—”
“But what about your job, Mom?”
“Well, I spoke with the school board last week, and we agreed that I’ll stay on until winter break. In the meantime, they’ll search for a replacement to take over after the holidays.”
Dizzy with disbelief that my old headmaster knew we were moving before I did, I lean back against the side of the boat so I won’t keel over. “But everything’s fine in Fort Myers. Things have been fine here for two decades!”
“We’re looking toward the next two decades,” Dad states. “I’m antsy for a new challenge, and at this point in my life I’d like a quieter desk gig. But I’m just happy that, with the extra money, your mom can finally take some time off and get that master’s.”
I didn’t even know she wanted one. She might have mentioned it before, but just in passing.
“You know, Dommie, listening to you talk about Tulane all year made me so nostalgic for university life,” Mom says whimsically. “And UF has a graduate program in mathematics!”
“What if you don’t get in?”
“Dom!” Dad reproaches, but Mom doesn’t seem bothered.
“Then I’ll keep reapplying and tutor in the interim like I’ve been doing during the summers. And there’re always online degrees. But just think, maybe this time next year we’ll both be students!”
She smiles at me, her emerald eyes sparkling in the sunlight, but I turn away and look out over the water.
“Aw, honey,” she goes on. “I understand your being surprised, but not upset. Remember, you applied to UF for your safety school, and you liked the city well enough when we all toured it for you. Gainesville is still Florida. Only more inland.”
“I just don’t see how you guys could make a choice this ginormous without at least consulting me first.”
“Well, would you really have told us to pass up this opportunity?” Mom asks.
I … suppose not. But still.
She continues, “And it’s not as if this will impact your daily life in the slightest. You just said you no longer live here.”
“This all makes me feel really unimportant, though.”
“That’s a load of crap,” Dad says sharply. “We’ve always put you first. Remember years back when the governor asked me to replace that Palm Beach sheriff who resigned? It would’ve been a great opportunity and a lot more dough, but we said no ’cause we didn’t want to uproot you. But you’re settled at college now, so it’s time to do what’s good for us. We’ve thought long and hard, and we promise this is a smart step.”
“So when’s this relocation going to happen?” I growl.
Dad explains that the firm wants him to start the first of the year, so tomorrow he’s meeting with a real estate agent to discuss selling our apartment and finding a new place in Alachua County.
“Which means,” Mom breaks in, “that you should start packing up your room before you leave for school next month. We’re hoping to move the bulk of our things over Thanksgiving so we can leave town immediately after my last day of work in December.”
This may be the first time I’ve ever felt seasick.
“Please,” Mom pleads, “don’t be gloomy. Life is about adapting and moving on. This is a new chapter in our lives, and we’re so excited about what’s next. Be happy for us.”
How can I be happy about transferring my home base to a city where I have zero ties and that’s 250 miles away from Guy? And how can anyplace be home without Amy?
Like a brat, I ignore my parents for the remainder of the boat trip. It sucks because, up until Mom and Dad dropped the bomb, today was like old times, and aside from their periodic preachiness, I honestly don’t mind being with them. But now it’s all I can do not to jump overboard so I won’t have to hear them babble about how they’ll be buying all new freshwater fishing equipment.
Coming home afterward just makes me more nauseated, because, for the first time in my life, I know it’s only temporary. I escape to my soon-to-be-ex-bedroom and freak out over the phone to Amy, who promises I’ll always have a place to stay at the Braffs’ house. She then points out that if Guy goes home to Atlanta for winter break and I go to Gainesville, he will actually have an easier time driving to visit me, since Atlanta is a lot closer to Gainesville than it is to Fort Myers. And considering Guy’s already a junior, he’ll probably leave Fort Myers himself in two years.
By that evening I’m still stupefied and fuming and dreading the thought of moving, but I keep telling myself to be grateful that at least the news wasn’t something truly catastrophic.
“Hey, guys,” I say awkwardly when I skulk into the living room.
Dad’s watching the Marlins game while Mom’s in the kitchen sharpening her filet knife. They look at me expectantly, so I take a deep breath and say what I ought to have said back on the boat.
“Dad … congratulations on the job. You should be really proud.”
He exhales and nods. “Thanks, Dom.”
“And, Mom … going back to school … that’s really cool. I can help with your application if you’d like.”
Mom nods, too. “I’d appreciate that. You’re certainly the expert in the family, and it’s been quite a while since I composed a résumé.”
“So, I take it you’re eating out again.” Dad motions to my purse.
“Yeah. Guy just texted that he’s on his way.… I’m sure he’ll come up if you want to meet him.”
I’m shocked that I suggested that after only two dates, especially when meeting the parents is a potential land mine of humiliations. Maybe I’m just anxious to remind Mom and Dad that they’re not the only ones moving forward with their lives.
“Oh, no, Dommie—we can’t possibly have company now!” Mom frantically shakes her latex-gloved hands. “I’m still windblown and smell of fish!”
“But if you two come here later to watch more movies, we’ll have plenty of fresh snapper in the fridge for you to get your sushi fix,” Dad says with a joking smile.
“Thanks,” I reply, still too ticked about everything to smile back. “Well, I’d better go down, but I’ll be home for dinner tomorrow. I promise.”
As I wait in front of the building, I wonder whether I should’ve postponed seeing Guy to another night when I’m in a better frame of mind. I’d hate to be a sourpuss in front of him and risk turning him off. On the other hand, I shouldn’t have to hide my moods with a potential significant other. When a boy likes you, he likes you even when
you’re sad.
It ends up being a moot point, though. There’s something about the sight of a gorgeous guy in an open convertible heading in your direction that makes all bad feelings evaporate into thin air.
10
I tell Guy about the move first thing, and he agrees that my parents shouldn’t have kept me in the dark this long. But he also agrees with what Mom said about how it won’t affect my daily life, which for some reason resonates a lot more coming from him. Then, by the time we finish our crab leg dinner, two rounds of mini-golf, and an IMAX on Antarctica while Guy rests his hand on my knee, I’m too blissful to mope about Gainesville at all.
After the movie, we’re strolling down Bantam Beach when we come across a recessed patch of shoreline hidden by a sand cliff. It’s just beckoning for us to steal away there. I figure Guy and I have done enough non-intimate, relationship-building activities for one evening, so I stop short and look in all directions by the light of the full moon to confirm that nobody else is here. And since I know through Dad that the FMPD doesn’t patrol this area at night, there’s no risk of an awkward run-in with cops recognizing me as the police chief’s daughter. Finally, I walk into the sandy alcove, recline on the ground, and grin up at Guy. Without a word, he grins back and lies down next to me.
I never would have thought that fooling around without rounding any “bases” could be so erotic. The scalp massage Guy gives me feels a lot nicer than sex ever did, and it definitely lasts longer and isn’t as messy. Withholding also forces us to be creative, like when Guy makes up a game where he draws letters on my back with his fingers for me to decipher. As if the sensation of his thumb skating up and around my spine doesn’t make me tingly enough, he spells out the most flattering words: “beautiful,” “amazing,” “brainiac.” But the best is when I start rubbing Guy’s shoulders, which he complains have been achy from hunching over his lab table, and he groans with pleasure. “This is just what I needed, Dom. I could stay like this all summer. I’m so happy right now.”
I have to bite my tongue so I don’t howl for joy. I am the catalyst for Guy Davies being “so happy”! I doubt that getting straight As in my summer electives could make me feel any more triumphant.
When I’m done with his shoulders, we resurvey the surroundings to be sure we’re still alone, before falling back to the ground and reverting to straight kissing. But I guess you can skirt the baselines for only so long.
“Oh. Sorry,” Guy says after his hand grazes my boob. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know. It’s okay.” I resume nuzzling his neck.
“Actually, we should quit now. I’m getting too worked up if this is as far as it’s going.”
“Oh … all right.” I sit up and shake the sand out of my hair.
“But one thing first.” He grabs me by the waist and gives me a lingering kiss.
“Mmm,” I hum when he pulls back. “That should hold me till next time.”
“I wish I could hold you till next time.”
It’s a good thing I’m not standing, because this is the closest I’ve ever felt to swooning.
“Quick,” he commands while lying back and squeezing his eyes shut. “Let’s talk about something, anything. Keep my mouth moving so I won’t attack you with it.”
“Okay. Um …” I wasn’t going to bring this up yet, but it seems needless now to wait any longer. “I know this is, like, over a month in advance, but that wedding for Amy’s stepbrother is on August sixteenth. It’s supposed to be really nice, and I was invited with a guest. So if you’re okay with spending a Saturday night in a suit, would you be my ‘plus one’?”
“Count me in,” he replies right away.
I feel so grown-up all of a sudden. A college underclassman being escorted by a college upperclassman to an actual wedding. High school dances seem like child’s play by comparison. I grin, thinking back to when I was eleven and first saw Matt at Amy’s house. I thought he was the handsomest boy ever, and, having no better male outlet at school, I like liked him for the next several years. Of course he didn’t know I was alive, and I was so envious when Brie came on the scene. How cool that now I’ll be witnessing their nuptials with someone I like like way better.
Soon Guy and I are retracing our steps down the shore as I give him the 411 on Matt and Brie. He interrupts me when I mention that they graduated two months ago.
“Huh, so they’re not much older than us. I hope they have a prenup.”
“Guy!” I pinch his side and laugh. “You haven’t even met them yet, and you’re as bad as Amy.”
“Just being realistic. I also took sociology for a distribution requirement, and the studies are clear: The younger you commit, the more likely you’ll split.”
“Cute rhyme, but you can’t control when you meet the right person. Matt and Brie have stuck it out since they were sixteen, so something’s clicking.” I’m shocked that I just defended Brie.
Guy yawns. “But how can they be sure they’re right for each other if they’ve never had anyone else to check them against?”
That’s something my mom would say, and for a moment I’m paranoid she’s been secretly coaching him. Then again, she and Dad were barely twenty-four when they met and married, which by Guy’s standards would be really young also.
“So, you think Matt and Brie should just date other people for a while?”
“I dunno. Probability-wise it would boost their chances.” He yawns again. “And this is all assuming that getting hitched is even a feasible idea. It’s a primeval institution.”
Flinching, I look over at Guy’s face. He appears unaware of the cognitive dissonance of saying that to someone he just said he was “so happy” with.
“But, Guy, marriage is nothing like it used to be. It’s no longer about dowries and controlling women. Now it’s a fifty-fifty partnership based on love.”
“Yeah, but in class we talked about how we’re living longer, thanks to medicine.” He winks at me. “So now more spouses are growing apart before one of them can die.”
“Well, the whole challenge of tying the knot is to try to grow together.”
“I guess, but that’s kinda unnatural. And in the end, there’re never any guarantees it’ll work out. Half the time it doesn’t.”
I’m silent for a few steps. “So … I take it your parents are divorced?”
He laughs. “No, but they should be. I vaguely remember them being fun when I was little, but now they sleepwalk through the day with nothing interesting to say to each other.”
“Maybe that’s just how they operate, though.”
“I don’t know. I once overheard my mom tell my aunt that she’d think about leaving if she wasn’t worried about supporting herself.”
“Oh. Sorry. That sucks … but it doesn’t always turn out like that. My parents are still going strong.”
“Glad to hear it,” he responds absently before changing subjects to an academic paper he wrote on entropy that he’s trying to get published in some scholarly journal, not that I’m listening.
In retrospect, it makes sense that Guy is skeptical about marriage. He said his reason for not becoming a doctor is that he doesn’t want responsibility for someone else. He explained that he doesn’t have lots of stuff so he’ll never feel weighed down. And he’s right that odds are against young couples lasting—I’m walking proof of that. But that doesn’t mean that they can’t last. For it to happen, though, both people in the relationship need to want it to last, against all odds.
“You okay?” Guy asks. “ ’Cause you don’t look it.”
“I’ve got a headache,” I say, which is the truth.
“Care for another scalp massage?” He starts kneading my crown with his fingers, but I instinctively crane my neck away. Then he says, “I’ll help distract you from the pain.” He leans over and nibbles my earlobe, spurring me to throw his arm off my shoulder and sprint away from him up the beach.
“Yikes, Dom. You really don’t feel well.”
He comes up behind me. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. I just—”
I turn to him. Although the moon is illuminating his face, his brow ridge buries his eye sockets in shadow, making him look soulless. I know I should formulate my thoughts more before I start talking, but the word-vomit spews anyway.
“Sorry to backpedal, but just so we’re clear … I think I would like to get married. Not soon or anything. I’d want to wait until at least after med school and my internship year, so the youngest I’d be is twenty-six. But from the sounds of it, you think marriage is setting yourself up for failure. And if you did do it, it wouldn’t be until after you’d test-driven a bunch more girls so you can make an informed decision, right?”
Now Guy’s stepping away, and his expression looks as if he just sucked a lemon.
“And, Guy, you have every right. But I need to know if that’s your plan.”
“Plan? Wh-what plan? There’s no plan.”
“Because if that’s how you feel, then … we can’t be together anymore.”
Guy’s jaw drops. “What am I missing here?” He looks to either side as if the answer could be hanging in the air. “I wasn’t talking about us before. I was just telling you about my sociology class. We were, you know, shootin’ the shit, or so I thought.”
“So you didn’t mean what you said?”
“Well—I—I didn’t not mean it … but what does that have to do with anything?”
“Um, everything? We can’t keep, you know, doing what we’re doing unless we’re on our way to being a couple.”
“I’d say we’re a couple. I haven’t seen anyone else since Star Wars. I didn’t—I don’t—want to.”
Right now, I’m more baffled than pleased by that admission.
“But … if you’re my ‘boyfriend,’ you shouldn’t be thinking about still playing the field one day—”