Chose the Wrong Guy, Gave Him the Wrong Finger

by Beth Harbison

  I sighed. I just hated thinking about this stuff. Which, okay, right there was probably a clue that I hadn’t really worked it out. But I was happier not thinking about it. Why keep poking the bruise?

  “You know how they say the best way to get over a man is to get under another one?”

  Glenn laughed. I think he’d said that himself on more than one occasion, though sometimes making lewd variations of the expression. “I am familiar with the expression, yes.”

  “Well, it ain’t always true. When I left the church that day, the day of the wedding that would have changed my whole damn life, I was beyond heartbroken. I was numb. That day, and for a lot of days afterward, I wished, more than anything, that I hadn’t heard anything, that I’d gone on with the wedding and with my life in ignorant bliss. If the stories were true but he was faithful once we were married, was there ultimately any harm?”

  “Hard to say. If you never knew and it never happened again, it’s like that stupid tree falling in the woods, isn’t it? If the next chapter, or the next six chapters, or however you look at a married rest-of-your-life and all the things that follow, was what you thought it was, maybe it didn’t matter what happened before.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll ever know the answer to that.”

  “But you knew, for sure, that what Frank said to you was true.”

  “Actually, to this day I don’t know the extent of it. But I do know that in the heated five minutes we spent in the rectory, he admitted that he had had one or two indiscretions. He said it was while we were broken up, but we were always breaking up and making up, there was never any reason to believe it.”

  “The old ‘we were on a break’ from Friends.”

  “Exactly! Now it’s in our lexicon forever. Shorthand for someone fucking up and someone else either having to forgive or not forgive.”

  Glenn put a piece of cheese in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “There is another possibility. Maybe he bought it every time you dumped him. Maybe he believed you every time you got fed up, or had a drama queen moment, and walked away. Some guys do, you know. Guys see what’s directly in front of them and act from there. It’s a biological difference between our brains.”

  “Yeah, there are a lot of biological differences in our brains. Men can have meaningless sex too.”

  “True.” He put his hand on my arm and made me look into his eyes. “That’s true.”

  “I’ll never understand that.”

  “No, you probably won’t. When you filter the act through your own brain, you cannot make it mean anything less than love, and, honey, that hurts so much more as a betrayal, doesn’t it?”

  A lump formed in my throat. Why, after all these years, I didn’t know. It embarrassed me and I swallowed hard. “No.”

  Silence bloomed between us.

  “You know what the last thing he said to me was?”

  “What?”

  “There’s gum on your ass.”

  Glenn laughed. “What?”

  “There was. I’d sat in gum and it ruined my dress. It and everything else I’d sat in, but the gum was the biggest insult and that was his parting shot of, and at, me. There’s gum on your ass. It was so typical of him I almost laughed. But he was always able to make me laugh, even when I was most livid at him, so if I’d laughed, that would have been like giving in, saying it was all okay, when I knew it would never be okay again.”

  “I’m sorry. This iceberg goes deeper than I thought.”

  Deeper than I’d thought too. I couldn’t think about that day with Burke. Couldn’t do it. Right or wrong, good or bad, it was too painful. I closed my eyes for a moment, then said, “Anyway. Frank. I don’t think he meant to be as artful as he was, manipulating me, I think he really thought he was being sincere in trying to warn me not to make a mistake.”

  Glenn raised an eyebrow. “But he got the girl?”

  “No. I moved back home. Didn’t run off down the aisle with him, as great as a fuck you as that would have been to Burke—”

  “Which I’m sure he offered to do.”

  I shook my head. “No, he didn’t, actually. He didn’t.” I thought about it. I’d always thought he would have, given the chance. He was interested, probably, but he never actually said so, so maybe that was all my vanity in play, no reality at all.

  “So how did you feel about him?”

  “Well, it’s funny, I had a crush on Burke before I discovered Frank. I was fifteen at the time, so he seemed much more sophisticated than Burke or me. And he was, actually. Did you know him in high school?”

  “I really didn’t.”

  “Well, he was pretty much always sixty-three years old, you know? Very serious. Very smart.” I shook my head. “Man, that guy is smart.” That was part of his appeal for me, and I realized why at this moment. “He was the kind of guy who seemed like he could take care of things. Anything. Everything. So when I was broken and vulnerable, I think I wanted him to take care of me.”

  Glenn handed me a cracker. “It would have been an easy way out of heartbreak.”

  “If it had worked.”

  “It never works.”

  “No easy outs.”

  We laughed, but neither of us really meant it. Heartbreak sucks and we both knew it.

  “So you guys, what, dated? Was it serious?”

  I shook my head. “One night. Well, I don’t know, it was a few drunk nights in a row, but only one … night. You know.”

  He looked nonplussed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “We drove to Vegas and I started drinking, starting with some Bud Lights from the 7-Eleven on 15, and didn’t sober up till we got back. The first night, in some Hampton Inn off the highway, I was hammered and upset and I just…” I shook my head and gestured. “We did it, and…” I shrugged.

  Glenn raised an eyebrow. “And it was good?”

  I nodded. It was. “It was.”

  “But you didn’t do it again.”

  “Well…”

  “So the next night in Vegas you did it again.”

  I felt the pink rise into my cheeks. “Okay, yes, but that was it. That was all. After that I began to feel really guilty for doing that to Burke.”

  “After what he did to you.”

  “I know!”

  “So … how was Frank? Any good?”

  Oh, yeah. That was both my private shame and my private glee. “Frank Morrison is hotter than you think. He was hotter than I thought. Very … skilled.”

  “So it wasn’t a mistake.”

  I shrugged. “I was young and hormonal and angry.” I laughed. “And I think it kind of helped. It didn’t cure me, obviously, but…” I shook my head, remembering. Pretty vividly. “It sure didn’t suck.”

  “Wow! Why didn’t you stick with it, then?”

  “That wouldn’t have been fair to Frank. How could it be, really, coming right off an engagement to his brother? Almost a marriage. Certainly a life I had been planning on for years. It was crazy to think I could just switch gears that way and pretend Thing Number One had never existed and just go with Thing Number Two. Especially since they were so close, obviously, so that Burke would always exist. I’d always hear about him, which would forever keep him between Frank and me. This wasn’t exactly like taking off and starting a new life.”

  Glenn nodded. “That is the worst thing about having mutual friends after a breakup. Hearing about the person. Wanting to, not wanting to, sometimes happening upon information you never wanted or needed to know.”

  “Like that Burke was dating Sarah Lynn.”

  “He did not!”

  Sarah Lynn was my archnemesis in high school. She was a regional tennis star, I was hopelessly shy. She had glossy dark hair, versus my yellow-blond. There was an air of money about her, which was because she came from a moneyed, aristocratic family, while I was in the right zip code with the wrong tax bracket. Which, I think, was what she didn’t like about me. I wasn’t up to her stand
ards, even just to be a classmate or neighbor. It was as simple as that.

  I’d ferreted her out on Facebook not too long ago—we had thirteen mutual friends, so I was sure she got, and ignored, the suggestions that we might know each other just like I did—and she looked spectacular.

  Of course.

  “I think they went out for, like, three weeks or something, but yeah, he did that.”

  “I can’t think of that girl without remembering that party at Chris Stein’s house.”

  I was drawing a blank. “What party? What happened?” I was imagining her getting up in front of everyone, doing something spectacular that no one knew she could do. Sing like an American Idol favorite; flip like an Olympic gymnast; save the life of a choking guest better than Dr. Oz could have.

  “Oh, you know this story,” Glenn said. “When she went behind some bushes to pee and didn’t realize she was right under a spotlight and being projected on one of the security cameras? Which, as it happened, were being projected onto a big screen as live party shots?”

  My jaw dropped. I loved this story unreasonably, given how long it had been since this had happened, since we had any sort of “rivalry” at all, and how mature I really should be now. “You’re making this up.”

  “Could I make this up?”

  “No one could make this up.”

  “Certainly not me.”

  We were a sitcom. A well-timed duo of shorthand, back and forth. In a way, it was a shame he was gay, because we might have been the perfect couple.

  I took another sip of wine. “I like that story.”

  “I’m not surprised.” He tilted his head and assessed me, à la the RCA dog. “Why does he still get to you? How could Sarah Lynn possibly still matter to you?”

  It was a good question. Was my life, my world, so small that what happened ten years ago might as well have happened last week?

  Yes. Yes, it was.

  Because, like I said, I’m not an Eat Pray Love girl. I’m not an adventuress. I am, I hate to say it, in too many ways timid. Ten years ago could feel like last week because last week wasn’t that different from ten years ago.

  I was in a rut and I said that to Glenn.

  “I am so glad you finally see that,” he said, sounding insultingly relieved. “I’ve been worried.”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  He obviously got it. “No offense.”

  “Oh, none taken,” I said dryly.

  “Quinn, when was the last time you left this town?”

  “I was in Dupont Circle last weekend!”

  Exasperated sigh. “This whole town.” He gestured broadly. “When was the last time you left this country?”

  “You know I can’t do that! I have the shop to take care of!”

  “Well, you need to do something, because you’re becoming Grandma Walton here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What about just a weekend trip? A weekend in Paris?”

  It didn’t even appeal to me. Can you believe the words “a weekend in Paris” could not appeal to someone? That was me! I felt homesick just thinking about it.

  He was right, I needed a change. Quick.

  “Among other things,” I said, “I have Dottie’s dress to make, and the time is already going to be tight.”

  He pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. “Here’s what I’m going to do,” he said, in a voice that told me I wasn’t going to be able to argue. I’d heard that voice before. “I’m going to give you a task a day for the next month, just a little something you have to do during the day. Sometimes it will be an all-day thing, like wearing clown makeup…”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  “… and sometimes it will be something quick, like throwing a tomato at a passing car.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Those aren’t real examples. I’ve got to come up with thirty of these suckers, so it’s going to take some consideration.”

  I laughed. “And what is the point of all this?”

  “To broaden your horizons. To make you do things in a different way. Think differently. Just be something a little bit different than Quinn. Not that I don’t love Quinn,” he was quick to add. “I do. But she needs a little change.”

  “It’s true, she does.” I had to agree.

  He stood up. “This seems like the perfect note to end on, then.” He stretched and looked at his watch. “I’ll have your first assignment for you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 5

  September, Seventeen Years Ago

  The entire school smelled like the church rectory: a mix of new carpeting, cheap cafeteria food in tin containers, some good intentions, and a whole lot of fear.

  High school.

  Quinn took a deep breath outside the blue front doors, ignoring the rush of bodies bumping past her, and tried to gather her courage.

  Middle school had been hard at first too, she reminded herself. All the new people from three different elementary schools pooling into one. Lockers. Linoleum floors. No paste, scissors, construction paper, little kids. There were no hand turkeys taped to the wall at Thanksgiving there, though a little room had still been allowed for ugly parent-chosen clothes and cardigan sweaters, at least at first.

  But in high school, she had to get it right and she was already afraid she had it wrong. Was her Blink-182 T-shirt all wrong for this crowd? Were her faded Levi’s from Gap uncool? She should have gotten new shoes, because she’d had these running shoes for so long they were more like slippers now.

  “Quinn!”

  Oh, thank god! Someone she knew! She turned to see her friend Jackie coming toward her, all tan and leggy and Jennifer-Aniston-y in cutoff shorts, slip-ons, and a plain white T-shirt. That had been a good choice. Who could criticize plain white?

  “Hey,” Quinn said, putting on a smile even though she suddenly felt like crying. This was too much. She was overwhelmed. There were going to be more people she didn’t know here than she did, and she wasn’t very good at being outgoing.

  “Are you just so psyched?”

  Quinn grimaced. “I’m nervous.”

  “Oh, please. Why? Do you know how many new hotties we’re going to meet? You know you haven’t had a boyfriend until you’ve had your first high school boyfriend.”

  Easy for her to say. She’d had, like, four boyfriends in middle school.

  “I haven’t had a boyfriend at all.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Jackie shrugged. “So you’re going to have your first boyfriend. Come on, don’t stand out here like a freak, let’s go in.” She tugged on Quinn’s arm.

  “What’s your locker number?” Quinn asked.

  “Um…” Jackie paused to open her purse and took out a piece of paper. “Eight-fifty. What about yours?”

  “Eight twenty-nine. Hopefully they’re near each other.”

  “God, I can’t believe how scared you are! This is awesome. We’re in high school! Stop being such a wimp!”

  They followed the signs on the wall to the eight hundred corridor and, fortunately for Quinn, their lockers were near each other. Opposite sides of the hall, and maybe six yards apart, but that was better than being on totally different floors.

  Quinn went to her assigned locker and used the combination she’d memorized, though she noticed everyone else had brought their orientation papers and were referring to them. Apparently she was the only one who had been so nervous about today that she had committed every single thing they’d sent to memory. She knew where each and every classroom was, on A days and B days (today was B, weirdly), and she knew every teacher’s name. She’d even looked up the lunch menu in advance so she knew what she’d pick and exactly how much it would cost.

  She put all her books but math in the locker, then took the Disney World magnet from her purse that she’d brought to stick to the door. It was Woody and Buzz from Toy Story. When she’d chosen it, it had felt familiar and comforting, it had made her smile, but now it just looked babyish.
She considered it for a moment, then decided she just wasn’t cool enough to pull off the retro act, so she pulled it off and was about to put it in her purse when the girl at the locker next to her said, “Oh, I love Buzz!”

  “I’m sorry?” Quinn asked, not quite connecting the obvious dots. Her first thought was that maybe drugs were as rampant here as her mother had warned.

  The girl gestured at the magnet. “Buzz Lightyear. That was my favorite movie when I was a kid.”

  “Oh.” Quinn smiled. “Mine too.” Then she had the vague thought that maybe the girl was baiting her, setting her up for some sort of Mean Girl prank.

  But that would be just so lame as far as pranks went.

  “I’m Rami, by the way.” The girl smiled and pushed her hand through her thick red hair, though it fell right back in front of her face. “What’s your name?”

  “Quinn Barton.” Whole name. She might as well have extended a stiff arm and asked, How do you do? Would you like some crumpets and tea?

  Rami nodded like that was something to understand and she understood it. “Looks like we’re locker roomies this year. Are you in ninth grade?”

  Quinn’s face colored. Of course it was obvious she was in ninth grade, but it still embarrassed her that it was that obvious. Like she was wearing a beanie with a spinner on top. “Yes.”

  “I’m in tenth. I hated ninth. Well, the first couple of weeks of ninth. I came from Montessori school, so I was freaked out about all the people here.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rami said, shrugging. “You’ll get used to it.” Her eyes darted behind Quinn. “There’s a lot of good stuff here.” She nodded toward something in the hall.

  Quinn turned and saw nothing but people. Just teenagers. All from central casting. “What am I looking at?” she asked.

  “Ummm … hottie alert. Burke Morrison.” Rami sighed dramatically. “Yummy.”

  Quinn looked again, at faces this time, rather than the intimidating throng, and it was clear there was only one person Rami could have meant. A guy with dark hair, tanned skin, bright blue eyes, and a confident swagger that could have made up for the lack of any and all of the rest.