Christmas in two places was bogus. There was our usual Christmas with the tree and presents and everything, but no Dad. We went to his new apartment for Christmas Eve and it kind of freaked me out. Sandra was freaked out, too. After my fight with Mom, she finally told Sandra about the separation. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Dad not living with us. I could tell that he put a lot of effort into making everything look as nice as possible with boxes still unpacked and hardly any furniture, but it felt really staged. And of course I’m still mad at him, so the whole thing was seriously lame. I’m so mad I can’t even talk to him about it. He tried talking to me, but I just left the room. I don’t know why he bothered to have us over. He must feel really guilty.
But now that pathetic attempt at a holiday is in the past. And I’m determined to improve my life. Sterling and I made that reinvention pact for a reason. I can still do this.
When Derek rings my bell, the jiggle-jaggle acts up. I can’t calm down. I could not be more nervous and excited and nauseous all at the same time.
As I clomp down the stairs in my new boots, a horrible thought occurs to me. I stop clomping. What if he’s not as excited to see me as I am to see him? What if I look like a huge dork, opening the door with this expression like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me while his eyes glaze over with indifference?
Sandra beats me to the door.
“Are you Derek?” she goes.
“Yeah. You’re Sandra, right?”
She just looks at him. I know how she feels. The shock of having a potential boyfriend pick me up for an actual date blows my mind, too.
I walk over on shaky legs.
“Hey,” Derek says.
“Hi.” My face feels like it’s going to crack in two from my stretchy smile.
And guess what? Derek has the same smile.
Sandra rolls her eyes.
A few kids from school are at the Notch. This rocks. I want the whole school to see us together. So when we go back after break, everyone will already know that we’re a couple.
Derek’s like, “So . . . what do you want to do first?”
“I don’t know.”
“Feel like ice cream?”
“It’s, like, three degrees out.”
“That’s why getting ice cream would be badass.”
Derek is awesome.
Shake Shack is our best option for ice cream. There’s a section of the counter where you can get sundaes and cones and stuff, but of course we’re the only ones standing there. And the guy working the ice-cream section is on his cell phone.
We wait for him to get off.
He doesn’t get off.
“Hi,” Derek says. “Can we have—”
But ice-cream guy holds his hand up for us to wait.
I lean over to Derek and whisper, “Can’t you see he’s on a very important call?”
“And he’s never getting off!” Derek whispers back.
We wait some more.
Derek goes, “This is getting ridiculous.”
“Maybe he forgot we’re here.”
“What could he possibly be talking about that’s more important than us?”
Ice-cream guy looks over at us and goes, “Help you?” He’s still on the phone.
We tell him what we want.
“My treat,” I tell Derek. I take out my wallet and get some singles.
“Absolutely not,” he says. He stuffs the singles back in my wallet.
“But this was such a good idea.” I take the singles out again.
“But it was my idea.” He stuffs the singles back in.
“Okay. Thanks.”
Ice-cream guy hands us our cones. The ice cream on mine is all crooked. It’s sloping dangerously to one side.
But he’s still on the phone. So I hold up my cone to show him, tilting it to balance the slanting ice-cream tower, thinking he’ll make me another cone. And what does he do? He just pulls some napkins out of the dispenser and holds them out for me, still jabbering away, barely noticing the problem of the leaning ice cream, which will be impossible to eat without an inevitable major catastrophe.
“Helpful,” Derek decides.
“Isn’t he?”
“Let’s sit over there.”
It’s one thing to imagine how your life would be if you had the boyfriend you’ve always wanted. It’s a whole other thing to actually have him. I’m so excited and nervous that it’s hard to eat my ice cream. I can barely follow what Derek’s talking about.
Derek crunches into his cone. My ice cream is dripping.
“Here,” he says. “Let me help you with that.” Derek grabs my cone. He takes a huge bite of ice cream.
“Hey!”
“I’m sorry. Did you want that?”
“How can you bite into ice cream like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like with your teeth?”
“Should I be biting some other way? Man, I’m so out of it.”
“No!” How does he make everything so funny? “I can’t bite into anything that cold. My teeth are really sensitive. It would kill.”
“Isn’t there some special toothpaste for that?”
“I already use it. It doesn’t help that much, though.” I lick more ice cream. “Doesn’t it hurt? When you bite into ice cream like that?”
“No. I have teeth of steel.”
“I’ve heard about you. Weren’t you featured on Humans with Amazing Capabilities?”
“Is that a real show?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re trying to be funny.”
“Oh! Trying to be?”
“It’s okay. We can work on that.”
All signs point to Derek becoming my boyfriend. And Aunt Katie says that communication is the key to having a good relationship. Which I totally get. But does that mean you have to tell the person everything about yourself? Because there’s no way I’m telling Derek about my anxiety disorder. Everyone just assumed I was a freak last year. No one knows the real reason I was being so weird, and I intend to keep it that way. Anyway, it’s not important for Derek to know because I’m determined to remain stable, so why freak him out over nothing? I just want to live in the Now and not worry about the rest.
Okay. If I were being really honest with myself? Then I would admit that I don’t want him to know how messed up I am. I don’t want him to know about my emotional problems or my parents or anything that even remotely sucks. Because if he knows how complicated I am, he might not like me anymore.
Does that count as trying to be someone I’m not?
Right when I finish my ice cream, Nash comes in with Rachel.
I don’t know what to do. Should I just be myself? Or should I make an effort to go over there and say hi? And why doesn’t going over there and saying hi feel like being myself?
Nash sees me looking at him and waves. I wave back.
Derek turns around to see who I’m waving to. “You’re friends with Nash, right?” he goes.
“Yeah. We’re friends.”
“I’ve seen you guys around.”
Then Nash and Rachel come over. It’s so weird to see her like this. Rachel’s always been just this girl in my classes and now she’s suddenly Nash’s girlfriend. It’s bizarre.
Everyone says hey.
“You know Derek, right?” I ask Nash.
“Hey, man,” Derek says, putting out his fist.
Nash isn’t really the type of boy who goes around pounding fists. But he pulls it off and goes, “Didn’t we have language arts together in seventh grade?”
Derek’s like, “Did we? I can’t remember that far back.”
“I think so,” Nash says.
We’re all awkward and subtexty and I’m not even sure why. I guess the four of us hanging out together wouldn’t exactly be the best combination. And not just because Nash has a ten thirty curfew, even on weekends. So I’m relieved when Nash and Rachel get fries to go.
Derek’s looking at me.
“What?” I say.
He keeps looking at my mouth.
“What?” I pull a napkin out of the dispenser and wipe my mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”
“You have . . .” He leans in closer. “. . . amazing lips.” And then he’s kissing me. And I’m kissing him back. Right here in the middle of Shake Shack where everyone can see!
I never thought my first real kiss would be so public. But it doesn’t even matter. When I’m with Derek, it’s like we’re the only ones who exist. Everything else just fades into the background.
25
Sterling’s in a pissy mood. That Ken guy she was talking to online blocked her. He did it on New Year’s Eve, which was totally lame. I was hoping that Derek would ask me to this big party on New Year’s Eve, but he was at his uncle’s house in New Jersey. So Sterling and I had a pathetic time, eating too many pigs in a blanket appetizers and watching people freezing their butts off in Times Square. Plus, the appetizers were the frozen kind. She didn’t even have the energy to cook. We tried listening to Dirk, but he wasn’t on.
Going back to school today would have been a total drag if it wasn’t for Derek. And Derek kissing me in Shake Shack. And kissing me some more when he took me home. I should be feeling incredible, but every time I think about my parents my heart sinks. This might be a good time to tell Sterling about that. Everyone knows misery loves company. And keeping this kind of stuff in is seriously destructive. It’s killing me, not talking about it.
Sterling keeps banging her pans around. I came over after school because I didn’t want her to be alone.
“How can such a little person make so much noise?” I wonder.
“Like this.” Bang bop bang go the pans.
“Impressive. How about using words?”
“That’s so overrated.”
“Fine, but I’m here to listen if you change your mind.”
Sterling glances at me. For a second it looks like she’s going to rant about Ken some more. But then she turns back to the chopping board.
I’m like, “Should you really be chopping those peppers in your condition?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well . . . I sort of have to tell you something.”
“I’m listening.”
“No, it’s . . . It’s serious.”
Sterling puts the knife down and sits at the counter across from me. “Okay.”
How do you say something like this? Do you, like, lead up to it and explain how things got this bad? Or do you just suddenly announce how bad everything is?
I say, “My parents are separated.”
Everything with Sterling changes. The anger disappears from her face. Her mouth hangs open.
“Oh my god,” she says. “Since when?”
“Um. Now, I guess.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
I hate putting other people in this type of situation. Not that I’ve ever had to tell anyone something this heinous before. But when you tell someone something like this, it really puts them on the spot. It’s like you’re expecting them to say the right thing or somehow make you feel better. But of course there’s nothing they can say. And there’s nothing they can do.
Unless you’re Sterling.
“Forget this salad,” she says. She takes the chopping board and shoves it on a side counter. “There’s only one solution to a problem like this.” She starts mixing dough for chocolate chip cookies and whipping up her signature frappes. That’s the thing about Sterling. If you’re in pain, she’ll put her issues aside and help you. She has strength like that.
I help by picking out what type of chocolate chips I want for the cookies.
“Comfort food is always the answer,” Sterling promises. She makes the best. If you want mashed potatoes or mac and cheese, Sterling is your girl. It reminds me of when I had my retainer and all I could eat was soft food.
“I shouldn’t have stopped wearing my retainer,” I say.
“Random. But, okay, explain.”
“Because now my tooth is crooked.”
“Then why did you stop wearing your retainer?”
“It was killing me. And I kept throwing it out with my lunch. Then I’d have to dig through the garbage and everyone would be watching. It was so humiliating.”
My dad was the one I told about my retainer. I knew Mom would get mad that I didn’t want to wear it anymore, so I went to him instead. He told me that everything would be okay. That I shouldn’t be living in pain. And he said he’d talk to Mom for me. Which I guess worked, because she never even asked me about it.
That was back when I could trust him. I thought it would always be that way between us. Where I could tell Dad anything and it would be okay. But he wasn’t who I thought he was. He was this other person who was keeping secrets and living another life, going through the motions.
How could something that felt so right actually be so wrong?
26
I’m on my bed reading The Pact for the third time when I think I hear my dad’s voice downstairs. But that can’t be right. He’s only been here once since I found out about the separation and that was to take Sandra out. Actually, he came to get both of us, but I said I didn’t feel well. He doesn’t get to come over and try to see me like he didn’t just destroy our entire family. My parents have always told us that actions have consequences. Why does he think that doesn’t apply to him?
This sucks. I should be high on euphoria from my first date with Derek. And going out with him again later this week. And I am, in a way. But then in this other way, all my family drama is making me feel sick.
It’s exhausting.
As if all this doesn’t suck enough, it’s freezing in here. I need another blanket, so I go out to the hall closet for the really heavy wool one. I can hear my parents talking downstairs.
“You can try it,” Mom is saying, “but I don’t think she’ll go for that.”
“How else is this supposed to work?”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before.”
Whatever Dad says next is all muffled, but he sounds annoyed. Like he has any right to be. I heard what Mom just said and I know what she meant. He should have thought about us before. As in, before he cheated on her and destroyed our lives.
I take the blanket back to my room and get under it on my bed. It’s scratchier than I remember. I just want to read and forget about everything else. But that’s impossible. Because someone is knocking on my door.
“Who is it?” I go.
A pause. “It’s Dad.”
“I don’t feel like talking.”
“Marisa. Open the door.”
“I’m busy.”
“I have something for you.”
I so don’t want to see him. Or talk to him.
“No, thanks,” I say.
Another pause. Then: “I’m leaving it out here.”
I wait for him to leave. Then I wait some more.
When I open my door a few minutes later, my new bookcase is sitting there. With a big, red bow on top.
He still loves me.
I run downstairs. Maybe he hasn’t left yet. I run out onto the front porch. His car is still in the driveway. So where is he?
I have to talk to him. I have to know the truth. It’s too hard not being able to tell him things, to feel his support, to have him in my life the way he was before.
Because I know Dad, I know that the only place he could be right now is out on the dock. And that’s where I find him. I can tell by the way he’s standing, leaning against the railing and looking down into the water, that he’s crushed. And I’m the one who’s crushed him.
“Hey, kid,” Dad goes.
I lean against the railing next to him.
“It was wrong not to tell you,” he says. “I wanted to tell you before I moved out.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Dad shakes his head. “I had to consider
your mom’s feelings.”
All of the rage boils up again. I go, “How could you do this to us?”
“It was the only way. We can’t be separated and living in the same house.”
“And whose fault is that, I wonder?”
“Don’t be mad at her.”
Yeah, right. Like I’m not going to hate Dad’s girlfriend.
I’m like, “She wrote you a letter a while ago, didn’t she?”
“Who?”
“The person I’m not supposed to be mad at.”
“I was talking about your mom. Not to be mad at your mom.”
“Why would I be mad at her?”
Dad scoffs. “She didn’t tell you?”
“No. I guess she thought you should be the one to do that.”
“Why would I—who do you think that letter was from?”
I try to say, The woman you’re having an affair with. But I can’t make those words come out.
“Is that why you’ve been so mad at me?” Dad says. “You think I’m having an affair?”
“You’re not?”
“No! I can’t believe—no. I’m not. I would never do something like that.”
“Then why are you guys separated?”
“Didn’t your mom talk to you about this?”
“No. She’s not telling me anything.”
Dad rubs his hands over his face. “I can’t believe this.”
“Can you just tell me? I mean . . . if you’re not having an affair, then whatever it is—”
“It was her!” Dad bursts out. “Your mother’s the one who’s having an affair.”
Oh. My. God.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I’m—” He bends over the railing. The vein on his temple is pulsing, the way it always does when he’s angry.
“I can’t believe I thought you . . . I’m so sorry, Dad.”
“You didn’t know.”
Mom was the one. Not Dad. Unbelievable.
How could she let me think it was him? How could she do this to Dad?
“Hey,” Dad says. “You okay?”
“No. I’m definitely not okay.” I stomp away from the railing. “I can’t believe Mom did this. I hate her!”
“Marisa—”
“How is that—” I’m so furious I can’t even get the words together. I hate being so angry. And talking about it will just make me angrier. So I go, “Could we not talk about this now?”
Waiting for You Page 10
