Dad emerged from his home office, and I pulled away from Sarah fast.
“Hi,” she said to him. I freaked, but she smiled and introduced herself. She still had her braces, and her hair was longer, French braided. It made her look even younger than she was.
We all ended up in the kitchen, where I introduced Dad to M’Chelle and Ben. Which was stupid because he knew Ben. Dad snagged a couple of thumbprint cookies from the counter, and Tanith fake-slapped his hand. He winked at me and left.
Paulie and I had been assembling a gingerbread house, and Ben said, “Ooh, let me help with the landscape design.”
M’Chelle and I rolled our eyes. So gay. Ben sure knew how to turn it on and off.
Sarah said, “Wasn’t there something in your room you wanted to show me?”
Tanith was watching and I hesitated, but Sarah caught my sweater and yanked me back out of the kitchen. “Show me your room,” she said in a sexy voice, batting those baby blues at me.
It seemed safe enough. I led her upstairs, where she shut the door and pulled me into her. Kissed me so long and hard, my lips swelled. Then her hands were under my shirt and…
God.
I punch on the jets in the whirlpool and slide down.
… She unhooked my bra…
“Sarah…”
“I miss you so much.”
“Me too.”
“How much longer do we have to be apart?”
“I don’t know.”
She said, “I can’t stand it. I just want to be out. I hate hiding and lying about what I am. About us. I want to be together.” She tried to pull my shirt over my head, but I stopped her.
“We can’t. Not here.”
She ran her hand between my legs….
I drop my head back and feel the power of the jets. Her power over me.
She got her way. She always got her way, and I gave it to her. I gave myself willingly, Sarah. And you took and took until there was nothing left of me to take.
Christmas
You and Sarah bought each other initial necklaces, hers with an A, yours with an S. You exchanged presents in the shed by clasping the necklaces around each other’s necks before making slow, passionate love.
You weren’t looking forward to winter break, because Sarah was going to her aunt and uncle’s home in Philadelphia.
Now you wonder if she really went. If she was lying to you even then.
But she called you every night. She said how much she missed you. She must’ve gone.
There was no sign of any change in your relationship. Sarah ended your conversations with a whispered, “I love you so much, Alyssa. I wish we could be together.”
“We are together,” you told her. “Distance can’t keep us apart.”
Distance wasn’t your undoing.
But then Sarah didn’t call the day she got back from Philadelphia. The day she told you she’d be home. You called her cell. No answer. She had a habit of letting the battery die or forgetting her phone. You called her home. No answer. You didn’t leave a message.
Paulie was bugging you. “One more game of Guitar Hero?”
You barked at him, “No! Leave me alone.”
He slumped on the floor and pouted. You felt bad about taking it out on him. You’d been grouchy the whole Christmas break. “You play,” you told him. “I’ll watch.”
“But you’re spazzier,” he said.
You struck a spaz pose, and he outdid you with his twisted limbs. It made you laugh and feel better. Paulie was—is—an awesome brother.
You lay on the sofa, calling Sarah again. No answer. Paulie set up Transformers on his Xbox instead. He talked to himself while he played video games. While he did homework too. Sometimes at night you’d hear him talking to himself in bed. What a weird kid.
Or a lonely kid.
You were crazy with pent-up energy and anxiety. You threw the cell down, jumped up, and attacked your brother, sitting on him and tickling him until he screamed.
You ended up spazzing out to Guitar Hero anyway.
The next day, New Year’s Eve, you called Sarah the minute you woke up. Her cell went to voice mail. Same with her home phone. You tried all day long.
Even though it was sleeting and bitter cold, you rode your bike to her house. Cars were parked in the driveway, and the Christmas tree lights were on. You just sat out in the cold because you couldn’t work up the nerve to go ring the bell.
You rode back home.
Right before midnight, Sarah finally answered her cell. “I can’t talk to you,” she said in a hoarse voice. She sounded like she’d been crying.
“Sarah, what?” you asked. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t! Okay?” She hung up.
It hit you. She’d done it. She’d come out to her parents.
Chapter
8
I set my alarm for five, not really sure what time I should be at the Egg Drop-In to start work. Arlo’d just grumbled, “Be here tomorrow. And for God’s sake, speed the plow.” I guess he noticed I was a little slow. Today I was going to wow him.
Traces of cigarette smoke and perfume hang in the air, so I know Carly’s been home. I sneak down the hall and see a lump in her bed. I think to leave her a note that says, How does it feel to get up and find me gone? Instead, I write, Got a job in town.
The bell tinkles over the Egg Drop door when I walk in a little before six. The joint, as they say, is jumping.
“Look out,” Finn says. “He’s in a mood.”
Worse than usual?
Dishes and pans clang in the kitchen, and then something metal hits the wall.
I grimace. She hustles toward the counter, saying over her shoulder, “You’ll need to get here by five, at the latest.”
Five AM? Finn’s eyes are bloodshot, and her hair is kind of messy. As she hands me an order pad, I say, “Rough night?”
She sets a cup on a serving tray, along with a plated croissant, and balances the tray on her palm. Arlo yells out the order window, “Is Sleeping Beauty in yet?”
Finn calls over, “She’s been here an hour. Where’ve you been?”
Thank you, I mime.
Arlo grumbles, “Order up.”
I walk over to the window. “Good morning, Sunshine,” I say with a smile.
He just looks at me.
“Let me guess,” I add. “You’re not a morning person?”
“Finn, get her a tee!” he yells.
I scope out the customers. Most of them look like construction crews or cowboys. They’re slamming down enormous portions of eggs and potatoes, pancakes and meat.
Instantly my head’s covered in cloth. It’s a T-shirt like the one Finn’s wearing. Mocha brown with a splattered egg imprinted on the back.
“Can we get some effing service here?” one of the guys bellows from a table.
Arlo says in a lowered voice, “It’s the jerk squad. Hate those hammer heads.” The whole table starts to pound their fists and chant, “Ser-vice. Ser-vice.”
Finn passes behind me. “They’re all yours.” She disappears through the swinging doors.
I don’t know the menu or prices, but I’ve seen enough waitresses taking orders in my life. How hard can it be?
The tee’s an extra large, so I pull it over my shirt as I hurry across the dining room. “What can I get you guys?” I ask.
The loudest one goes, “What can I get you?” and pinches my butt.
I kick him in the shin. He scrapes back his chair, and I bolt.
In the kitchen, I slap the order pad on the counter by the grill and tell Arlo, “I quit.”
He holds up the spatula he’s using to flip pancakes. “It’s the middle of rush.”
“I don’t care. That guy just sexually assaulted me.”
Finn leans back from the open refrigerator door and meets my eyes.
Arlo says, “What’d he do?”
“Pinched my ass.”
I see Finn smirk and duck her head inside
the fridge. Arlo hands me the spatula and pivots a wheelie toward the swinging doors, ripping off his latex gloves. Finn carries over a carton of cream and a tub of butter. “They’re just messing with you.”
“Is that what you call it? I call it sexual harassment.”
Finn says, “You’ve never waitressed before, have you?”
If this is what waitresses put up with, I’m never going to.
She points. “The pancakes are burning.”
With the spatula, I quickly flip over a pair of smoking pancakes. Charcoal. At the other end of the grill is a trash can with eggshells and smelly garbage. I dump the pancakes on top, find the pitcher of batter, and pour two more.
Arlo crashes through the swinging doors. “They decided it was in their best interests to leave this fine dining establishment and never return.”
Finn cries, “Arlo!”
“What?” He takes the spatula from me.
“They’re my biggest tippers.”
He flips the gooey pancakes I poured. “Tips ain’t worth putting up with that shit.”
She slit-eyes me and storms out. It’s not my fault. Why would she give me her biggest tippers, anyway? Over the flapping doors, I call to her, “I’m sorry.”
Arlo says, “You need a lid.” He thumbs to a cup rack by the fridge, where a pair of caps hang on hooks. Meanwhile, he yanks on new rubber gloves.
I hate hats.
“Finn doesn’t wear a hat,” I say.
“Her hair’s pulled back. Wear a lid.”
None of the caps look new; in fact, there are sweat stains around the brims. Arlo’s sweat, no doubt. My hair looks weird with a hat on.
The night of prom, I sat at my mirror and chopped away at my hair. My form of self-mutilation, I guess. The next day Dad asked, “What did you do to yourself?”
Cut my hair. Duh. He’s lucky I wasn’t an arm or leg cutter.
Every time he looked at me after that, he clicked his tongue in disgust.
My hair is growing out now, but there are uneven tufts all over, and with a cap on, the sides of my hair stick straight out from my ears. “Do I need gloves too?” I ask Arlo.
He eyes me. “Not unless your hands have been somewhere they shouldn’t.”
It takes me a minute. Arlo wears gloves to cook because his chair isn’t powered, and his hands have to grab the wheels, which are constantly rolling over dirty floors. “Don’t just stand there!” Arlo barks. “It’s rush!”
Finn sweeps by on my way through the swinging doors. “I’ve got all the orders taken. Why don’t you help plate?”
She clips the tickets onto a revolving metal stand by the grill. Arlo yanks three down at once.
“Where are the plates?” I ask.
The next few minutes are a frenzied blur of Finn showing me where everything is and explaining the menu, how to indicate substitutions, how to plate and stack. She says, “Just follow my lead,” and I do. I stand next to her while she takes orders and serves the meals.
The counter is easier to work because there are only coffee and juice and pastries. Still, I drop a cheese Danish on the floor, pick it up, and blow on it. No one sees that, I hope. I burn four bagels before getting the hang of the toaster settings. People scowl. A lady grumbles, “It’s about time.” One guy makes smooching noises every time I pass by. I burn his bagel to a crisp.
Whenever I clear an order, Finn says, “Nice job.”
I don’t know if she’s being facetious.
Around twelve thirty the crowd thins. I plop on a counter seat and slump over. The cool Formica feels soothing against my cheek. If I closed my eyes, I could fall asleep.
Finn touches my shoulder. “I need to show you how to work the espresso machine and dishwasher.”
“I’m hopeless,” I mutter.
Finn says, “You did great.”
I raise my head off the counter a fraction of an inch. She’s fiddling with the coffee machine, her back to me. “I suck, and you know it.”
She doesn’t turn around. “My first week,” she says, “I started an electrical fire and dumped a boiling cup of coffee in a customer’s lap that burned her so bad she had to go to the hospital.”
“Oh my God.” I sit up straight.
“Yeah. I don’t know why Arlo didn’t fire me. He should have.” Finn twists her head around and smiles kindly, sincerely. Arlo wheels out of the kitchen. He points at me and says, “You suck as a waitress.”
I shrink in my skin.
Finn goes, “It’s her first day.”
“Second,” I correct her.
He says, “What? Not a morning person?”
I stick out my tongue at Arlo.
Finn adds, “She didn’t send anyone to the hospital.”
“Yet,” he mutters. He says to Finn, “I gotta go deposit our millions.”
“If you go by Safeway, we need half-and-half,” Finn tells him. “And we’re running low on dishwasher detergent.”
Arlo pops open the cash register, which hits him chest high, and grabs a wad of crinkled bills. As he rolls by, he says to me, “Fill out a W-2.” He tells Finn, “Show her the ropes.”
Finn does a classic double take. “Where do we keep the ropes, again?”
Arlo waves her off and wheels through the kitchen and out the back door. Tossing a towel over her shoulder, Finn motions me around the counter. “Espresso Machine 101,” she says.
She’s funny. I command the butterflies in my stomach to stop fluttering. “Why did you give me your biggest tippers today?”
Finn turns slowly to look at me, and the power of her sexuality makes my knees weak. “I wanted to make it worth your while.” I have to hang on to the counter to keep myself upright.
A warning flare goes off in my head. No, I think. Please no.
I promised myself never to get involved with anyone again, ever. All you end up with is heartache. It’s not worth it. Even if I think Finn’s hot, I’m going to douse every flame that flickers. Every ember.
Carly’s gone when I get back to the house around two. She left me a note:
CALL TANITH.
She wrote out the phone number, like I don’t know my own number.
All I want to do is veg in the whirlpool. My feet are swollen, and my head’s spinning, trying to remember everything Finn taught me today. Trying to get her out of my head. On my way out the door, she said, “Get some decent shoes. You can’t work in flip-flops.”
That’s what I should do. Go buy some Chucks.
The bed moves up to greet me, and I lie down. I must fall asleep, because when my eyes open, I’m disoriented. I still have on the clothes I worked in, and the note is clutched in my hand.
CALL TANITH.
What time is it? Four forty-six here. Two hours later in Virginia Beach. Dad’s clearing the dinner table. Or if he’s finished, he and Tanith are watching TV or listening to music or reading. Paulie’s upstairs playing video games by himself. I’m disowned.
I roll over onto my side. I have a job. A job I got all by myself without Dad’s or Carly’s or anyone’s help.
It feels like more than a job. It feels like liberation. Independence. Like maybe there’s life after Sarah.
I startle awake to my alarm. Punching it off with a fist, I stagger out of bed. I slept. I actually slept.
A fuchsia sticky note is posted on the inside of my door, which is wide open.
CALL TANITH.
Message received, Carly. It’s six AM in Virginia Beach. Tanith is up making breakfast for Dad. During the school year, she works—worked—as a substitute teacher. She was always there, though, to see me and Paulie off. There when we got home from school.
She answers on the second ring. “Hello?” Her voice sounds clear and cheerful.
My throat closes. I strangle out, “Hi.”
“Alyssa, is that you? Hi, honey. How are you?”
For someone who was thrown out of the house? “Great.”
“Really?”
No, Tanith.
Not really.
She says, “I—we—miss you.”
I close my eyes.
“I’m so sorry about this,” Tanith says. “He just needs time to—”
“I have to get to work,” I cut in. “Did you need something?” My voice regains control. I shouldn’t be mad at Tanith. Except, she knew. She could’ve intervened on my behalf. But no. Whatever Dad says, goes.
“You got a package,” Tanith continues. “Well, a box.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t open your mail.”
“Who’s it from?”
“There’s no return address.”
A pause stretches the distance between us. “Do you want me to send it to you at Carly’s?” she asks.
“I guess. Wait.” If it’s from Sarah, I don’t want it here. “Any idea who it’s from?”
“Yes,” Tanith says.
My pulse races. “Why don’t you just burn it?”
“I can’t do that, Alyssa. Do you want me to put it in your room?”
“My room? What room? I don’t have a room there anymore, remember?”
Silence. I hear her breathing. “Just open it,” I say, adding nicely, “please?”
Tanith says, “I’d be happy to send it to you.”
I don’t want it! “Just please open it and tell me what’s in it.”
“Okay. Hold on a minute.” I picture her rummaging through the junk drawer for the scissors. “You should call and talk to Paulie,” she says. “He really misses you.”
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to contact him.”
“Who said that?” Tanith’s voice sharpens. “That’s ridiculous. Of course you can talk to your own brother.”
Half brother. Whatever. Let’s talk about ridiculous, Tanith. You, standing in the hall upstairs behind Dad gazing into the middle distance while he rips into me. While he says, “I won’t allow that kind of perversion in my house.”
I looked to you, Tanith. Because you knew. You could’ve told him. You could’ve stopped him.
She Loves You, She Loves You Not... Page 6
