Bitter Rose

by Melody Carlson

  “Are you saying I’ll look like a dork?”

  “A warm, dry dork,” I say as I shoot into my own bathroom. I rip off my soggy clothes and take a long hot shower, running the water until my feet regain some feeling and color. I stay in there so long that I am pretty sure Ned will be gone by the time I’m done, but I don’t really care. Right now I’m feeling a little irked at him—and myself too, for drinking. Or maybe I’m just irked at my dad. Whatever it is, I don’t really want to see Ned right now.

  Finally, I come out in my bathrobe with my hair wrapped in a towel. I hear the front door closing downstairs and figure it’s Ned just leaving. Good, that way I won’t have to talk to him. But when I enter the hall, I see that it’s my dad just coming in.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand, irritated that he thinks he can walk right into our house anytime he pleases.

  He has a dark scowl on his face and is staring at the hallway behind me as if he sees something he doesn’t like. “I was about to ask you the same thing, Magdela,” he says in a stern tone. “And what is he doing here?”

  I turn to see Ned just emerging from the bathroom. He’s bare-chested, wearing an old pair of Marc’s sweatpants and holding a T-shirt in his hand. And I suppose the two of us do look somewhat suspicious. Not that I care.

  “Magdela?” my dad’s voice sounds serious.

  But I’m not going to take it. I turn and glare at my dad. “It’s none of your business,” I tell him in my most hostile voice. “You made it none of your business when you walked out of here two months ago.”

  “You are still my daughter.”

  “Not as far as I’m concerned. And if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to call Mom and tell her you’re here!”

  For some reason, this threat works on him. I’m curious as to why he stopped by—again. Like, is he spying on my love life or something? But when he leaves, slamming the door behind him, I can tell he’s really, really mad. And I can tell he thinks the worst of me and Ned, specifically that we are sleeping together. And I really don’t care. In fact, I’m actually glad. It serves him right for being such a godly example in my life. Yeah, right!

  sixteen

  MOM IS OUTRAGED WHEN SHE FINDS OUT THAT DAD’S BEEN HERE. Naturally, I don’t go into all the details. I just say that Ned dropped me off and Dad walked in like he owned the place. And maybe he does, legally, but only partly.

  “I’m changing the locks,” she announces hotly. “I’ll have the locksmith come by here as soon as he’s available. That should take care of it. Your father can’t just walk in here whenever he likes.”

  “I wonder why he came over in the first place.”

  “Probably to take some more stuff.”

  “What’s your lawyer say about all this?”

  “Just that I’m not to sell anything. Everything will be divided up fairly when we go to court. Fifty-fifty.”

  I look around the house, imagining some guy with a big chain saw just sawing everything in half—half a couch, half a TV. Maybe he can just saw the house down the middle too. “How are you going to do that?” I ask. “I mean the fifty-fifty split?”

  “I don’t know. I might have to try to buy out your father’s half of the house or make some settlement in lieu of alimony. I’m not sure.”

  “Oh.”

  “Or maybe we’ll just sell the house. It’s really too big for just you and me anyway, and then you’ll be off to college next fall and—” Now my mom is crying again. “This is so unfair,” she says between sobs. “He is ruining everything.”

  And it’s true: He is. Or rather, he has. It’s like he dropped a bomb onto our lives and leaves us to pick up the pieces, and it’s so wrong.

  On New Year’s Eve, he drops another one. Just as I’m getting ready to go to work, trying to find a cute outfit, one that will catch Ned’s eye (since I have forgiven him for the drinking/sledding day), Mom comes blasting into my room with eyes that are full of fire. She doesn’t even knock.

  “What is this I hear about you, Magdela?” she yells as I pull my skirt up. “You and Ned have been having sex in our house while I’m at work?”

  “What?” I look at her in shock as I hurry to button my blouse. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You and Ned, meeting here in the house for your little lovers’ tryst! Right here under my own roof!”

  “Mom!” I yell. “That is totally untrue. Where did you hear something so freakingly stupid anyway?”

  “From your father! And that’s not all. He also says you’ve been letting Ned drive your car. He accused me of being a neglectful parent! I want to know what is going on, and I want to know now!”

  “Nothing is going on.” I narrow my eyes as I think about how much I hate my father. “Dad is full of it! Here’s the truth, Mom: Yes, I did let Ned drive my car, but only once, and that’s because of the snow. You know that I have hardly ever driven on snow. We were going to get the Christmas tree, the one I bought for you because the tree lot ones were so pathetic. So when Ned told me he’s driven on snow a lot for skiing and stuff, I thought we’d be safer if he drove. And as it turned out, I was right. But I swear I have never let him drive since then.”

  She’s still scowling. “What about the other thing, Magdela. Your father said he caught you guys and that you weren’t even dressed!”

  “He is such a liar, Mom.” So I told her what happened. “You can call Ned and ask him. In fact, he still has Marc’s clothes.”

  “Then why did your father say that?”

  I shrug. “Why does he do any of the stuff he does, Mom?” I sit down and pull on a boot. “Or maybe I know why.” I look up to see her still standing there in the doorway looking totally flustered. “Maybe it’s because of the way that he’s living. He probably just assumes that I would drop down to his level. I swear to you, Mom, I have never had sex with Ned, or anyone, for that matter.” I look right into her eyes now. “Crud, Mom, Ned has never even kissed me. For all I know, we are just friends.” I just shake my head.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, unfortunately.”

  “But you’d like to be more than friends?” She’s frowning now.

  “Sure, why not? But that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with him, Mom. I know I’m not ready for that.”

  She lets loose with a Spanish swear word again, and I’m thinking this is getting way too frequent. My mom used to be so against swearing—in any language.

  “Can I ask you something, Mom?” I say as I tug on the other boot.

  “What?”

  “Are you still a Christian?”

  She stares at me like I’m losing it now. “Of course I’m still a Christian, Maggie. But you should know as well as anyone that doesn’t mean I’m perfect. And with your father pushing my buttons like this, well, it’s a wonder I haven’t broken the law yet.”

  “Yet?”

  She nods. “Sometimes, like right now, I feel like getting a gun and shooting that man.”

  I feel my brows shoot up. “Seriously?”

  “Well, no, not seriously. But I wouldn’t mind taking a baseball bat to his Explorer.”

  I stare at her, trying to determine if she’s kidding.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to do something stupid. But here’s the honest truth: Sometimes I think I wouldn’t care if my brother and his friends went over there and knocked some sense into that man, or at least encouraged the fear of God in him again.”

  I sort of laugh. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”

  “Your father’s the one who’s really a mess.” Now she puts her face down close to mine. “And you swear that you and Ned didn’t do anything disrespectful here?”

  “I swear.”

  And she curses again in Spanish. Then she marches out of the room, and the next thing I hear is her yelling into the phone, also in Spanish, and she’s talking so fast that I can’t understand most of it, except that she’s talking to my dad and she is furious.

&nb
sp; Mama mia! Sometimes I wonder about my mother.

  As I drive to the restaurant, I hope Mom gets her anger under control by the time I get home. And then it occurs to me, oh yeah, this is New Year’s Eve, the one night of the year when my parents always went out. I remember when I was little, I would be so awed by how Mom would get all dressed up, just like a movie star. Sometimes I would sit in the bedroom and watch her adding the final touches to her hair and jewelry and makeup. She still had her jet-black hair and sparkling eyes. I thought she was so amazingly beautiful. And I guess she still is—in a softer, rounder, more faded sort of way. Still, I realize now how she won’t be getting all dressed up tonight, how she will probably be sitting home and thinking about what used to be and feeling depressed as a result.

  I mention my concerns to Tia Louisa before the restaurant gets busy. “Do you think she’d want to come here?” I ask. “Maybe just to hang out?”

  Tia Louisa frowns. “I don’t know why, Magdela. We’re going to be very busy tonight. Unless Rosa wants to help out, which I seriously doubt, she would probably be bored stiff.”

  “Oh.”

  “But call her if you like. It’s worth a shot, eh?”

  So I quickly call home, and to my surprise, she doesn’t answer. Then, feeling seriously worried for her welfare and her depressed mental state (not to mention some of her comments about my dad), I decide to try her cell phone. To my relief, she picks up.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me, Maggie,” she assures me. “I’m just meeting some friends from work tonight. We’re going to have a little celebration of our own for New Year’s.”

  “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

  She laughs. “Yes, dear. But I do appreciate your concern. And drive carefully on your way home. There will be lots of kooks on the road tonight.”

  “Okay, you too. And don’t drink and drive, Mom. You know you can always call me if you need a ride.”

  “Yes, dear,” she says in a slightly irritated tone. “I will keep that in mind.”

  As I hang up, I think about how funny it is that I’m starting to act more and more like the parent.

  The restaurant is very busy. I work later than usual, until ten thirty, seating the last people to come in. I stick around for a while after my shift just helping out and hoping to get a quick visit with Ned, but everyone is busy with the lively crowd, and eventually I realize that I’m pretty tired so I decide to go home.

  And here’s what’s ironic: I’m the one sitting at home by herself, ringing in the New Year with a bowl of ice cream and the TV as the big ball in Times Square gets lowered at the stroke of midnight. Happy New Year. You bet.

  I’m sort of glad to get back to the routine of classes when Christmas break ends. I’m also glad to see Claire again, although her tan is making me seriously jealous.

  “Oh, you should talk, Maggie,” she says to me after I comment on it for like the tenth time. “You’re the one who gets to look tan year-round.”

  “Yeah, right. I think I’m about the color of cornmeal right now.”

  “Do a tanning bed,” she suggests.

  “Yeah, like Mom will let me do that.”

  “Well, at least you got to do some fun things with Ned,” she tosses back at me.

  I smile and nod. I told her about getting the tree and the Christmas parties and even sledding and getting dunked in the pond. Okay, I didn’t include all the details. She would frown on the idea of me hanging out with college kids who were drinking. And I suppose I might’ve made some things sound better than they actually were. But, hey, a girl’s got to have something.

  Especially when her family seems to be racing downhill. First my mom threw a fit when my dad called her an unfit mother. Then my dad threw a fit when Mom changed the locks. And since then, it’s been back and forth. It seems like they’re arguing as much now as when he was living at home, except now it’s way more hateful. Of course, I only hear Mom’s end on the phone, but I can tell by the long, angry pauses that he’s getting in his shots. And instead of getting better or getting over this, Mom seems to be getting more and more bitter.

  She also seems to be changing. I’m not sure when it first started. Maybe it was New Year’s Eve, or maybe it was even sooner; I just wasn’t paying attention. All I know is that two weeks have passed since New Year’s, and Mom is way different.

  First she got her hair cut and colored to cover the gray. And to be honest, even though it was kind of shocking to see her in short hair, it really does look better. And she looks younger too. I think she’s done something with her makeup. Then she decided to join a fitness club. Not a bad idea either, although I think she might be spending too much time there. Plus, she’s started lecturing me about why I should exercise. And then she starts this low-carb diet where she eats mostly eggs and meat and dairy products. I’m not even sure how it works, but she seems to think it does.

  Now, all this isn’t such a problem, except that she’s kind of obsessed over it and can get kind of preachy. She’s acting like she’s always been some kind of health freak, which is totally not true. But what worries me even more is that she’s been starting to buy stuff.

  “How can you afford that?” I ask when I see her sporting a new workout outfit that looks expensive.

  “How could I not afford it?” she tosses back at me like she’s forty-five going on fifteen. “Don’t I look awesome in it?”

  Awesome? Since when does my mom use that word? “But how did you pay for it?” I persist like I’m seventeen going on fifty. “I thought we were kind of broke.”

  She grins. “I opened a new account at Nordstrom’s.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got a sale pending on a really good house. I’ll pay off the card as soon as it closes.”

  “Right.”

  “Until then, you can’t blame me for getting a few things. I’ve already dropped one dress size.” She turns around showing off her figure, which I can’t deny does look better.

  But here’s the weirdest part: As she’s doing this little look-at-me routine, she reminds me of someone. And I study her for a few seconds, taking in her pale-pink velour sweats, and it hits me that she reminds me of Stephanie, my dad’s girlfriend! And I’m thinking this cannot be. And I also notice she looks a lot tanner than usual too.

  “Have you been going to a tanning salon?” I ask her in an accusatory tone.

  She gives me a sly grin. “Shawna at work talked me into it. What do you think, Maggie?” She actually pulls up her top to expose her wrinkly brown tummy, and I’m thinking, Ee-uuw, gimme a break. But I know better than to say it. Despite Mom’s bravado, she’s still fragile underneath.

  “But I thought you said tanning beds were dangerous, Mom.”

  She shrugs. “They might be. You should see all the warnings they post in there, Maggie. If you read them, you’d understand why I’m concerned.”

  “But you go anyway?”

  “The way I see it, it’s better than smoking.”

  “Smoking?” Now I’m seriously confused. My mom has never smoked in her life.

  “Yeah, I was thinking of taking it up.”

  “No way!”

  She laughs. “Yeah, I decided to try tanning instead.”

  “Oh, man.” I just shake my head as I fish in my purse for my keys. “I better go or I’ll be late for work.”

  “Lighten up, Maggie,” she says playfully.

  I look up and study her face. “Lighten up?”

  “Yeah. Life’s too short to be mad all the time.”

  “So you’re not mad at Dad anymore?” I ask in disbelief.

  Now she gets a very sour expression. “I never said that.”

  “What then?”

  “I’m just trying to focus on me for a change.”

  “Does that help?”

  “It helps me block out your father.”

  “So you’re not bitter anymore?”

  “Only when I think about him.”

 
Why does it feel like we’re never going to get over this? I think about my mom’s last comment as I drive to work. It’s like she’s stuck—like no matter how hard she tries, she can’t get away from the pain. I just don’t get why Dad’s big mistake continues to hang over our heads like this nasty, dark cloud, yet he just gets to go on his merry little way as if nothing’s wrong.

  seventeen

  “YOU’RE TOO YOUNG FOR ME,” NED TEASES ME AS WE STAND IN THE parking lot after work on Friday night after our shift ends. Okay, I’ve been shamelessly flirting with him all night, trying to get him to look at me as something beyond his “little friend” or younger sister. But it’s like I just can’t get this guy to take me seriously. I think it might have something to do with the fact that he turned twenty-one just a week ago, and now it’s like suddenly he’s oh so much older and far more sophisticated than me. It’s totally unfair.

  “I like older men,” I tell him in my most seductive voice.

  He laughs. “Probably just a daddy complex.”

  I sock him in the arm. “Get real!” But I’m surprised that his accusation hits closer to home than I care to admit. I actually wonder if my fixation on Ned might be a result of feeling abandoned by my dad or if I’m just trying to get back at Dad and make him sorry for being such a cruddy excuse for a father. Or maybe I’m just making something out of nothing.

  “You’re just a baby, Maggie,” he says, not so teasing this time. “Go get a boy your own age.”

  “I’ll be eighteen in less than a month,” I remind him in a sharp tone. “That’s old enough to legally vote and buy cigarettes.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Fine, whatever!” I snap as I turn to go to my car. Why do I even bother with this guy?

  “Wait,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me over to him.

  I barely breathe as he puts his face close to mine, staring at me under the parking lot lights. “Why?” I ask, hoping to seem difficult now, like he’s the one chasing me, not the other way around.

  “You really think you’re ready for this?”

  “For what?” I say defiantly.