Notes From the Backseat

by Jody Gehrman

  I whirled on her. “Liar!”

  “Am I missing something here?” Coop was looking from her to me and back again.

  “Dannika claims you had a really hot week in Malibu—from her account, it was sizzling.”

  Coop turned to her. “What’s she talking about?”

  Dannika shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “The girl’s delusional.”

  I lunged toward her. “Say that again, you—”

  “Gwen!” Coop angled between us, holding me back. “Look, Danni and I are just friends—I swear to you.”

  “Oh yeah? Try telling her that!”

  Dannika addressed her fingernails. “This is what I was talking about….”

  Coop just shook his head.

  “What?” My temples throbbed and I was sweating under my dress. A fat woman in a flowered muumuu opened the back door and peeked into the kitchen; seeing us, she backed out again. “What were you talking about?”

  Dannika looked at Coop. “You really want to spend your life with a woman who can’t handle a hug?”

  He shot her a look of warning. “She’s upset, Danni. Back off.”

  “Oh, so now I’m reduced to the third person?” I was getting dangerously close to screeching.

  Dannika didn’t even spare me a glance. “Give it some thought.” She picked up her champagne flute, swiveled away from us, and slipped out the door. I wanted to tackle her, wrestle her to the floor, lock my fingers around her size two neck until she begged for mercy in ragged gasps.

  But I restrained myself. Already, I was getting that low, sick feeling—the nauseating remorse that settles in after you lose it. I was reminded of that torturous climb back down the high dive ladder, stinking of pee.

  Coop exhaled. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

  “She’s a two-faced, lying—”

  He gripped my shoulder. “Forget her for a second. I’m talking about you and me.”

  “Coop, there is no you and me when she’s in the picture.”

  He took a step back. “Well, she is in the picture. I’m sorry, but she’s my friend.”

  “You always put her first!” I sounded like a child. Stop, I told myself. But I couldn’t.

  “I can’t just amputate big parts of myself to suit you. It wouldn’t work.”

  “You have to choose.” Even as I was saying it, I knew it was stupid. Unreasonable. But I wasn’t in control anymore. “Who matters more to you, Coop? Me or her?”

  “Gwen, don’t do this.”

  “I asked you a question.”

  His eyes darkened; they went from a mossy, muddy hazel to an opaque green I’d never seen before. “I heard you.”

  “Well?”

  “You both matter. A lot. In very different ways.”

  “Separate but equal, huh?” My voice had an ugly edge.

  “Gwen.” Our eyes locked and then I saw his face go from frustrated to resigned. “If I have to give up my friends for you, then you’re not the girl I thought you were.”

  Exit angry, gorgeous man.

  I stood there, my mouth dry, my cheeks burning. What just happened? My heart was still pounding so fast and hard, I could feel it throbbing in my tongue.

  I burst out the door. “Coop! Wait.”

  He was already lost in the river of guests. I froze, then, and felt a hundred eyes on me. The back deck had become my stage. I looked frantically from the hushed crowd assembled to the large, open kitchen window. They must have heard everything. No wonder they were studying me like I was an insect they couldn’t quite identify. A couple of teenage girls giggled; two old, wrinkled ladies shook their heads knowingly. Joni made a sympathetic face.

  The woman in the flowered muumuu said, “Jesus, girl, don’t just stand there. Stop him!”

  I ran from their probing stares, pushed through bodies in search of Coop, but when I got to the meadow, someone stepped in front of me and we collided.

  “Gwen!” My father was taking a sip from a highball when I plowed into his side. He used a cocktail napkin to dab at the spot on his pale, button-down shirt. He looked more amused than angry. “In a hurry?”

  “I—yeah, but…” Coop was out of sight, now. I was drunk on a potent cocktail of adrenaline, rage, remorse and panic. I couldn’t think straight. “Goddammit,” I said to no one in particular.

  “What’s wrong?” He put a hand on my arm. His thick fingers squeezed my bicep, prompting a whole new storm of emotion.

  I turned to face him. “You want to know what’s wrong, Dad?” My tone elicited looks, and a couple holding hands near us backed away slightly. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong: nine years old, middle of the night, standing on a stranger’s porch while my mother screams at the guy inside to leave his little slut alone and get his ass home to his wife and daughter. Sound familiar? Oh, but I guess you think there’s nothing wrong with that, huh? That’s just natural, right? Anarchists don’t believe in monogamy. Well, you know what? Your little experimentation in free love probably just cost me the only guy worth having.”

  Okay, so the connection was tenuous, but I wasn’t capable of solid logic with my heart hammering in my mouth.

  “Gwen, honey, let’s not do this here.”

  Kelly was headed for us with a flute of champagne in one hand, a plate of food in the other; I could see Dad glancing at her nervously.

  “Great!” I barked. “Your selfishness made me a jealous, insecure mess and you want me to keep it down so your little girlfriend won’t hear? That is just like you, Dad. That’s just you all over.”

  I ran from him, then. I didn’t know where I was going, I just sprinted as fast as my kitten heels would take me, away from the concerned faces, the craning necks, the tables of food and the bluegrass band and the kids spinning themselves drunk in the garden. The air was cool now, getting colder, and my strapless dress with the matching scallop-edged jacket provided paltry defense against the evening breezes, but I didn’t care. I left the dirt road and plunged into the forest, even though the uneven ground forced me to take off my shoes. When I was finally far enough away from everyone to feel invisible, I leaned against an oak tree and sobbed for a good five minutes. The trunk was huge and solid, the branches a sinuous network above me. The moss under my fingers was thick and spongy. Touching it reminded me of playing with my father’s beard when I was little. I hadn’t thought of that in years.

  “Hey.”

  I turned around and there was Joni, looking like a woodland nymph in the dappled sunlight. “Hey yourself,” I sniffled.

  She came closer. Her small hand reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. I could smell the lavender water I’d forced her to soak in; she’d said she hated perfume, but I’d convinced her she should be fragrant for her wedding night.

  “What is it?” Her big doe eyes found mine and I started to cry. “Shhh…” she tried to hug me.

  “No!” I pulled away. “I don’t want to get makeup on your dress.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

  I sniffed and she pulled the handkerchief from my breast pocket, started mopping up the inevitable globs of mascara and even wiped my nose, as if I were a child.

  “I made a scene. Well, two scenes actually. In the last ten minutes.”

  She looked impressed. “I only caught one—well, part of one.”

  I laughed, but the sound got sidetracked somewhere in my throat and came out as a strangled little sob. “I’m such a moron.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said. “What happened?”

  “Things got out of hand. Dannika sucks. Eugh—I could kill her.” I shook my head. “I should have just trusted him. Why did I say he had to choose? It’s so childish.”

  Joni lowered her chin. “Gwen, you’re going to have back up a little.”

  So I told her everything: The hug, the catfight, the ultimatum. It was all so junior high and dramatic; I couldn’t believe t
he things I’d said. You know me. I like my drama onstage. Even then, I worry that all the fainting and fighting and thrashing about will wrinkle my perfectly pressed costumes.

  When I got to the part about yelling at my dad, I felt even more sheepish. I mean, Jesus, this was a pretty random occasion to unpack all my baggage. Was it really fair to blow up like that when all he’d done was sleep with some chick twenty years ago? It wasn’t even like he was sneaking around. Maybe it was my mom I should be mad at. She’s the one who dragged me to his girlfriend’s house.

  Joni was wide-eyed, suitably awed by my stupidity, I guess. I felt bad about that. This was her day and here we were, gnashing our teeth at each other when we should be clinking glasses. I apologized, but she waved a dismissive hand at me.

  “This is amazing, Gwen. I mean, how long have you been waiting to confront your father?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You finally told him how much he hurt you. That’s like a serious breakthrough.”

  I hung my head. “Then why do I feel like a spoiled brat who’s just acted out at someone else’s birthday party?”

  She laughed. “Every wedding needs a scandal! Otherwise nobody will remember it.”

  I touched a finger to her nose. “You’ll remember it.”

  Her smile was radiant. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ll always remember it. And none of it would have happened without you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is! You were like my Lamaze coach, man. I was ready to just throw the towel in, and you totally talked me down. Seriously. Thank you.”

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “It was. But I won’t argue because I know you’re stubborn as shit.” She tilted her head in the direction of the house. “You ready to go back?”

  I sighed, felt for my notebook inside my clutch. “I think I’m going to take a few minutes, try to gather myself. Is my makeup a mess?”

  “Not at all. Might want a new coat of lipstick, though.”

  Look at that; half a day of beauty coaching and the girl’s an expert.

  I couldn’t go back to the guests yet. No amount of lipstick was going to camouflage my acute shame. I’d let the green-eyed demon possess me and I felt dirty inside, coated with the thick grime of my own inadequacy.

  Joni lingered a moment, standing in the cool dark of the forest. Evening shadows were starting to gather and they pooled on the elegant curve of her naked scalp, turning it vaguely blue. “Listen,” she said, “I’m going to tell you something you told me, okay?”

  I grinned, knowing what was coming.

  “We are not our parents.” She enunciated each word slowly and deliberately. “Should I say it again?”

  “No,” I whispered. “I got it.”

  “Good,” she said. “Don’t take too long, okay? We’re going to cut the cake soon.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  She grinned. “Just returning the favor.”

  When she was gone, I dug out my notebook, and I’ve been curled up here on the forest floor ever since. With my luck, I’ll get pine sap on my rayon; just one more humiliating detail added to an ego-destroying day. I was hoping I’d gain a little perspective if I confessed my sins. I don’t know, though. I’m afraid reviewing the whole fiasco’s only made me more embarrassed. I mean Dannika had it coming—she’s satanic and must be destroyed—but Coop doesn’t need my petty threats. What if he forced me to choose between you and him? I’d definitely ditch him. (Well, okay, first I’d get in some searing-hot, torturous breakup sex, then I’d ditch him.)

  Got to sign off. Apparently, I’ve got a rigorous schedule of groveling ahead.

  Your stupid, stupid friend,

  Gwen

  Saturday, September 20

  Midnight

  Dear Marla,

  When I finally came out of the woods, the guests were almost all sitting down. Someone had laid out ten huge picnic blankets in the meadow, each in a different brilliant jewel tone. It was a very beautiful scene. The bar was slammed, cheeks were flushed, eyes were bright and everyone was chowing down on the main course: meat kabobs for the carnivores, tofu for the herbivores, fluffy couscous and garlicky green beans for all. Towheaded kids zoomed about, toddlers trailed behind on chubby legs, babies cried. Iridescent dragonflies competed with gnats for airspace. I was so emotional and sleep-deprived at that point, I got misty-eyed just standing there.

  Joni saw me lingering at the edge of the meadow and came over. “Are you okay?” She looked worried.

  “It’s just so…human…and g-good,” I stammered, waving expansively at the meadow, knowing I wasn’t making much sense.

  Joni took it in stride. “I know,” she said. “It is, isn’t it? Listen, I think maybe you need a drink.”

  “Please,” I agreed.

  We went to the bar, a couple of long folding tables where Ohm was filling up flutes of champagne and pouring mean vodka tonics for a gaggle of nubile, starry-eyed girls. They were vying for his attention, but he just smiled benignly at all of them, refusing to play favorites. I could see him tugging rather obviously at his “wedding” ring, but the girls just went on giggling. Isn’t that just like us? I thought. We’re irresistibly drawn to the ones who are bound to break our hearts.

  When Ohm caught sight of Joni and me, he finished pouring and cried out, “Here she is—the Goddess of Monogamy and her demigoddess Gwen.”

  The girls looked behind them and, seeing as they could hardly pick a fight with the bride, reluctantly moved on.

  “What, I’m only a demigoddess?” I pouted as Ohm handed me the most beautiful flute of golden liquid I’d ever seen.

  “Don’t be a brat,” he said. “You know it’s bad luck to upstage the bride.”

  “It’s not possible,” I told him, smiling at Joni. “She’s un-upstageable.”

  Glasses in hand, we turned around and surveyed the seating arrangement. Coop was nowhere in sight, neither was Dannika. I’ll admit, that made my heart catch for a fraction of a second, but I caught myself just in time.

  No more psycho jealousy.

  After all, that’s what had gotten me into this mess in the first place. Not that Dannika hadn’t done what she could to fan the fires, but I couldn’t blame it all on her. I’d been suspicious and nosey from the very beginning, with a long history of bailing on men just because they showed a glimmer of interest in the female gender at large. It was a tragic character flaw, and if I ever wanted to make it past the three-month mark with anyone, I’d have to get a grip. I didn’t know if things were salvageable with Coop, but I hoped they might be. He was the first guy I really wanted to change for, and if he dumped me, I might just backslide to my old, psycho-jealous self.

  “Gwen? Gwen?”

  “Huh?”

  Joni’s brow furrowed as she studied my face. “You were really spaced out, there. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to go lie down or something?”

  “No, girl, are you crazy? This is your nuptial feast. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I don’t see Coop,” she said, a little apologetic. “Want to come sit with Phil and me?”

  “Sure. I’d be honored.”

  We got our plates of food, then made our way through the meadow until we reached the sapphire-blue blanket where Phil was kicking back, drinking a bottle of Corona. I didn’t get a good look at the guy he was talking to until we were halfway there and it was too late to turn around. It was my father. He and Phil were obviously locked in some sort of heated discussion. I decided to bite the bullet and took my seat next to Joni, uneasy but figuring it was best to get this over with.

  My father’s eyes slid over Joni and landed on my face. “Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?” There was something so vulnerable in the lines around his eyes and the curve of his chapped lips. He looked sad and sorry and hopeful all at once. I guess it was lack of food, lack of sleep, the first flush of a champagne buzz, but in that moment I felt nothing but an overw
helming empathy. He tried. He was human. I mean, yes, he screwed up and he wasn’t a model parent, but I knew right then that he loved me. The longer I went on hating him, refusing to take his calls, the longer I denied myself the pleasures of a father.

  “It’s going okay,” I said. “You?”

  He sort of tilted his head back and forth. “I’ve been better,” he said, “but I’ve also been worse.”

  “Hey, Gwen.” Phil tapped a cigarette from his pack. “I just met your old man, here. You never mentioned you’re the descendant of an anarchist.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Well, I am.”

  My father and I exchanged a look. His said, I never meant to hurt you. Mine said, I’ll get over it.

  “He’s the bomb, man.” Phil was excited, and possibly a little drunk. He lit his cigarette and said to Joni, “He wrote No Priests or Politicians and The Anarchist’s Guide to the Twenty-first Century. It’s like a dream come true, having this guy at my wedding.”

  Dad glanced around shyly. “Glad I could oblige.”

  Kelly came over with a paper plate in one hand and sat down next to Dad, popped a shrimp into his mouth. When she saw me she smiled. “Hi, Gwen. Great food, huh? You look lovely, by the way.”

  I’m always amazed at how quickly the social fabric mends its little tears. When I was a teenager, I used to resent it—the way you could throw a tantrum and as soon as it was over, everyone would stoically pretend it hadn’t happened. That sort of thing used to give me the creeps. At the moment, though, looking into Kelly’s pretty green eyes, I was grateful for the elasticity of it all; I was free to be a freak now and then, if necessary, and the world would revert to the status quo soon enough.

  “Thanks,” I said. “So do you.”

  “You know, your dad and I were just talking about having you visit sometime soon. Especially since you’ve got friends here already.”

  I smiled at Joni, then at Kelly and Dad. “Yeah,” I said. “That would be cool.”

  We made small talk for the rest of the meal. I kept an eye out for Coop, but he was nowhere in sight. I told myself to eat, but I couldn’t get much down, even though it was completely delicious. Something inside me just wouldn’t relax. I craved Coop, ached for him in my bones. It was torture.