by C. C. Snow
He tapped my nose playfully. “Cute, but no. We could have hung out at home without paying eight bucks for watered down liquor.” He rattled the ice cubes in his empty glass. “People come to bars to get laid. There have been at least three guys who checked you out, but you’ve been oblivious. And they were all cute, I might add.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “This guy is at least a seven or an eight. You should at least check out what’s on the market.”
My biggest complaint about my best friend was that he offered zero protection against guys on the prowl. Even someone with a barely functioning gaydar would know at first glance that Ethan wasn’t straight. He wasn’t overtly flamboyant, but there was just that little extra something in the way he moved and dressed.
Knowing he wouldn’t shut up until I did as he suggested, I slanted a look to the left under my lashes. It wasn’t hard to spot the guy Ethan was referring to. He was boldly staring at me. Under the dim lighting, I couldn’t discern too many details, but I could tell he had a lean face with dark eyes and dark hair. He looked like he was pretty buff, his biceps stretching his t-shirt. Overall, he was good-looking, but I didn’t feel an inkling of interest.
“I bet if you smiled at him, he’d buy you a drink.”
Frowning, I turned back to Ethan and pointed at my still half-full glass. “I don’t need another drink.”
“Oh my God, you’re hopeless,” he said in exasperation.
“Besides, he’s not my type,” I defended myself. “He wears gold chains. I don’t date guys who wear more jewelry than I do.”
Ethan dropped his face forward and banged his forehead against the wooden bar.
Giggling, I dragged him upright by his collar. “Stop it!” Reaching up I rubbed the red mark below his hairline.
“Elle, I’m not talking about dating the guy.” He raised a suggestive brow.
I shook my head emphatically. “I’m not interested in a one-night stand.”
He placed his elbow on the bar, propped his head on his palm, and stared at me with bemusement. “In the two years we’ve known each other, I’ve seen you go out on a grand total of two dates.” He held up two fingers to stress his point. “Two. That’s one per year. And neither of them made it past your bedroom door. You’re going to hate me for saying this, but you shouldn’t let your breakup affect you.”
“I’m not!” The very idea was repugnant to me.
“Then tell me why you won’t give any man the time of day?”
“Just because I don’t jump into the sack with them doesn’t mean I’m not giving them the time of day.”
“Pfft,” he said dismissively. “Honey, when was the last time you even kissed a guy?”
Yesterday.
The taste of Chianti mixed with spicy man. The forceful thrust of his tongue. Then that sweet exploration, as if he wanted to savor me.
I unconsciously licked my lips and I swore I could still taste him. My core clenched in hunger and I pressed my thighs together.
Unable to meet Ethan’s eyes, I took a sip of my drink, relishing the sweet burn as it went down my throat. “I’m just not good at doing the casual thing. I never have been. Why would I want to go through the awkwardness of dating someone if I didn’t think it was going to lead anywhere?”
For a brief time in my life, I had craved the physical release like a drug addict, drowning my pain and feelings of inadequacy in mindless sex. I fooled myself into thinking that I was the one with the power—that I was using them. But the emptiness—and a heavy dose of shame—always returned in the morning and I quickly realized that I had only been hurting myself by going home every night with a new guy. It took some soul-searching, but I finally understood that if I didn’t value myself, nobody else would.
“You know what I think, Elle? I think you need to stop letting your ovaries run the show and let your vajayjay do the talking.”
“Ethan,” I gasped and then cracked up at the mischievous look on his face. When I recovered from my laughing fit, I scolded, “That’s awful advice.”
“For another woman maybe, but not for you. You have to stop appraising every man as the potential father of your children.”
“It’s evolutionary instinct.”
“So is fucking.” His eyes twinkled with an unholy light.
“You are full of gems tonight,” I said sarcastically.
“You need to be a bit more adventurous. What’s wrong with having a little bit of fun while you’re waiting for Prince Charming?”
“There is no such thing as Prince Charming.”
“I know you’re not that cynical or you wouldn’t read so many sappy romance novels. Besides, we all have to kiss a few frogs before we find our prince.”
“First of all, you’re mixing up your fairy tales. Second of all, princes are not all they’re cracked up to be. Fun fact: rich and powerful men are assholes,” I said, my tone artificially perky.
He made an impatient gesture. “Then don’t date princes. Date an ordinary peasant. Just put yourself out there again. I’m not telling you to become a skank, for God’s sake, but you need to open yourself up to the possibilities.”
“I don’t think skank and God belong in the same sentence.”
“Now you sound like my mom.” He laughed, but then sadness slowly crept into his eyes.
I willingly abandoned the topic of my lackluster love life to focus on Ethan. “Have you talked to her recently?” I asked softly and pushed my drink toward him. He threw back his head and downed the rest of my whiskey. I signaled Nelson for another. If we were going to talk about his family, we’d need reinforcements.
“Yeah, I called her on Wednesday while my father was at a farm bureau meeting. She said everyone was doing well. Theresa is going to homecoming with the captain of the basketball team. Jessie got grounded for sneaking out to meet with a boy.” He chuckled, but there was a current of pain in his voice.
“Your father is an asshole. It’s not right that you can’t talk to your own mom,” I said angrily. Ethan adored his mother and younger sisters and his father had forbidden him from contacting any of his family. I thought it was the cruelest thing his father could have done to him.
He shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal, but there was betraying moisture in his eyes. “My dad was raised to think homosexuality was a sin. When I told him I was gay, I might as well have told him I ate babies for breakfast. That I’m their only son only made it that much worse.”
I put my head on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. I knew how hard it was when the very people who were supposed to unconditionally love you, rejected you.
“How about you? Have you talked to your mom?” he asked.
“Nah…Graziella and I don’t have much to talk about,” I said. I used to envy my friends’ close relationships with their mothers, but it was pointless to wish for what I could never have. I might as well wish for the sun to rise in the west.
Nelson placed another glass in front of me and I slid a ten to him. “Thanks, Nelson. Keep the change.” Even though I could ill afford it, I knew how much people in service relied on tips. I swallowed a big gulp, not taking the time to appreciate the smooth caramel flavor.
“I think it’s weird that you don’t call her mom.”
“I did up until I reached puberty, but it became hard to lie about her age when her daughter was taller than she was,” I said, finding it impossible to suppress my bitterness. “If you ever meet her, you’d understand. There isn’t anything remotely motherly about Graziella. She wasn’t meant to be tied down. She never expected to get pregnant and she did the best she could.” I handed the drink to him.
“I wouldn’t call leaving you when you were twelve doing her best,” Ethan scoffed. He took a sip of the whiskey before setting it down.
“Well, it’s not like she abandoned me. She did leave me with my father.” Ethan was the only one I’d ever told about my background.
“Along with his wife and legitimate children who made your life hell.”
Fighting the unhappy memories, I clamped my mouth shut and twirled the glass in my hand. My teenage years with my father and his “real” family were not something I wanted to revisit. The only person who had not been horrible was Gwen. My youngest half-sister had been seven when I moved in and didn’t yet understand the tense family dynamics. She was the only one I kept in touch with after I left for college, but once I arrived in Chicago, I let her emails go unanswered.
“Has he called to check on you?” Ethan asked softly.
I shook my head and guzzled the rest of my drink. My father didn’t have my new phone number, but it wouldn’t take much for him to find out if he wanted to. He clearly didn’t. “My father would like to pretend I didn’t exist and now he can.” I couldn’t quite manage to hide the pain in my voice. It annoyed me that a part of me still craved his approval.
Ethan curled his arm around my waist and said wryly, “I’m sorry. Great, now we’re both depressed. How did we start talking about sex and end up talking about our dysfunctional families?”
“When have our conversations ever gone in an expected direction?” I countered.
“So true,” he said with a sigh. “Well, since your vajayjay is mute tonight, will you go home with me?” He leered comically. “I have a long, thick log you might be interested in.”
“Ooh…that sounds intriguing,” I simpered.
“I want to make it clear that I don’t share this with just anyone.” He tried to look serious and I had to bite my cheek to keep from busting up.
“Thank you. I’m a lucky girl,” I said, smirking on the inside.
“And the few girls I have shown this to almost always swoon in ecstasy. It’s a hard, round…”
“Yes?” I leaned forward, my lips already twitching in anticipation of the punch line.
“Roll of chocolate chip cookie dough,” he finished triumphantly.
I clasped my hands together and batted my lashes. “My prince,” I said, laughing.
He stood up and offered his arm with a boyish grin. “Shall we, my princess?”
***
I miss you, Elle.
The subject line was a direct arrow to my chest. All the other countless, unopened messages sitting in my inbox seemed to glare at me in silent reproach.
Where are you?
Are you okay, Elle?
Please call me.
I stared at Gwen’s latest email and felt an overpowering wave of sadness and guilt. As much as I needed the distance, she didn’t deserve to be ignored. At the very least, I owed her an explanation and a goodbye.
Before I had second thoughts, I clicked to compose a new message. I refused to reply to her email. If I saw the content, I knew I would weaken.
Long ago, I had shut down all my social media accounts, wanting to sever all contact with my old life. This email account was the only thing I kept and I knew deep down it was to maintain that last tenuous link with her.
After a few false starts, I finally crafted something I was vaguely satisfied with.
Hey Gwen,
I’m a shitty person.
You should be glad you’re well rid of me. Seriously, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.
Don’t take this personally, but this is the last time you will hear from me. I need a clean break from everything and everyone in New York. Please know my decision has nothing to do with you. You’ll always be in my heart and I wish you the most amazing life.
Goodbye,
Elle
I reviewed my letter with burning eyes and added a postscript.
P.S. I miss you too.
And I hit send.
Two seconds later, my heart skipped a beat when the instant messaging application popped open.
Elle, are you there?
Slamming my laptop closed, I rested my forehead against the top of my computer and squeezed my eyes shut.
I was a fraud. I tried to act tough and fearless, but when it came down to it, I was a coward. I couldn’t even muster the courage to have an online conversation with my half-sister.
“Why are you crying?” a little voice asked.
I had been sobbing so loudly, I didn’t hear anyone come into the room. Peeking under my folded arms, I looked at my surprise visitor. I tightened my mouth, hoping to hold back the raw sounds.
The child regarded me with concern and curiosity, tilting her white-blonde head to the side. Her rounds cheeks were flushed pink. Clad in a frilly white dress, she reminded me of those porcelain dolls I saw in the mailers we got once a week. $29.95 for a limited time.
I tried to remember her name, but the last twenty-four hours had passed in a surreal haze for me. I kept pinching myself, hoping to wake myself up, but I was stuck in this nightmare. This was my fucked-up reality now.
Yesterday, I thought my mother was my only family. Today, I found out I had a father, a…I didn’t know what to call her—stepmother didn’t seem right since Evelyn was married to my father before he met my mother, and three half-sisters.
Standing in front of me was the youngest of them. She looked too slight for a seven-year-old, with her skinny arms and too big, blue eyes. The next sister was thirteen and the oldest was fourteen. They all resembled their mom, blonde and delicate.
“Are you okay?” she asked, lisping through her two missing front teeth.
“Go away!” I said nastily and buried my head deeper in my arms. I had seen the hostile looks her sisters shot me and I didn’t need any false sympathy from any of them.
I waited, expecting her to run out of the room to tell everyone how mean I was, but when I didn’t hear any footsteps, I looked up.
She took a cautious step toward me and reached out to touch my cheek. I didn’t know why I didn’t knock away her hand, but I held still and felt her fingers wipe away my tears.
“Don’t be sad,” she said with a small frown, clutching her rag doll to her chest. It was an ugly thing, one of its button eyes missing, the fabric faded from too many washes, but she obviously loved the toy.
She followed my eyes and after a short moment of hesitation, she thrust her doll into my face and scrunched up her eyes as if she were in pain. “You can have Miss Buttons if you promise not to cry.”
“Gwen!”
Yes, that was her name. Gwen.
At the sound of that stern voice, the little girl’s eyes popped open and she turned to face the door.
I followed the direction of Gwen’s gaze and met flinty blue eyes. Nostrils flaring as if she smelled something repulsive, Evelyn stared at me from the doorway of what was supposedly my new bedroom. I could see the flicker of hatred and then dismissal in her eyes before they moved to her daughter.
With a brittle smile on her lips, she held her hand out to Gwen. “Come, darling. Meredith and Jemma are looking for you.”
Those must be her other daughters. My half-sisters.
Acid roiled in my stomach, burning and corrosive.
Quick as lightning, Gwen pushed the doll onto my lap and then ran to her mom. Before I could open my mouth to object, they were gone.
I looked down at the doll, my eyes drawn to the one remaining black eye, barely attached with a few strands of thread. Its hair—I assumed at one time it had been yellow—was now a tangled mass of beige yarn and half of the stitches depicting the smile had unraveled, giving Miss Buttons a demonic grimace. Very little was discernable of the original print on the cotton dress. I touched the hole on the side of the leg, where the stuffing was coming out.
At the sound of clipping footfalls coming toward the room, some instinct told me to hide the doll and I quickly stuffed it under the blankets on the bed.
Evelyn appeared in the doorway, her face cool with disdain, her eyes hot with loathing.
Pulling my shoulders back, I stood tall to face her. I refused to show weakness in front of an adversary. I had no doubt that this woman regarded me as her worst enemy. My very existence was an abomination to the life she had crafted, fabricated.
/> Gliding into the room, she came to a stop a foot away from me and trailed her eyes over my body, lingering with distaste on the curves that developed too early. Curves that already drew male eyes.
I knew she was seeing Graziella when she looked at me. Seeing her husband’s betrayal.
“Let me be very clear, Gabrielle.” Her tone was soft and deliberate. Slicing. “I’ll tolerate you because I have no choice. My husband said you are to stay and his word goes.” Her lips tightened with pain and in that moment, I felt sorry for her. No woman deserved this.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, hating that I felt the need to apologize.
Her eyes widened and then she laughed humorously. “Sorry for what? For being trash?”
I flinched.
She smirked at my show of emotion and I wiped out my expression.
“You can’t help it.” A sneer crept into her voice. “After all, your mother is trash. Spreading her legs for another woman’s husband.” The lewd words seemed wrong coming out of that primly shaped mouth.
I felt a burning in my nose and thought: No child deserved this either.
“You will live under this roof, but you are to have no contact with my children.” She leaned in close, her eyes flashing a warning. “Don’t speak to them. Don’t look at them. As far as you’re concerned, they don’t exist. Do we understand each other?”
I stiffened my spine and inclined my head slowly.
“I’m glad we cleared that up.” She spun on her heels and strode out.
I ran to the door and locked it. Throat tight, I turned around, leapt onto the top of the bed, and buried my face in the pillow. Unfamiliar scents invaded my nose, reminding me I was not home. I was never going to be home again.
Scratchy yarn tickled my face and I twisted my head. One black button stared back at me. The grimace didn’t look maniacal from this angle; it looked sad.
With a sob, I clutched that ugly, ugly doll tightly to my chest like it was a lifeline.
I lifted my head and blinked the toxic memories away.
