Weird Girl and What's His Name

by Meagan Brothers

  “First of all, Rory wasn’t my boyfriend, either. And second of all . . .” I looked out the window at nothing much going by. A blank field, a cemetery on the horizon, a Family Dollar beyond that. “I’m not anything like my mother.”

  “I meant it as a compliment,” Janet said quietly.

  “I know.” I bit the edge of my fingernail. “Do you think Leo’s ever going to stop being mad at me?”

  “He’s not mad at you, honey. He loves you.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Deep down inside, right?”

  “No. He loves you right up close to the surface. Maybe you don’t even realize. When you came to live with us, he’d just retired. Fifty years old and didn’t have any idea what to do with himself. He’d been in the Navy since he was eighteen, can you imagine? Decades in the service, and suddenly he didn’t have anybody to answer to. He didn’t have any orders. Not to mention we just moved into the condo and we were probably the youngest people in the retirement villa at that point. I thought Leo was going to go out of his mind. Your mother leaving you with us is the best thing that ever happened to him. He just lit right up. He didn’t get to enjoy your mother when she was little. He was off fighting that war. Didn’t know the first thing about babies. Kids. You gave him a second life. He’d never admit it, but taking care of you kept him going.”

  I closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure I wanted that kind of responsibility.

  “I know how badly I messed up. But I still don’t know how to fix it.”

  “Honey, your granddad sits up half the night thinking the same thing.”

  WHEN WE GOT HOME THAT AFTERNOON, there were two messages from Leo on the kitchen counter, and a stack of mail. The first message read: Jan—gone to Ralph’s. New putter’s ready. L. The second: Lula—Jay called. 13:35. Call her back.

  “This came for you,” Janet handed me a postcard from the stack of mail. It was a picture of Santa Fe taken from up high, almost the same view that I’d seen that day I’d gone riding with Walter. My heart skidded—my mom! I flipped it over. Read the blockish script.

  Lula,

  I saw this in town and it reminded me of you. How’s your driving coming? I just wanted to let you know you’re missed here at the ranch. Hope you’ll come back for a visit sometime. Maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas if your grandparents don’t mind. Hope you’re well.

  Sincerely,

  Walter MacKelvey

  P.S. Gingerbread says hello.

  “Lu, honey? Is everything okay?”

  I nodded quickly.

  “Are you sure?”

  I swallowed hard. I was thinking of my severely restricted pay-as-you-go phone. “I’m sure. Hey, Janet—”

  “Mm-hmm?” She smoothed my hair.

  “Can I use your phone tonight to make a long-distance call?”

  “Sweetheart. Of course you can.”

  fourteen

  MY BAG WAS PACKED. WALTER AND I were getting an early start tomorrow. Five a.m. My mother wouldn’t be joining us for the drive. Things to do. People to see.

  “You like beef jerky?” Walter asked. He was packing a cooler and a brown bag full of snacks for the road.

  “Gross. No.” I laughed. “What part of the beef is the jerky, anyway?”

  “Smart aleck. Hand me that tin foil, Lulabelle.”

  I slid the drawer open. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten so used to being here, I knew where the tin foil was. Or that Walter had already saddled me with this dumb nickname. Which I secretly kind of liked, but only coming from him. My mother wandered into the kitchen, yawning, BlackBerry in hand. She plugged it into the charger, getting ready for the next shift.

  “I thought you two were getting an early start,” she said. “You’re still up.”

  “We are. Just taking care of a few last-minute food items.” Walter looked at my mother, then at me. “Which reminds me, I have to go—check on something in the truck. Excuse me, ladies.”

  Boy, was that a lame excuse. Okay, Walt. Here we are, alone. Me and my mom. Did he really think we were finally gonna bond during my last eight hours in Santa Fe? Nice try, buddy.

  “I was going to leave this for you,” she said. She pulled something out of her back pocket. It was a photograph, slightly creased, of a younger version of my mom, her mouth wide open, laughing, with her arms around some darkhaired guy in a shiny paper hat that said HAPPY NEW YEAR! The guy looked vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t place him. “It’s kinda goofy, but it’s the only one I had of the two of us together. Me and your dad.”

  “Whoa,” I whispered as it suddenly hit me. That’s where I knew him from. From me. We had the same ears. The same mouth, the same chin. He was shorter than her, short like me. I felt a hot tear nibbling the edge of my lashes and I wiped it away quickly, swallowing.

  “Technically,” she cleared her throat. “It’s the three of us. I’d just found out I was pregnant with you. So, there you go. Family portrait.”

  Huh. Some family. I flipped the picture over. The name Peter Hubbell was written on the back, in pencil, with a phone number.

  “In case you want to give him a call,” my mother explained. “I told him—I talked to him recently, and I told him you might be getting in touch. He said he’d love to see you sometime. If you ever wanted to meet him.”

  “Oh.” Peter Hubbell. My father. My dad. My old man. Lula Hubbell. None of that sounded right at all. But he wanted to see me. Maybe he’d be cool, like Tracy’s dad, or Walter. Or maybe he was a big selfish jerk. Still, it probably wasn’t easy for my mom to call him. Being her ex and all. “Thank you for the picture. And also for calling him.”

  “No sweat. He’s a good guy. Complicated, but a good guy.” She smiled to herself. “Tell Janet and Leo I said hi.”

  “Will do.” I sniffed. I put the picture down on the kitchen counter. Tucked my thumbs into my back pockets.

  “It was . . . interesting,” she said. “Having you here.”

  “Thanks. Thanks for having me. Thanks for being interested.”

  “I hope everything works out for you. With your friend Rory. And school and everything. You’ll be graduating this year. Heading off to college and all that.”

  “Yep.” Okay, oh my God. I was going out of my mind. College, really? Small talk, now? Mother, hello, I’m walking away from you! I’m leaving! Do something real, now! Say something meaningful! Love me! I’m here right now! Don’t just give me this picture and say good luck and then walk away! Do something! I’m right here!

  “I feel like I ought to make some speech or something. But I—” she crossed her arms. Smiling, a little sheepish. “I don’t know. I wasn’t cut out for this.”

  “I know. You’ve mentioned that. You’re not mom material,” I reminded her. “I’m not a little kid, you know. I mean, you don’t have to take me for my shots or cure me of the croup, or whatever. I’m pretty much grown up. So . . .”

  “Pretty much grown up, huh?”

  “Uh-huh.” All right, so maybe I wasn’t so grown up. Fine, let her take me apart. Here we go.

  “You know, ah. I’ve been meaning to tell you. That backpack of mine. The one you had. With the books and everything.”

  “Yeah?” The one I’d lost on the trip. The books I’d studied for so long.

  “I didn’t leave it for you. I mean, I didn’t leave it on purpose. It was the only thing I had that didn’t get stolen, but it reminded me too much of . . . it reminded me of everything that didn’t work out. I wanted to forget all that, but I didn’t mean . . .” She ran her hand through her hair and sighed. “Sometimes you think all you need is a change of pace. A fresh start, get back on your feet. And the next thing you know, you’re caught up in this whole other life and it’s easier to just . . .” She kind of threw up her hands. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I didn’t mean for you to be like that stupid backpack. You know. Just some old piece of baggage. That I left behind.”

  “Okay,” I said, slowly understanding. Was that an apology? I’d take it.
/>   “Okay, then.” My mother nodded. We must’ve looked like a couple of gunslingers, standing there in the kitchen. Waiting to shoot.

  “So what am I supposed to do now?” she asked. Because I may not have been a little kid, but I wasn’t really an adult, either. Not in her mind. I didn’t care about galleries and affairs. I couldn’t defend my interests and inclinations with deliberate intellectual . . . deliberation. I was her daughter. What was that? A person who wanted something. Wanted what, exactly? Some piece of you you didn’t want to give. Some piece of you I already had.

  I looked at her. She looked at me. Was she seeing me, seeing how I looked like her? Did she see how we both had Janet’s cheekbones, that we had the same eyes? Did she know I had her hair, before I dyed it red? Maybe I just reminded her of the mystery dad, maybe she was tired of the way my mouth looked like his. Or maybe she was tired of my gangly hands and my too-big nose, because those were straight from good ol’ Leo.

  “What are you supposed to do now?” I repeated her question. Shrugged, looked at her. Family. That word again. Mostly meaningless. At least when it came to me and her.

  “You just . . . say ‘Have a nice trip,’” I suggested. “And I guess we could hug goodbye.”

  She nodded and took a step. We both sort of silently decided to raise our arms at the same time, and we hugged. We hugged like a pair of badly articulated action figures that only bent at the elbows. After our nanosecond of bodily contact, my mother, in her piney aura of hemp soap, pulled away.

  “Have a nice trip,” my mother said. She let the briefest of smiles flicker across her lips before she turned and shuffled back down the hall to her bedroom alone.

  LOW CLOUDS HAD ROLLED IN AND a light rain had begun to fall. Jay was slouched down on the porch swing, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled low over her eyes. She looked like Obi-Wan Kenobi. Except, you know. Hungover.

  “Hey,” I said, brushing water off my raincoat.

  “Hey.” Her voice was rough. There was a cigarette in between her fingers, smoked down to the filter tip. I sat down next to her on the swing, careful not to jostle it too much.

  “I was an asshole last night,” she said, clearing her throat. “I’m sorry. Are you mad?”

  “Not really. But thanks for apologizing. How’s your head?”

  “Mean.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t feeling all that hot myself, and I’d only had two glasses.

  “Wine fucks with me,” Jay admitted. “I don’t know why.”

  “It’s the sulfites. Leo can’t even drink red wine anymore. He says it gives him heart palpitations.”

  “Leo,” she murmured. “He’s cool. Even if he is a little scary.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “You’re lucky. You’ve got a good family.”

  “Good grandparents, at least.”

  “That’s more than most people get.” Jay finally dropped the cigarette onto the porch and stubbed it out with her bedroom-slippered foot. I put my head on Jay’s shoulder. I wasn’t sure why. I wasn’t a real touchy-feely person. But it seemed like the thing to do.

  “Maybe it just takes time,” I said.

  “Maybe.” She leaned her head against mine. “You’re a good kisser.”

  “Really? You’re only, like, the third person I’ve ever kissed in my life.”

  “I guess you’re a natural.”

  “I’ve got mad lip skills, yo.”

  “You’re a dork,” Jay laughed.

  “And you’re friends with me, so, hey.”

  “Some friend. I thought I could get back at Carol by sleeping with you.”

  “I guess I should be glad somebody wants to sleep with me, even if it is just to get revenge,” I reasoned.

  “You’re pretty cute,” Jay said. “I’d probably sleep with you anyway.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” Jay nudged my shoulder. “Why else do you think I’ve been letting you hang around?”

  “So Janet was right! She thought you were giving me the flirty-eye at dinner that night!”

  “The flirty-eye?”

  “You know.” I demonstrated. Jay cackled and gave me a shove. I shoved her back.

  “Janet was on to me,” Jay said. “I kind of wanted to kiss you that night in your bedroom, but you were so distraught. I was afraid it might mess with your head.”

  “You did?” I couldn’t believe it. Jay actually entertained the thought of not only kissing but actually maybe even sleeping with the likes of me, her bratty eighteen-year-old hanger-on? I was flattered and surprised. Surprised because, even though I thought she was so cool and good-looking and everything, I didn’t feel all overwhelmed sitting next to her, or even when we kissed the night before. I didn’t feel the same flutter of thrill in my chest as I did when I kissed Sam. Or the same warmth I felt holding Rory in my bed. I thought about Seth up in his bedroom with his sad songs. Why do we love what we love? Or who we love. I was nowhere close to figuring it out, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t in love with Jay, even though I liked her a lot.

  “All this time I thought you thought I was a joke,” I confessed.

  “A joke? Why?”

  “Because, I dunno. I thought you thought of me as naïve and everything. Because I’m not all that . . . experienced.” Jay was quiet. I listened to the soft, padding sound of the rain on the grass.

  “I’ve been really dismissive of you,” Jay said. “And I’m sorry. It hurts to be dismissed.”

  “Seriously, I’m not mad about last night. People get drunk. Shit happens.”

  “I’m not just talking about last night. I mean, you came to me for, like, guidance. And ever since we started hanging out, I’ve been disregarding your experience. Sometimes I forget that not everybody figured out they were gay when they were seven years old. It’s totally okay for you to still be figuring it out. I’m sorry I haven’t been more . . . receptive to your struggle.”

  “It’s not so much a struggle as it’s been just me going around being a dumbass, but thanks all the same,” I said. “Seriously. I’m really glad I’ve had you to talk to.”

  “So we’re good?”

  “Yeah. Duh. Of course we are.”

  Just then, her cell phone chirped. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the number.

  “It’s Carol.” Jay bit her lip, looking at the phone.

  “Go ahead, answer it,” I said.

  Jay put the phone back in her pocket.

  “Maybe later. I was gonna do some drawing. You wanna come in and hang out?”

  I looked out at the rain. A chill was setting in.

  “No thanks. I gotta get home. There’s some stuff I wanna work on, myself.”

  I WAS WAITING. ON PURPOSE. SO that when I finally got up the nerve to dial the number, there was a good chance she wouldn’t be home.

  “Hello?” Walter’s voice came through the coiled wire of the kitchen phone in Santa Fe, bounced off a satellite somewhere in space, trickled through Janet’s cell phone into my anxious ear.

  “Hiya, Walt.” I was afraid he wouldn’t remember my voice.

  “Lulabelle!” That stupid name. But I didn’t mind. “How you been?”

  “I’m okay. How are you?”

  “Plugging along. You just missed your mother. She’s at her Saturday yoga.”

  “Oh. I guess I forgot about the time change.”

  “I’ll tell her you called. How’s everything? You back in school?”

  “Yeah. Sort of. I took the GED. I’m over at the community college now.”

  “Hey, smart cookie! Your mom’ll be real proud to hear that. Real proud.”

  “Huh. Yeah.” I sort of laughed. “You don’t have to lie for her, you know.”

  “It’s not a lie.” I could hear Walter shuffling around, hundreds of miles away. “She wants you to do well.”

  “Anyway,” I changed the subject. “I got my learner’s permit. Janet’s been letting me drive the car.”

  “Great news, ho
ney! What’d I tell you? You’re a natural behind the wheel.”

  “Um, also. I was thinking. Remember that jalapeño cornbread you made that time?”

  “Sure do. Your favorite, if I recall.”

  “Do you think I could get the recipe?”

  “Well, now.” I could almost see Walter giving me one of his stern looks. “That’s an old family recipe. I don’t go passing it around to just anybody, you know.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not.

  “So. You got a pen and paper?”

  fifteen

  RORY AND SETH STOOD IN THE parking lot of the Hawthorne Unitarian Church, looking like mismatched brothers. They both wore khaki pants and blue blazers, but Rory’s was too big for him, his fingers barely peeking out of the sleeves. As big as he was, he still looked like a little kid. And me, I must’ve looked like the biggest dork on the planet. Wearing this ridiculous skirt-and-blouse combo Janet bought me for some Tennis Club luncheon. It had giant flowers on it. Not exactly the Dana Scully Power Suit.

  “Hey, what’re you doing here?” Seth seemed baffled at my presence. Maybe this was a mistake.

  “I wanted to see if you were right. If it still smells like books.” I was suddenly afraid that Seth had forgotten our whole conversation that night at his party. Rory just stood there, examining me beneath the cloudy sky.

  “Right on,” Seth nodded, and I felt relieved he wasn’t laughing at me for showing up out of the blue. “Let’s get inside before it rains.”

  I somehow managed to get shuffled into the aisle between Rory and Seth. Seth’s mom, sitting at the end of the pew, gave me a little wave hello. Seth’s dad sat up at the front, beside a simple wooden lectern. I looked around. It was different from the First Baptist Church, that was for sure. Smaller and more casual. Some kids—and even some adults—were wearing jeans. I recognized a few of the guys from the Uno game at Seth’s party. Our seventh grade science teacher, Mr. Brantley, was singing in the choir. They sang a few songs, we stood up, we sat down, we stood up again. A woman with her hair in a long gray braid stood up and reminded us to donate to the food bank’s can drive. Then Seth’s father stood up and began his sermon.