Sorry to complain.
November 22
TO: Steve
FROM: Nina
You can always complain to me! I love you, and it scares me that you are surrounded by mold and sagging ceilings and crazy cats. Come live here! My mom and I have cleaning parties for fun! (Sounds like a joke but is not. We buy Swiffers, cleanser, and ice cream and play music. We are v. sad but we like it.)
November 23
TO: Nina
FROM: Steve
You and I have very different lives. Want to hear sad? Know what I bought my parents for Christmas last year? A vacuum. They never had one before. No one used it but me. It doesn’t work anymore because somehow my brother accidentally chopped the cord off.
November 23
TO: Steve
FROM: Nina
Yes, we’re different but that’s what makes us so perfect! Every good couple is kind of mismatched. Don’t you watch TV? (Oh, wait. You probably don’t.)
I love you even more. I will buy you a hand vac when we get to school as a room-warming gift.
24
“Miss.”
Avery wasn’t going to turn around. She knew what those women at table 22 wanted to tell her, and it was not going to make her happy. These women were Daiquiri People—one of the worst types of customer around.
“Miss?”
First of all, as far as Avery was concerned, a daiquiri was not something a self-respecting adult should be seen drinking—especially not a Mortimer’s daiquiri, which came with whipped cream and a green crazy straw. Therefore Avery could ignore them in good conscience.
“Miss.”
Well, she could ignore them for a while, anyway. And then she would have to turn around and have all of her worst fears about them confirmed. They were going to say that there was no booze in their drink. Daiquiri People always did. Avery chomped down hard on her lower lip, then faced the four women in the booth. They were all in their forties or so and wore cute little cardigans that seemed to be passed out to all school secretaries, along with hair-frosting kits and jingly bracelets.
“There’s no alcohol in these drinks,” said the woman closest to Avery.
This was one of the few occasions when Avery hated to be proven right.
While she knew perfectly well that there was alcohol in there (buried under some heavy layer of strawberry or banana goo), she would have to take the drink back to the bar to make them happy. Normally the bartenders would drip a few drops of rum down the straw. This was a great trick to get people to stop complaining because the first sip they took would be overpoweringly strong.
But there was no way that was happening tonight. These women didn’t understand that getting a frozen drink made on a Friday was no small achievement in the first place. The bartenders always took care of their own customers first, and the last thing they liked to do was fire up the blenders, which were loud and horrible and drove people away from the bar. But Avery had badgered the bartender and gotten this table their four daiquiris. There was no way she’d be able to get him to come back over and doctor the crazy straws just to make these morons feel like grown-ups. Besides, she had. a big order to put in right now, while there was no line at the computer.
“I saw them put it in,” Avery said. I promise. It’s in there.”
“I’m telling you it’s not,” the woman huffed.
“Maybe you should stir it a little.”
“Just get us some new ones, okay, honey?” The woman shoved her glass in Avery’s direction and turned back to her friends.
Big mistake. Avery was not in the mood for this. She adjusted a Guinness pin that was jabbing her in the rib cage and studied the glasses. This was one of those no-win situations her job put her in on a far too regular basis.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” she tried again. “I was there when he made them. If you stir it …”
“How many times do we need to ask you?” the woman said, turning back around in annoyance. “We had to wait for them long enough as it was. We’re not paying for them unless we get new ones. I’m not falling for this. I know this is how you try to get people, okay?”
Now they were accusing her of being part of a cover-up? The Great Mortimer’s Daiquiri Swindle? They had made it personal, and this was more than Avery could bear.
“Why would I lie to you?” Avery asked indignantly. “Does that even make sense?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not my rum,” Avery said. “Why would I try to cheat you?”
“I’d like to speak to a manager.”
Avery heard an evil laugh in her mind. These were famous last words. Finding a manager on a Friday night was impossible.
“I’ll go look for one,” she said dryly. She walked away, leaving the glasses where they were. As she walked back to the pantry, she glanced to her left and right. No managers in sight. She had looked.
As she stood at the computer by the bar, punching in the other order, Avery sighed. There would be no tip on 22, which was a blow. They were probably going to bail on their food too. She should probably just cancel their order. She’d do it as soon as she got some ketchup from the pantry for one of her other tables.
When she passed by it a few minutes later, 22 was still occupied, which was somewhat annoying. She walked straight back to the pantry, where she found Bob waiting. Parker was there too, prepping a few plates. He glanced over at Avery nervously.
“It was a daiquiri thing,” Avery said, before Bob could get in a word. “I told them to stir it.”
“You’re fired,” he said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’ve warned you. Do you want to finish your shift or cash out now?”
“But it’s just a drink thing! You can’t be serious.”
Bob turned to Parker.
“Want two more tables?” he asked. “You can have 22 and 25.”
Parker glanced at Avery. She flashed him a look that told him she didn’t mind. And she really didn’t. It had nothing to do with him.
“I’ll meet you up front,” Bob said to Avery. “Bring your stuff.”
“See you in a minute,” she said brightly.
“That sucks.” Parker was hanging on to his suspenders and looking very uncomfortable.
“It’s my lucky day,” she said. “I’m out of here.”
“Yeah,” Parker said, trying to match Avery’s strained enthusiasm. “I almost wish it was me.”
Such a lie, but it was the kind of thing you were supposed to say in situations like this.
It was over in just a few minutes. Now she was in her car, looking at Mortimer’s from the outside—the only way she would ever look at it again. There was a small pile of cash on the seat next to her. It didn’t amount to much. Maybe ten or eleven dollars, if she was lucky.
She started the engine.
Fired.
Fired was cool.
Fired implied attitude. Fired was very rock and roll.
Fired was also broke, parents screaming, no money for her car, and no way of even thinking about going to New York City for school because her parents sure as hell weren’t paying for Avery to hang out with purple-haired, clove-smoking artsy trustafarians when Geneseo and Old Westbury were more affordable and infinitely less furrreaky…. Not that Mortimer’s made her enough money to pay for school, but it was some form of cash flow. Something she no longer had.
She turned up the volume on her car stereo to the point where the sound warped. She dug around in her bag and found a cigarette and then peeled out of the P. J. Mortimer’s parking lot.
I’m such an asshole, she thought, fumbling for the cigarette lighter in the dashboard. How dumb do you have to be to get fired from P. J. Mortimer’s? She must have had a job death wish, just like she did when she worked at the gas station convenience store the summer after sophomore year, when she used to scream, “Fire me!” into the surveillance camera (before she found out it was video only, and then she made a sign on
a piece of sandwich wrapping paper). But this time she had succeeded, and now she was royally screwed. She might as well drive right into a wall.
Except that she would probably live and just be carless.
She instinctively turned down the sound once she got to Mel’s street. Avery wasn’t conscious of driving there on purpose. She gave her usual quick greeting to Mel’s dad. He was nice, if maybe a little oblivious, and he never seemed to care what time Avery turned up at the door. He was an extremely single dad and didn’t question the needs of girls to talk to other girls at all hours, which had proved very convenient for the last few months.
Mel was looking at something online when Avery came into her room without knocking.
“How did you get off early?”
“Bob fired me.”
Avery fell back on the bed and a stuffed palm tree fell over on her face. She pushed it aside. Mel came over and sat next to her, looking concerned.
“What happened?”
“Bob just did what he’s been wanting to do for a while.” Avery groaned, covering up her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Can you put on some music or something?”
Mel hopped up and switched on the MP3 player on her computer. Normally they put on music to cover up any noise that they made in Mel’s room—sometimes when they were talking, but usually when they were making out. Mel turned on Norah Jones, one of her favorites. She came back over and stretched out alongside Avery so that they were front to front. They kissed a little, but for some reason, all Avery could think of was Gaz. Gaz with his long legs and fingers and his lazy smile. He was as tall as two Mels. Avery imagined that she was lying next to him. Her head would tuck under his chin, and her feet would only hit his midcalf. She wanted to be the smaller person right now.
Avery closed her eyes and rolled onto her back.
“I kind of want to just lie here,” she said. “Cool?”
“Oh. Okay.” Mel pulled herself upright and played with Avery’s hair instead.
The music made Avery sad. She envisioned the daiquiri women snickering as they were told that they had just gotten her fired. In Avery’s mind, they hated her deeply and personally.
“Maybe I’ll apply to school in New York too,” Mel said suddenly, twisting Avery’s hair into a corkscrew around her finger.
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nursing. Or business. I don’t know. Something.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Avery said absently.
“And maybe we could share a place.” Mel sounded eager now. “I could even just go there and work for a while. Wouldn’t that be cool, to have an apartment together?”
Avery remembered a joke she’d heard somewhere: What does a lesbian bring on a first date?
Answer: a U-Haul.
What if there was some truth in that? What if Mel wanted to get married and have a commitment ceremony and play Ani DiFranco and k.d. lang songs and have cats as bridesmaids? That would be great for Mel, but it just wasn’t something Avery could picture. The thought scared her. A lot.
“Mel …” she barked while pulling herself up. “I just got fired, okay? Can you please stop?”
Mel widened her eyes in a “stop what?” look.
“I have to go.” Avery made her way toward the door.
“Why?”
She didn’t answer. She left Mel sitting there holding her stuffed palm tree with a hurt expression on her face.
Avery wasn’t ready to go home yet. She drove around and smoked until she accidentally blew a smoldering ash into her own backseat and had to pull over and smack out the little orange flame that was burrowing through the pleather.
Then she drove to Gaz’s.
Avery let herself in through the outside door into Gaz’s basement. She never had to knock there either. Gaz was watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. He was on the scene where Willy Wonka was about to take the group on the psychedelic boat ride.
“What’s up?” Gaz said, pausing the movie. Avery pushed aside a laundry basket, sat next to him on the couch, and put her head in her hands.
“Things are really complicated,” she said.
He accepted this statement at face value and let her stare into the basket of his shirts and boxers in peace. Two more reasons to love Gaz—he never hassled anyone for explanations they didn’t feel like giving, and he literally kept his dirty laundry in the open. He was a transparent guy.
“I got fired,” she said as her eyes went blurry from staring at a red-and-blue-striped pair of boxers for too long.
“Oh, man. Sorry.”
She drummed her fingers on her knee and looked at the frozen picture on the screen. Wonka looked particularly nuts, all wide eyes and flying curls under that big purple top hat. Wonka was kind of her god—the creator of dreams, the exposer of the fake. Everyone’s favorite sadist. His look questioned her now and demanded that she tell the truth about herself. She couldn’t lie to Willy Wonka.
“Do I seem gay to you?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Gaz said. He didn’t sound like he thought the question was odd. “I guess anyone could be.”
“I’m not,” Avery said firmly. “Okay.”
Avery leaned back very deliberately and inserted herself under Gaz’s arm. It felt as good to be next to him as she’d hoped. He was lean and warm and for some reason he smelled like french fries.
It happened gradually over the course of the next few minutes, without Avery really thinking about it much. Gaz slid lower, she moved closer—and they just kind of oozed over the line between spacing out and preparing to kiss. When Gaz turned his face to Avery’s, the deal already seemed done, and she was content. She closed her eyes.
And it was good.
Again she didn’t feel that rush she’d experienced with Mel, or the deep sense of connection. But Gaz had something she needed right now. Maybe if she just did this long enough, she would like it just as much as she’d liked being with …
Mel’s face kept popping into Avery’s brain, and she tried very hard to push it away and replace it with Wonka’s intense stare, which was still frozen on the screen. She understood now—she had to make everything stop. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Mel or even love Mel—she just couldn’t date her. Something had happened between them that summer, something that had felt right and had maybe even been right. But it wasn’t right anymore. It wasn’t who Avery was; it wasn’t what she really wanted. And now she needed to undo it all, turn things back to how they were before.
That was why she was here, rolling over onto Gaz’s lap. Going from friend to friend, girl to boy, employment to unemployment—one crisis to another. She didn’t want to think about how Mel would cry, or how Nina would react, or how she would pay for her car, or what she was doing with her life.
Right now she just had to undo. One thing at a time.
25
When Mel gat to school the next morning, she discovered that all of the things that Avery normally stored in her locker were gone.
No note. No explanation. Just an empty hook and a whole bunch of extra space.
Mel scrambled through the contents, but nothing of Avery’s was left—not the music folder, or the chemistry book with the broken spine, or the cigarettes that Mel was always afraid someone would notice. And then Mel saw the worst of it. Sitting in the middle of the top shelf was Avery’s thumb ring.
There was a buzzing sound in her head. Mel took the ring and quickly shoved it onto her own thumb. It was too large, so she put it into her front pocket.
She skipped first period, which was only twenty minutes anyway since it was the start of the Thanksgiving holiday. She sat in the last stall of the bathroom instead, flicking the lid up and down on the little bin marked Feminine Disposal that was attached to the wall. The bin also had no bottom and no bag, so it could never be used for anything except for making noise and transmitting this slightly scary message that Mel couldn’t help but take personally.
An hour later
Mel was still in the bathroom. She figured she was definitely marked absent by now and so there was no need to go to her classes. Instead she decided to venture into the halls and try to find Avery and ask her what was going on. Unfortunately, with all the dodging and weaving that she had to do to avoid being seen by any of her teachers or by the security guy who paced the halls, Mel managed to miss Avery at every turn. When she actually did spot her between seventh and eighth periods, it was in such a public place that there was nothing Mel could say or do without causing a huge scene (which would just make things worse), so she slipped out to the parking lot to stand by Avery’s car and wait.
Avery must have bypassed her own locker after eighth because she appeared just a moment after the bell rang. She didn’t look very pleased that Mel was standing by the car, preparing for a confrontation. This wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Hey,” Avery said, making sure not to look Mel in the eye. She started shuffling through her bag.
“You took your stuff,” Mel said.
“I just thought it would be better,” Avery replied, keeping her attention completely on the contents of her bag.
“But you left your ring.”
“I just need a few days, Mel.” Avery’s voice was low but still — cracking.
“A few days for what?”
“To think.”
“About?”
“Stuff. I have a lot of … stuff. I just need a few days.”
“What about this weekend?”
“I don’t know,” Avery replied, finally pulling her keys out of the clutter. “I think we should just spend time on our own. You have to go to your mom’s anyway.”
“I’m just going there for Thanksgiving dinner.”
Avery was talking like it was no big deal at all to cancel four days’ worth of plans, including Saturday night, when Mel’s dad was going to be gone and Avery was scheduled to stay over. They didn’t just skip those nights. Mel lived for those.
“It’s just one weekend, Mel.”
Mel felt her knees start to give. She carefully lowered herself and sat down right there between the cars.
The Bermudez Triangle Page 15
