I am nothing like the rest of my family. Each one of them, with the exception of my mother, had raven black hair. Pair that with the Smith signature olive skin and green eyes, and they look like an army of beautiful Greeks. I was born red: my skin, my hair and my hot, fussy attitude. My mother used to tell me that I cried for a week after they brought me home. She said I lost my voice, and all you could hear was air coming out of me as I made screaming faces.
Our mother encouraged Courtney to do all of the typical, perfect girl things — cheerleading, modeling, and stealing other girls' boyfriends. I, on the other hand, was encouraged to diet, especially during my last year of middle school. I was a little chubby. I started eating my feelings when I discovered boys, rejection and Little Debbie snack cakes. I went from malnourished to fleshy all in a matter of months.
“You’re going to seriously regret this,” my mother said, upon discovering my stash. I’d hidden a dozen assorted boxes in an old Christmas popcorn tin in the pantry. “You already have red hair, now you want to add pounds of extra flesh?” To emphasize her point, she’d grabbed a handful of fat at my waist and pinched it until I’d cried out. She shook her head. “Hopeless, Johanna.” And then she’d tossed all of my snack cakes in the trash.
I bit my lip to keep from crying. When she saw me struggling with tears, she’d softened a little. Maybe she was chubby once, I thought hopefully.
“Here.” She opened the freezer and shoved a bag of frozen peas against my chest. “When you get the urge to binge on crap, eat these instead. Just think of it as a frozen treat … like ice cream.” When I looked doubtful, she’d grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her. “You like boys?”
I nodded.
“You won’t get them if you eat snack cakes, trust me. No one’s ever hooked a man with processed cake crumbs on her face.”
I’d carried my bag of frozen peas back to my room and sat down cross-legged on the floor. Staring up at my Jonathan Taylor Thomas poster, I ate the entire bag, pea by pea.
I was kind of nerdy. I liked boys, but I also liked math and science. But, math and science didn’t give you attention. It was a one-sided, dry love. I wanted people to look at me the way they did Court. I rolled onto my back and chewed on my peas. I kind of liked them.
The next day I asked Court to introduce me to her friends.
“You make fun of cheerleaders,” she said.
“I won’t anymore. I want people to like me.”
She nodded. “They will, Lee. I do.”
Court snagged me an invite to a sleepover, complete with all her giggly friends. Despite her reassurance, her friends had not liked me. They were thirteen-year-old bitches, heavily sedated by their mother’s opinions. They ended almost every sentence with the words sweetie or awesome. I didn’t want to be like those girls. I didn’t want to be like my mother. When one of them asked why I hung out with the math geeks, I’d snapped.
“They talk about more interesting things than you.”
The girl — Britney — had looked at me like I was something detestable. She’d cocked her head and smiled at me. I could almost see her cardigan-wearing mother doing the same thing. “She’s a lesbian,” she’d announced to the room. The rest of the girls nodded, like it was a completely acceptable explanation for my strangeness.
Court’s face had dropped. She’d looked so disappointed in me.
“I’m not a lesbian,” I’d said. But, my voice had been weak, unconvincing. The girls had already taken Britney’s word for it. They were already avoiding my eyes.
I’d looked around the room at their stupid, hair-sprayed, pink-lipped heads and said a loud “Fuck you!” before storming out. I felt mildly guilty for casting a shadow over Court’s social game. She’d recover. She was too pretty not to. When she came home, she stormed into my room and folded her arms across her chest.
“Why would you do that?” She’d asked. “You ask me to help you and then you act like an idiot in front of my friends.”
I shook my head. Was she kidding?
“Court, it was them. What are you talking about?”
“You made me look really bad, Leah! You’re so selfish. I’m so sick of your drama.”
She turned to leave, but I’d jumped up and grabbed her arm. I couldn’t believe she was saying this. It’s like they were slowly stealing chunks of her brain and replacing it with their lesser functioning ones.
“That’s not fair! You’re my sister. How can you take their side? Britney lied to everyone. You know I’m not a lesbian.”
Courtney had jerked her arm away. “I don’t know that.”
I’d opened and closed my mouth in shock. My sister — my Courtney had never spoken to me this way. She’d never taken anyone’s side over mine. I felt like someone was burning a hole through my chest, it hurt so bad.
“You’re ruining things for me,” she’d finally said. “They’re my friends. You’re my sister. It bothers me when they say stuff about you. Just please, leave it alone and don’t run your mouth any more. You’re making things hard for me.”
I swallowed my response and nodded. I could do that for her.
We never spoke about what happened after that day, but she was weird with me for a long time. Her friends made a point of snickering when they walked past me in the halls of our private school. They spread rumors too — told people that they caught me masturbating at the sleepover. All this and Court never spoke a word in my defense. I never spoke a word in my defense. I started wondering if she believed them.
In a few weeks, I was declared a lesbian by every popular kid in the seventh and eighth grade. When the rumors finally made it back to my parents, they sent me to Bible camp for the summer. I loved it. I met a Pastor’s son and lost my V-card in the bushes behind the communal bathroom. I came back with an affirmed taste for men. Of course, that didn’t stop the lesbian rumors when school started again. Britney took it upon herself to make sure every girl in her grade and mine knew that they shouldn't undress in front of me in the locker room. The boys would elbow each other in the hallways, snickering and making comments as I walked by. It was terrible. Hurtful. Courtney didn't correct them — that was the worst part. Our bond frayed and snapped, all under the cruel fingertips of Kings High School. I had become used to it in a way, I expected that it was the same way I had become used to my parents’ hands-off approach with me.
I kept my head down, dated boys in the math club who could keep up with me mentally and never stopped plotting against Britney and her lackeys. I changed that year, and no one noticed. They were too busy ostracizing me to notice that my C-cups came in. I learned how to use a blow dryer and makeup. I lost my puppy fat.
That same year, my sister and Britney had a falling out over a boy named Paul. They both wanted him. To save their friendship, both girls had sworn off him in an emotional embrace, insisting that nothing — especially a guy — could come between their friendship. Britney lasted a month before she slept with him. My sister was crushed. I didn't like seeing Courtney cry. And that's what she did for two weeks. I even caught her clutching a bottle of sleeping pills in the bathroom one day.
“Not for a boy, Courtney,” I’d said, snatching the bottle from her fingers. “Seriously, when did you become so weak?”
She’d cried silent tears while staring at me with her bruised eyes. I’d realized then that she was probably always weak. She stood up to our parents when it came to me because they parents favored her. It wasn’t an act of courage to defy your parents when they never so much as raised their voices to you. I’d walked her to her bedroom and tucked her into bed. Then I’d crawled in next to her so I could watch her.
The next day I’d cornered Britney at her locker. She was officially Paul’s girlfriend, and now that she’d severed the bond with my sister, I didn’t have to keep my mouth shut anymore.
"You are a worthless slut, you know that?" I poked her in the collarbone for emphasis.
Paul was waiting for her a few feet away.
/>
Britney glared at me, slapping my hand away.
"Eew! Don't touch me, lesbian," she spat. I ignored her, turning my attention to Paul. I had planned this out. Paul was smiling slightly. I could see the words chick fight forming in his miniature, underdeveloped brain. A few people were gathering around us to see what was happening.
"And you," I said, looking at Paul. "You're gonna need this..." I tossed a condom at him. It bounced off his chest and landed between his Nikes. He looked at me, then at the red square at his feet. "She has herpes, you ass."
The look on his face was worth every lesbian comment Britney had made over the last two years. Before walking away, I glanced at Britney. Her face was ashen. I wasn't supposed to know about the herpes. The walls in my house were thin, and she'd had one too many sleepovers with my sister.
Destroying Britney's reputation like she destroyed mine was just the ax I needed to loosen my shackles. It started with Britney, but soon I was sleeping with everyone's boyfriends. I liked how easily I could make boys follow me around by dangling sex in their faces. I liked the way their girlfriends came to school with puffy red eyes from crying, after they found out their boyfriends cheated on them.
I hadn’t joined ranks with the popular girls like my sister; I’d outranked them. I was flying high, and I didn’t intend to stop.
Chapter Thirteen
Present
“We’ve been together a long time, Caleb.”
He doesn’t look up when he says, “Yes.”
Normally, I would get a 'Yes, Red' or a 'Yes, Love' but this time I just get 'Yes.'
It feels lonely, that ‘Yes.’
“Do you remember the time we went to Los Angeles and ate at every celebrity hotspot we could get into?”
He shoots me a look and keeps shuffling mail. Caleb is nostalgic. He likes talking about old memories.
“We didn’t have reservations,” I continue, “but you talked your way into every restaurant we wanted to try.”
He’s quiet as he listens.
“We didn’t see a single celebrity, but I felt like one the entire week … just being with you.”
I take the mail from his hands and set it on the counter, entwining our fingers.
“Caleb, I know I’m a mess. You know I’m a mess. But, you make me better. We have so much history … so much love. Please stop ignoring me.”
His jaw is working.
“I didn’t want to go to those pretentious restaurants, Leah.”
“What?” I shake my head. I thought this was going to work. I don’t even have a backup plan.
“I went because of you. I had a good time because of you, but that’s not who I am.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. His fingers are trying to pry themselves away from mine.
“I’ve been someone different with you. Someone I don’t understand.”
“Well, then be someone new. I don’t care. We will change together.”
Caleb sighs. “I don’t think you’ll like who I am.”
“Try me, Caleb. I’ll work hard to get to know him. Please. We can fix this.”
“I don’t know if we can do that, but we can try.”
I smile tightly and hug him. I feel only the slightest hesitation before he hugs me back. I breathe in the smell of him. We can try. I silently repeat to myself. Words I want, but they have an expiration date. We can try ... until we can't anymore. We can try ... but this already feels doomed.
I will have to think of a way to make this more permanent.
The next few weeks are peaceful. I pull out all of the cookbooks I got as wedding presents and actually start making meals rather than ordering out. If my man wanted a stay at home mom and wife, that’s what he was going to get. I could totally be traditional. I make us eat at the dining room table we've never used. I even wheel the baby’s movable bassinet into the room so she can be with us. He likes my cooking, or he says he does. He eats all of it and seems genuinely happy that I’m trying. I go shopping for girl clothes for the baby and throw out all of the yellow and green. I proudly display them on the bed for Caleb to see. He picks up each one and nods in approval.
“She’s not wearing this,” he says, holding up a little t-shirt that says Date me.
“It’s cute,” I argue, diving for it. He grabs the shirt before I can and holds it above his head so I can’t reach it.
We spend the next five minutes chasing each other around the bedroom for ownership of it. We haven’t played like this in a very long time. It feels good, like it did in the beginning of “us.”
Sam watches our marital transformation with amusement.
One day at breakfast, I ask Caleb where we are planning on vacationing this year.
“Our vacations will have to be kid friendly,” he says, sipping his tea. “Lots of Disney World and Beach resorts, I imagine.”
I balk. He has to be kidding. Sam notices my expression and has to stifle a laugh.
I look at Caleb in alarm. “I burn in the sun,” I blurt.
He smiles crookedly. “What? Did you think we’d be taking on Paris and Tuscany with a little girl?”
I nod.
“They need things too, Leah. It’s fine if we expose her to the world, but little people need Disney World and sandcastles. Don’t you have those memories from when you were little?”
I don’t. My school took us to Disney my junior year. I got really drunk with a couple of guys the night before and had a hangover the whole next day at the park. I don’t tell Caleb this.
“I guess,” I say noncommittally. This traditional thing was really beginning to suck.
“What if she likes Paris?” I ask hopefully. “Then can we go?”
He stands up, kisses the top of my head. “Yes. Right after we give her a childhood.”
“So while she’s still little, can we go somewhere good? It’s not like she’s going to care about Minnie Mouse just yet.”
“We are probably not going on vacation this year. She’s too little to leave or to take anywhere.” I watch incredulously as he picks up his cell phone. Did he just confiscate my vacation?
“That’s ridiculous,” I announce, licking my spoon clean of oatmeal. “Plenty of people have babies and go on vacation.”
“There are things you have to give up when you have a family, Red. Are you just figuring this out?”
“Let’s give up red meat … music … electricity! Just not vacation.”
Sam drops the armful of laundry he’s holding. I can see his back shaking with laughter as he bends to pick it up.
Caleb is ignoring me, scrolling through his phone.
All the men in my life treat me like I’m a joke.
“I’m going on vacation,” I announce to both of them. Caleb looks up and raises an eyebrow.
“What are you saying, Leah?”
He is goading me. I don’t know why I take the bait.
“I’m saying that with or without you, I’m going.”
I march out of the room so I don’t have to see his expression. Why do I feel like a ten-year-old? No, there is nothing wrong with me. It’s him. He doesn’t want me for who I am. He wants to make me someone else. This is a game Caleb and I have been playing for years. He gives me a standard by which to live, I fail.
He follows me.
“What are you doing?” He grabs me by the arm as I try to walk away.
“You’re trying to control me.”
“The idea of a controlled Leah bores me, I assure you. However, being part of a family means making decisions as a unit.”
“Oh please,” I spit at him, “let’s not pretend anyone but you is making the decisions.”
I pull my arm away. “I’m tired of the dog and pony show I always have to put on for you.”
I am at the stairs when I hear him say, “Well, there you have it.”
I don’t look back.
Upstairs, I pull out the street painting Courtney brought me from her trip to Europe. I keep it wrapped in wax
paper in a box. I touch the red umbrella with my fingertip. Courtney said that I was her red umbrella. When she was in turmoil, all she had to do was come stand near me and I’d keep the bad stuff off of her. It wasn’t true. I failed Courtney, I failed my father, and I was in the process of failing Caleb.
I shove it back in the box and swipe at the tears that are coming down my cheeks. I hear Estella cry out as she wakes up from her nap. I gather my emotions, take a deep breath and go to her.
Chapter FourteenPast
We fought the day of his accident. Can you imagine? Your boyfriend almost dies, and hours before, you tell him that you want to break up. I didn’t mean it. It was a 'shit or get off the pot' statement: a cruel attempt at strong-arming him into marriage. Except, you can’t give Caleb Drake an ultimatum. I could see his face in my mind as the words left my mouth; eyebrows up, his jaw clenching like a fist. The day before he left on his business trip to Scranton, we fought about the same topic. I wanted a goddamn ring. Caleb wanted to make sure mine was the right finger to put it on.
Then the call came. I was at work when Luca’s refined voice came onto the line. Luca and I had a floating relationship; sometimes things were great between us, sometimes I wanted to pour kerosene over her head and strike a match. She was saying words like hospital and memory loss. I didn’t get it until she said, “Leah, are you listening to me? Caleb is in the hospital! He doesn’t know his own name!”
“The hospital?” I repeated. Caleb was supposed to be ring shopping for me.
“An accident, Leah,” she repeated. “We’re flying out in the morning.”
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