16 Things I Thought Were True

by Janet Gurtler

  “So what’s the plan?” Adam asks and sits down beside me. My legs stiffen.

  “Well, I thought I’d do it tomorrow. At his home. Show up.” I rub my lips with ChapStick and press them together, trying to ignore Adam’s thighs.

  Amy stands, takes a step across the floor, and sits on the bed on my other side. And then she reaches out her arms and hugs me so tightly I can barely breathe. My hands stay down at my side. When she pushes me away, she stares into my face, her nose inches from mine. “I totally understand why you’re such an emotional mess,” she says. “It even explains some of your exhibitionism.”

  The earnest expression on her face breaks some of my tension, and I giggle. “I know. Right?”

  Adam laughs too. “Amy, you’re growing on me.”

  She leans across me to smile at him. “I am? Really?”

  “You are.”

  “Well”—she leans back—“I don’t have a crush on you anymore, just so you know.”

  “My loss,” he says.

  She grins. “Plus, you know, you do have a girlfriend, even if you are afraid to see her in person.”

  “I’m not afraid.” But he develops a sudden interest in his sneakers and bends over to re-tie laces that look perfectly tied to me.

  “No? Well, you don’t seem excited. Maybe you like the idea of a girlfriend? That’s what my dad says to me. That I like the idea of a boyfriend but I don’t want the emotional implications.”

  “You mean, like sex,” Adam says and then pulls in his chin and ducks to avoid smashing the top bunk with his forehead as he stands.

  “Sex is physical. Not emotional,” Amy tells him.

  “Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” He walks over to the window and looks out. “You’ll find out.”

  “How do you know I haven’t had sex? Maybe I’m a closet nympho who happens to look young.”

  “Amy.” I untangle myself from the bed and stand, holding out my hand to her. “You don’t have to pretend to be all jaded just because you look young.”

  She narrows her eyes at both of us, ignores my hand, and flops on her back, staring up at the top bunk. “Whatever. I’m so a virgin.”

  “I’m shocked,” Adam says. My evil glare is directed his way, and he shuts his mouth.

  Amy sits up and hugs her knees in a yoga-like movement. “You need to do it. Tonight. Do it now.”

  “I’m not a virgin,” I say, wondering if she’s trying to foist me off on Adam.

  She bats her eyelids slowly and claps very slowly. “I’m happy for you. But. I was talking about going to see your dad tonight.”

  “Oh.” I pretend to laugh, but it sounds like a baby’s cry.

  She crosses her legs and ticks off a finger. “You’re not hungry.” She ticks off another finger. “And you’re not in Victoria to sightsee.” She scrambles off the bottom bunk and grabs her bag. “You’re not going to relax until you do this.”

  “What? Now? No. Not now.”

  “Why? Why wait? It’s not like you’ll sleep a wink until it’s done.” Amy grabs her car keys and throws them. My hand automatically shoots out to grab them. She throws her arms in the air when I catch them and jumps up and down like a cheerleader in the final play of the game. “Go. Take my car!”

  I flex and unflex my free hand, jiggling the keys up and down in the other. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? It’s not like you made an appointment to see him,” Amy points out.

  My heart pounds. I spin the key chain around and around on my finger.

  “I think she’s right,” Adam says from where he’s leaning against the windowsill. “The sooner you do it…the sooner it’s done.”

  “As painless as tattoo removal,” I mumble.

  “It’s not going to be any easier if you wait,” Amy says.

  “But I don’t want to strand you guys. You should, you know, go downtown, see some sights.” I glance at Adam. “Call your girlfriend.”

  “Forget my stupid girlfriend,” Adam says.

  “Stupid girlfriend? Why is she stupid?” I welcome the opportunity to bounce to another topic.

  “Seriously. Forget my girlfriend.” He moves his hand back and forth, close to his neck, in a slicing motion and then clears his throat. “We can walk to lots of places from here.” He walks to Amy and drapes his arm across her shoulder, and she sags from the weight he puts into it. “Right, Amy?”

  “We could come with you if you want,” Amy says to me and scoots out from under him, punching him on the arm.

  Adam rubs it. “What is it with you women and your punching?”

  “You just told me I looked ten. And now I’m a woman?” Amy asks.

  I bat my eyelashes to keep in the tears stinging behind them, but this time it’s happy tears for the two of them arguing and keeping things real.

  “I think you should do it, Morgan,” Adam says, still massaging his arm. “And we could come with you.”

  “No!” My voice cracks and I clear my throat again. “I need to do this alone.”

  “You don’t have to,” Amy says softly.

  “Thanks. But I need to.” They’ve already seen enough of my humiliation. This is the type of thing meant to be experienced solo. I lick my lips and taste the cherry wax and then squeeze the keys tight, and the teeth of the keys make an impression on my skin. “I don’t want to drive. I can’t drive. I’ll get in an accident. I’ll be too distracted. I’m going to call a cab. That was my plan anyhow.” I lift my arm and throw the keys back to Amy, but she misses and they clatter on the ground.

  “Are you worried because you’re a bad driver?” Amy asks.

  “I’m not a bad driver!” My temperature flashes up and then smolders down a second later, and I laugh. As usual, Amy has a knack for taking my mind out of the dark place.

  “What? I’m not one of those people who would get all freaky about a scratch or something. It’s just a car. A pretty little bumble bee car. But still, just a car. The GPS is in the glove box. Go.” Amy bends down to pick up her keys and holds them up.

  I shake my head. “No. I’ll take a cab.”

  Amy sniffles and then wipes underneath her eyes. “But what if he’s a total jerk?” she says and sniffles, walking over and trying to give me her keys.

  “We can at least drive you. I don’t think you should do it alone,” Adam says softly. “You don’t have to.”

  “What if he throws you out?” Amy wipes under her eyes some more.

  “Why are you crying?” My heart melts but I put the keys back in her hands.

  “I don’t want you to get hurt.” She sniffles loudly. “We should come.” She sits down on her bed and drops her head in her hands.

  I slide onto the bed beside her. “It’s okay, Amy. I’m going to be okay. I planned to take a cab. I’ve prepared myself for the worst.” Deep down, I know it’s not something I can prepare for, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  She leans over and puts her head on my shoulder. “But your dad abandoned you when you were a baby. Face it, he’s not a really cool guy.”

  I gently push her head away but slide an arm over her shoulder.

  “We should come,” Adam says. He walks over and sits on the other side of me. I’m sandwiched in the middle of them again.

  “I have to do it alone,” I repeat. I swallow a few times. “I’m scared,” I tell them. “I am. But it helps, knowing you guys are here.” I stop, tapping my finger up and down on my leg. Not so long ago, they were strangers. Now they know me better than anyone—even Lexi.

  “No matter what…no matter what he says…” Adam shakes his head and jumps to his feet, smacking his head on the side of the upper bunk with a loud thunk. “Ow.” He rubs his head and scowls. “I will kick his ass if he hurts you.” And then he glances down with a half smile. “Well, I’ll risk getting my ass kicked ag
ain anyhow.”

  “I have my black belt in karate,” Amy says. She gets to her feet and does some fierce-looking roundhouse kick thing. Then she makes a loud sound and jumps, kicking her leg surprisingly high.

  Adam and I stare at her, our mouths open. “You have your black belt? For real?” I ask.

  She shrugs and sits back down. “It’s not all about the black belt. It’s about the training. I trained hard. I focused. What?” she asks. “I trained with my dad for five years.” She shrugs. “He doesn’t have his black belt yet.”

  “Seriously?” Adam shakes his head and pushes away from where he’s leaning and paces at the end of the bed. “Ninja Amy. That is seriously awesome.” He frowns then, stops pacing, and turns to me. “You sure you don’t want us to come along? For backup? Amy might come in handy.”

  I shake my head and swallow. And swallow again and swallow again. “I can handle it.” I still have hope though, that it’s going to go better than I fear—than they fear. Scooting off the bed, I take out my phone and the small purse I brought along so I don’t have to haul around my backpack and all my stuff. It holds my wallet, my phone, and my ChapStick. Adam glances at Amy, and they both shrug as they grab their bags. I grab my backpack to lock it up and walk slowly behind them. After we put away the bags, I flip to my Twitter page and click on recent tweets.

  “How many new followers?” Amy asks. I glance up; she’s peering over my shoulder.

  I look at her. “Only a few.”

  “We’ll work on it,” she says.

  “Thanks,” I say to both of them. “Here goes nothing.”

  chapter fourteen

  The cab smells faintly like cologne. I glance at the cabby with his shaved head and black leather jacket. I wonder if Adam wears cologne, and then shake him out of my thoughts and tell the cabby the address of Bob White.

  “How long will it take to drive to the Rockland district?” I ask.

  “About ten minutes,” he supplies in his growly voice, low but not unfriendly.

  Exactly what Google Maps predicted. My stomach rolls around.

  “You visiting relatives?” He’s polite in a nice-uncle way.

  “Sort of,” I tell him.

  “Fair enough,” he says and that’s it. He doesn’t say anything else. He must sense my desire not to have a long conversation. Cabdrivers must be like doctors or bartenders. They read people’s cues. Some want to talk. Some don’t.

  I lean back against the seat and stare out the window. There’s an epic battle inside me, but when I catch my reflection in the window, my face looks calm and void of emotion. Years of practice.

  I grab my phone from my purse and click to my Twitter page but can’t read anything. I don’t know what to tweet. This isn’t something I feel like being pithy about. It’s okay for now to know my friends are near.

  My eyes turn back to the world outside the cab window. We turn down a street, and it’s easy to tell we’re in a very well-to-do area. The houses are surrounded by beautiful trees and rock paths and stone fences.

  The further we go into the neighborhood, the bigger the houses get. My heart aches. It’s not that he couldn’t afford to have helped out. He didn’t want to. He just didn’t want to.

  We’re not destitute, the twins and Mom and I, but this area is in a different league. The majors. I try to breathe and, for the first time, understand how awful it must be for Josh when he has an asthma attack. I can’t seem to get in a big breath.

  “This is it,” the cabby says as he pulls up to a big brick house. I wonder if my mom has seen the house. It’s old but it’s obviously been well preserved or renovated. The front yard is huge, filled with beautiful trees and big decorative rocks with pebble paths. The house faces the water and mountains.

  “Nice place. You have to pay for views like this,” the cabby says as I stare at the house. He turns to me. “Everything okay, miss?”

  “Fine,” I manage and almost tell him to drive on. Just leave and take me with him. Instead, I lean forward to see what’s owed. I pull my wallet from my purse for some of the funny Canadian money, hand him a green, slippery twenty, and tell him to keep the change even though it’s less than fifteen dollars for the fare. I try to catch my breath, but my heart is pounding fast, like I’ve been running. I sit completely still, staring at the house, wondering what I’m doing—why this even remotely seemed like a good idea. I could have called or started off with an e-mail. But no. No. I want to see him. I want to meet him. And I want him to meet me.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I whisper to the cabdriver and reach for the door. He watches me, his face wrinkled up and worried. I open the door.

  I pause, considering whether I should ask the cabdriver to wait for me. Instead, I slam the door and fight an urge to puke from fear. I’m all alone. On a strange sidewalk. In a strange town. A strange country. I can’t swallow but take a deep breath. My hopes seem sillier now.

  The cabby drives away slowly, and I lift my hand and wave but don’t move from where I’m standing. I think about tweeting, but Adam and Amy will probably see it and know I’m stalling. They’ve got Twitter eyes on me.

  Instead, I lift my phone and take a picture of the house to show them later. The long brick driveway runs parallel to a stone path that leads up to a huge wraparound porch. I glance around to see if anyone noticed me snapping shots, but there’s still no one on the street. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

  I take a deep breath and wipe my clammy hands on my pants. Maybe I should have changed or at least put on some makeup. Then again, why should I try to impress him?

  Yes, get angry, I tell myself. It’s better than being afraid. “Okay,” I say softly to myself. “You can do this.”

  I stare at the doorbell, trying to force myself to push on it. I imagine pressing the buzzer and running. I lift my chin and close my eyes.

  I reach out and press the bell.

  chapter fifteen

  9. Parents only lie to their kids about Santa and the Easter Bunny.

  #thingsithoughtweretrue

  “Hello?” calls a woman’s voice. The tall door is half shut and blocks most of her face. I only see dark, curly hair.

  I’d hoped no one else would answer.

  I can’t tell her age. Is she a wife? Daughter? Maid?

  I straighten my back, refusing to feel bad for his family if he has one. I try to smile but my mouth quivers. I’m not the bad guy here. I didn’t do anything wrong. The choices Bob White made weren’t my fault.

  “I’m looking for Bob White,” I manage, and my voice sounds husky in my ears.

  I wait for her to slam the door or send out a pit bull to chase me away.

  “Yes?” she says and the door opens another crack. I see her whole face. She’s slight, almost fragile, with thick, puffer-fish lips, bloated and kind of fake looking. She’s wearing a black turtleneck that touches her chin. She’s older than I thought. Dark chestnut hair cascades down to her shoulders in waves. I wonder if she recognizes me—if she hates me.

  “Bob White. Who used to work in Seattle?” I prompt.

  “My Bob lived in Seattle. A long time ago.” She tilts her head and narrows her eyes and she opens the door fully, leaning her hip against it. My Bob. She’s not a housekeeper then.

  “Do you work with Bob?” She sounds polite but cautious.

  Taking a deep breath I say, “I’m Morgan McLean,” as boldly as possible, as if my name is something to be proud of and not the name of the girl in men’s underwear dancing on a video that went viral on YouTube a few months before. It suddenly occurs to me he may have seen the video.

  She smiles, but her eyes don’t flicker with recognition. My stomach drops as if I’m riding the rollercoaster at Tinkerpark. It’s both a relief and an insult. Unless she’s faking it, she’s never even heard of me. This woman. Bob’s pers
on.

  “Um. Is he home?” God. It sounds ridiculous. Soon I’ll be asking if he can come out to play.

  “Bob’s working.” She stands taller and she looks at me with narrower eyes. Suspicion crinkles the corners of them. “Can I ask what this is regarding?” She glances down at a silver watch on her wrist. “He doesn’t see solicitors.”

  My face heats. “Um. I’m not a solicitor.” Am I? “It’s, um, personal.” I fidget, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

  “Personal?” She takes a deep breath, looking me up and down with her nose twitching a little, as if I smell. Bad. I might because my underarms are soaking and there’s sweat on my upper lip despite the cool night air.

  “What’s this about?” She glances out past me and frowns as if she must notice there’s no car. “Has Bob done something?” She glances behind her. There’s a meow and a fluffy long-haired black cat swirls around her leg and swishes its tail at me.

  “No,” I say, watching the cat. “Nothing at all.” He hasn’t. Not in eighteen years. I glance up. “Do you expect him soon? Or is there a number I can reach him at? I’d really like to talk to him.” I didn’t plan for him not to be home when I rang the bell. I really should have thought this through more, but I’m good at blocking things—years of practice from a good teacher. My mom.

  The woman bends down and picks up the cat. The size of the cat in her arms makes her look even smaller. The cat stares at me with big, round, yellow eyes. They’re judgmental and find me lacking. The cat owner looks me up and down too. I see a flicker of suspicion in her eyes.

  “I don’t even know for sure if he’s the right Bob,” I say quickly. “I need to ask him some questions.”

  She strokes the cat and watches me. When the cat purrs, she pushes her hip off the door. “It’s important, isn’t it?” She’s studying my face. I wonder what she sees.

  “Very.”

  She stares at me so hard, I wonder if she’s peering inside my head and reading my thoughts. Uncomfortable and lost, I wonder if I should just turn and leave when she steps back and opens the door a little more.