George adjusts his glasses. “Wait? Back up. You were involved but she didn’t know you were into girls?”
I rub my nose with the back of my hand. “Stupid, right? Like, of all the friends I could make in Rome, I chose the guy with the gay moms and the girl who’s been secretly closeted all these years. I panicked, George. It was so easy to act like it was all new for me, too, and Mary Carlson was so sweet and excited. I didn’t want to bring her down and then I didn’t want to hold her back.”
“If you set it free, you know it loves you if it comes back sort of thing?”
“Stupid, but yes.”
He drums his fingers on the desk in a thinking sort of way. “Not really. But I still don’t understand what happened.”
I raise my hands up in frustration, anger rising quick as sap. “Deirdre got ahold of my online profile under my old name and showed Mary Carlson. Including some super-incriminating, but misleading, photos of me and my best friend, Dana, from a party over the weekend. I’d planned on explaining everything to her, but now she hates me. I mean, hates me.”
“We hate her.”
I glance at him. “Mary Carlson?”
“No. Deirdre. She’s controlling and manipulative and a mean gossip. Nowhere near good enough for Mary Carlson. Even Jessica from her throne of judgment said something to the same effect.”
I sit up a little taller. “Well, as petty as that is, it does make me feel better.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I guess the first thing I need to do is tell Gemma and Betsy, maybe even Jessica, the truth.”
George nods. “That’d be a start. Want my help?”
“Yeah. Call you later?”
George pats me on the back. The teacher whose classroom we’d invaded walks back in and eyes us critically. We’re gone before she can say anything.
Thirty-Six
I MEET GEORGE AND GEMMA and Betsy after exams are over at this new little coffee shop downtown. It feels weird to do this in a public place, but then I guess I’m also going for that old trick of breaking things to people where they can’t flip out on you.
The smell of roasted coffee beans is a nice counterbalance to the terror in my gut as I step across the threshold. They’ve already got drinks and Betsy’s cozied up to a bagel with cream cheese. George holds up a cup for me.
“White chocolate peppermint mocha? It was the special.”
Even my inner coffee snob must be hiding behind a wall or something, because I smile. “Great, thanks.”
I slide into a chair, nerves hammering me like dime-sized hail. Gemma wastes no time.
“George said you needed to talk to us.”
I sip the drink and grimace at the sugar, then take another sip. It’s actually not so bad. Gemma rolls her fingers on the table. Betsy chews and looks between us.
I slide my phone across the table. “You were so curious about my lack of social media profile. Here.”
Gemma grabs it up and looks at it, confusion knitting her brow. But she doesn’t hand it back and I see her sleuthing mind tick as she puts the puzzle pieces together. She passes it to Betsy and looks back at me. “Talk.”
I cup my hands around the tall mug, letting the warmth on my hands give me some sort of false strength. “It started with my dad. I mean, not that.” I point at my phone. “But this.” I make a circle with my finger that encompasses all of us, then glance at George.
He smiles and nods for me to go on.
“So the deal is, I’m a lesbian.”
Betsy stops chewing. “The whole world’s gone mad. First Mary Carlson, now you.” She looks down at herself. “Will I be next?”
Gemma rolls her eyes. “Girl, there is no way. You are way too into the penis.”
Betsy purrs. “Speak for yourself, Doctor Gemma.”
George turns bright red.
My news doesn’t seem like it’s even phasing Gemma. I bluster. “No, Mary Carlson wasn’t first. That, Jo Guglielmi, that’s me. My old life in Atlanta.”
Betsy shrugs and keeps chewing, “So what? You wanted a walk on the other side or something. Not be bugged about stuff, I get it.”
“Y’all aren’t mad?”
George clears his throat. “I told them about Atlanta, Jo, before you got here.”
Gemma crosses her arms. “Should we be mad? I mean, okay, so you were hiding this part of yourself. But was hanging out with us fake? Were we part of a joke to you or something? You seem pretty serious about your faith, and besides that liking-girls stuff, it seemed like you were fitting in with us pretty good.”
I take another sip of my sugar with coffee. “Y’all are great, and that’s what’s made this so hard. I didn’t expect to find a group of friends here. My plans were to lie low, get through the year, and get on with my life. But my dad and I had this stupid agreement, and then my stepmom was trying not to lose her baby and no stress was part of the prescription. When I fell for Mary Carlson and she wanted to tell everybody about us, I couldn’t deal. And now she’s got Deirdre and she hates me.”
Gemma throws up both hands. “Whoa. You? And Mary Carlson? And I was sleeping between y’all in that bed?”
Betsy leans across the table. “Wait a minute. You like her?”
I cover my face with my hands. This is all so convoluted. The whole story is a jumble and they keep cutting in and I need to make sure they understand. “I don’t just like her. I love her. And I love you guys. You’ve made this last four months not just tolerable but awesome. I miss my friends in Atlanta, but they don’t always get the Jesus part of me.”
Betsy looks at Gemma. “Plan.”
Gemma nods. “Total plan.”
Then together, directed toward me, “You’ve got to get her back.”
George adds, “We hate Deirdre. She’s manipulative. It’s weird how she can spin stories to put us in a bad light, twisting whatever Mary Carlson says we said to make it seem like we’re not still her friends. She has all the warning signs of an abusive relationship, and we want Mary Carlson out of it.”
I look at each of their faces, all locked on me like they’re waiting for the go-ahead. I slug the last dregs of syrup from my cup. “I am so confused. Y’all don’t care?”
Gemma rolls her eyes. “It’s not our fault you mistook our momentary shock for some kind of can’t-handle-your-business bigots. Our earlier surprise was about Mary Carlson—though we should have probably seen it coming—we were just too close to the tree to see her forest.”
Betsy guffaws. “I’m so glad you didn’t say bush.”
Gemma cuts her off with a glare but there’s a smirk of acknowledgment that her bad pun was sort of funny. She goes on. “Though we realize there’s way more to you and your story that you’re going to have to share, right now the pressing issue is getting Mary Carlson out of the clutches of the she-devil. She won’t talk to you?”
I shake my head.
“At all?” Betsy adds.
I pull up the pictures from the GSA dance. “She saw these.”
Betsy grabs the phone. “What the hell, Joanna? You cheated on her?”
“No, it was last weekend. That’s my best friend, Dana, and the kiss was a complete, and pretty hilarious, mistake. It’s not at all what it looks like.” I scroll back to older pictures of Dana and other girls and ones of me and Dana goofing around. “See, just a friend.” I slump back, then sit up again. “But to me these pictures aren’t even the worst of it. I totally lied to Mary Carlson. When she was going through all the pain of deciding to come out and be brave, I didn’t help her. I sat back and watched her spiral. I acted like I was scared. I could have made it better for her.”
They’re all quiet as they digest what I said.
“That’s definitely bad,” Gemma finally acknowledges.
Betsy leans toward me. “So did you guys, you know, um, do whatever it is that constitutes losing the V-card? Girl-girl style?”
This time I’m the one blushing under Betsy’s stare.
“Um. No. Not your business. But no.”
Betsy sits back. “Well, that’s good. I lost mine to a jerk and it wasn’t till Jake came along that I even thought about kissing a boy again.”
There’s so much I don’t know about them. So much they don’t know about me. What an idiot I’ve been staying scared and cloistered and hidden from the wider world. I should have stood up to my dad from the beginning.
Gemma holds up a finger. “By my George. I think I’ve got an idea.”
He grins.
“You do?” I ask. Hope blossoms in my chest. If they’re all on my side, maybe Mary Carlson will listen to me. Let me apologize with all of me laid out in plain view for her to see. She may still not want me, but maybe she won’t hate me.
“Can we come over in a little bit? I’ve got to run now, promised my mom I’d go by the cleaners for her before they close,” Gemma says.
“You want to come over? To my house?”
Betsy cocks her head. “Well, duh. You’re our friend, aren’t you? I’m going to bring Jake, too, if that’s okay. And tell him everything?”
I swallow a lump of fear. Jake’s a cool guy. Even more so than I realized based on what Betsy said earlier. “Yeah, go ahead.”
“So.” Gemma is hesitant.
“Yeah?”
“Do you want us to call you Jo?”
I smile. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve gotten used to Joanna. Besides, it was my mom’s middle name and she’s probably happy someone is calling me that.”
At home that night, Elizabeth orders in pizza. Both she and Dad seem happy when I tell them I have friends coming over. The group arrives together and Jake scoops me up in a massive hug as he walks through the door.
“What was that for?”
“You’re going to save us from the shrew. Besides, now that I know you aren’t into guys, I can hug you all I want without my girlfriend getting pissed.”
Betsy slugs his arm. “Maybe she doesn’t want your big meaty arms groping on her.”
I laugh, and even though I’m still hurting in a big way over Mary Carlson, I also feel sort of filled up. Like maybe things are going to work out okay. I hug him back, then let go.
“Come on, y’all. We’ve got pizza and tons of Christmas cookies and then you can help me hatch this plan.”
My dad is charming and Elizabeth even cuter as she gasps over the amount of pizza we eat. They keep cutting eyes at each other and I can’t believe how I could have gone for all those years oblivious to the huge hole in my dad’s heart. But now that it’s filled, I hope it never returns.
“Um, we’re going to head up to my room if that’s okay. We have a thing to work on.”
“A thing?” My dad gives me the What are you up to? look.
Gemma pipes in. “A Christmas surprise for someone.”
Elizabeth grabs my dad’s hand. “Come on. Let’s clear out so they can work in here. We can watch a movie in our room. If . . .” She points at each of us, then to the kitchen. “This is spotless at the end of your planning period. And try not to eat all the cookies.”
I salute her. “Yes, mother dear.”
This earns me a wink from Dad.
Once they’re gone, we settle around the table. Jake keeps twirling the built-in lazy Susan to get to different flavors of Althea’s famous cookies.
Gemma pulls a piece of notebook paper out of her pocket and unfolds it neatly, smoothing it flat as she places it on the table. “Here’s what we know. Mary Carlson loves her family.” She writes family with the pen she’s pulled from her other pocket.
“Her brother,” Betsy interjects.
“Sleeping in,” Gemma says.
“Weird art,” Jake adds.
“Shopping.” Betsy taps the paper.
Gemma scrawls everything down.
“Golf,” says George.
At that, both Gemma and Betsy look at each other and crack up. “That should have told us something right there,” Betsy says.
“Honesty,” I say, my voice small as all this talk of Mary Carlson is making me feel heavier by the second.
Gemma pats my hand. “Don’t you worry your tiny lying brain. Your heart is true and that’s all that matters.”
They scrawl and scratch and whisper while I clean away plates and refill drinks.
“We have a plan,” Betsy squeals.
“A plan to show Mary Carlson Deirdre’s true nature and get drama girl out of the picture.” Gemma taps her pen on the paper.
“Look it over.” George pulls out my chair.
Jake hands me a peanut butter cookie.
I look at their ideas and add a few of my own. Each step needs a little adjustment, but overall it’s not bad. At the very least, I think it might get her talking to me again.
Thirty-Seven
WEDNESDAY AT CHURCH GROUP, B.T.B. is there alone and Pastor Hank is in a huddle with a couple of kids, ignoring the room at large. “Hey, buddy, how’s it going? Ready for Christmas?”
“Yes. I love the singing and the food and the time with my parents and sister.”
I squish against him. “What about the presents?”
“They are not why we have the day.” Then he blushes. “But they are okay. Especially if they are new elephant things or T-shirts.”
“Noted.” I wink at him like my dad would.
“Jo . . . anna?”
“Yep?”
“I miss you at my house.” He shifts his weight from leg to leg. “I think Mary Carlson misses you, too.”
The room condenses around me. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes. She never smiles up to her eyes when she talks to Deirdre. And Deirdre is a very good lighting technician, but she is not a good girlfriend.”
“Why isn’t she a good girlfriend?”
“Mary Carlson is still in love with you and this makes Deirdre bossy and very pushy.”
My breath catches in my throat, in the air, in the space hanging between us. “How do you know?” I whisper. “That she loves me. You know, I love her, too.”
B.T.B.’s smile pushes the air away from me, giving me space to breathe. “I am perceptive. Like an elephant.” He pokes each of my cheeks. “You wore it here, on your happy face. But you were also scared.”
“I’m not scared anymore, B.T.B.”
“Then you should tell her.”
“Do you really think she still loves me?”
He crouches down so we are nose to nose. “Yes.”
I take his hands. “I have an idea, to apologize to her.”
“I would be happy to help you become my sister-in-law.”
“Let’s work on being friends again first. Okay, buddy?” I raise a fist. He bumps it in return.
Pastor Hank calls the room to order and I send up a silent prayer. Dear heavenly Mother, thank you for this opportunity to tell my truth. Thank you for Dad and Elizabeth, for Dana, George, Gemma, Betsy, Jake, and B.T.B. But mostly thank you for the chance for forgiveness from Mary Carlson. And I’d really appreciate if this could not be one of those country-music, unanswered-prayers-being-the-best-thing scenarios. I really like her. Amen. Joanna.
The next day George comes over, exactly as planned. “Ready for shopping?”
I grab my phone and my bank card and lock the door behind me. We’re headed to the mall to meet up with Gemma, who’s already there with Mary Carlson and Deirdre. It was torture getting ready after they called to tell me they’d gotten things set on their end. How do I dress? Like the sweet Joanna or the badass Jo from Atlanta? I opt for in between. Skinny jeans tucked into tall buckled black boots, with my cherished, just slightly too-tight Paramore T-shirt and a black cardigan. At the last second I slick back my hair and coat my lips with gloss. There’s no way I’m going to let Deirdre upstage me.
In George’s car, I’m a nervous wreck. “This part seems crazy. Isn’t it going to be weirdly obvious when I just happen to be shopping with you?”
“Gemma is going to handle all of that. All you have to do is be you
rself. We’re just going to shine some light on Deirdre’s true nature and let her dig her own grave.”
“So, they really are together? Serious? B.T.B. called Deirdre her girlfriend. You know, breaking people up . . . not my style.”
“Which is why all you have to do is be yourself. And in answer to your question, no, I don’t think it’s serious. The feeling I get is Deirdre sensed a weakness, jumped in, and now she’s hanging on so hard, Mary Carlson doesn’t have any room to breathe or think. Deirdre told me they were dating, but Mary Carlson hasn’t confirmed it. I think they’re only hanging out and Deirdre is wishful thinking.”
But I can’t calm down. I want to see Mary Carlson so bad, to maybe have a chance to explain just a little bit, really anything, to her, but I’m also kind of insanely jealous. Which only makes me madder at myself. Because one, jealousy is not cool. And two, I did this to myself.
“It’s going to be fine.” George turns into the lot and I swear I think I’m going to hyperventilate. “What are we shopping for?”
“What?” I say.
“Shopping. It’s why we’re supposed to be here. Have you bought stuff for everyone on your list?”
“Yeah, wait, no. Baby stuff. I want to get the baby something. But Gemma, too. And Betsy.” I grab his arm. “Wait, that’s good, right? You’d be helping me with that. That’d make sense for why we’re here together. And are you getting something for Gemma? I could help with that, too.” I’m babbling.
“Genius.” He texts Gemma and tilts it so I can see. The ship has landed. We’ll walk past American Eagle at 11:18.
His phone buzzes back. Aye aye, my captain.
“Bet you’re glad it didn’t work out between the two of us.” I elbow him before unbuckling my seat belt to get out. “She met the moms?”
He blushes. “They love her.”
“You met her folks?”
He sighs. “That was a little tougher. I’m not really the picture of their ideal boyfriend for her, but they’re dealing. Her brother came home from Georgia Tech and he and I were friends from the chess club—don’t laugh—when I was a freshman and he was a senior. He’s smoothing things a bit.”
Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit Page 24
