So Over It

by Stephanie Morrill

  She stood there staring, her face frozen in a smile. “Wow. Thank you.” But both her voice and her smile wobbled.

  I caught Mom and Dad glancing at each other over her head.

  “It’s got everything,” Dad said, now doing the hard sell. “Leather interior, navigation system, speakers so good you’ll lose your hearing by the time you’re my age.”

  “It’s great,” Abbie said as fat tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes. “And it’s so . . . shiny.”

  I looked at the car. Dad hadn’t skimped a penny. This baby was tricked out. As tricked out as any silver Toyota Camry sedan could be. Complete with an installed car seat.

  “I don’t mean to be crying,” Abbie said, wiping away tears. “I’m not even sure why I am.”

  I gave the car another glance. I could venture a guess.

  “Here you guys did this incredibly nice thing for me, bought me a beautiful, expensive present, and . . .” Abbie said more, but her tears strangled her words beyond recognition. When Mom offered her arms, Abbie fell into them, sobbing.

  “It’s okay,” Mom said. She shot Dad a look, as if this whole mess was his fault. Dad frowned at the car, clearly unsure about where he’d gone wrong. I patted his shoulder with my free hand—Owen occupied the other—but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s stupid,” Abbie said. “After what I did, I don’t even deserve a birthday gift, and—”

  “Nonsense,” Mom said, her mouth a firm line.

  Abbie sniffled. “It’s a perfectly good car.”

  “Perfectly good?” Dad said. “She’s brand new. She’s beautiful. I don’t understand what the problem is.” He watched the two of them, waiting for an answer. “Well?”

  “Not now, Paul,” Mom said.

  “Want to know what kind of car I got for my sixteenth birthday?” he said. “I didn’t. I didn’t get my first car until I left for college, and that’s because I worked whenever I wasn’t at school and saved every blasted dime—”

  “Enough,” Mom snapped as Abbie started up again.

  “He’s right,” Abbie sobbed. “He’s right. I’m ungrateful.”

  I smoothed Owen’s hair and watched him blink at his bawling mother.

  “He didn’t mean it like it sounded,” Mom said in an attempt to soothe Abbie.

  “I didn’t mean it?” Dad sounded even more irritated. “Don’t tell my daughter what I did or did not mean.”

  Mom shot him a look, a “shut up” kind of look.

  My parents, the great communicators.

  I cleared my throat. “I think what’s going on”—they turned to me—“is Abbie’s just trying to deal with not having a . . . normal car.”

  “A normal car?” Dad said. “What’s more normal than a Toyota Camry? I see these things on the road all the time.”

  “Being driven by a sixteen-year-old?”

  Dad blinked. “Well, no.” And then it seemed to dawn on him. He turned to his weeping daughter. “Abbie, I assumed you’d prefer something like this. A two-door car with a baby is no fun. That’s what we had when Skylar was born, and . . . Well, I wasn’t thinking about how you might feel about a sedan.”

  No surprise. The psyche of high school girls wasn’t exactly my father’s expertise. When Abbie and I were little, he’d get down on the floor and wrestle with us. He’d let us style his hair and then drink “tea” with our dolls. But around the time I started needing Tampax, he stopped knowing how to interact with me.

  “You’re right.” Abbie wiped at her face, smearing her mascara. She’d been all made up and ready to hop in her new car and head to school. “You’re absolutely right. I need four doors, and Toyotas are great cars. It’s fine. It’s great.”

  Dad hesitated. “We can go look at other cars. Or other colors—”

  Abbie shook her head. “This makes the most sense. It’s just me . . . adjusting, I guess.” She took Owen from me and hugged him close. “Not that I’d give him up, but . . .”

  “I know.” Mom draped her arms around Abbie and Owen. “Trust me, I know.”

  It set off a strange mix of emotions inside me, watching as they bonded over an unexpected birth. As if Owen and I had plotted to come along early and ruin their lives. But I suppressed my hurt feelings. After all, Abbie didn’t need me sulking on her sixteenth birthday. Like the day wouldn’t be tough enough. A rocky night with Owen, summer school, no boyfriend, and a brand-new car that may as well have been a minivan. Not even a birthday party to look forward to.

  “I should go,” Abbie said with a heavy sigh. She returned Owen to me, but he didn’t seem to notice. Abbie frowned. “I know I gripe on the days he wants only me, but sometimes it’d be nice if he cried just a little bit.”

  “Don’t wish evil on your babysitters,” I said.

  Abbie wrapped her bare arms around Dad’s neck. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  His face creased with a frown my sister couldn’t see. “Happy birthday, little girl.”

  We stood there and watched as she adjusted the seat, turned the ignition in her new car, and backed down the drive. She grinned and waved before putting the Camry in drive and heading for school.

  “You should’ve gotten her a Jeep or something,” Mom said as Abbie turned off our street. “Something with four doors, but still sporty.”

  Dad sighed. “She’ll adjust. It just wasn’t what she expected.”

  “But when you buy an expensive gift like that, you want them to like it.”

  “Then maybe there’s something wrong with our parenting,” Dad said, “that we raised a kid who wouldn’t appreciate a brand-new car.”

  Mom gaped at him. Clearly that hadn’t been the right response.

  Before they could get into it, I turned and carried Owen back into the house. I cuddled him close to me, still unable to shake the feeling that I’d been unwanted, a disappointment. “Not you, pal.” I pressed my cheek against his. “We want you.”

  About a week ago, Mom had invited the Ross family to join us for Abbie’s birthday dinner. It’d seemed like a harmless idea, something to make Abbie feel special since all her stupid, catty friends had abandoned her. They’d been strangely excited about Owen before he arrived, had enjoyed buying him adorable yet impractical clothes. They visited in the hospital and took turns holding him, but now that the reality of his existence kept Abbie from being much of a sixteen-year-old girl, even the most faithful of her friends had fallen away. And I couldn’t believe I could now add Chris to that list.

  Maybe it was stupid to think a couple of fifteen-year-olds could make it, but I always thought Abbie and Chris would. I mean, somebody from high school has to, right? Like Brian and Amy Ross. And the idea of Chris breaking up with my sister . . . I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Connor murmured in my ear as we ate.

  I turned. “What?”

  “You’ve been staring at Chris all night.” He grinned. “I’m getting a little jealous.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize it.” I pushed my baby carrots around on my plate. Since running into Aaron on Friday, I hadn’t had much of an appetite. Go figure.

  Chris glanced at me and shifted in his seat. He murmured something to Abbie, who shrugged. How could they act so normal around each other? After our breakup, Connor and I had never felt comfortable around each other.

  “Skylar, any updates on your college plans?” Amy asked as she dished herself more mashed potatoes. “You’re not still thinking nursing, are you?”

  Abbie snickered. “Yeah, she’d be a real comfort to her patients.”

  Last winter, I’d briefly entertained the idea of becoming a nurse. I’d even declared it my major at Johnson County Community College. But my dreams of a noble profession died when Owen came along. When the anesthesiologist had given Abbie her epidural, I’d fainted. It left a nasty bruise on my forehead and my pride.

  “I’ve given up that idea.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what I want
to do.”

  Everyone but Cameron and Curtis stared at me. Obviously, I’d said something wrong.

  “What?” I said.

  Mom sighed and looked at Amy. “See what I mean?”

  Amy just smiled.

  “Hello?” I said. “What’s going on?”

  No one answered. Finally, Mom took a deep breath. “I think we’re all just confused about why you’re not pursuing what you love and excel at. Fashion. Design.”

  I poked at my carrots some more. “Let’s not go there.”

  “I agree,” Abbie said with a cheeky grin. “Tonight’s about me. We talk about Skylar enough the other 364 days of the year.”

  When everyone else laughed, I forced a smile. I appreciated the diversion, but what was with Abbie these days? She had a snarky comment for every ounce of attention I received. Like she didn’t get enough being sixteen and having a baby.

  We finished dinner without me having to say another word. As the parents cleaned up dishes, Cameron and Curtis rushed out back. When Connor, Chris, Abbie, and I joined them a few minutes later, they’d engrossed themselves in some game with discarded pinecones from our evergreens.

  Abbie relaxed in one of the teak chaise lounges, her auburn hair fanning out behind her. She closed her eyes and didn’t see what I did—the hungry way Chris looked at her. It lasted only a few seconds. By the time Abbie cracked open an eye, Chris had turned toward his little brothers. “Skylar, did you grab the monitor?” Abbie asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Mom and Dad are inside. I’m sure they’ll let us know if Owen’s crying.”

  Abbie sighed. “I’ll go get it.”

  “No, stay there.” I stood from the seat I’d just cozied into.

  “Thanks!” she called after me.

  I repeated to myself that this was a hard day for Abbie. That my sixteenth birthday party had been worthy of an MTV episode. My new car had been an ebony Acura RSX. I’d spent my morning sleeping and my afternoon loafing around the country club pool. I’d flirted with random guys and let Eli kiss me because I liked the idea of getting my first kiss the day I turned sixteen. He’d looked so happy when he leaned close and I didn’t push him away. And then he’d whispered in my ear . . .

  My mind flitted back to the party a year ago, to Eli finding me in the Starrs’ guest bedroom.

  “You’re okay.” Eli’s arms had circled my torso, lifted and pulled me close. My shirt rode up, but I couldn’t finagle it back down. When I’d bought it a couple weeks back, I wondered if it’d be a problem, but I assumed I’d always be capable of adjusting it. I hadn’t anticipated this. Whatever this was.

  “What’s going on?” My tongue felt heavy and foreign in my mouth—how was that possible?

  “You’re okay,” Eli repeated. “I’ve got you.”

  “Skylar?” Connor’s voice reached me.

  I blinked, finding myself not in the guest bedroom of the Starrs’ house, but on my back porch, one hand resting on the doorknob.

  I turned and found the three of them watching me. “What?”

  Connor stood. “You okay?”

  I nodded and pushed the corners of my mouth into a smile. “Yeah. Just . . .” I shook my head. “Zoned out for a second.”

  He looked like he didn’t buy it, like he knew I’d gone to my “other place.” But if I admitted that, he’d push even harder for me to open up about that night. The isolated moments I recalled seemed horrible enough. I feared what I’d discover if I pieced them together.

  18

  Heather beamed as she held up the pinned bodice of her wedding dress. “What do you think?”

  “It’s awesome.” I couldn’t help reaching for it, feeling the slippery silk between my fingers. “You’re going to look amazing.”

  “Why can’t it be August 1 yet?”

  “We’re close.”

  “Three weeks and two days.”

  I grinned. “See?”

  “Last night, I did the seating arrangements for the reception. I loved placing you and Connor beside each other.” Heather fit the bodice onto her sewing machine. “How’s everything going?”

  “Great.” I smoothed Heather’s veil on my lap. “It’s like when we first started going out. Before . . .” Heather still didn’t know about Jodi. “Before things got complicated.”

  Heather’s brow creased. “Complicated how?”

  “You know. Just how things tend to get complicated sometimes.”

  She leaned forward in her chair, wedding dress temporarily forgotten. “Complicated how?” she repeated, slower, more serious.

  I took a breath but just looked at her. If I told her about Jodi, she’d see what a horrible Christian I’d been. That I hadn’t wanted Jodi at church or youth group, that I’d been hostile toward her and did nothing to encourage her transformation. I’d made it all about me and Connor.

  “Did you and Connor have sex?” Heather asked.

  “What? No!”

  She burst into laughter. “Oh my gosh, what a relief. You kept using the word complicated and you clearly didn’t want to tell me what’d happened . . .”

  “I can’t believe you thought we’d do that. Never. Never ever.”

  Heather shrugged. “I’m glad you feel that way, but sadly it’s not always that cut-and-dried. You’re eighteen, you’re with the guy who you think could be ‘the guy’ . . . All those lines can get kinda fuzzy.”

  “My lines aren’t fuzzy.”

  “Good.” Heather assumed a sewing position but didn’t press her foot to the pedal. Something about the look on her face reminded me of a couple weeks ago, at Kaplan’s, when I’d been 99 percent sure she’d already lost her virginity.

  “But I know what you mean,” I said. “It’s easy to get fuzzy.”

  The sadness in her eyes made me ache. “You’ve no idea.” I bit my lip and focused on sewing beads to the trim of Heather’s veil. “Do you want to talk to me about something?”

  She sighed. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t talk about it.”

  A long silence ensued. I peeked and found Heather staring at the bodice of her rosy dress.

  “There was a guy,” she said, her voice clear and calm. “We’ll call him . . . Guy. Guy and I met in high school, at youth group, actually. He was amazing. Good-looking, funny, intelligent. And so passionate about the Bible. I thought he was it.”

  Her mouth quirked into a strange smile. “I had these fantasies about getting married and spending our evenings drinking coffee and having great theological discussions. He wanted to be a pastor, and I was going to be the perfect pastor’s wife.” Heather rolled her eyes at the memory of herself. “I was such a dork, Skylar. I asked for a mixer that year for Christmas because I wanted to learn how to bake the best cookies.”

  “You weren’t a dork,” I said.

  “That’s when I learned how to sew too. My mom didn’t know how, so I begged Grandma to teach me. It was all about him, Guy. It was always all about Guy.”

  “So what happened?”

  “It wasn’t as dramatic as you might think,” Heather said, fretting with a pin. “We used to go to this parking lot after dark. Sometimes we just talked. A lot of times we fooled around. This went on for a couple years, and then one night . . .” She shook her head. “We let it go too far.

  “Neither of us knew what to do on the drive home. We just sat there in the car like stones. And when we pulled into the driveway of my parents’ house, Guy said, ‘Maybe we should take a break.’ You’d think it’d have devastated me, but I felt so relieved. ‘Yeah, we should,’ I said. And that was basically the end of it.”

  “That was the end of it?” I said. “A break?”

  Heather nodded. “We saw each other at church, of course. But then he left for Bible college and I stuck around here for school. My parents are still friends with his parents. I hear stuff about him sometimes. He’s a pastor in Rhode Island and has twin gi
rls.” She shrugged, as if this were no big deal.

  “Do you still love him?”

  Heather frowned. “I’ve thought about that a lot, about if I ever did love him. Have you ever read The Great Divorce by C. S. Lewis?”

  I shook my head.

  “Okay, then never mind, because I can’t explain it like he does.”

  “Try.”

  “Well, he’s got this theory that when you’re in heaven and looking back on your life, you’ll feel that everything was for good. Even those really sucky times, you’ll see how it all pointed heavenward. On the other side, if you’re in hell looking back on your life, you’ll feel everything was for bad. That you were always in hell. Make sense?”

  I hadn’t thought so hard since I took my last final. “Kinda.”

  “Okay. Well, I think it’s like that with me and Guy. If it’d all worked out and it was me with him in Rhode Island with twin girls, I’d probably think I truly loved him in high school. But now, feeling what I do for Brent, what I had with Guy doesn’t seem like love at all. It seems like . . . nothing.”

  I stared at the shopping bag full of “whisper pink” tulle. “And this is why you won’t wear white at your wedding? Because of one night in high school?”

  Heather blinked at me. “A white dress symbolizes purity. Other women disregard it. I refuse to.”

  “But what about forgiveness?” I bent my head, focused once again on the beading. I didn’t want Heather seeing how my eyes had pooled. “Some of us have done a lot worse stuff than you. You’ve always told me I’m forgiven, so why doesn’t that apply to you?”

  Heather paused. “I guess it’s like with Abbie. She’s forgiven for having sex outside of marriage, but God didn’t take away Owen. There’s still cause and effect.”

  “I think that’s an excuse,” I said. “I think everyone has forgiven you except you. And you should wear a white dress.” I couldn’t say what I wanted to most—that I needed her to wear a white dress. I needed her to teach me to forgive myself.

  Heather’s mouth pressed into a firm line. “I have to get ready for work.” She left the room, leaving no question in my mind that the time for me to leave had come.