“Here,” I say, plopping the bag on the table.
Ellie stares at it and pauses for a second before asking, “You got me something from Target?”
“What’s that?” The little boy next to Ellie uses his wand to point at the bag.
“Harry, stop,” the mom says. “Let these nice young people eat their dinner.”
“Wait.” Ellie turns to face the family, looking from the mom to the kid and back again. “Is his name actually Harry, or are you just calling him Harry because you’re here?”
“Actually Harry.” The mom smiles. “We’re kind of big fans.”
Ellie’s eyebrows go up and stay up. She turns back to me and mouths “okay” in a way that suggests maybe it’s not. The mom’s back stiffens and she swivels young Harry back toward his dinner yet again.
“So, Target?” Ellie asks, nodding at the bag.
“Huh? Oh, no!” I insist, recovering from the interruption. “This is just the bag I used to carry your presents here.” A nervous, lunatic kind of laugh bubbles up from my throat.
“Did you say presents, as in plural?”
“Um … yeah … is that okay? I mean, it doesn’t matter if you got me only one.” Crap. That came out wrong. “I mean, I just wanted to get you these things.”
Ellie has that look she gets sometimes where her mouth cuts a straight line across her face, separating her eyes from the rest of her body, like she’s two different people. “Really, Dimmi, you shouldn’t have.”
“No, El, I wanted to.” I reach forward and take her hand in mine, and for a minute, she lets me. Then she pulls back again. “And really, only one of them is a present, as in an actual thing.”
“What?” Her confusion in this moment is exactly what I’d hoped for. I want her to be surprised.
“Okay, let me explain. First, the present,” I say, and pass her the wrapped jewelry box. Ellie takes it and kind of weighs it in both hands. “Open it.”
She tears the paper off and flips the lid of the box up. “A pearl. That’s my birthstone,” she says, looking up at me.
“Yeah.”
“Thanks, Dimmi, it’s beautiful.” Ellie takes the necklace out and puts it on. She’s wearing a black sweater, and the lone pearl set against a silver pendant really stands out. It looks great. She looks great.
“Janina helped me pick it out.”
“Hmm,” she says. “Should I be nervous about the two of you?”
“What? No!” I’m about to go to DEFCON 1 when Ellie laughs.
“Relax, you goober, I’m kidding.”
“Oh, good, okay.”
I’m about to give her gift number two when Ellie says, “Wait! I have to give you my present.” She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a small, soft package. The wrapping paper has the words “Punk Rock” in the colors of the British flag.
“Where did you find this paper?”
“Online. Go ahead.” She smiles and nods at it.
I carefully peel the tape back and unfold the paper.
“Oh my god, Dimmi, just tear it,” she laughs.
“I don’t want to ruin it.”
Ellie rolls her eyes, but it’s more playful than not.
Inside I find what look like two long, freaky glove fingers. I have no idea what they are or what they’re for. But I look up at her and smile anyway. “Thank you! Where did you find these?”
“I made them.”
“What? Really?” If I had any doubt that Ellie loved me, it just evaporated. I want to get up, go around the table, and hug her. Maybe I don’t know what these things are for, but she made them. For me!
“Cool!” Harry the scamp says. Before I know what’s going on, he reaches across the table, grabs one of the finger blankets out of my hand, and sticks his wand in it.
Is that what this thing is, a blanket for my wand? But why did she make two?
Harry’s mom, who now seems as annoyed with us as she is with her own kid, snatches my new wand warmer out of her son’s hand and looks at it before she passes it back across the table. “What is it?” she asks.
At the same instant I say, “A wand blanket,” Ellie says, “Drumstick warmers.”
Drumstick warmers? Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed my drumsticks getting cold. Still, she made them and that’s all that matters.
I laugh, trying to act like my wand blanket comment was a joke, but I catch Ellie looking at me through squinted eyes, trying to figure if maybe I didn’t really know what her present was supposed to be. I want to tell her that it doesn’t matter what the present is, the fact that she made it for me is … everything. Really. Everything.
But I don’t. Instead, I steamroll ahead.
“Okay,” I say, trying to move us past this, “time for my next present.”
The coupon book is really just a few sheets of paper stapled together. Each one says:
This coupon entitles the bearer to one free back rub from Dmitri Digrindakis.
Expiration date: Never.
I’m not the best artist in the world, and now, looking at it through Ellie’s eyes, I can see how amateurish this gift must seem. Too late; the cat, or in this case coupon book, is literally out of the bag, so I hand it over.
Ellie’s mouth scrunches up into a weird little circle, like she’s trying to figure out what this is supposed to be, as she flips through the pages.
“I saw it in a movie,” I blurt out. “I thought it would be cute.”
“It’s very sweet,” Ellie offers without a lot of emotion.
This whole evening has felt off-kilter from the start. The restaurant, the kid, my not knowing what the drumstick warmers were, and now my dopey coupon book. I’m feeling embarrassed and I just want to get things over with so I hand Ellie her third and final present. This is either going to be what saves this date, or buries it once and for all.
Ellie feels through the wrapping paper and tries to guess what’s inside. “It’s a picture frame?”
I nod.
“Did you get a picture of us framed? That’s very sweet, Dimmi.”
I shake my head no. “Open it.”
Ellie squints again—god, she’s cute when she does that—clearly wondering what I’m up to now as she shreds the “A Joyous Holiday Season” wrapping paper. She stares at the photo for a long minute before looking up at me in confusion.
“Um … you got me a school locker?”
“No, that’s a picture of your locker.”
“You’re giving me my own locker?” she laughs.
“No! I switched lockers with Joe Loskywitz. You and I are neighbors now, for the rest of the school year!”
Ellie’s laughter peters out and her jaw goes slack. She doesn’t say a single word; she just stares at me in disbelief. I have rendered her speechless.
BOOM!
Nailed it!
Eliana
In the sanctuary of my room-hole, I look over the gifts from Dmitri:
One coupon book for massages. (Do I even like massages? Enough to get a coupon book full of them? I hope he doesn’t mean the type of massage where he oils me up and lights a bunch of scented candles and plays music with whales dying in the background. Will he notice if I “forget” to use the coupons?)
One necklace with a pearl. (This was kind of sweet, but I also kind of hate my old-lady birthstone. How often am I expected to wear this? Necklaces make me feel like I’m choking.)
The locker. The mother-effing locker.
Things I like to do at my locker:
1. Remove and/or insert my books
2. Store items, such as my backpack, jackets, and a light snack
3. Look into my minuscule mirror to make sure I don’t have a stray booger
4. Spin the lock at precisely the right frequency so that I land on the correct numbers to open it. This works approximately 9.2 percent of the time (not an actual statistic).
Things I don’t like to do at my locker:
1. Linger
2. Hang out
>
3. Chat
4. Make out
5. Stay any longer than is necessary, thus making me late to class
I already have my schedule perfectly planned out: how long it takes to walk from one side of the school to the other, which passing periods I can use the bathroom on a normal day and which passing periods I can use the bathroom when I need extended time. Having Dmitri at the locker next to me is going to mess all of that up. What if he wants to cuddle? Whisper sweet nothings in my ear? Make me cash in my massage coupons? I will be perpetually late for class and will lose all of my valuable bathroom time. I’ll end up with boogers in my nose, a bladder infection, and anemia for lack of snack eating time. This is terrible.
Stressful.
Panic inducing.
I start to call Janina, then remember she is in Hawaii. I try anyway.
No answer.
I wish I had someone else to call.
In the past month, some of my old friends, the ones who couldn’t handle Depressed Eliana, started coming up to me at my locker (and you know how I feel about locker time). I didn’t know what to make of it. They wanted to talk about Dmitri. They wanted to giggle. They wanted details. Part of me felt really good having these people, these once-ago friends, show interest in me. But the bigger part of me, the one that I’m wielding as a protective metal shield, says not to trust this. Sample conversation:
“Hi, Ellie! You look so cute! Did Nina do this to your hair?” Daisy King greeted me at my locker a week before winter break. She leaned forward and futzed with my bangs, as though it were a totally normal occurrence and not the first time she’s said two words to me in six months. I’m sure my flinch was noticeable. I felt both embarrassed and justified. I don’t like people who make me feel two emotions at once. Maybe that’s why I’m so conflicted about Dmitri.
“Uh, yeah, she cuts my hair. It’s kind of her thing.” I slammed my locker, not in any sort of dramatic fashion but with enough force to punctuate my need to move to my next class. Daisy wasn’t getting the signal. Perhaps in her estrangement she forgot about my propensity for punctuality and perfection in a school setting. Also, alliteration.
“So you and Dmitri…?” She said this as a question to which I knew the answer.
“Yep.” I nodded and sidestepped a bit, trying to get the message across that class was happening for us all and it was time to move on. No such luck.
“He’s pretty hot. How did…” She started the question I knew she wanted to finish with “you get him?” “… you guys meet?”
“We sort of bumped into each other, you could say. We have a couple of classes together.”
“Think you can get us into Unexpected Turbulence’s next show?” “Us,” I assumed, was the group of girls who once occupied space on my floor for slumber parties and would have known the story of me and my first boyfriend if they’d hung around.
“I don’t really have that kind of clout. I mean, with Dimmi, yeah, but the clubs are all run by weird old dudes with dangly earrings. The shows usually only cost a few bucks anyway.” I worried that sounded bitchy. Not that I had any reason to worry, when Daisy totally shat upon me and probably was only interested in speaking to me now because I am part of the dating pool.
“Cool. I get it.” And she smiled, like she didn’t want me to think she was being bitchy. Like she cared what I thought about her. It was all so 180.
“I really have to get to class.” I thumbed down the hallway and started up on my toes to walk.
“I know how you hate to be late.” And just like that I felt that connection we once had. When she knew my favorite foods and how I never slept in pajama bottoms because of how they scrunched under the sheets and where I stored my replica Golden Snitch. It was too confusing, so I ran off toward my math class with a quick “Gotta go.”
We had several exchanges like that recently, and I don’t know what they meant. Does she want to be friends again? Does she miss me? How much of it has to do with Dmitri?
Back to Dmitri and my locker.
His locker.
His-and-her lockers.
“Ava!” I call to my littlest sister, and she stumbles up the stairs in quick response.
“Yeah?” She peeks her head into my closet door, her cute round face dimpled with grape jelly.
“Can you walk on my back, please? It’s bothering me again.”
“Yes!” she exclaims. I lie on my futon, stomach down, hands flat by my sides. Ava carefully pads her bare feet up and down my back. I don’t know how much longer we will be able to do this. Ava already feels heavier. I listen for the necessary cracks, and the tension begins to ease.
“Okay!” I scream out for her to stop, a little crushed but definitely relaxed. Ava jumps off me, the extra pressure pumping a breath of wind from my lips. She bounces to the floor and kisses my cheek, leaving behind a sticky calling card.
As I lie deflated and loose, I remember the massage coupons. Dmitri’s massages never leave me feeling like this. When Dmitri massages me, there are always those moments where his hands slip forward a bit, and I wonder where they’re headed. Instead of relaxing me, I’m left contemplating how far we are going to go.
I tuck the coupons and the locker picture underneath the sweaters-I-never-wear section of my closet shelf. I’ll worry about them later. For tomorrow is Christmas at the Digrindakis house. I think I have enough to worry about.
Dmitri
“No, like thees: spaaaahn-ah-koh-peee-tah.” My mother draws out each syllable as she tries to get Ellie to say the word with the proper accent.
“Spanikahpita,” Ellie says, the first “a” voiced like the “a” in “plan” instead of the “a” in “father.” I’m not sure, but I think Eliana might be screwing with my mom, which in one sense is pretty funny, but in another makes me uncomfortable. If she is, my mother misses it.
“You good girl,” Mom says, chuckling as she pats Ellie on the shoulder.
At my insistence, Ellie arrived early. I wanted her—I wanted us—to have a chance to settle in before the rest of the company got here. I figured it was better than having the entirety of the Minnesota Hellenic Society surround and smother Ellie the second she stepped through the door. Now Ellie can establish a dominant position, like an army defending a beach. (I have no idea if this theory will work.)
BING! BONG!
Our doorbell is So. Freaking. LOUD! Nicky and I have begged Dad to replace it, but he says the bell has gravitas, though that wasn’t the word he used. “We want peoples to know we are family to take serious.” He puffed his chest out when he told us this. Whatever.
“Dmitri, you answer door.” My mother nods in the direction of the deafening sound.
“C’mon,” I say to Ellie, but don’t take her hand. Holding hands in front of my family feels too intimate. For the first time I understand her feelings about not being affectionate in public. Though I do wish we could be more affectionate than we have been in private.
BING! BONG!
“We’re coming,” I scream, the stress of the day starting to make me crack.
The late afternoon sun is directly opposite our house, so when I open the door we’re greeted by a short but hulking mass of shadow; a slightly misshapen head tapers to puffy arms as if the beast’s shoulders don’t exist. It—the gender can’t yet be discerned—is breathing heavily, like Darth Vader, only the sound is tinged with a phlegmy rasp, like it isn’t getting enough air.
“Dimmi-moo!” Aunt Maxine steps into the light of the foyer and Ellie lets a small peep escape her lips; the bulging eye—Aunt Maxine’s sunglasses failing to shield it from view—is even bigger than usual. Damn, I forgot to warn Ellie. “This moost be you girlfriend!”
Aunt Maxine stretches her arms forward to grab Ellie’s face, leaning in and preparing to kiss Ellie on both cheeks as she does. While I can’t smell Aunt Maxine’s breath from here, I’ve been victimized by this move enough times in my life to know what Ellie is about to experience. Oh god, she is goi
ng to dump me for sure.
But then Ellie pulls a quintessentially (thank you, PSAT prep) Ellie move. Just before Aunt Maxine’s tentacles can snake their way around the back of Ellie’s neck, locking her in an old-Greek-lady death grip, my wonderful, beautiful girlfriend steps back and sticks her hand out. “Hi, I’m Eliana. It’s nice to meet you.”
It seems such a simple and obvious counter to the Maxine Maul that I’m stunned no one has thought of it before. So is Aunt Maxine. She stands there with her arms straight and perpendicular to her body in a full Frankenstein pose, completely unsure of what to do next. Eliana takes it a bit further when she clasps one of the two hands hovering in front of her face and shakes it.
“Um, yes” is all Aunt Maxine can manage to say.
This time I do take Ellie’s hand—survival trumping embarrassment—and pull her out of the foyer and toward the back of the house.
“Where are we going?” she whispers, a hint of nervousness in her voice, probably wondering what horror awaits her next.
“Away from here,” I mutter in response.
I glance over my shoulder and see Aunt Maxine has finally lowered her arms. She remains standing there in a state of utter confusion.
BING! BONG!
Another guest. Someone else can get it this time.
Eliana
The eye. The GIGANTIC eye. W.T.F. “Dude, you should have warned me. Seriously. Was that some kind of a joke?”
Dmitri chuckles at this, then sees my face of resolve. His lips straighten immediately. “No! I wouldn’t do that! I’m just so used to her bulging eye, I didn’t think it was an important detail.”
“Dimmi, all details are important. Your family is testing me. And I don’t like to fail a test.”
Dmitri and I are hiding out in the basement. And not the finished, shag-carpeted, couch-bearing section of his basement. We’re talking laundry room, granny panties hanging from a line, concrete floor replete with hidden mousetraps, crawl space filled with melting cardboard boxes covered with giant Sharpie scrawl. It’s cold even though we’re standing next to the furnace. Every time the heat kicks on, I jump at the sound of flame hitting gas.
Girl on the Ferris Wheel Page 13
