Rock Bottom Girl

by Score, Lucy

  Amie Jo took a gasping breath and a swig of wine before passing me the bottle.

  “I’m having an out-of-body experience here,” I admitted. “I thought both of you had the perfect lives.”

  Zinnia and Amie Jo shared a slightly hysterical laugh.

  “Out of all of us, you’re the happy one,” Amie Jo said accusingly.

  “Happy? I’m not happy. I’m fucking miserable. My life is one failure after another!”

  Zinnia snorted. “I forgot Chandler’s birthday this year. I packed him up and sent him off to a friend’s for a sleepover because I had a grant I needed to finish. His little friend’s mom told me the next day when I picked him up that Chandler told them it was his birthday. I’m regularly a not-good-enough mother.”

  “My kids learned from me that appearances are much more important than actually being happy,” Amie Jo announced. “I’ve taught them that great selfies on Instagram are more important than being a good person.”

  “Yesterday, Edith told me she hated me because I let Rose watch two movies back-to-back because I couldn’t stand to hear another word come out of her sassy little mouth. And the grant proposal that I spent three months of my life on was denied, and I had to call the Mobile Surgical Organization and tell them that they wouldn’t be getting the $200,000 they were counting on next year.”

  “It takes me two hours in the morning to get ready because I don’t want my husband cheating on me the way his father cheats on his mother,” Amie Jo confessed, looking over her shoulder at her house.

  “Do you lock yourself in the bathroom to cry?” Zinnia asked.

  “Once a week. For twenty minutes,” Amie Jo said.

  “I sit in the empty bathtub.”

  I looked back and forth at these women and wondered how the hell I never knew any of this.

  “I don’t get it. From the outside, everything looks so perfect. What about your hashtag blessed post today on Facebook?” I asked Amie Jo.

  “That’s social media,” Zinnia scoffed, taking a swig of wine.

  “Exactly. That’s a highlight reel. Social media is how you fantasize your life should be. Not the reality of it.” Amie Jo looked at me like I was an idiot. “No one actually wants to know how you really feel.”

  I helped myself to more wine. I couldn’t wrap my head around this. “You guys aren’t happy? Even with money and husbands and kids?”

  “I’m exhausted,” Zinnia said.

  “I’m miserable. The amount of attention I need just to be okay is terrifying,” Amie Jo said.

  “You had something real with Jake,” Zinnia told me.

  “Had? You didn’t do something stupid, did you, Marley?” Amie Jo was horrified.

  “I kinda broke up with him,” I confessed.

  Amie Jo gasped so hard the branch creaked. “That is asinine! Who wouldn’t want Jake Weston? Hell, I want Jake Weston, and I’m married.”

  “I was only supposed to be here until the end of the semester. It was a temporary position! I wanted to do something bigger, more important than teaching gym class.”

  “What about your team?” Zinnia asked.

  “Those girls had the longest losing record in school history. You taught them how to work together and trust each other,” Amie Jo pointed out.

  “Do you know how epically impossible that is to do at this age? Teach women that they’re sisters, not enemies fighting over the last damn piece of fine pie?” Zinnia asked as she swung the bottle of wine wildly.

  “I wanted to do something like you do. Something that makes a real difference,” I told her, still trying to explain my hopes and dreams.

  “I hate my job, Marley. I hate it,” Zinnia enunciated carefully. “My desk and inbox are full of pictures of what landmines and gunshot wounds and poor medical care do to people. Every day I am drowning in them.”

  She took another drag on her cigarette. I drank deeply from the Chardonnay.

  “What about that goth princess Libby? Look what you did for her this semester,” Amie Jo said, breaking the silence. “You made a difference to her. You made her popular!”

  “What you and Jake had together? That doesn’t come around often, and you’re my sister, and I love you, but you are a complete dumbass for ruining it,” Zinnia said, poking me in the shoulder.

  “Hey!”

  “You were happy, M,” my sister said. “Like really happy. And I kinda just want to push you out of this tree for not recognizing it.”

  “Ugh. You push her out of the tree, and I’ll throw a wine bottle at her,” Amie Jo interjected. “He loves her for who she is. She doesn’t even bother with makeup or brushing her hair half the time, and Jake looks at her like she’s Gisele Bündchen in front of a camera. It’s disgusting.”

  “Well, this is fun and all, but let’s focus on you two,” I suggested.

  “You know, I think that’s the thing I hate about you most,” Amie Jo mused. “You don’t have to try. You don’t have to wear extensions and shoes that make you lose your toenails. You don’t have to spend six hours a week in a tanning bed afraid that your husband will leave you if you’re not tan enough. They all genuinely like you just for being you.”

  “Yeah, no one is inviting you to black-tie affairs because you helped with their fundraising or raised their political profile,” Zinnia said, getting into the spirit.

  “But you’re doing great things. Important things,” I reminded her.

  “Ninety percent of what I do is ass-kissing. Is that great? Is that important? I’ve never had one person in my office look up to me the way all of those girls on your team look at you. They adore you. They respect you.”

  “Just like Jake,” Amie Jo complained. “Do you know how hard I had to work senior year to make sure you two didn’t get together?”

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Remember how he asked you to Homecoming and changed his mind?” she said.

  “He told you? Of course he told you. He said he changed his mind and was taking you. You were more his type.” My voice was two octaves higher than usual.

  “Jake didn’t ask you to Homecoming. I did. And then I pretended to dump you for me,” Amie Jo insisted.

  “You diabolical little—”

  “I know, right?” she said, shimmying her shoulders. “People always underestimate a pretty face and nice boobs.”

  Zinnia snort laughed. I’d never heard her do that before.

  “Good thing you gave up so fast,” Amie Jo continued. “Otherwise you would have figured it out, started dating, fallen in love, and gotten married. Barf.”

  It hit me in a wave of nausea and truth. How many times had I turned my back on what was good in life because I didn’t feel like I was good enough for it? How many times had I reminded myself that Jake was just going to change his mind about me again?

  I’d been happy and loved. And then I’d fucked it all up. Big time. I loved Jake. I loved his arrogant confidence. His slovenly lifestyle. His commitment to his students. His doofy dog. His family. I loved that he made life better every single day for someone.

  “You had what we all want,” Amie Jo told me.

  “And then you threw it away,” Zinnia sighed. “If you weren’t my sister, I’d hate you.”

  “You waltz into town, all mysterious and interesting,” Amie Jo complained. “And then you shit on everything that’s important to me.”

  “Well, that’s a little uncalled for—”

  “Popularity is a privilege. I was popular, and I’ve done everything in my power to make my boys popular. I’ve been picking their friends, overseeing their activities, and making sure everything they do cements their position in this world. And along comes Marley Cicero to ruin everything again just like Homecoming!” She opened the second wine bottle and swung it wildly.

  “I’m not trying to ruin your life or your sons’ lives. I promise. I’m just trying to show everyone that respecting each other is more important than proving you’re better than everyone else.”


  “But if everyone is popular and accepted, where does that leave my boys?”

  “I don’t know. Happy? Well-adjusted? Ready to face the adult world with kind hearts?”

  “Pfft! When you’re a mother—well, it’s too late for you. Your ovaries probably shut down years ago,” Amie Jo sniffed.

  “Probably,” I agreed.

  “But when you’re a mother, the only thing that matters is how well your kids turn out. They are a direct reflection of who you are as a human being. My kids are dumber than a box of rocks. All they have are their looks and their popularity.”

  Not sure what to say, I patted her awkwardly on the shoulder as she swigged wine.

  “I know what people say about me behind my back. I got knocked up in college. I married a man who could take care of me. I dress like I’m an off-duty stripper.”

  “I never heard anyone say that,” I lied.

  “They don’t understand how hard it is. Being a mom and a wife and working. I am hanging on by my damn fingernails here! And I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. It’s not like you have any worries in life,” she complained.

  “Amie Jo, I think a lot of women are in the same place you are, feeling the same things you’re feeling,” I told her.

  “I drink a bottle of Chardonnay every night.” Zinnia’s confession was given like a balloon releasing its air.

  “The highlight of my life was being crowned prom queen. It’s been all downhill from there,” Amie Jo responded.

  “I’m really sorry about Homecoming,” I said, starting to grasp just how important that crown had been to her.

  “I probably deserved it.”

  “Maybe a little,” I agreed.

  “You need to go beg Jake for forgiveness,” Amie Jo said, taking a swig from the bottle.

  “Yeah, you do,” Zinnia agreed.

  It was then that the branch broke with a splintering crack, and we were all falling.

  80

  Jake

  I was not in the mood to entertain. Yet here I was, plating up Uncle Max’s bacon-wrapped scallops on a serving dish. The whole family was spread out in my house watching TV, puttering in the kitchen, setting the table in the dining room.

  And I still felt completely alone.

  Marley should be here. I felt her damn presence all over the damn house.

  Not only was I being haunted by my grandmother, but now I had Marley’s ghost in the new dishes she’d helped me pick out. In the rearranged furniture in the living room. The new curtains. The lack of clutter and dust and old takeout containers.

  She’d swept it all out, making Grams’s house mine. Ours. And now she wasn’t here. Our new beginning was already over.

  I liked the anger. It felt better than the hurt that kept trying to bubble to the surface. She’d never even tried. She hadn’t returned my calls, my texts. She hadn’t shown up on my doorstep begging for forgiveness. None of it had been real to her. I felt used and discarded and stupid.

  “You’re mangling the appetizers,” Uncle Lewis observed.

  “Sorry,” I said, taking a deep breath and trying to gentle my grip on the scallops.

  “I know we’re not supposed to talk about You Know Who or You Know What,” Uncle Lewis began.

  I was already shaking my head. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said for the nineteenth time.

  “Do you love the guy? I mean the girl,” Lewis said. “Sorry, force of habit.”

  I slammed the last scallop down on the plate. “I did.”

  “Whoa, what’s with the past tense there, Grumpy Gus?” Max asked.

  “I told her I loved her. I asked her to stay in Culpepper. And she dumped my ass. Reminded me we had a deal and that all this was only temporary. She wants more.”

  “More what?” Lewis asked.

  “That’s what I said! I refuse to be in love with a dumbass.”

  Lewis and Max exchanged a glance.

  The doorbell rang

  I stomped to the front door and yanked it open. Marley stood on my welcome mat. She had a split lip and a butterfly bandage over one eyebrow. Her arm was in a sling.

  “What the hell happened to you?” I demanded. I couldn’t stop the reflexive rush of concern, but I could hide it behind a bad temper.

  “Fell out of a tree,” she said quickly. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

  “You thought of a few other ways to destroy my confidence?”

  Homer, the traitor, shoved his face between my leg and the door and wriggled his way out to Marley. She leaned down to pet him with her good arm.

  “I came to tell you you were right,” she said, still looking at Homer.

  “Great. Thanks. Happy to hear it,” I said dryly. I started to shut the door. She could keep my jerk of a dog. She already had my heart. Why not take my dog, too?

  “Jake! Wait!” She slapped her good hand on the door. “I’m trying to apologize here.”

  “Try kissing him!”

  I poked my head out the door and spotted Zinnia and Amie Jo hanging out the back window of Ned Cicero’s car. Ned was in the driver’s seat and waved to me.

  I waved back. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t want what I thought I wanted,” she said in a rush. “I want you and Culpepper and Homer. I want to teach gym and coach soccer. I want to sleep late with you on Sundays. I want to run a half-marathon and spend my summers road-tripping with you.”

  Hope stirred in my chest, and I tried to squash it. But it was a slippery sucker. “I thought you wanted more,” I reminded her.

  “There is no more than what I found with you. I was happy with you, and it scared me, Jake. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be good enough. And you come along and don’t even demand that I prove myself. You just love me as the hot mess that I am.”

  “What about that job in Pittsburgh?” I asked.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Yeah, small town. Remember?” I said.

  If they hadn’t made an offer and I was second fiddle…well, I’d take it, but I wouldn’t be happy about it.

  Homer spotted the women hanging out of the car window and bolted off the porch to greet them. He dove in through the open window and settled himself on the passenger seat.

  “I have a confession to make. You’re my second stop today,” she said with a small smile.

  “What was your first?

  “I crashed Principal Eccles’s family luncheon and asked if she would consider me for a permanent position. Spoiler Alert: Even though I was bleeding and a little buzzed on Chardonnay, she said yes. So you should know that I’ll be sticking around here even if you aren’t magnanimous enough to take me back. You’ll be seeing me every single day of your life.”

  I stroked a hand over my mouth to cover the smile that was trying to appear. “You don’t say?”

  She nodded. “And I’m still going to be running. So I’ll probably be bumping into you in the mornings before school. And asking for your help to study for the Praxis since I’m going to be a real teacher in a permanent position.”

  “I guess it would be real awkward for everyone if you were still here and we were broken up,” I mused, running a finger down her neck and hooking it in her sweater. I tugged her a step closer.

  “Very,” she nodded, eyes serious. “You’d be doing a service to your community by taking me back.”

  “And I suppose my uncles would be grateful to you for turning my pigsty into a home.”

  “Hi, Marley!” my uncles chorused behind me.

  She waved over my shoulder before turning her attention back to me. “Look, Jake. I know that I screwed up big time. I know that I hurt you. And I’m so sorry. I’ll do better if you just give me a chance. You’ve made me realize something. I’m not a disaster or a loser. And just because things don’t go exactly the way I think they should doesn’t mean that they aren’t perfect the way they are.”

  I held silent for a beat. Not trusting my voice.

/>   “There’s something else,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Read these.” She held up two aged pieces of notebook paper. The folds were so deep they were practically canyons on the paper.

  I opened the first one.

  Marley,

  You and me. Homecoming. Don’t tell anyone. We need to play it cool since you just broke up with Travis. See you at the dance.

  Jake

  Horrified, I searched her face. “Mars, do I look like the kind of guy to ask a girl to be my secret date in a note?” I demanded.

  “No, you do not. And I’m sorry for ever thinking that you did. Read the next one.”

  I read, flinched.

  Marley,

  I decided to take Amie Jo to Homecoming instead. She’s obviously more my type. Good luck with everything.

  Jake

  “You spent twenty years thinking I dumped you for Amie Jo?” So many things clicked into place. Her worry that I’d just move on and forget about her. Her reluctance to trust me. Hell, I couldn’t believe she’d let me anywhere near her after thinking I was capable of such a dick move.

  She nodded.

  “Hell, I was a dumbass in high school, but I wasn’t that big of a dumbass.”

  “Sorry, Jake,” Amie Jo called in a sing-song voice, hanging out of the backseat window.

  “I’m sorry for holding something you didn’t do against you for two decades,” Marley said, drawing my attention back to her.

  My head was spinning. It was a lot to take in for a guy who’d spent the last several days in misery.

  “So I just have to ask one question. Why didn’t you ask me to Homecoming?” she asked. “You kissed me. You seemed interested.”

  “I had one weekend a month when I’d go visit my mom back in Jersey. That was the weekend. Besides, didn’t you have some secret boyfriend—oh, shit.” Realization washed over me. Amie Jo, that diabolical teenage puppet master.