“Not permanently,” Rosanna corrects. “That’s the problem. People take marriage too lightly. They’re like, ‘If it doesn’t work out, I’ll just get a divorce.’ Like it’s nothing. Marriage meant something back in the day. When our grandparents got married, that was for life. They didn’t ignore the part of the vows that says ‘till death do us part.’”
“I’m sure people really do feel like they’ll be together forever when they get married,” Sadie says. “But sometimes life gets in the way. People grow. They change in ways they can’t predict. What if you’re married and your husband got a job in Alaska? Would you leave your life behind to go with him?”
“You should go wherever your husband needs you to,” Rosanna insists. “That’s part of being married. Staying together no matter what.”
“But take what happened in the movie,” I say. “Connie was in love with Edward. You could tell they were attracted to each other. They probably had a hot sex life their first few years together. Then they had a kid. They got comfortable. Bogged down by routine. Her feelings for him changed. Not the best-friend feelings. The passion. That’s why she’s vulnerable when she meets Paul. He becomes the object of her affection. Suddenly Edward is repulsive. She doesn’t want him to touch her. Was that only because she fell in love with Paul, or would she have fallen out of love with Edward anyway?”
“Are you saying that anyone who’s been married for a long time is vulnerable to falling in love with someone else?” Rosanna asks.
“Anyone is vulnerable to falling in love with someone else, married or not. You can’t choose who you fall in love with.”
“But you can choose whether or not to open that door,” Sadie says. “When you’re married, it should be obvious that the door is closed to everyone except your husband.”
“Permanently,” Rosanna adds.
“If you married the right person,” I say. “What about people who settle? Half of all marriages end in divorce for a reason. A lot of reasons, actually. One of the biggest reasons is that people settle. They know they’re not completely happy with their relationship. But the fear of being alone or of never finding someone better for them is so powerful they convince themselves that it will work out. There’s this void in their life that can only be filled by a person they’d be happier with. But they’d rather live with that emptiness than risk never finding a more compatible person.”
“A soul mate,” Sadie says. “If you marry a soul mate, the love of your life, the man of your dreams, you will always be happy together. Maybe not completely happy every single day. We all have our good days and bad days no matter who we’re with. But if you’re lucky enough to find the total package, you will always have a solid relationship. It’s not even about luck. People who visualize the kind of love they want and refuse to settle for anything less will find what they’re looking for.”
“Agreed,” Rosanna says. “You can’t break up a happy relationship.”
“And the only way to have a happy relationship is to be completely open,” Sadie says.
“About everything?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Even negative things?”
Sadie pauses. “I guess it depends on how important they are.”
“Boom!” I sit up on the couch in a burst of second wind. “Here comes the conflict. What one person thinks isn’t important could be huge to the other person. So if one person’s not telling the other person something and the other person finds out and they’re all, ‘Why didn’t you tell me such and so?’ and the first person’s like, ‘I didn’t think it was important,’ that’s not going to fly. It’s going to come off like they were trying to hide something.”
“What if the negative thing could hurt the other person?” Sadie asks. “And that’s why the first person was keeping it from them?”
“Yeah, that’s called lying.”
“People in a relationship should feel secure enough to tell each other anything,” Rosanna says. “They shouldn’t hold something back because they’re afraid of how the other person will take it. That’s not being completely honest.”
I stick my fist out for a pound. Rosanna leans over from the pouf to tap me.
“All I’m saying is . . .” Sadie composes her thoughts. “If you feel like something’s missing and you find a soul mate, it’s like a missing piece of you has been found. Like the thing you’ve been longing for is suddenly right in front of you. Even if you didn’t know you were longing in the first place. Or maybe you didn’t realize true love was real. Maybe you thought movie love was only in the movies. But now you’re in it and you’ve never been this certain of anything else in your life and it feels so amazing you can’t resist. If that happens to someone who’s already married, they should be honest about their feelings with everyone involved. Even if their marriage looks perfect from the outside.”
“A picture-perfect marriage is usually far from perfect,” I say.
“Not always,” Rosanna says. “I know couples who have been happily married for a long time. Their marriages look perfect because they really are close to perfect.”
“Like who?”
“Friends of the family back home. Neighbors. My aunt and uncle. There are just as many examples of happy marriages as there are of bad ones.”
“I don’t know about that. Just because people choose to stay married doesn’t automatically mean they’re happy.” I’d rather chew my leg off than stay caught in the trap of a miserable marriage. Being uncommitted is so much better. There’s no way I could ever hurt someone the way Connie hurt Edward.
THIRTY
ROSANNA
WE STAYED UP SO LATE last night I was afraid to look at the time before I went to bed. I’m paying the price today. But movie night with Sadie and Darcy was totally worth it. Not that I would have been able to go to sleep right away if we hadn’t stayed up. The encounter with D at his place gave me an extreme adrenaline rush that took hours to wear off, if it ever wore off completely. My legs still feel heavy. A mild dizziness is making it impossible to operate at full speed. Every nerve in my body is like an exposed wire with frayed edges that won’t stop sparking.
It would be safe to say that I’m not exactly bringing the camp counselor excellence today.
Fortunately no one seems to be noticing. Or if they are noticing, they’re kind enough not to say anything. I’m relieved to be at arts and crafts this period. You get to sit down the whole time at arts and crafts, except for going over to the service window to get additional supplies. My legs were starting to feel like I was wading through quicksand.
“Does this look good?” Momo asks. She’s decorating the jewelry box she made yesterday. She holds up her jewelry box for my approval. Momo seems to need a lot of validation. We bonded over our shared love of birds on the first day of camp. Campers were meeting their counselors at the pickup/drop-off station. Momo and I noticed a fat little red bird hopping on a bench at the same time. We both sort of mentally gasped at how cute the bird was. Then we looked at each other and laughed. It was one of those pure, happy moments you can only share with an eight-year-old full of wonder. Ever since our little bird connection, Momo has become increasingly attached to me. The camp director said she’s never seen a camper get attached to a counselor this quickly. Apparently we will all be sobbing wrecks on the last day.
“It’s beautiful,” I say. “Your pink sequins are pretty.”
“They’re rhinestones,” Momo corrects.
“Oh, sorry. They’re really pretty.”
“Do you have a jewelry box?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Momo doesn’t need to know that almost all of the items I own are necessities. With the exception of my fabulous wardrobe expansion, thanks to Darcy. I still feel guilty about her generosity.
“I don’t have that much jewelry,” I tell her. “I just keep it in a container.”
“Like a Tupperware container?”
“Sort of.”
“Every girl should have a jewelry box,” Momo proclaims.
“You’re right. A lot of things should be the way they aren’t.”
Momo turns the jewelry box around, inspecting all sides of it. “Do you think it needs more glitter?”
“You can never have too much glitter.”
“I know, right?” Momo selects the purple glitter. She looks around for glue.
“Let me get you some glue,” I say. The other tables don’t have any free glue. I go up to the service window on the side of the arts and crafts hut. The arts and crafts director is inside, loading metal tubs onto a shelf.
“Sorry to bother you, Shirley, but is all the glue out?”
“Good question,” Shirley says. She swings around to peer out at the tables. Her long, colored feather earrings flutter around her face. “We might have some more in one of these tubs. A bunch of supplies just came in. Let me—” The metal tub Shirley was holding falls to the cement floor with a loud clang. “Yeah. There wasn’t anything fragile in this one, was there?”
“Probably not.”
“We’ll go with definitely not. More convincing.” Shirley rounds up some extra glues and passes them through the window. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
“Take your time. It’s pretty quiet out here. Everyone’s absorbed in their jewelry boxes.”
“Oh good, I was hoping the girls would like them.”
“What are you doing with the boys later?”
“Planes. Same as the jewelry boxes: they put them together yesterday and they’re decorating them today.”
“Have fun. Thanks for the glue.” When I get back to our table, Momo’s not there. A counselor sitting at the other end of the table points to the water fountain. I watch Momo take a sip of water. Then she just stands there, facing away from the group. She takes another sip.
The counselor comes over and whispers in my ear. “She jumped a mile when that thing fell.” She looks at Momo, concerned.
I go over to the water fountain. Momo is breathing hard. She’s all sweaty.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“It scared me.”
“What did?”
“That loud noise.”
“That clanging noise?”
She nods.
“Shirley just dropped a supplies tub,” I explain. “That’s all.”
Momo takes another sip of water.
“She won’t drop another one,” I say.
“Promise?”
“If she does, I’ll be right there next to you. Okay?”
Momo glances back at the arts and crafts hut.
“Should we go back to our table now?” I ask. “We have glue. You can show me where you’re going to put the purple glitter.”
“I might use purple and pink,” Momo says. “They’re my favorite colors.”
“Those are the best colors.” We walk back to the table. I sit close to Momo, trying to project soothing energy. Momo debates the pros and cons of putting glitter on only the sides versus the sides and top.
“Overusing glitter is a mistake,” Momo informs me. “It doesn’t look good if you pile on too much. What if I do squiggly lines on the sides like this. . . .” Momo squeezes squiggly lines of glue on one side, immediately followed by careful glitter application.
“That looks really good. Very glamorous.”
“Thanks.” Momo sprinkles more glitter. “It’s good we’re making jewelry boxes.”
“Because every girl should have a jewelry box?”
“Also because I used to have one, but I don’t anymore.”
“No? What happened to it?”
“I told my mom a secret I wasn’t supposed to tell. My jewelry box was taken away as part of my punishment.”
“Are you ever getting it back?”
“No.” Momo touches one of the rhinestones. “But that’s okay. Now I have a jewelry box I designed myself.” She curls over her jewelry box protectively.
Something about her behavior is familiar. I recognize part of myself in Momo. What she said about being punished for telling a secret . . .
When I was eleven, I was molested by a family friend who lived down the street. No one would ever suspect him. He was older, like in his forties, but he never got married. He lived alone in a tiny house and worked at a meatpacking plant. He was always friendly to everyone—the kind of neighbor who would help you shovel your driveway or give your car a jump start. He took me and my little sister out for pizza and to Lincoln Park Zoo. He even took me and my brothers to a baseball game at Wrigley Field once. He was like an uncle to us and a good friend of my dad’s.
One day when I was over at his house playing Scrabble, he moved his chair around to my side of the table. He grabbed the sides of my face and forced his lips against mine.
“Does that feel okay?” he asked.
I had no idea what to say to that. I made an excuse to leave and went home.
Things got worse over the next few months. He would repeatedly grab me and try to kiss me. He touched any part of me he wanted. One time at a neighbor’s cookout, he trapped me on the way out of the bathroom. He pulled down the zipper of my jeans and put his hand inside my underwear. Everyone was outside having a good time. I could hear my mother laughing through the open window while he violated me on the other side of the wall. I tried to avoid being alone with him, but he told me that if I stopped coming over or if I told anyone he would hurt my little sister. Then he would attack me. So I never told my parents what was happening. When I got really scared that he was going to attack me anyway, I told my best friend at the time what was going on. She told her mom. Her mom called my mom.
My dad confronted him. Of course he denied everything. There wasn’t enough evidence to convict him as a sex offender. Since he never raped me or even took my clothes off, my dad didn’t have a strong enough case. But he made sure everyone in town knew what a scumbag that guy was. Eventually he moved away.
Could Momo be going through the same thing I did?
Last night when we were talking about affairs, Sadie said how people who’ve experienced the same type of pain gravitate toward one another. Like they have a special radar set to the tone of that particular pain. It’s one of the reasons why some marriages don’t work out. When you’ve been through trauma, you feel like no one else in the world understands how you’re feeling, except for people who’ve been through a similar experience.
Maybe that’s why Momo became attached to me right away. Maybe she recognizes part of herself in me.
THIRTY-ONE
SADIE
OUR MARATHON WEEKEND IS ON.
We immediately started making out the second Austin walked in the door. He got here right on time at six thirty. He wanted to come over at six, but I needed time to take a shower and get ready. And clean my room since that’s where we’ll basically be living together all weekend. I raced home after internship, took the fastest shower ever, couldn’t decide what to wear, cleaned my room while simultaneously trying on eight more outfits, and then, way too soon but not soon enough, Austin rang my bell. We’re still attached at the lips. We’re like a dream. Except this dream actually came true.
“Hi,” Austin says when we stop kissing.
“Hi.”
“Can you tell I’m happy to see you?”
“Sort of. Could you be more explicit?”
Austin kisses me again. Good thing the girls are out. It’s already awkward that Austin is staying here and he hasn’t even met them yet. We don’t need to pile on more awkwardness by having them watch us ravage each other in the doorway.
“So,” Austin says, looking around for the first time. “This is where you live. It’s cute.”
“Thanks. We’re still working on it.”
“I like this . . . what’s this called?”
“Pouf.”
“I like your pouf. It’s very you.”
“Darcy bought it.”
“Is she like you?”
“No
t really. But we both have good taste.”
“Are we alone?”
“Yeah. Darcy and Rosanna are out. My guess is that Rosanna will be back soon and Darcy will get home around two.”
“Want to order a pizza?”
“You read my mind. We have Blue Bunny Birthday Party ice cream for dessert.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“It’s a party in a carton.”
“What do you like on your pizza?”
“I’m a purist. Extra cheese and roasted tomato is good.”
“No pepperoni? Mushrooms? Pineapple?”
“You did not just say pineapple.”
“Pretty sure I did.”
“Pineapple does not go with pizza. It should be outlawed as a pizza topping. Like as a federal law.”
“Some people like it.”
“Ew. Oh, wait. Did you want pineapple on your half, or . . . ?”
“Not anymore. How about one large extra cheese, half pepperoni, half roasted tomato?”
“Awesome.”
Austin orders the pizza. While we wait for it, I show him around. I’m so excited that he’s sleeping over. In my bed . . . where I will also be sleeping. If this is what being a grownup is like—no parents around and your own apartment where you can stay out all night and your boyfriend can come over anytime you want—then sign me up.
“Here’s my room.” The thing about showing a boy your room is it feels like you’re saying, Here’s my bed and some other stuff. It’s like my bed activated this magnetic force the second Austin walked in. Even as I’m watching him look around at other things, I can feel the bed emanating salacious waves of subtext.
“You have a teapot,” Austin says. He picks up the seafoam teapot I’ve had in my room since tenth grade. “I knew you were a classy girl.”
“Not a nerdy girl?”
“You have nerdy undercurrents that surface now and then.”
“Like what?”
“I’ll let you know the next time one surfaces.”
“Would you like some tea?”
“Let’s save the tea for tomorrow morning.” Austin puts down the teapot. He comes over and hugs me. “Or Sunday morning. I can’t believe I get to wake up next to you two days in a row. How lucky am I?”
City Love Page 20
