|photo by Geri Chapple from Unsplash|
It's a short drive downtown, and that's all the time it takes for me to catch Megan up on the scant details. She parallel parks on Center Street—effortlessly and without giving me any instructive commentary.
"You think I'm screwed," I say. "Helen will get her way no matter what Dad says."
Megan squints at me and her jaw muscles pulse. She has something she wants to say, but she's taking a moment to work out her delivery.
"Am I that bad?" I ask. But then I groan, collapsing back against the seat, because my frantic heart is already telling me the answer. I'm freaking out. "You don't have to say it. I'm calming down now."
"My mom told me about Mr. Nash," she says, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Are you sure Glenn's coming to the cookout?"
I have to smile because Mrs. Montes really does know every single thing that happens in this tiny town. "He hasn't replied to my text," I say, shrugging.
"I think I'm gonna settle down this year."
"What? Where did that come from?"
"I'm serious, Thea. I want to find someone who looks at me the way Glenn looks at you."
"What way is that?"
I know the answer but I want to hear her describe it.
"I've never told you this before, but I never thought Glenn was all that good looking."
"You have, actually. Multiple times."
"Quiet down—I have a point. It's you that makes Glenn handsome. He was always just kind of there before you guys hooked up. You know?"
"No, I don't." Glenn was my first friend in Haddock. He was quiet and kind—and definitely cute, with his floppy hair and toothy smile. Over the last few years I've watched his angles sharpen, his muscles harden—and yeah, maybe I cried a little after his first buzz cut, but to me, he's still the hottest boy around.
Megan puffs a small sigh of frustration that fluffs her bangs in the air. "It's hard to describe," she says, scanning Center Street like she's looking for the answer. "Without you, he was like that cardboard cutout." She points to the auto parts store—at the cardboard Dale Junior standing in the window—and grins, pleased with herself. "With you, Glenn's cute-factor tripled. But it's all in the eyes. They come alive when he looks at you. That's what I want to find."
"Dale Junior looks at you that way."
Megan punches my arm. "I'm going to reinvent myself at Haddock High. You know, take advantage of the opportunity to shake off my bad reputation?"
"What reputation?"
She presses her lips together and closes her eyes for one dramatic moment. "The clueless girl whose boyfriend sleeps around behind her back."
"Megan, you're the only person who thinks that," I say—mimicking her don't-be-a-moron tone. "That boy swore his fidelity on a stack of Bibles and I believe him."
"Yeah, but you're naive like that."
"And you don't think you might be a little hypersensitive, considering..."
I stop when Megan gives me The Look. I'm not allowed to talk about what happened with her dad.
"Let's get out and walk," she says, killing the engine and opening the door before I can protest.
Our town's "square" is literally a patch of grass that's tucked between the two tallest buildings on Center Street, and right now it's packed. But my mother is wrong, it's nothing like the Forth of July. This is more like one of those gatherings that happen after a funeral where people come together to share food and stories—and all the kids run around happy and oblivious.
We walk past five grills loaded with meat and it's the oddest mix of smells. Beefy and tantalizing one moment, totally disturbing the next. There's a table set up with drinks—no ice—and another lined with jars and bottles of various refrigerated items destined for the waste bin.
"This is so medieval," I say.
"I was just thinking the same thing. Did you get a whiff of the chicken on the last grill?"
"Rancid."
She nods and links her arm through mine. Megan and I agree on most things. Grandma calls us The Bobssey Twins. We don't know what this means but we allow it because we like to think of ourselves as sisters. We even look alike. We have the same build: short and curvy. We both have dark, straight hair—when the electricity is working—and big brown eyes.
"I'm okay now," I say. "You can say what you were going to say about my situation."
"You said it yourself. You needed to calm down. Let it unfold, girl."
Megan gives my arm an extra squeeze and I repeat her mother's mantra a few times in my head.
"There's Helen," she says, pointing toward The Sweet Shop. "Are we avoiding her?"
Mom is talking to Mr. Brown. He's augmented his chalkboard sign so that it says: Life is short—and the ice cream is melting—eat dessert first.
"No," I moan and Megan changes our course. When Mom spots us, she smiles and excuses herself from her conversation.
"Where's Dad?" I ask, as she approaches.
"Grill hopping. Have you girls eaten?"
"We've decided it would be safer to be vegetarians until the power comes back on," Megan says and I nod my solidarity.
Mom hitches an eyebrow and her eyes shift. I realize she's looking at something, someone behind me, seconds before I feel the weight and warmth of Glenn's hand on my back, and my body's rousing response to it.
"Afternoon, Mrs. Allen," he says. He nods to Megan as she steps aside to make room for him. Me, he kisses on the temple as his hand slides around my waist.
"How's John?" Mom asks.
"Stubborn. He refused to be admitted, so Dr. Grant sedated him and kept him in the ER all night. The rest did him good."
"I'm glad to hear it. You look like you could use some sleep."
"Yes, ma'am." He glances at me, an apology in his eyes. I shake my head, hoping mine reflect understanding instead of disappointment.
"I have good news," Mom says. "I heard from my sister this morning."
Her tone is so casual, it takes a second for the underlying message to absorb: Emily has managed to get me into Zachary and my mother has made up her mind that I'm going.
"Have you talked to Dad about this?"
"Yes, Thea." Her evil eyebrow twitches. Her tone says they talked and Dad agrees.
"I do not want to live with her. Does that matter to you?"
My mother's eyes dart to Megan, over to Glenn and then back to me. "Of course," she says, forcing a smile. "We'll talk about it tonight."
She touches her hand to Megan's shoulder, says, "Glenn, tell your father we're thinking of him," and walks away.
"What was that about?" Glenn asks.
My mother did this on purpose, a hit and run. "She wants me to go to school in New York City."
"Since when?"
His tone, and the sudden absence of his arm, leaves me cold. "She mentioned it yesterday but it was like, a suggestion—which I countered with Chesapeake Collegiate."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Megan presses her lips together, her comprehension in sync with mine. Glenn is seriously pissed.
"Okaaay," she says, walking backward. "I'm off to sample the ice cream." She waves at Glenn, casts a yikes expression my way and mouths, "Call me," before she turns around.
"Helen didn't mention it until last night," I snap. Glenn's not the only one who's pissed.
He offers his hand. I wait for him to blow out a breath and relax the tension in his jaw before I take it. "I can't believe you're mad at me," I say as we walk toward his truck.
"I'm not." He opens the passenger door. I toss my purse into the seat, climb in and watch him trudge around to the driver's side. I haven't seen him like this since he found out about his father.
"I was planning to tell you this morning."
"I'm not mad at you, Thea. I'm mad at Helen." He picks up my hand and kisses it.
He has to let go to crank the engine—because it's stifling hot and his cab smells like smokey mystery meat and Glenn knows I need cool air blowing on my face asap. But then he takes my hand again and we just sit there. My heart is still throbbing from the brutality of Mom's assault.
And Dad's possible betrayal. I'll have to hear it from him before I believe he agrees with this.
"Helen can't make me move," I say.
Glenn checks the side mirror and pulls onto Center Street. "She can make your life hell if you don't. There are other ways to break us apart."
Mother of shit. He's right. Mom is literally trying to put distance between us. "If that's really what this is about then maybe we should stage a pretend break-up. That way she'll think she's already won. Oh—or better yet, let's run away and get married!"
Glenn eases up to the four-way stop. He doesn't look at me, just smiles, waves a car through the intersection and sits there like he might actually be considering my proposal. I hold my breath. If he drives straight, we'll be heading toward the interstate. We could go anywhere, do anything.
He makes a right turn and stretches out his arm, inviting me to slide closer. "You know that's a horrible idea, right?"
"Yes," I say through an exhale. I love statistics but I don't want to be one.