Just One of the Guys
Page 36
I grimace. “No, I won’t apply. Even though I passed, Ernie, I’m not really good around blood and gore.”
“Fooled me,” he says.
“Fooled is the right word,” I answer.
I GO TO ANGELA’S FOR DINNER that night. Her house is half of a two-family unit, very cozy and warm. She’s made spinach-and-feta phyllo triangles and marmalade-glazed shrimp and hands me a huge, fruity drink with an umbrella and a straw in it. There’s mango in it, and grapefruit juice and something else, and it’s absolutely fabulous.
“Will you marry me?” I ask.
“Are you talking to Legolas or to me?” she quips. Indeed, I am standing right in front of her life-size cutout of the witty elf from Lord of the Rings.
“Both, I guess,” I answer. She checks the oven and then asks me to have a seat in the living room. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something,” she says.
“Sure,” I say, sucking down some more of the delicious drink.
“Be careful, there’s alcohol in that,” she warns. “Okay, well, remember when Trevor and I were kind of seeing each other?”
“Yeah,” I answer. She’s right about the alcohol. I’m already a little buzzed. “You know what? Tell me about that. Because I thought you guys would be cute together, and now he’s with this…this person. And she’s not very nice.”
Angela pauses. “Well, Trevor was—is—very nice. And very good-looking, of course.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, sucking down some more tropical yumminess.
“I guess there was just no real chemistry,” she says.
“What?” I bark. “How can you say that? He’s—” I clamp my mouth shut. “Most women find Trevor very chemistryish. Crap, listen to me. What’s in this drink, Ange? You trying to slip me a mickey?”
She laughs. “Vodka and triple sec, that’s all. But generous helpings of both, I admit.” She takes a phyllo triangle and bites into it. “About Trevor…See, there’s someone else.” Her cheeks go nuclear, and she toys with her ring. “I met someone, and it was just…it’s your brother, Matt.”
My eyes pop. “Matt? What? What about Matt?” She nods. “You’re interested in Matt?”
“Yes,” she admits. “Actually, we’ve been seeing each other for a couple of weeks, Chastity.”
How do I miss these things? “That’s great, Ange. Matt’s great. And secretive, apparently. Why didn’t you tell me? When did this start?”
“It was that day at the firehouse, when he was showing me some recipes, we just…clicked. And then he asked for some help about college courses, he wanted my advice, and we ended up talking for hours. But I was still kind of seeing Trevor, even though we hadn’t so much as kissed.”
“Really?” I blurt.
Angela smiles. “Yes, Chastity. Honestly, the whole time we were together, I felt like Trevor was, I don’t know. Not really interested. He’s so nice and decent and very cute and all, and we had a really nice time together, but when I met Matt, we just…we both felt it. That feeling when you just know.”
“Wow.” I sigh. My glass is, alas, empty. “So everyone’s fine and happy?”
“I think so,” she says. “I know you think the world of Trevor, and I was afraid you’d be mad.”
“No, no,” I say. “Trevor is…he’s great.” I glance at the ceiling. “And I guess he’s happy with Perfect Hayden.”
“Who’s Perfect Hayden?” Angela asks.
“His once and future fiancée, apparently.” I sit up and smile brightly. “So. What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
On my way home later that night, I feel inexplicably lonely. Soon, I imagine, Matt will move out. Get married. Have a few kids. Angela will go from being my friend to being yet another sister-in-law, the mother of more nieces or nephews. Not that I don’t love and admire and enjoy my sisters-in-law…Crap. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Even watching Return of the King doesn’t cheer me up. I put on the Yankees game. We’re losing, ten to two, and it’s the eighth inning.
Maybe I’ll call Ryan, even though it’s late. The uncomfortable thought dawns that I’ve turned first to Aragorn, then to Derek Jeter, before calling Ryan even occurred to me. Stupid, isn’t it? Here I have a very real, very considerate boyfriend, and I’m checking out fictional characters and sports gods first.
With a vengeance, I stab in his number. “Hi,” I blurt.
“Hi, hon,” he answers. “I was just thinking of you.”
And my heart feels a little bit better.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“WHERE ARE YOU GOING, Chastity?”
Lucia is back at work, back to being bossy and a pain in the ass. Inconceivably, it’s good to have her around.
“I’m covering the riverside cleanup—very exciting stuff—and then I’m going to my mother’s for dinner, and then I’ll probably go home and go to bed. Do I have your permission?”
She frowns. “You’re close with your family, aren’t you?” It sounds like an accusation.
“Yes.” A flash of envy passes through her eyes. “What about you, Lu? Are you close with yours?”
Her lips tighten. “Not really. I have two sisters, both older, and they think they’re better than me.” There’s a lot of hurt in that adolescent sentence. “Like my job isn’t that important and I’m wasting my time here.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I thought your sister was a real bitch,” I offer.
Her face breaks into a grin. “Thanks, Chastity.” We laugh. That’s right. Lucia and I are laughing. Together and simultaneously.
“Lu—” I begin tentatively.
“What?” she asks.
“If you wanted to write a features article once in a while, I’d be willing to see how it goes.” Her face lights up under the Kabuki makeup. “Strict parameters, though,” I continue. “With full right to refuse to print anything. And you’d have to adhere to the word count, because I don’t want to read ten thousand words on a pie-eating contest.”
Lucia is blinking rapidly against tears. “It’s about time.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Now I have to run. See you later.”
THE RIVERSIDE CLEANUP TURNS out to be more fun than I had anticipated, and I spend too much time chatting as I interview the director of parks and recreation and her many volunteers. By the time I get home, I’m running late, so I heave Buttercup into the car and drive to Mom’s house, fifteen minutes after the instructed time.
Mom is in the kitchen, fetching beers, when I come in. “I really wish you’d been on time today, Chastity. The boys are getting impatient.”
“So? Who cares about the boys?” I say, automatically reverting to my adolescent self.
“Go into the living room,” she says soberly, and a small twinge of fear sings through my joints.
“Come on, Buttercup,” I say, and my dog follows me reluctantly, leaving the microbe she was sniffing. She flops on the carpet with a groan. My brothers and their wives are already seated, Jack and Sarah in the big chair, Lucky and Tara on the couch. Matt is reading Sports Illustrated, and Mark, I’m happy to see, is holding Elaina’s hand. Elaina smiles at me. I sit next to Lucky, shoving his shoulder until he gives me more room.
“Where are the kids?” I ask.
“The kids are watching The Lion King,” Mom says. “Now be quiet, I have to tell you something. Matt, stop reading. Questions come after I’m done. All right?”
I throw Elaina a glance of confusion. Even she, who adores my mother, looks worried.
Mom looks at the floor and folds her arms across her chest. “Harry and I are getting married.”
The refrain from “Hakuna Matata” drifts up from under our feet. Buttercup moans in her sleep. It’s the only sound for a good fifteen seconds.
“Holy crap,” Jack breathes.
“July twenty-third,” Mom continues. “Of course, I’d like you to be there, but if you have a problem with that, I understand.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the solar plexus. She can’t marry Harry. She can’t. “Mom?” I whisper. My throat is tight.
“You just met him,” Mark says.
“Three months ago, honey.”
“Does Dad know?” Matt asks.
“Not yet.” Mom’s jaw is tight.
“Mamí,” Elaina says hesitantly, “why the rush?”
“Life is too short,” Mom answers briskly.
“Mom?” I whisper again, but Lucky interrupts this time.
“Are you sure about this, Mom? I know you’ve been mad at Dad, but this seems a little…dramatic.”
“This isn’t about your father, Luke. It’s about Harry and me and my future.”
“Are we supposed to be happy for you, Ma?” Jack asks, an edge in his voice.
“You can be happy or not,” she says. “It won’t change anything.”
“What about Dad?” Mark asks. “What’s he supposed to do, Mom?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know.” She sighs. “Listen, I know he’s going to be angry. He’ll need you kids.”
“When are you going to tell him?” Sarah asks.
“Tonight.” Mom looks grim. “He’s at a union meeting right now, but he’s coming over later.”
My voice isn’t working. And I think there’s something wrong with my heart, because it’s beating sickly in my chest, slow and too hard.
“Is that all?” Jack asks tightly.
“That’s all.” Mom sighs. “I know this is a bombshell, kids, but I think you should all go home. Call me tomorrow if you have anything else to say. Okay?” The boys rise obediently. “Chastity, honey, will you stay a little while?”
I nod wordlessly.
Like ghosts, my brothers and their spouses gather their kids and trickle out the door. It’s eerily quiet. I just sit on the couch in the fading light and stare at the rug. My mind is blank.
Mom comes in from waving to the last of her grandchildren and sits in her chair across from me. “I know this a surprise, Chastity,” she says.
A razor seems wedged in my vocal cords. “Mom,” I say in a rough whisper, “how can you do this? You love Daddy.”
She stares at me, then comes over and sits down next to me. “Honey, I did. For a long time, he was…” She sighs. “He was the love of my life.”
“So you can’t marry Harry, Mom! Not if you still love Daddy!” I sound like a ten-year-old, but I can’t help it. Buttercup comes over to me and puts her head on my lap.
“Love gets used up, Chastity,” Mom says gently, reaching up to smooth my hair. “If it’s not returned, it gets used up.”
“He loves you, Mom!” A tear drops on Buttercup’s nose, and she licks it away. “Of course Dad loves you.”
“Not in the same way, honey.” She leans back against the couch and fiddles with her bracelet. “Chastity, you can’t spend your life loving someone more than you’re loved. You know that, don’t you? It makes you feel small, no matter how tall you might be.” She gives a small, sad smile.
“What…what are you talking about?”
“Trevor.”
I suck in a breath. “I—I—I don’t—”
“Yes, you do, honey. You love Trevor. You’ve loved him since you were a kid.”
My face crumples, the tears coming faster now. “Okay, well, yes. But let’s talk about you and Daddy,” I whisper.
“Okay. But I think you’re being smart to find someone else, someone who thinks you light up the room.” She pauses, staring at the floor. “Not someone who doesn’t even really see you anymore.”
I don’t know if she’s talking about me or her or Trevor or Ryan or Dad. I wipe my eyes and try to swallow.
“I’m tired of fighting to get your father to notice me,” she says, looking so weary and wise that I have to clench my jaw shut so I don’t sob. “He spent too many years just expecting me to be there when he felt like noticing. There I was, mother of five, keeping the house, cooking, running you kids all over, taking care of you when you were sick, and I was still just as in love with him as when we first met. Meanwhile, he just kept doing whatever he felt like doing. The job, the guys, you kids when the mood struck him. It seemed like everything was more important than I was.”
Buttercup moves her head to Mom’s lap now, and Mom strokes the dog’s big ears.
“Do you really love Harry?” I ask around the thorn in my throat.
“Yes,” she says simply, and my heart cracks. “I like feeling new and interesting and…well, adored.”
I nod, misery rising off me like a fog.
“I was hoping you’d be my maid of honor, Chastity,” she says. “Though you don’t have to answer now, of course.”
I don’t want to break down in front of my mother, so I stand up. “I have to go,” I squeak.
“Okay,” she says, standing too and hugging me. “I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” I choke. “I just have to run to my room for a sec.” With Buttercup on my heels, I escape down the hall.
“Fooled me,” he says.
“Fooled is the right word,” I answer.
I GO TO ANGELA’S FOR DINNER that night. Her house is half of a two-family unit, very cozy and warm. She’s made spinach-and-feta phyllo triangles and marmalade-glazed shrimp and hands me a huge, fruity drink with an umbrella and a straw in it. There’s mango in it, and grapefruit juice and something else, and it’s absolutely fabulous.
“Will you marry me?” I ask.
“Are you talking to Legolas or to me?” she quips. Indeed, I am standing right in front of her life-size cutout of the witty elf from Lord of the Rings.
“Both, I guess,” I answer. She checks the oven and then asks me to have a seat in the living room. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something,” she says.
“Sure,” I say, sucking down some more of the delicious drink.
“Be careful, there’s alcohol in that,” she warns. “Okay, well, remember when Trevor and I were kind of seeing each other?”
“Yeah,” I answer. She’s right about the alcohol. I’m already a little buzzed. “You know what? Tell me about that. Because I thought you guys would be cute together, and now he’s with this…this person. And she’s not very nice.”
Angela pauses. “Well, Trevor was—is—very nice. And very good-looking, of course.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, sucking down some more tropical yumminess.
“I guess there was just no real chemistry,” she says.
“What?” I bark. “How can you say that? He’s—” I clamp my mouth shut. “Most women find Trevor very chemistryish. Crap, listen to me. What’s in this drink, Ange? You trying to slip me a mickey?”
She laughs. “Vodka and triple sec, that’s all. But generous helpings of both, I admit.” She takes a phyllo triangle and bites into it. “About Trevor…See, there’s someone else.” Her cheeks go nuclear, and she toys with her ring. “I met someone, and it was just…it’s your brother, Matt.”
My eyes pop. “Matt? What? What about Matt?” She nods. “You’re interested in Matt?”
“Yes,” she admits. “Actually, we’ve been seeing each other for a couple of weeks, Chastity.”
How do I miss these things? “That’s great, Ange. Matt’s great. And secretive, apparently. Why didn’t you tell me? When did this start?”
“It was that day at the firehouse, when he was showing me some recipes, we just…clicked. And then he asked for some help about college courses, he wanted my advice, and we ended up talking for hours. But I was still kind of seeing Trevor, even though we hadn’t so much as kissed.”
“Really?” I blurt.
Angela smiles. “Yes, Chastity. Honestly, the whole time we were together, I felt like Trevor was, I don’t know. Not really interested. He’s so nice and decent and very cute and all, and we had a really nice time together, but when I met Matt, we just…we both felt it. That feeling when you just know.”
“Wow.” I sigh. My glass is, alas, empty. “So everyone’s fine and happy?”
“I think so,” she says. “I know you think the world of Trevor, and I was afraid you’d be mad.”
“No, no,” I say. “Trevor is…he’s great.” I glance at the ceiling. “And I guess he’s happy with Perfect Hayden.”
“Who’s Perfect Hayden?” Angela asks.
“His once and future fiancée, apparently.” I sit up and smile brightly. “So. What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
On my way home later that night, I feel inexplicably lonely. Soon, I imagine, Matt will move out. Get married. Have a few kids. Angela will go from being my friend to being yet another sister-in-law, the mother of more nieces or nephews. Not that I don’t love and admire and enjoy my sisters-in-law…Crap. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Even watching Return of the King doesn’t cheer me up. I put on the Yankees game. We’re losing, ten to two, and it’s the eighth inning.
Maybe I’ll call Ryan, even though it’s late. The uncomfortable thought dawns that I’ve turned first to Aragorn, then to Derek Jeter, before calling Ryan even occurred to me. Stupid, isn’t it? Here I have a very real, very considerate boyfriend, and I’m checking out fictional characters and sports gods first.
With a vengeance, I stab in his number. “Hi,” I blurt.
“Hi, hon,” he answers. “I was just thinking of you.”
And my heart feels a little bit better.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“WHERE ARE YOU GOING, Chastity?”
Lucia is back at work, back to being bossy and a pain in the ass. Inconceivably, it’s good to have her around.
“I’m covering the riverside cleanup—very exciting stuff—and then I’m going to my mother’s for dinner, and then I’ll probably go home and go to bed. Do I have your permission?”
She frowns. “You’re close with your family, aren’t you?” It sounds like an accusation.
“Yes.” A flash of envy passes through her eyes. “What about you, Lu? Are you close with yours?”
Her lips tighten. “Not really. I have two sisters, both older, and they think they’re better than me.” There’s a lot of hurt in that adolescent sentence. “Like my job isn’t that important and I’m wasting my time here.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I thought your sister was a real bitch,” I offer.
Her face breaks into a grin. “Thanks, Chastity.” We laugh. That’s right. Lucia and I are laughing. Together and simultaneously.
“Lu—” I begin tentatively.
“What?” she asks.
“If you wanted to write a features article once in a while, I’d be willing to see how it goes.” Her face lights up under the Kabuki makeup. “Strict parameters, though,” I continue. “With full right to refuse to print anything. And you’d have to adhere to the word count, because I don’t want to read ten thousand words on a pie-eating contest.”
Lucia is blinking rapidly against tears. “It’s about time.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Now I have to run. See you later.”
THE RIVERSIDE CLEANUP TURNS out to be more fun than I had anticipated, and I spend too much time chatting as I interview the director of parks and recreation and her many volunteers. By the time I get home, I’m running late, so I heave Buttercup into the car and drive to Mom’s house, fifteen minutes after the instructed time.
Mom is in the kitchen, fetching beers, when I come in. “I really wish you’d been on time today, Chastity. The boys are getting impatient.”
“So? Who cares about the boys?” I say, automatically reverting to my adolescent self.
“Go into the living room,” she says soberly, and a small twinge of fear sings through my joints.
“Come on, Buttercup,” I say, and my dog follows me reluctantly, leaving the microbe she was sniffing. She flops on the carpet with a groan. My brothers and their wives are already seated, Jack and Sarah in the big chair, Lucky and Tara on the couch. Matt is reading Sports Illustrated, and Mark, I’m happy to see, is holding Elaina’s hand. Elaina smiles at me. I sit next to Lucky, shoving his shoulder until he gives me more room.
“Where are the kids?” I ask.
“The kids are watching The Lion King,” Mom says. “Now be quiet, I have to tell you something. Matt, stop reading. Questions come after I’m done. All right?”
I throw Elaina a glance of confusion. Even she, who adores my mother, looks worried.
Mom looks at the floor and folds her arms across her chest. “Harry and I are getting married.”
The refrain from “Hakuna Matata” drifts up from under our feet. Buttercup moans in her sleep. It’s the only sound for a good fifteen seconds.
“Holy crap,” Jack breathes.
“July twenty-third,” Mom continues. “Of course, I’d like you to be there, but if you have a problem with that, I understand.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the solar plexus. She can’t marry Harry. She can’t. “Mom?” I whisper. My throat is tight.
“You just met him,” Mark says.
“Three months ago, honey.”
“Does Dad know?” Matt asks.
“Not yet.” Mom’s jaw is tight.
“Mamí,” Elaina says hesitantly, “why the rush?”
“Life is too short,” Mom answers briskly.
“Mom?” I whisper again, but Lucky interrupts this time.
“Are you sure about this, Mom? I know you’ve been mad at Dad, but this seems a little…dramatic.”
“This isn’t about your father, Luke. It’s about Harry and me and my future.”
“Are we supposed to be happy for you, Ma?” Jack asks, an edge in his voice.
“You can be happy or not,” she says. “It won’t change anything.”
“What about Dad?” Mark asks. “What’s he supposed to do, Mom?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know.” She sighs. “Listen, I know he’s going to be angry. He’ll need you kids.”
“When are you going to tell him?” Sarah asks.
“Tonight.” Mom looks grim. “He’s at a union meeting right now, but he’s coming over later.”
My voice isn’t working. And I think there’s something wrong with my heart, because it’s beating sickly in my chest, slow and too hard.
“Is that all?” Jack asks tightly.
“That’s all.” Mom sighs. “I know this is a bombshell, kids, but I think you should all go home. Call me tomorrow if you have anything else to say. Okay?” The boys rise obediently. “Chastity, honey, will you stay a little while?”
I nod wordlessly.
Like ghosts, my brothers and their spouses gather their kids and trickle out the door. It’s eerily quiet. I just sit on the couch in the fading light and stare at the rug. My mind is blank.
Mom comes in from waving to the last of her grandchildren and sits in her chair across from me. “I know this a surprise, Chastity,” she says.
A razor seems wedged in my vocal cords. “Mom,” I say in a rough whisper, “how can you do this? You love Daddy.”
She stares at me, then comes over and sits down next to me. “Honey, I did. For a long time, he was…” She sighs. “He was the love of my life.”
“So you can’t marry Harry, Mom! Not if you still love Daddy!” I sound like a ten-year-old, but I can’t help it. Buttercup comes over to me and puts her head on my lap.
“Love gets used up, Chastity,” Mom says gently, reaching up to smooth my hair. “If it’s not returned, it gets used up.”
“He loves you, Mom!” A tear drops on Buttercup’s nose, and she licks it away. “Of course Dad loves you.”
“Not in the same way, honey.” She leans back against the couch and fiddles with her bracelet. “Chastity, you can’t spend your life loving someone more than you’re loved. You know that, don’t you? It makes you feel small, no matter how tall you might be.” She gives a small, sad smile.
“What…what are you talking about?”
“Trevor.”
I suck in a breath. “I—I—I don’t—”
“Yes, you do, honey. You love Trevor. You’ve loved him since you were a kid.”
My face crumples, the tears coming faster now. “Okay, well, yes. But let’s talk about you and Daddy,” I whisper.
“Okay. But I think you’re being smart to find someone else, someone who thinks you light up the room.” She pauses, staring at the floor. “Not someone who doesn’t even really see you anymore.”
I don’t know if she’s talking about me or her or Trevor or Ryan or Dad. I wipe my eyes and try to swallow.
“I’m tired of fighting to get your father to notice me,” she says, looking so weary and wise that I have to clench my jaw shut so I don’t sob. “He spent too many years just expecting me to be there when he felt like noticing. There I was, mother of five, keeping the house, cooking, running you kids all over, taking care of you when you were sick, and I was still just as in love with him as when we first met. Meanwhile, he just kept doing whatever he felt like doing. The job, the guys, you kids when the mood struck him. It seemed like everything was more important than I was.”
Buttercup moves her head to Mom’s lap now, and Mom strokes the dog’s big ears.
“Do you really love Harry?” I ask around the thorn in my throat.
“Yes,” she says simply, and my heart cracks. “I like feeling new and interesting and…well, adored.”
I nod, misery rising off me like a fog.
“I was hoping you’d be my maid of honor, Chastity,” she says. “Though you don’t have to answer now, of course.”
I don’t want to break down in front of my mother, so I stand up. “I have to go,” I squeak.
“Okay,” she says, standing too and hugging me. “I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too, Mom.” I choke. “I just have to run to my room for a sec.” With Buttercup on my heels, I escape down the hall.
