He puts on some demo CD that he wants me to hear and after two songs he looks at me and asks, “What do you think?”
I cover my mouth because I’m chewing on a piece of pizza and I say, “They’re really good. Who are they?”
Then he goes, “Some garage band from Liverpool.”
“Oh, you mean like the Beatles?” I ask.
“That would be nice.” He takes a sip of his beer and wipes the corner of his mouth with the side of his hand. “You know, I haven’t heard anything that fresh and original in a long time.”
So I go, “Yeah, they’re really good.”
“They’re brilliant.” He nods. “I’m really hoping we can sign them.”
He takes another sip of his beer and looks at me in that sexy way that he has and now my stomach is going all weird again and I’m not sure what to do. I mean, I promised myself I would keep it casual, but it’s not so easy when he looks at me like that.
So he moves closer, and puts his arm around me and says, “I’m sorry that things got sort of messed up.” Then he kisses me on my hair, right above my ear.
I nod and half smile and say, “Yeah, well, I’m sorry too.” And then I look at him and I just have to know, and now’s my chance, and I have nothing to lose, so I go, “What about Sam?”
He looks at me intently and goes, “What about her?”
And I go, “Well, are you guys going out?”
“Why would you ask that?” He leans back and looks at me strangely.
And I realize that I can’t explain the subtle looks and weird frequency that happens between girls that guys can’t tune into, and I guess I never really saw anything concrete anyway, so I just go, “I don’t know, I guess I thought . . .”
“We’re not dating. She works for me. That’s it.” He shakes his head and gives me a serious look.
“Okay,” I say. But I’m not sure if I believe him.
And then he leans in again and this time he kisses me on the lips. Softly at first and then it grows into something more. And it feels so good, to feel his arms wrapped tight around me, and I find myself pushing into this kiss, pushing into his whole body. And then his hands are on my breasts, and I’m melting into him once again, just like I did the last time. Only this time I know it will be different, because there are no lies between us.
The next morning I wake up alone. I’m still half asleep as I reach over to Connor’s side of the bed wanting to snuggle with him, but he’s not there and the sheet feels cold, like he hasn’t been there for awhile.
I climb out of bed and grab his shirt off the floor, put it on, and holding the front part closed I go looking for him.
I find him in the living room with the phone cradled in his neck putting something into a duffle bag that’s sitting on the coffee table.
“Hey,” I say standing there.
He turns and smiles and waves and points at the phone and then puts his index finger up in the “just a minute” signal.
So I go into the kitchen and as I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee I freeze when I hear him say, “Okay Sam, six o’clock, don’t be late.”
He said “Sam.” Why would he be talking to Sam? I lean my head toward the doorway trying to hear more, but he already hung up. So I force the whole thing out of my mind because he told me last night that nothing was going on between them. I mean, I’m sure it’s just business. And if we’re going to be together now, I have to learn to trust him, just like I want him to trust me after all of my lies.
He comes up behind me and says, “Good morning,” and then he wraps his arms around me and kisses the back of my neck, and I lean back into him, and he smells so nice and feels so good. And right when I’m thinking how lucky I am that my mom is out of town, and it’s only Saturday, and I still have until Sunday night to hang out with him, and how I wouldn’t mind crawling back into bed for the rest of the day, he goes, “So why don’t you shower, while I make you a big American breakfast, and then I’ll drive you home.”
Chapter 29
So after a British version of an “American” breakfast consisting of bacon, eggs, toast, fruit, juice, coffee, and a choice of cereals (I mean all the Americans I know just eat Pop-Tarts), we took the long, scenic route home, all the way down the coast to Newport Beach where we stopped for frozen yogurt, and took a walk to the end of the Pier. We talked about things we never talked about before, and I felt so close to him, and so lucky, and I couldn’t help thinking how much better my life was now that Connor was definitely back in it.
When he pulls into my high school parking lot, mine is the only car sitting there.
“That’s your car I’m assuming,” he says as he pulls up next to it.
“Yeah,” I say grabbing my purse from the backseat, wondering what to do next.
“I like Karmann Ghias. I think they’re really cool.”
“It’s okay.” I shrug.
“So, this is your school?” He cranes his neck around, but all you can really see from the student lot is the tennis courts and the stupid mascot that’s painted on the gym.
“This is it,” I say, staring at his profile.
And then he leans across and hugs me and I can feel his warm breath in my hair and smell his skin and feel his heart beat under his sweater and it’s right next to mine. He holds me like that for a moment then he pulls back and looks at his watch and says, “I should go. Our flight leaves early.”
And I go, “What?” And I’m staring at him, trying to make sense of what he just said because I don’t remember him mentioning anything about a flight, and the way he just said “our flight” makes me wonder if it’s like a surprise for me or something. Like maybe he really is going to take me away somewhere and we can be together and I can just forget about school and all the other things that are dragging me down.
But he looks really uncomfortable when he goes, “I’m going back to London tomorrow.”
I sit there stunned, and I feel like I just got the wind knocked out of me, and I don’t even know what to say, so I don’t say anything.
“Please don’t look at me like that. I told you I was leaving,” he says.
“You did?” I search his face, trying to remember when he might possibly have said that.
“Yeah. I was supposed to leave a week ago, but it got postponed.”
And then I remember. He mentioned something that night at Harry’s, but for some reason back then it didn’t seem like a big threat, but now it kind of does. And I still want to know what he meant by “our flight” but part of me is afraid to ask because I don’t think he meant “our” like “us.” But I really have to know so I go, “Who are you going with?”
And he totally avoids looking at me when he says, “Uh, Sam is on my flight.”
And I can’t believe he said that. And I can’t believe that he said it like that, like it’s just some random coincidence. “You’re going to London with Sam?” I ask.
“Yeah, but it’s not like you think. She works for me. She’s my assistant. She has to come.”
He looks at me and smiles and nods, but I just bite down on my lower lip and look away. I mean, I really wish I could believe that story, but I’m not a total idiot.
“Hey,” he pulls me back toward him, and touches my cheek softly. “Last night was really great.” And then he kisses me, and I let him, but I don’t kiss back, and when it’s over he says, “I’ll write you as soon as I get settled.”
And I look at him and go, “You’re going to write me?”
“Well, yeah, if that’s okay?” He looks confused.
“But why would you write me? I mean, Connor how long are you going for?”
He looks at me closely and goes, “I’m moving back to London. I’ll be gone for quite awhile.”
“But what about all of your business here?” I ask, even though what I really mean is what about me?
He takes a strand of my hair and tucks it behind my ear and goes, “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
“How could I know?” I’m starting to sound unstable but I don’t care. “How could I know if you never told me?”
“But I did tell you I was leaving.”
“But not like that! Not like you were moving there! You made it sound like some casual business trip.”
“Alex, I’m sorry if you misunderstood, but I’m English, London is home.”
I sink down lower in my seat and stare out the window and try to gain control over my emotions because there’s no way I’m gonna cry in front of him. “I just wish you were more clear about it. I just wish you had told me before,” I say, avoiding his eyes.
“Before what?” he asks.
“Before last night!” I shake my head. God, I never learn, I’m so pathetic.
“Would it have made a difference?”
I look at him and say, “It would have made a big difference, Connor.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he says.
And he says it quietly, like he really means it. But I just shrug and think how we’ve said that an awful lot for two people who aren’t really boyfriend and girlfriend.
So I grab my purse and reach for the door handle and right when I open it he says, “Alex.”
And I look over and he kisses me again and it’s nice, but after a moment I break away, and push the door all the way open and say, “Have a safe flight.” I resist the urge to finish that by saying “with Sam!” even though it’s screaming inside me, wanting to get out.
So I climb out of his car and into mine, and after I start my engine I wave from my window, so he’ll know that everything is okay. And when I see him pull out of the parking lot and onto the road, I scream at the top of my lungs for the longest time. And I know I should stop, but I can’t. It just keeps coming out. But I don’t cry. I won’t let myself cry.
Chapter 30
The next afternoon when my mom returned from visiting my aunt in San Diego I met her out on the driveway and helped her bring her things in. I smiled, and made small talk, and thanked her for the “San Diego!” T-shirt she bought me, even though I don’t wear things like that. And I did all this even though I felt like I was in the final stages of death because I promised myself I would keep the whole Connor mess to myself, and just get through it alone.
I go back into my room where I was working on the tenth page of my Anna K paper but I decide I need a break. So I pick up the phone and call M just to see what’s up, since the last time I saw her she was cracked out on coke. And even though I’m mad at her for tricking me into going to Trevor’s and all the other shitty things she’s done to me lately, I’m also kind of worried about her.
When she picks up on the fourth ring, I hear her yell, “I got it, Mom! Shit. Hello?”
I go, “M?”
“Hang on,” she whispers. And then, “Mom, it’s just Tiffany, all right?”
I go, “M, it’s Alex.”
“I know.”
“Well, why did you tell your mom I was Tiffany?”
“Okay. Listen. I didn’t know how to tell you this but I guess I have to and I hope you’ll understand.”
I just listen.
“Remember when my mom found that stash?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, she confronted me and wanted to know what I was doing with it. She was really mad, and I was scared, and so I said it wasn’t mine.”
“You didn’t tell her it was mine did you?”
“Not exactly.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I yell.
“Alex, please. Don’t be mad. I didn’t actually say it was yours. She just sort of assumed.”
“Why would she assume that? I’ve never done drugs!”
“I know, I know. Look I guess she just thought. . .”
“What?” I demand.
“I guess she just thought, well, you know, because your parents are divorced and your mom has to work, and you’re not doing that well in school, well I guess that made her think that they were yours.”
“All of those things are supposed to make me a drug user?” I scream. “You didn’t even stand up for me? I can’t fucking believe this!”
“Alex! Listen! I tried to tell her that it wasn’t you I was holding them for but she didn’t believe me. It’s like she convinced herself that I was trying to protect you or something. Anyway, what’s the real harm here? It’s not like we hang out with my parents. As long as you don’t call here or come over when they’re home, we can still totally see each other at school and hang out in LA on the weekends. It’s really not that big a deal.”
“Not that big a deal? Fuck you M.”
“But Alex!”
I slam down the phone. And then I pick it up and slam it down again. And then I do that one more time. And when it starts ringing I’m amazed to see that it’s not broken. But I don’t answer it because I know it’s M and I don’t want to talk to her.
My mom must have heard me screaming because she comes in my room a few minutes later and when I see her I start sobbing uncontrollably. Then she comes over and hugs me and I feel like I’m six years old again.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice full of concern.
“Everything,” I say. “I hate my life.”
“Don’t say that. Tell me what happened.”
I wipe my face on the hem of my tank top and go sit on the edge of my bed. My mom comes over and sits next to me and puts her arm around me and waits for me to start. So I tell her all about M and her drug use, and how she told her mom they were mine. And instead of getting mad, instead of saying what I thought she would, my mom goes, “Poor M.”
“Poor M!” I practically shout. “What about me?”
She looks right at me and says, “What about you? You and I both know the truth. I know those drugs aren’t yours. But look what M’s reduced to. Lying about her behavior and blaming you.” She shakes her head, “There’s something very sad about that girl.”
“About M?” I say incredulously.
My mom looks at me and nods, “Yes, I feel sorry for her. She always seems like she needs a hot meal and a hug.”
“M? That I’ve known forever? That M? Like, what could be sad about her? She has everything and she always has! She’s going to Princeton, she’s beautiful, and smart, and popular, and rich.”
“Yes, and you’re all those things too, minus the lying and the drug use.”
I shake my head, “That’s just delusional,” I say.
“Maybe we’re not rich like M’s family, but you’re beautiful, and smart, and you used to be involved with a lot of different friends, you used to be on the honor roll, you used to be college bound too. Somewhere along the way, you just seemed to give up on all that. But that was a choice you made, it wasn’t something that just happened to you.”
I sit there with my head in my hands going over what she just said. I mean, I guess I always knew that I was the one blowing it, but I’ve also been acting like it’s not my fault. “I’m such a loser,” I say. “And I’m a liar too.” I take my hands off my face and look at my mom. “I told a really big lie to someone I cared about, someone I thought I loved, and he dumped me because of it. And then I lied and pretended he didn’t dump me, and then I got caught in that too. And then I saw him last night, and part of me hoped all the bad stuff would go away and we’d be together. And everything was so great, and it felt so right, but today he went back to London, and he went with someone else.”
“Who is this boy?” she asks.
I shrug. “Just some guy I met. His name is Connor. He’s from London. He was here on business.”
“On business?” she says, somewhat alarmed. “How old is he?”
“Twenty-three,” I say.
“Don’t you think that’s too old for you?”
I just look at her and go, “I don’t even know anymore. I mean, before I didn’t think so, but after everything that’s happened, I just don’t know.”
And then I can’t help it, I
just start crying again, and she hugs me for the longest time and I just cry until I’m empty.
Chapter 31
It’s weird at school not hanging out with M at lunch and trying to pretend like I don’t see her in class. The first day in French she kept trying to get my attention but by AP History she had totally given up. I guess it’s a good thing that we never did sit next to each other.
Tiffany came over to my locker recently and asked what’s going on with M and me. I pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about.
She said, “For your information, there are two freshmen sitting at the tree that you guys have been eating lunch at since ninth grade. And I never see you guys together anymore.”
I knew she was just looking for a juicy story and that really annoyed me so I said, “God, it’s not like we were dating you know.”
“Well, M said . . .”
I didn’t stand there long enough to hear the rest of that. While I have no idea where M is eating lunch, I’m sure she’s not answering Tiffany’s questions. I mean, she can’t be feeling very proud of what she did.
So I’m actually going to all of my classes, getting there early, and paying attention. I have to admit I feel a little lost in most of them; it’s kind of like sitting down in the theater just half an hour before the movie ends and trying to figure out what you missed.
About a week after Connor left I got a postcard from him with a picture of the Queen on it, and then a few days later he left a message on my machine. I admit that I listened to the message more than twice, but when I was done, I erased it, even though I had the option to save it for thirty days. And then I sent him a postcard too; it had a picture of Richard Nixon and Elvis; it’s called “The President and the King.”
Even Guy (remember him, from Java Daze?) called and left a voice mail message, but I’m not sure if I’m gonna call him back. I mean, I thought he was really cute and nice. Not a dweeb like M said. But I lied to him too and pretended I was in college and stuff. Well, technically it was M’s lie, but it’s not like I tried to stop it. And I’m just not sure I’m willing to start something that’s based on lies again.