Seventeen
Seventeen
I spend the morning in a catatonic state. After dropping Alex off with Stella, Tiffany gives me a ride home. She hugs me tightly and swears that Travis won’t be a problem anymore. I know that she has the means to keep him in line whenever she wants. Before saying goodbye, I promise that I’ll retrieve her clothes from the fraternity. I hope they are still intact, at least.
Returning home, I discover to my relief that Mom spent the night at Victor’s place and therefore knows nothing about my “disappearance.” After a pistachio ice cream binge for lunch and a monumental sleep, I wash and dress up for tonight’s dinner: an olive-green turtleneck and white jeans cinched at the waist by a gold belt. On my feet are my beloved unicorn slippers. My mother won’t appreciate it but, what the hell, we’re not the royal family.
I gather my hair into a high ponytail and use a curling iron on the ends. I give myself a light layer of foundation, a little peachy blush and a smack of nude lipstick. I’m ready to welcome our guests, although I would much rather stay curled up in bed.
I had to lie to my mother and tell her that Travis couldn’t join us because he had practice. And she certainly didn’t jump for joy when she found out I invited Alex and Stella in his place. It doesn’t matter. I need the support if I want to make it through this.
At six o’clock sharp, a black Mercedes pulls into our driveway. I pull back one side of the curtains and peek out my window to watch the arrival of this man who has captured my mother’s heart. He gets out of the car and walks toward the house with a confident and determined stride. He is very tall, wearing a dark gray suit and elegant shoes.
Before ringing the doorbell, he adjusts the knot of his tie.
“Nessy, come down! He’s here!” my mother chirps. I roll my eyes heavenward.
I join them in the living room and do my best to seem sociable. “Hello, Victor. Welcome,” I say, extending my hand to him. This is the first time I’ve spoken to him for more than two minutes; we’ve only ever met in passing when he brought Mom home after nights out.
“Hi, Vanessa. Thank you for inviting me to dinner,” he replies in his Canadian accent. “I’m happy to be here tonight. Your mother speaks highly of you.”
Surprising. My mother doesn’t usually speak well of anyone but herself.
“Oh, um, I’m sure she exaggerated,” I say, embarrassed.
The doorbell rings, saving me from this awkward impasse. I run to open it and find Alex and Stella. Alex is wearing a pair of jeans and a white wool turtleneck under a tweed blazer. Stella, by contrast, is wearing a leather jacket, with an elegant powder pink blouse underneath, skinny jeans and over-the-knee boots. I hug them both simultaneously. I am so relieved they came.
“Thank God you guys are here,” I whisper to them both as I squeeze them tight. “Stella, I am so happy to meet you in person,” I say, offering her my hand. When she reciprocates, her grip is warm.
“I was looking forward to it too. Alex told me all about the wonderful friendship you two have,” she says in a sweet and joyful voice.
We join my mother and Victor in the living room, and I take my friends’ jackets.
“Thanks for the invitation, Mrs. White,” Alex says.
“Thank you for coming,” my mother answers in a sugary, slightly forced tone. “Come on, don’t just stand in the doorway, get in here.”
“Mom, Victor. This is Stella, Alex’s girlfriend. They met this summer in Santa Barbara.”
“Santa Barbara? Do you live there?” my mother asks as she shakes Stella’s hand.
“No, I live in Vancouver. We were both in Santa Barbara with our families, and we met purely by chance.” Stella exchanges a look with Alex, and her cheeks, still tanned, turn scarlet. Alex wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close in a reassuring gesture.
“Oh, first love is so magical,” my mother squeals. “Too bad it’s always doomed.”
What?! I shoot a look at her.
Victor intervenes, alleviating our embarrassment with a friendly wave of his hand and introduces himself to both of them.
“Sometimes fate surprises us,” he concludes with a smile. Having finished the introductions, Mom ushers us into the dining room, where we find the table already set with serving dishes.
“Wow, Mom, when was the last time you did a setup like this?”
“I was inspired…” She smiles broadly at Victor. Nauseating. “Honey, Victor and I will sit here,” she says pointing to the seat at the head of the table and the one next to it. “You can be next to me, Alex and Stella on the other side.”
We sit down, and my mother busies herself filling plates with slices of roast turkey and baked potatoes before uncovering the serving trays, which contain vegetable side dishes. Finally, she brings out a basket filled with sliced bread.
Dinner proceeds peacefully, Alex tells us about the trip to China that his parents are taking, Stella about her life in Vancouver. Older than Alex by two years, she is in her last year of college and has decided to take a gap year after graduation to travel.
After a moment of silence, Alex turns to my mother. “Dinner is delicious, Mrs. White. My compliments to the chef.”
He’s right. My mother has outdone herself this time. She put a lot of effort into impressing Victor. Mom gives him a pleased smile.
“Thank you, Alexander. But I didn’t do anything special,” she answers, cutting a piece of turkey with disarming grace.
“So, Vanessa,” Victor interjects, patting the corners of his mouth with his napkin, “your mother says you are an excellent student. Is she right?”
“Excellent? The best, you mean.” Alex grins. I blush and lower my eyes at my friend’s compliment.
“I just do my best,” I retort with a smile.
“You’re very humble as well,” Victor adds.
I frown at him. “Is that bad?”
“No, not at all. But if you are lucky enough to be good at something, you shouldn’t be afraid to say it out loud,” he answers with conviction.
“It’s not fear. I just think bragging is, how should I put it…conceited,” I say emphasizing the last word and add, “And I personally don’t like conceited people.”
“But if it’s true, there’s nothing you can do about it,” he insists.
“Sure, but there’s no need to shout it from the rooftops,” I answer, arguing my point.
He shakes his head, impressed. “Esther, you were absolutely right. Your daughter is a tough nut to crack,” he quips, stroking her knuckles as they exchange knowing smiles. “Are you enjoying college?” he continues, keeping his hand over my mother’s. She gives me a joyful look.
“Yes, I like it very much. It’s a nice environment,” I say shortly.
“What are you majoring in?”
What’s with all these questions? Someone should tell him that it’s considered impolite to interrogate a person in her own home.
“Oh, I’m still thinking about that.” My answer leaves him flabbergasted.
“You still don’t know? Esther, how can she not know?”
Is that a crime now?
“Of course she knows! Vanessa will major in law. We’ve known that ever since she was born. Her innate sense of justice will make her the best lawyer in the state!” she exclaims, laughing.
I, on the other hand, want to cry. “Actually, Mom, I don’t know. I’m still thinking about it. After all, sophomore year just started. I have plenty of time to decide what to do with my future.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Vanessa.” My mother shakes her head with a fixed smile.
“I’m not, Mom. I intend to make the most of this year.” I ask Alex to hand me the tray with the vegetables, and I put a spoonful on the plate.
“Coming into your second year of college and still not knowing which track you’ll take is unusual, but it’s not the end of the world, Esther,” Victor interjects, trying to defuse the steadily building tension. “Tell me, do you belong to any sororities or clubs? I belonged to Phi Gamma Delta. It was one of the most important fraternities at our university. We were quite a group of guys, each one crazier than the last, but boy we were smart! We made that fraternity the most prominent on campus!” He adjusts the lapels of his jacket proudly.
“Phi Gamma Delta? Some of my father’s friends were brothers,” Stella interjects.
“Really?” Alex and I ask at the same time.
“You don’t say!” Victor presses.
“Does the name Chad Mitchell mean anything to you?”
“Of course! I can’t believe it. That guy was a genius. Once, he managed to hack into the central server of the university and changed the entire school’s schedule. There was so much chaos that they had to cancel classes for the day!”
We all laugh at this anecdote.
“Chad is a legend! He works with my father. In the office he is equally loved and feared,” says Stella, taking a sip of wine.
“That’s Chad, all right!”
“To answer your question, no. I don’t belong to any sorority, too many constraints. But I have joined the university book club and am thinking about applying to work on the paper,” I interject to resume the conversation.
My mother gasps, dropping her fork to the floor.
“Sorry, I’m so clumsy.” She gets up abruptly and goes to the kitchen to get clean cutlery.
“Would you like to be a journalist?” Victor asks curiously.
“I don’t know, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. I dream of writing, but I’m waiting for the right story. I think working on the school newspaper, even though it’s very different than an actual newspaper, is still a good way to practice,” I explain.
“Absolutely, but it is a difficult field to make it in, you know?” I nod, and he continues, “I know very few writers or journalists who have managed to turn their passion into a sufficiently high-paying job that allows for a good standard of living.”
I shrug one shoulder and frown slightly. “I am very aware of that.”
On her return, my mother listens without uttering a word until, taking advantage of a moment of silence, she exclaims, “You know dear, I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet Travis, my daughter’s fiancé. He comes from a very respectable family; Vanessa is so lucky.”
Now it’s my turn to drop cutlery onto the plate this time. Alex gives me a disheartened look and I consider ruining the whole dinner, telling my mother that her precious Travis turned out to be a first-class asshole. I wonder how she would react if she knew that the boy she always treated like he was the second coming was nothing but a cheater. She’d probably pass out. Yet part of me is convinced that she would never turn on Travis, not even if she was faced with the ugly truth. Instead, she would probably disown me for daring to leave the richest daddy’s boy in all of Oregon.
I open my mouth to spit out the whole truth, but Alex, who seems to have read my mind, taps me on the foot under the table, shaking his head. I reflect for a few seconds and, in the end, I keep my mouth shut. Maybe he’s right, this is not the time.
“Yeah, yeah, too bad. He was busy,” I babble.
“We’ll have a chance to make it up. Maybe next week?” my mother chirps with a smile on her lips.
“I doubt it.”
“Why not?” she asks, confused. Across the table, Alex and Stella freeze.
“Because…” I clear my throat. “Because he’s really busy right now.”
A moment of silence follows in which my mother turns in her chair to observe me. “Everything is okay between you two, isn’t it?”
I plaster my fakest smile on my face, inhale slowly, and nod. “Yeah, Mom, everything’s great.”
“Oh, thank goodness, I feared the worst for a moment.” She laughs in relief, bringing one hand to her chest. With the other she squeezes Victor’s fingers. “You know, his father, Edward Baker, is the CEO of an oil company.”
Oh my God. Again? I slump back against my chair inelegantly. I could use a whole bottle of wine right now. Too bad my stomach revolts at the very thought. “He owns a lot of property here in Oregon as well as in a variety of countries. He’s a very important man, so he’s always away on business. His son is already working hard to follow in his footsteps,” my mother concludes, while I stifle the urge to burst into hearty laughter.
“He sounds like a great guy, this Travis,” Victor says, turning to my mother.
Give me a break.
“Mom, please. Can we stop talking about Travis?”
“You’re right, dear. It is not nice to talk about someone when they aren’t present,” my mother says.
The conversation turns to Alex’s mother’s work. Because my mother, it seems, is only interested in talking about money and careers. When we finish dinner, Mom gets up and starts clearing the table. Victor offers to give her a hand, but she insists that he is a guest and should join Alex and Stella in the living room. Left in the kitchen, I am about to load the dishwasher when my mother sneaks up behind me.
“Honey!”
“Mom! You scared me,” I gasp.
“Shh! So, tell me: What do you think?” she murmurs enthusiastically.
“Why are you whispering?” I whisper back.
“I don’t want them to hear us. Come on, tell me: Do you like him?” I toss a glance at Victor in the other room. Only the hallway separates us.
“Victor?” She nods impatiently. “He seems like a good person.”
She hugs me. “I knew you’d like him! Now go be with your friends, I’ll finish cleaning up.”
I join them, and Victor takes my place in the kitchen to help my mother. I chat a bit more with Alex and Stella before telling them to go enjoy the rest of their evening together. They have scheduled a trip to Siuslaw National Forest tomorrow, so I don’t want to take up any more of their time.
“Do you want to come with us tomorrow?” Stella asks.
“No, thanks. I think I need to be on my own for a while.”
“Are you sure?” She looks apologetic.
I nod. “We’ll do it again some other time.” I smile at her.
“Are you okay?” Alex asks me. I really appreciate that he has given Stella a heads-up about the situation with Travis.
“Yes, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” He pats me, tousling my hair in his usual way. I hug Stella, who reciprocates warmly. She is just as I had imagined her: sensible, sweet, and easygoing. Perfect for Alex.
“Good night, guys, and thanks for coming.”
Alex smiles at me, and then he intertwines his hand with Stella’s, and they leave.
***
I spend Sunday at home. The weather outside is gloomy, so I hole up in my room and read. After lunch, Tiffany keeps me entertained with a sprawling phone call. The afternoon, however, I spend studying. I start drafting some papers that I have to turn in within the next week and, before I realize it, it’s already dark outside.
After dinner, my mother asks me if I want to go for a walk downtown with her and Victor. I cheerfully decline. I have absolutely no desire to play third wheel with my mother and her new boyfriend, who has just had dinner with us for the second time.
Here I am, then, alone in this deserted house, which suddenly feels too quiet. I decide to go to my room and get ready for bed; I really need it. A bit early, I know, considering that it is only half past eight—the last time I went to sleep at this time I was approximately seven years old—but I think it might do me some good to catch up on a few hours of sleep. I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling above me, waiting to fall asleep. But my thoughts won’t give me any respite.
In less than a week, my life has changed completely. At this very moment, I was supposed to be at the concert in Portland with Travis, singing along until I was blue in the face. Instead, I’m lying in bed tossing and turning, looking for a comfortable sleeping position. I can’t seem to banish the memory of Thomas, which has been haunting me ever since yesterday morning. When I’m near him, I feel confused and vulnerable but, at the same time, I feel better than I ever have before. When I told him that the night I spent with him was a terrible mistake, I really meant it. Not for the reasons I think he assumed, though. Because now there is a part of me that feels connected to him. And no sane person would want to get entangled in Thomas Collins’s life.
Yet no matter how hard I try, my mind refuses to bury the memory of his lips on mine, of his warm and rough hands that seemed to crave my body, of his soft and good-smelling hair, and of the way that, every time he said my name, my heart would pound.
I kick off the comforter and go downstairs to the kitchen. If I can’t sleep, then I’ll have a nice Shameless marathon—that should keep my mind occupied. I pop some popcorn in the microwave, pull a can of Coke out of the fridge, and throw myself into the recliner, covering my legs with a fleece blanket.
After a few episodes, that tattooed reprobate continues to occupy my thoughts. I check my phone every two minutes in the hope of getting a message from him, which I know I won’t because he doesn’t even have my number. And why would he text me? After the things I said to him, and the way I treated him, I wouldn’t want to see me either. Oh, to hell with it. Enough. I want to see him. For a moment, I am surprised by my own admission, but it is the truth.
Before the heat of the moment passes, without overthinking what I am about to do, I rush out of the house. Fortunately, Mom has left the Toyota here. I start the car and fifteen minutes later I find myself in front of his dormitory on campus. I ask some guys in the lobby for Thomas’s room number, and I don’t miss the amused expression they give me. As if to say, Here’s another girl looking for a good time .
I have to make a tremendous effort not to get upset by that thought.
I arrive in front of door D37 on the fourth floor and stare at it for a few moments, trying to muster up the courage to knock. My stomach is in knots, and anxiety is eating away at me. What if he refuses to see me? The last time we saw each other, I yelled at him and ordered him to leave me alone. He’ll think I’m more confused than he is. Not to mention that I’ve just realized I am still wearing my pajamas. I left the house so fast that I didn’t even change. Fortunately, I have a coat that covers me to my knees.
I take a deep breath and knock softly. I wait a while, but no one answers. I knock louder. I hear footsteps approaching from behind the door and my heart beats faster.
When the door opens, I am confronted by a short, awkward guy with a bag of chips under his arm. He’s definitely not Thomas.
“H-hello,” I say, confused.
“He’s not here,” he replies irritably, crunching a potato chip.
“W-what, sorry?”
“You’re looking for Thomas, aren’t you? They’re all looking for Thomas! But he’s not here. He’s never here on weekends.”
Right! It’s Sunday and he had told me that he stays at the frat house during the weekend. The thought disturbs me. Is he with some girl? I immediately imagine him tangled up with Shana or some other more beautiful and more experienced girl. Stupid! This is definitely a sign. Thomas Collins cannot be a part of my life, not now and not ever. I have to leave.
“Ah, um, sorry for the inconvenience, then.” I turn to leave but the boy stops me.
“Don’t you want me to tell him you came by?”
“H-huh?”
He pushes a lock of brown hair off his forehead and repeats, “If you tell me your name, I’ll text him and tell him that you are looking for him.” He licks his fingertips with an expression of pure delight.
Should I tell him he has crumbs in his hair?
“No. No message, thank you. In fact, do me a favor and don’t tell him I stopped by. It’s nothing important. Sorry I disturbed you while you were…doing whatever you were doing.”
“I was just finishing Full Metal Panic .”
“Okay…” I say, pretending to know what he’s talking about. “Sorry again.” I back away and leave. This guy really is weird…
Before I get into the car, I text my mother and ask her to bring me two scoops of pistachio ice cream with chocolate syrup and whipped cream.
I would go and buy it myself, but I didn’t bring my wallet with me when I had the brilliant idea of jumping out of this plane without a parachute.
My mother confirms with an emoji.
Great, I’ll need all the calories I can get to swallow the humiliation I have just subjected myself to.
In just two days, I found out that I was cheated on, broke up with Travis, had sex with Thomas, and now I am washing my hands of him as well. Well, not that there was anything real between us, just…ugh! Two scoops of ice cream will not be enough! I send another message to my mother and tell her to get a pint.
Arriving home, I take off my jacket and shake off the chills. I tie up my hair haphazardly and scroll through my music app. Now more than ever, I need pining and pain. I scroll through the various songs included in my “Recovery” playlist and hurl myself onto the couch with the lights off. I listen to Sum 41’s “With Me,” followed closely by “Echo” by Jason Walker and a long series of heartbreaking songs while I ponder the mess my life has become.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rings. Finally, my three scoops of pistachio bliss and regret has arrived. I go to the door with my head still bent over the phone, intent on choosing another song. I’m ready to go back to the couch, but something snaps me to attention. Or rather, someone. I look up from my phone and stare incredulously at the person in front of me.
Sweet. Merciful. God.
He’s here.