Chapter 10 #2
I ignore her sarcasm. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Why not stay and see this through? For Dad? For me?”
I take another deep breath. “I’ll fulfill my obligation.”
“Good. That’s a start.” She reaches into the closet with a guffaw. “Ah, and you said you didn’t own a dress.”
Laughing, she holds up my prom dress. The tulle material swishes as she waves it through the air. “God, I loved this dress. I almost wore it to my senior prom, but I thought it might be bad luck. I did steal the shoes, though. Had to.”
My fingers drift to the netting of the poofy skirt. It’s a dreamy dress: dark pink with embedded sparkles, an A-line, ankle-length skirt, and a strapless corset top. Ivy helped me pick it out when I thought I could do it, when I thought I could be his girlfriend, his prom date, his.
His burden.
I flashback to high school, me sitting outside the guidance counselor’s office while Dad met with her alone.
The door was shut, creating a windowed barrier between me and their discussion.
But the odd window that separated her office from where I sat was cracked open just enough to hear them—an oversight indicative of the gaping holes in my formal education, I thought.
It was senior year. An oversized neanderthal named Brock, whose only usefulness appeared to be on a basketball court, had made unseemly and unwanted advances toward me in the art supply closet after school.
I handled it—it was not the first time a testosterone-driven, ego-inflated male had propositioned me, especially in private, where other classmates couldn’t see.
The matter should’ve been settled with my rejection, but he retaliated by circulating rumors.
By the week’s end, laughter and insults followed me wherever I went, and I became known for hand-jobs and blow-jobs. A flytrap.
That information wasn’t discussed in the counselor’s office—I never told anyone, not even Henry. Rather, I was in trouble for disrupting Mr. Henderson’s English class when, upon discussing Kate Chopin’s The Awakening and the word rendezvous, he said, “You know what that word means. Right, Venus?”
The class snickered at his obvious innuendo.
That the rumors had reached the teachers wasn’t a surprise.
Nor was it shocking that Mr. Henderson would make his snide remark—he seized opportunities to “put me in my place,” especially since it was clear from the start that I understood the English language and literature far better than he did.
I should’ve kept my head down and mouth shut.
But Henry looked devastated, slumping at his desk and tapping his pencil fiercely against his binder, enacting the system we devised in elementary school to help me curb my unwanted behaviors. Tapping meant I should ignore whatever was bothering me and refrain from reacting.
Only I couldn’t.
“I know many words of French origin,” I said, hands fisting under my desk. “Enculé is also relevant here. Do you know it?”
Mr. Henderson’s bushy brow shot up as he snickered over his inappropriate joke. “What’s that mean?”
“Loosely translated… motherfucker,” I answered dutifully. “You’re a motherfucker.”
The class gasped and hooted while Mr. Henderson’s face went beet-red. He pointed to the door while I gathered my things.
“Please, don’t remove her,” Dad said to my counselor. “She wants to be with Henry. That’s what we arranged.”
“Yes, Dr. Blake, I know. Your pressure to pair Venus with Henry is well known. He’s a calming presence for her sometimes,” she said, “but it’s unfair to saddle him with that responsibility.
Henry has a respectable GPA and is well-liked.
He’s the captain of the basketball team this year.
He is well-acclimated, and she… isn’t. For him, their friendship is a burden. ”
The dress waves in the air as Ivy shakes it out, bringing my attention back to her. “You should wear this to dinner next time. Christie would love it! The rest of your wardrobe is slightly atrocious.”
“Do you remember Dad picking my school schedules?” I ask, dazed, still trying to capture the fuzzy memory.
“Yeah, of course,” she says as if I should’ve known. “He wanted you with Henry, but it didn’t always work out.”
“I’ve only just remembered that.”
“He’d argue with Maggie about it sometimes,” she adds with a shrug.
Dad fought for me more often than I realized. Today’s misadventure was another example.
“Are those your only shoes?”
She points to the hiking boots I’m wearing. I nod, taking the prom dress from her and laying it on the bed.
“Ugh, okay. I’m off Sunday,” she says, glancing at her watch. For the first time, I realize she’s in her nurse’s scrubs. “I’ll come over, and we’ll deal with this wardrobe sitch. Okay?”
“I. I. I was wrong to leave Henry like that,” I say. “Back then. I should’ve… explained. I wish I could’ve explained. To him. To all of you.”
“I think I understand. You felt trapped, and you didn’t know what else to do.”
“Yes,” I sputter with surprise.
“It scared you—almost losing him. Did you think losing you would be better?”
I gape at my sister, stunned that she figured me out. “Yes,” I admit in a sigh. “Better for me. I needed a chance. I couldn’t get that here.”
“I understand. Then, this might be a second chance for all of us.” Ivy’s hand goes to my back in soft circles again as I hover over the useless dress.
“You’ve been all over the world, done things I can’t even imagine.
No one is braver than you, Venus. You should lean into that more.
Be brave for yourself. And for him, if you think he’s worth it, huh? ”
I nod weakly, and she smiles, but a glance at her watch causes her to wince.
“Sorry, sis. Gotta get back, but I’ll see you Sunday. Deal?”
“Thanks, Ivy.”
She leans up and gives me a smacking kiss on my cheek. “That’s what sisters are for, and I’m determined to remind you.”
Then, she leaves.
Sitting on my bed with the dress in my lap, I mull over her words. By typical standards, it seems brave to pick up a snake or sleep in a jungle. But those are things I understand, things that are easy for me. How brave am I really if I can’t face who I am and what I’ve done? If all I do is run?
I remember Henry coming to the greenhouse, ashamed and upset about how he’d shared our intimacy with Brock and how the story spread, entangling me in it.
I told Henry the truth—I didn’t care. I didn’t regret what we did, either.
I would’ve been with him regardless of the aftermath, would’ve suffered through any assault on my character, would’ve forgiven him anything.
I only wonder if he could ever forgive me.