Chapter Fourteen September 10
Chapter Fourteen
“Mom,” I yell over the banister. “There’s a hole in my tights.”
“Try clear nail polish,” she shouts from the kitchen.
“Nail polish?” I shout back. “I said tights, not stockings. I’m not eighty,” I mumble.
Georgie comes out of her room, her eyes little slits as they adjust to the light. “Would you keep it down? Paulie’s napping.”
“Do you have any extra black tights?”
“Even if I did, they wouldn’t fit your Amazonian legs. Go without. You’re not twelve.”
“My dress is short. Dad would have a cow.”
“Dad always has a cow. Just ignore him. It’s what I do.”
It’s the morning of Paulie’s baptism, and Mom’s in the kitchen preparing a fruit platter to bring to the restaurant where we’re having lunch afterwards.
Dad’s already at church making sure everything is good to go.
The baptism will follow the regular weekly service.
Everyone is extra on edge because this will be the first time Georgie is setting foot inside the church since Paulie was born. I hope she doesn’t burst into flames.
“When do we have to leave?” I ask my sister, twisting the holey tights in my hands.
“Once the guest of honor wakes up.” She smiles sweetly. “Want me to do your makeup?” Georgie is already dressed in a modest white dress, her hair and makeup done.
“Could you?”
“I’ll meet you in your room in a few.”
Back in my room, I slip on my black dress, which is simple with its long sleeves and high neckline, but regardless, I know my father will think it’s too short. I sit on my bed and read over John’s texts as I wait for Georgie.
Friday night.
John: I submitted the essay at 9:01 like you said to.
John: Thanks again for helping me.
John: I guess you’re busy and Theo is getting annoyed with me being on my phone so I’ll talk to you later.
Saturday.
John: do you have regrets?
John: I don’t
John: just wanted to make that clear
This morning.
John: everything ok?
Me: Sorry. It’s a bit hectic here. Paulie’s baptism today. Been helping my mom since Friday night.
John: Do you want to hang out tomorrow?
Me: Sure. When?
Oh my god!
John: Meet you at your locker at lunch?
Me: Sounds good.
Sounds perfect.
Me: Got to go!
And then I add a so he doesn’t misinterpret my tone. I wish I could carry around emoji flashcards in real life to hold up in conversations. It might help cut down on the number of misunderstandings due to my often deadpan delivery, lack of eye contact, and fidgetiness.
“Close the door,” I say as Georgie enters carrying Paulie’s baby monitor and her own makeup bag. I don’t think my sister’s hands have been empty since the nurse placed Paulie in her arms.
She pulls my desk chair over to the bed.
“I have to tell you something,” I say, my words coming out quickly.
She grins. “Tell me.”
“I kissed John. Twice.”
Her smile widens and she leans in. “How was it?”
“So perfect. Like, seriously, perfect. Everyone always tells you it won’t be, but it was. It is.”
“Is? So, this is a current event?” she asks, with one perfectly arched brow.
“It might be.”
“My advice,” Georgie says as she empties out the contents of her makeup bag on my bed, “is keep it on the DL. The second Mom and Dad get a whiff that there’s a boy lurking, they’ll lock you up.”
“I already feel locked up,” I say with a groan, tugging on my dress.
“Do you have any questions?” Georgie asks as she blots concealer on my face.
“Kind of, but I can’t ask you. That’s weird.”
She laughs. “Believe me, anything you’ve thought about doing, I’ve not only thought it, but I’ve probably also done it. Multiple times.”
I guess there is something comforting about divulging your innermost secrets (and demons) to someone whose secrets and demons are no longer innermost but on display for the whole world to see. Except now disguised as an impossibly adorable baby.
I exhale, looking at the bedroom door, half expecting someone to burst through.
“What comes after a kiss?” I finally ask. “Like, say you’ve kissed a guy a few times. Then what?”
“Depends on what you’re comfortable with,” she says, blending the makeup on my face with a sponge.
“Say I’m comfortable with whatever comes next but not what comes after that.” It’s so cringe saying these things out loud, but I don’t want to come off as completely inexperienced with John once things eventually get past just kissing.
“Touching,” she says simply.
“Do I have to ask permission?”
Georgie laughs. “Maybe that’s something you can discuss before. It’s important he knows that he has your consent and how far you’re comfortable going. Do you trust him?” She’s applying blush to my cheeks now and my face feels heavy, like I’m wearing a mask, but I don’t want to tell her that.
“With my body, yes. With my heart? That’s to be determined.”
“Isn’t it always?” she says, the corners of her lips curving up. “Just be careful, okay? You don’t want to end up where I did.”
“No. Yeah. That’s not even on my radar,” I say, pulling my dress down again.
Georgie pauses, gazing at me thoughtfully. “It wasn’t on mine either, but things can sometimes move quickly once they get going.”
“Right. You’re right.”
“Part your lips,” she says as she brings lip gloss to my mouth. She leans back once she’s done, taking in her artistry, and grins. “You’re really beautiful. I hope one day you come to see it.”
I shake my head. My looks have always been a source of angst and insecurity and confusion.
Every time I look in the mirror lately, it’s like someone else is staring back at me.
Someone I don’t always recognize. My body is changing so fast, and whenever I mess around with my hair and makeup, I’m careful not to go too far one way, because I don’t want people treating me differently.
Especially Dad. But sometimes I want to express myself through my outward vessel.
I just wish I could do it without my parents noticing.
Paulie’s cries come through the monitor.
“Little Miss is awake.” Georgie rises, gathering her things. “Don’t forget to put on mascara.”
“Thanks,” I say. “For everything.”
“You can thank me by babysitting the next time I ask.” She winks before leaving my room.
I quickly put on some mascara and then stand in front of the mirror. I look way too good for a baptism. Thankfully my dad won’t be able to punish me at church.
Mom, Georgie, Paulie, and I arrive just as the church service is ending.
We sit in the last row, waiting for everyone to leave.
Mom invited only a few people—close family and friends and, of course, Zach’s family.
The backs of my bare thighs stick to the cool wooden pew, and I yank my dress down, trying to cover my legs.
Dad makes eye contact and nods for us to join him and the priest in front of the altar as the congregation clears out.
As I walk up the aisle, I try to take a deep breath but it’s like the air gets lodged halfway down. This dress felt like a better idea when I was in the safety of my room. My stomach twists as Dad’s eyes move to my bare legs.
In typical Dad behavior, he shows his disappointment by not greeting me. Instead, he introduces Mom and Georgie to the new priest. I take the diaper bag from Georgie and place it on a pew near the baptismal font, waiting for things to get underway.
“Hadid,” a voice calls out, startling me. I look up to find Theo Petropolis, dressed in full altar boy garb.
“What are you doing here?” I foolishly ask.
Theo extends his arms out to his sides. “I just really love wearing this long robe on Sunday afternoons.”
I laugh, because sometimes he’s funny.
“I’m helping with the baptism. Is that your niece?” he asks, nodding to Paulie and my family.
I take a step back from him so my dad doesn’t find another reason to get mad. I hate it when he’s upset with me.
I hate it when he’s upset.
“Yeah. I’m her godmother,” I say, standing straighter.
“Big responsibility.”
I shrug. “It’s just symbolic.”
Dad comes over with the priest and looks me up and down before clearing his throat. He wants me to know he’s unhappy. As if it’s not already obvious.
“Lennon, this is Father Abraham.”
I nod and force out a smile.
“Always nice to meet the youth of our church.” Father Abraham smiles back. “Do you know Theodore?”
Theo responds “Yes” while I say “Not really,” our voices overlapping.
I clear my throat. “We go to the same school.” I side-eye him, praying he can read my face well enough not to bring up the one disastrous band practice I attended. Or his party.
“Nice to see you again, Theodore,” Dad says, giving me a sideways glance.
“Theo is fine,” he chimes in.
“Yalla, let’s commence,” the priest says, holding out his hands.
Theo and Father Abraham move behind the altar. I try and sneak away to where Mom is seated, but Dad takes my arm.
“I don’t like this dress,” he says curtly as more guests arrive.
“My tights had a hole in them. Georgie said to wear it like this.”
“Did Georgie also paint your face like a clown?”
“She said I looked pretty.” My voice comes out quiet as I feel myself shrink in his presence.
“It’s too much. Go wait in the car.”
“But the baptism,” I say.
Dad cocks his head to my mother, who walks over.
He whispers sternly in her ear. She speaks back to him, in an equally stern tone.
I hear her tell him he’s being crazy in Arabic.
Reminding him that I’m the godmother and must be here.
He grumbles about this being a church, not a nightclub.
Thanks, Captain Obvious. Was confused there for a second.
I swear to god, sometimes he regresses into this old-school, stereotypical Arab man, and I hate it. I hate him when he’s like this.
Mom tells Dad the only person here who has a problem with what I’m wearing is him. He takes off his suit jacket and hands it to me, telling me to tie it around my waist.