Chapter 41
Ain’t Pretty
Emily
Out of the blue, his name had lit up my phone—a call, a glimmer of hope. But it vanished as quick as it came, leaving me with more questions than answers. Was it a pocket dial, or did he actually want to reach out? I tugged at my blanket. He might have been telling the truth after all. I’d freaked him out with my talk of marriage and he’d split.
Knock, knock.
“Who is it?” I mumbled, my voice muffled by the blanket. The Shields had turned on the air conditioning even though it was only the beginning of May. Now I was always freezing because I wasn’t used to it. Air conditioning wasn’t big in Germany.
Paul came in and closed the door behind him. When he saw me all bundled up in the blanket like a burrito, his expression softened and he shuffled over, scooping up my makeshift cocoon and pulling me into his warm embrace. I surrendered to a flood of tears, letting them roll down my cheeks onto his chest. With Paul there was no need to hide anything; a single glance was all it took for him to understand my unspoken pain. That was his superpower.
He picked up my laptop from the nightstand and put on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. For a while we enveloped ourselves in the fictional drama.
Paul finally broke the silence. “I talked to him today.”
I stirred more than I had in the past few hours combined. “With Jon?”
Paul nodded. “It wasn’t easy... He said weird stuff like needing more time to fix things. I don’t know. He didn’t look good, to be honest.”
“So you’re not angry with him anymore?” I asked, not wanting to make it immediately about myself.
“About him”—with air quotes—“stealing you? I mean... I’m okay now.” He squeezed my cheek. “In the end, I was standing in the way of you two finding each other. So now I’m only mad at him for messing it up.”
I waited for him to continue but he was watching Grey again. I hit the space bar on the keyboard to pause it. I was almost too afraid to ask because hope had taken root again. “He didn’t tell you what’s going on with him?”
Paul sighed. “No, he didn’t. I’m sorry, Emi.”
I shuffled into the kitchen with a blanket draped around me, going for my usual afternoon coffee. Gena tapped me on the shoulder. “I’ve got something for you,” she said, holding up an envelope with my name written in my own hand.
Gasping, I took it from her, forgetting the caffeine. We moved into the living room, taking seats on the couch, and I eagerly tore open the envelope.
“What is it?” she asked.
“During my exchange program preparation week, we had to write to our future selves,” I explained. I had completely forgotten what I had written. Now it felt like receiving a letter from someone else. Gena squeezed my shoulder before stepping away to give me some privacy.
Snuggling back, I pulled out a sheet of paper and began to read.
Der future Emi,
My English isn’t good yet. But that change now? Right?
This weekend we got a lot tips; you wrote them all down. Don’t contact friends, family much. Don’t use bad words. Don’t wear shirts with logos. I don’t understand that one, but you maybe now know.
I chuckled. I still didn’t get that advice. Everyone around here dressed however they pleased. Curse words weren’t a big deal for most people, and not contacting friends from home would only made it harder to readjust when we went back. Honestly, the program needed some tweaking to actually prepare exchange students for their visits.
I’m scared to go, but I am more scared to stay. I hope me, you, gone helped. Did you get your adventure? I wish to have life like High School movies. Is it fun?
“What a bad wish,” I whispered to myself. In those days I only saw the excitement in those movies, overlooking the challenges the main character had to confront. I suppose I thought I would be experiencing it from a side character’s perspective, but in a way, I had become the protagonist—just without the happy ending.
I continued reading.
Please tell me you don’t called doll anymore. You need to get confident to stand up to Sophie, Lisa and Jasmine... and Richard. Is he treating Mama better now that you’re gone?
I swallowed. I didn’t know what was going on at home. No one really told me anything except “good.”
Papa called me today! He likes that we’re doing this. I don’t know if he thinks it’s really good or if he likes us being not with Richard and Mama. I positive that he will call more often now.
And yet I hadn’t talked to him ever since I texted him to let him know I’d arrived in America. He didn’t even check in at Christmas or New Year’s.
But what I most curious about is... did you fall in love? Not too much though, just a little. Remember we not staying forever. We got to get back to our family and Pani. I asked if I could take him, but they said no ?
Did you get a football player? They must be so hot!
I cringed. I barely recognized myself in this person writing to me anymore.
I think I will break up with Michael... The girls like him but I don’t feel anything when we kiss. I hope it’s not a mistake.
“Definitely not a mistake, girl.”
Anyways, if you managed to make those #3 reasons come true that’s cool, but if not, it’s okay too! We got away, and we did that. Don’t be hard on you. We are not perfect, no matter how often Mama says that.
I bit the inside of my cheek. I knew Mama didn’t mean it to pressure me, but for some reason those loving words struck me the wrong way. Now I missed her saying it.
Oh, you better didn’t get fat! I researched and American food is apparently not healthy. I don’t want to start with sport when coming back.
I looked down at myself. I did get a bit curvier—but I actually liked it. I felt sexier, and thanks to strength training, it wasn’t all fat, but muscle too. I actually wanted to keep working out when I went back.
Have fun, and stay till the end so you will actually get this letter.
Bye!
I shook my head. Everything had happened different than how I’d planned. Sure, I’d checked off the items on my list, but they seemed less important now.
Despite it all, I realized, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I had lived a life worthy of a movie, loving intensely, diving into both the good and the bad. I would willingly go through it all again for the sake of the good parts.
Tucking the letter back into the envelope, something else caught my eye—a separate piece of paper. I took it out. My smile soared when I realized it was my plane ticket back for June 16th.
Gena padded back in the room. “How was the letter?” she asked.
“Like having a conversation with a version of myself I’ve lost touch with,” I said, tracing the date on the ticket with my fingertip. June was just around the corner.
Gena peeked over my shoulder. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find a solution, Emily,” she said quietly. I rested my head against her arm.
I sat on the bleachers, waiting for Paul to drive me home after his football practice was over. Caroline had sent me out early today. I think she was getting tired of me. “You can come back and visit your friends in the summer,” she suggested before letting me go. I almost laughed out loud; that was exactly what my old friends in Germany had said when I told them I was going off to America to be an exchange student. My answer was the same: “It’s not enough.”
Unlike in America, in Germany we only had a six-week summer vacation, but even if it was three months... it would be nine months in which all I’d be thinking about was this place. What if I came back and nothing had changed between Jon and me?
“Love Story” by Taylor Swift suddenly blasted on the speakers. I saw the entire football team lining up behind Paul, who was carrying a huge cardboard sign. He held it up. It read:
Do you want to go to prom with me?
I shot up from my spot so fast, I almost tripped over the bleacher step. Going to prom! If it wasn’t Jon making my dream come true, I would gladly go with Paul—as friends of course. I opened my mouth to scream when another “Yes!” shrieked through the air.
Kiki, running up to him, flying into his arms.
Of course. He wasn’t my Paul anymore—he was hers. They looked so happy, tears came to my eyes. My throat ached with the realization of what I’d lost. I had chosen the risky one, and he’d left me hanging.
Paul’s eyes met mine, Kiki still wrapped around him, and his smile vanished. I picked up my backpack and sprinted off. I’d just take the bus home...
I ran past the gym building but stopped in my tracks when I spotted Jon standing in a corner that was an absolute no-go for me. The smokers’ corner. I stomped toward him. His eyes widened when he saw me, but he couldn’t escape me this time.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I said, not giving a damn about the smokers sitting against the wall.
“Don’t make a scene, Little German,” he growled, and went to move past me.
“No!” I said louder, yanking him back by the elbow. “I can accept you throwing me away, but I’m not standing for you giving up on everything again!”
“I’m not taking shit,” he said. “You have no fucking idea. Stop pretending like you know me.”
Without knowing what was driving me in that moment, I put my palms on his chest and shoved him. He tumbled back, almost losing his balance. “Fuck you, Jon Henry Denson! I’m done!”
Now it wasn’t only the druggies watching us, but everyone passing by within a hundred-meter radius.
“Good!” he yelled back, glaring at me with such ferocity, I wanted another go at him.
But violence wasn’t me. I was going crazy again, reverting to the person I was the last time he hurt me. I couldn’t let him wield so much power over me anymore. I ran off without trying to get the last word.
When I was on the bus, I finally let the tears roll.
I could’ve had it all, but I chose not to have the perfect high school love story. No, I had to fall for someone who couldn’t love me back.
I’m sorry, past me, but I fell in love too much...
I stayed on the bus until I was out of town, heading to a specific destination—the place where I’d experienced the highest of highs this spring. The poetry slam bar was empty. No surprise, given that it was late afternoon on a weekday. The waiter eyed me suspiciously but allowed me to stay when I said I only wanted to watch the performers and have a Coke Zero.
I sipped my drink, looking up at the empty stage and recalling his words. One step forward, three steps back. But she came wandering in and got me back on track. In poems you speak the truth; you don’t lie only to make it sound nice. He spoke from the heart... but today all I saw in his eyes was darkness. He hated me.
I clenched my fingers around the glass. Maybe they were right after all. Danielle had never trusted him. And Kiki couldn’t change him, so why should I? Even Tim had warned me to walk away.
Eventually the bar began to fill, and the slam started. I listened to a story of firsts by a young girl with such a powerful voice, I was shocked it belonged to her. Then a man delivered a humorous piece about turning thirty. Everyone around me was laughing, but I didn’t feel like joining them. When the speaker called for a break, I pulled out my little black book and wrote down all the reasons Jon was bad for me.
The Jon List
Won’t marry me to stay in the USA
Makes me go crazy
Drug addict
Ignores me
Makes me sad
I couldn’t help but add points in favor of him:
He excites me
He makes me believe in myself
I love him
I shut my book. This wasn’t helping. I still had reasons to not give up on him, even though I was breaking apart.
A man cleared his throat into the microphone, and my heart clenched for a second when I looked up at him. With his pale gray hair, turtleneck sweater, and rectangular glasses, he reminded me of Richard.
“My piece is called ‘Ain’t Pretty.’” He cleared his throat again and gazed up at the ceiling. Except for some glasses clinking at the bar, the room was quiet. Everyone was listening.
“My kids called me a narcissist, which ain’t pretty.”
“According to plan, they played into my hands. Praise after praise, I was the best. Oh, how I relished the quest.”
“But with time they kept needing me less and less. Not caring, not bothering to tell me I was the best.”
“I blamed myself, was I in the wrong? But then I said: enough! And I was the one with a heart of stone. Unappreciated. Thrown out. I was replaced with boyfriends and a new crowd.”
“Daddy wasn’t right anymore—so all I did was ignore. Giving them what they asked for: a cold shoulder, gone was the charm. They moved out, barely called...”
“But they weren’t wrong. I realized it when I was all alone, my mind ringing like a gong. A narcissist I was, wanting to be the king of my ego-throne. Writing a grand plan with no twist or turn. The center of attention, the world revolved around me. Expected kids to act like grown-ups—the blame was on me.”
“The ego is so big, it’s like a black hole. It sucks in the praise and loses its soul. I stepped up, gave them what they needed. Only to discover, it’s me who ain’t pretty.”
Tears welled in my eyes, and I found myself nodding in understanding. There were always more sides to the story, I realized. I knew my side, my brother’s, my Mama’s—but I had never considered theirs.
I jumped up and darted outside the bar, to the brick wall where once upon a time Jon and I couldn’t get enough of each other. I scrolled down my contacts and found a number I hadn’t tried reaching in almost a year.
“Hallo?”
My Papa’s voice used to remind me of a bear’s. Now I knew it was only the cigarettes. And he clearly didn’t even have my American number.
“Hi, Papa.”
“Emily. You shouldn’t be calling with your mobile phone from the US. It’s expensive.”
I gritted my teeth. “Why don’t you ever call me then?”
“What?” he said, his voice immediately aggressive. It unlocked a gate inside me.
“Why didn’t you care that your own daughter lived in an apartment covered in mold, with barely any food, wearing shoes with holes in them? Why didn’t you even notice when I came over on weekends? Why did you blame me for leaving your job just to abandon me again? You’re my father! A father I barely even know! What did I do wrong that you could never love me?!”
I had always defended him, saying he didn’t mean to do all those things on purpose—but I couldn’t anymore. He had starved my mother emotionally... and not only her—me too. Making me beg for his attention.
“I thought Richard was your new father,” he said dryly.
“You were like that even before Richard came into the picture,” I retorted.
“Your mother asked for too much! She cheated on me! She left, and then she wanted me to be her bank? Hell no.”
“She asked you to pay for us. Your children. But I should’ve figured that beer is more important to you than anything else.”
Silence. I had rendered him speechless.
There was no point, I realized. Papa wasn’t like the man onstage admitting that he’d made big mistakes. He was still in his bubble, happiest when he had his bottle. Blaming others was all he could do. This man, whoever he was—he wasn’t a father.
“You know what, you’re right,” I said. “This call’s getting too expensive to continue this senseless conversation.”
I hung up the phone and covered my mouth with my hands to quell the sobs that wanted to come out. It was never my fault that he didn’t give me any attention, any love. He just ain’t pretty.
I dialed another number I hadn’t called in years. He immediately picked up.
“Emily? Are you all right?” Richard said.
“Actually...” I breathed in, gathering all the courage I had left. “No, we need to talk.”