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  “But with you…” he went on. “It’s different. You’re so…I don’t know…normal.”

  We both laughed at this description. “Thanks,” I said.

  “And you’re perfect.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m a disaster half the time.”

  He kissed me again, sweet and gentle. “That’s what makes you perfect. For me. I could use some more chaos and clutter in my life.”

  “Want me to go mess up your room?” I asked, trying to be helpful.

  We laughed again, and then, realizing how late it had gotten, we sat up and began to make ourselves presentable. Michael glanced over at me and said, “We’ll stop doing this, if you want.” By “this” he meant our current half-dressed state and compromising positions.

  “I don’t want to go backward,” I told him. “But I don’t think I’m ready to go forward. Yet.”

  He slipped his shirt back on. We were sitting side-by-side on the couch now, all innocent and back to normal. “Okay,” he said. “I can wait.”

  For the rest of the weekend, I thought about what Michael had said about me being perfect for him. Then I thought about the way he looked when my fingertips traveled across his bare skin. Then, during breakfast on Monday morning, I lied to my mother about having a yearbook committee meeting after school and went to the doctor instead. And an hour and one thoroughly humiliating check-up later, I walked out of there holding a three-month trial of birth control pills with my name on it.

  Chapter 15

  My mother still had no clue Michael even existed, but I was on constant alert anyway, expecting her to burst into my room at any given moment, demanding to know about this new boyfriend Emma had been talking about. But she didn’t, and by the time February rolled around I was feeling pretty secure. I’d been dating Michael for almost four months now and Mom was none the wiser. She’d never have to know. I was safe.

  Michael and I had a system for phone calls during the week. I would always call him, because if he called me and my mother answered, she’d no doubt start asking questions. So at around nine every night, when Mom was busy with work or engrossed in TV, I’d go in my room, shut the door tight, and make my secret phone calls to Michael, all the while remaining on alert. It worked fine up until one Wednesday evening, when my complacency made me sloppy.

  I was sitting on my bed, phone pressed against my ear as Michael and I discussed our plans for the upcoming weekend. We talked for a half hour or so and then ended the call like we usually did, gushing about how we couldn’t wait to see each other after the long week apart. Somehow, I failed to notice I’d left my bedroom door open a crack and that my mother was lurking nearby, either shamelessly spying on me or innocently overhearing. The first was more likely.

  By the time I hung up the phone and ventured out to the kitchen for a glass of water, my mother was at the kitchen table, reading People and having her nightly cup of chamomile. “Did you gather up all those dirty clothes like I asked?” she said, flipping a page in her magazine.

  “I’ll do it in a minute.” I got a glass from the cupboard and filled it at the sink. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mom close her magazine and take a sip of tea.

  “Who was that on the phone just now?” she asked in a neutral voice.

  My lie came quick. “Ashley.”

  “It didn’t sound like you were talking to Ashley.”

  I peered into my water glass, watching the tiny bubbles burst along the surface. I wondered how much she’d heard.

  “Who was it, Taylor?” she asked again, dead serious this time.

  I was trapped. I could no longer avoid this confrontation. “His name is Michael,” I said. Mom raised her eyebrows and sat back, waiting for more. I pressed my back against the fridge, soothed by the coolness seeping through my shirt. “I met him in October, at a party I went to with Robin.”

  “He’s from Weldon?” Mom asked, her voice calm. Too calm. Scary calm.

  “Yeah. Redwood Hills.”

  “And you’re dating him? Exclusively?”

  I nodded. She broke eye contact and looked down at the picture of Brad Pitt on the cover of her People. “You’re sixteen years old,” she said as she focused, still composed, on Brad’s smiling face. “You’re far too young to be dating anyone exclusively.”

  “I dated Brian exclusively,” I said. Like it mattered. She’d thought my romance with Brian was “cute”, two childhood friends maybe experimenting with a little kissing. Harmless. And for the most part, that was exactly what it had been. Michael, though, was a stranger, and because I’d hidden him from her for so long, there had to be something wrong with him. Obviously.

  She peered at me again. “How old is this boy?”

  Why did she have to ask about his age, of all things? It was like she knew, without my even saying anything, that this was the one detail that would really set her off. “He just turned eighteen.”

  My mother got out of her chair and walked over the counter. She slowly and carefully placed her mug in the sink, and then gripped the counter with one hand, as if to steady herself. I waited, my lungs burning, as if I could prevent her reaction simply by holding my breath.

  “No sixteen-year-old daughter of mine,” she said, her voice rising with each syllable, “is going to date an eighteen-year-old boy. An eighteen-year-old man. Taylor, what are you thinking?”

  I finally exhaled, feeling like the air had been punched out of me. “Mom…”

  “Your father has been letting you get away with this?” She took a step closer to me and I instinctively cringed, even though she’d never hit me before in my life.

  “Dad likes him. He doesn’t see a problem with me going out with him.”

  “Of course.” She gave a short laugh and turned away, crossing her arms. “Abdicating responsibility. That’s your father to a T.”

  Even with everything my father had done, my hackles still rose when she criticized him. “He’s a good father,” I said with a quiver in my voice.

  “Good,” she echoed in disgust. “Of course you think he’s good. He lets you do whatever you want. He always has. I remember coming home from work when you were little and he was letting you ride your bike in the street without a helmet. Or he was letting you have cookies for dinner. Or he didn’t know where you were at all. You have to give them the freedom to grow and make mistakes, he’d say. Right. Who do you think worried about you and disciplined you and made sure you were always safe? Me, that’s who. Not your father. Never your father.”

  “He does love us, you know.”

  She flipped her hand at me. “Oh, he adores you. His little girls can do no wrong. That’s the problem.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” I yelled. Bad idea. Yelling at my mother only ever amounted to regret.

  “Watch your tone, young lady,” she said, pointing a finger in my face. “You may be allowed to run wild at your father’s, but it’s not like that here. Someone has to lay down the law and it’s quite obvious your father is still failing miserably in that department.”

  I tipped my glass and drained it, trying to distract myself from a panic that threatened to suffocate me. “It’s no big deal, Mom. Michael’s nice. You’d like him.”

  “That’s completely beside the point, Taylor. He’s too old for you, and you’re too young to be in a serious relationship. You’ll only wind up hurt. This is going to stop and it’s going to stop now. End of discussion.”

  I squeezed my water glass, feeling its cool solidness in my palm as I looked her straight in the eye. “I love him. I’m not going to stop seeing him.”

  I’d never so openly defied my mother before, even as a young child. I’d also never seen her face turn purple before. She was so mad, her voice trembled. “Oh yes, you will stop seeing him. I will call this boy’s parents. Don’t think I won’t.”

  “Mom! My God!” I wasn’t even trying to control my emotions anymore. “I’m not planning to run off and elope with the guy. We’re just dating.”

>   “Just dating.” She snorted. “I find that hard to believe. Are you sleeping with him, Taylor? Tell me.”

  Not yet, I thought. But I swore to her that I wasn’t, that Michael wasn’t like that. That just because he was eighteen didn’t mean he was gearing up to take advantage of me. She studied me for a long time, her angry green eyes—so much like my own—taking in my earnest, tear-streaked face.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said. “And I don’t want you to see this boy anymore. You are grounded, indefinitely. I’m going to call your father, and after I give him a piece of my mind, he and I are going to figure out what to do with you. This lying and sneaking around and dating older boys is going to stop, right here, right now. It’s over. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  Rage that I never knew existed inside me suddenly roared through my limbs, and in the next instant my water glass was in mid-air, hurling across the room, smacking with a loud crack against the wall. It exploded on impact, sending hundreds of particles of glass flying everywhere. All over the floor. All over the stove. Scattered around our feet. The room became eerily silent. I lifted my eyes to my mother’s white, stunned face.

  “I won’t stop seeing him,” I said, no longer scared of her wrath, or her words, or her stupid judgmental attitude. “I’m not a child anymore. You can’t stop me from seeing him.”

  Mom’s mouth opened, and for a moment I was sure she was going to flip out on me, but she closed her mouth again and bent down to pick the glass shards off her feet. A second later, I realized she was crying.

  Completely numb, I turned and left the room, knowing she wouldn’t dare try to follow me.

  ****

  “Mom, I’m sorry.”

  I’d found her in the kitchen, dressed for work and sweeping the floor of whatever glass she had missed the night before. She continued sweeping, ignoring me. Emma sat at the table, eating a bowl of cereal and watching us with wide eyes. I felt horrible. I’d barely slept the night before, and as I lay in bed after my outburst and listened to my mother sniffling and cleaning up the aftermath of my anger, I began to feel guilty. I’d never behaved that way before in my life, but then again, I’d never felt such fury before in my life either. It had happened before I could even think, or stop myself. And now, for the first time in her life, my mother didn’t know what to say to me.

  “Mom?” I said, slinking closer to her. “Let me do that.”

  She stopped sweeping and handed me the broom, not looking at me. Her face was pinched.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “I’m calling your father this evening,” she said, steely and emotionless. “I don’t know how to deal with you, Taylor. You’ve never acted this way before. All because of this boy.”

  I leaned on the broom, forcing myself not to cry. Tears had no effect on my mother. “It’s not him. It’s me. It’s my fault. I was so angry, I just—.”

  “I won’t stand for this kind of behavior,” Mom said, and we were right back to where we were the night before. A sob bubbled up in my throat.

  “Why is it so wrong? I’m not drinking. I’m not doing drugs. I’m not getting pregnant. For God’s sake, I’m a virgin, okay?”

  She shot a glance at my sister, who was still at the table, listening to every word. I bit my lip and looked down at my bare feet.

  “Emma, go brush your teeth, all right?” Mom said softly to her. Emma jumped up and scurried from the room. Once she was safely out of earshot, Mom turned back to me. “Your sister doesn’t need to hear this.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She heaved a tired sigh and glanced at the clock on the wall above the table. “I have to get to work. I want you to come directly home after school. Understand? I will be calling later to make sure you’re here.”

  My hand grew sweaty under the plastic handle of the broom and all of a sudden I felt sick, like I was about to either throw up or faint. Everything rushed into my head in nauseating waves, overwhelming me. Being grounded indefinitely. Calling Michael and telling him all this. My mother’s angry, unwavering face. Not seeing Michael, not hearing his voice or watching him smile or feeling his arms around me. Not being with him, ever again.

  Over nothing. Because my mother, in her warped view of reality, thought she was protecting me from heartbreak.

  The broom fell to the floor with a clatter as the sob in my throat finally broke free. I started to cry, turning away from my mother and facing the wall where the glass had hit the night before. There was a mark there, some chips in the paint, and I touched it with my fingertips. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried like this. Not when Brian dumped me. Not even when my father left.

  “Taylor.” Mom put a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. At first I brushed her off, but she kept trying until I turned back toward her and let her hug me.

  “Try to understand,” I said, burying my face in her blouse. “Please.”

  “I do, honey,” she replied, resigned now as she rubbed my back. “I do.”

  Chapter 16

  Mom may have understood, but not enough to change her mind. By the time I got to my father’s house on Friday evening, I was well aware of exactly how much crap had hit the fan.

  “Boy, was she mad,” my father told me.

  Mad was a modest way of putting it. I’d heard Mom’s side of their conversation the night before. She’d said some pretty nasty things to him, even called him a “negligent bastard” at one point. It couldn’t have been pleasant for him.

  “I know.” I slumped against the table. “I’m in big trouble.”

  He chuckled. “So am I.”

  We were sitting at the kitchen table, just the two of us, the dog stretched out at our feet. The only sounds in the house were the distant beep-beep-beep from Emma and Jamie’s video game in the living room, the quiet hum of the dishwasher, Leo’s panting, and my venting.

  “It’s so unfair. She doesn’t even know Michael. Who’s she to decide I shouldn’t go out with him?”

  Unlike Mom, my father refused to bad-mouth his former spouse, no matter what horrible names she called him. I guess he thought he’d put her through enough already. “She’s just trying to do the right thing, sweet pea,” he explained gently. “Look out for you.”

  It annoyed me that he was even remotely sticking up for her. “I don’t need looking-out for. You’d swear I was out every night getting drunk and smoking crack.” I bent down and scratched Leo under his ears, causing his tail to thump wildly against my chair leg. When I straightened up again, Dad was looking beseechingly at me.

  “Honey, if it were up to me and me alone, I’d let you date Michael. He’s a nice kid and I like him a lot.”

  My heart sank. My father was my only hope. Until now, he’d always been on my side. “But it’s not up to you alone.”

  “Like it or not, your mother and I have to work together to raise you girls. When she’s this firmly set against something you’re doing, I have to respect that and take her feelings into consideration.” He looked away from my disappointed face. “And I have to admit, some of what she said yesterday did make sense.”

  “Like what?” I felt so betrayed, I could barely get the words out.

  “You’re awfully young, honey. It’s fine if you want to date and have fun, but you’re too young to be in such a serious relationship. I see the way you two are together and frankly, it scares me.”

  I repeated my now-familiar mantra. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

  “Still…” He leaned over and placed his hand over mine, patting it a couple of times and then squeezing. “We’d hate to see you get hurt, honey.”

  We, I thought bitterly. Dad had been fine with Michael before my mother got a hold of him. This “we” business was total bullshit and it galled me that my father had bought into it.

  “You’re not going to let me go out with him tonight, are you?” I said, yanking my hand out from under his.

&nb
sp; “Sweet pea…” My father frowned. I knew it hurt him to let me down like this, especially since the divorce, but it hurt me even more. I wasn’t used to having him exert any type of control over me. Like Mom had so resentfully claimed, he usually let me do whatever I wanted, allowed me the freedom to grow and make mistakes.

  “I can’t believe you’re siding with her. I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

  “I do trust you, Taylor.”

  “So, what then…you don’t trust Michael? Even though he’s done nothing to deserve it?”

  “He’s eighteen years old,” he said, raising his voice for the first time. “And you’re my baby.”

  I jumped up, startling Leo, who scrambled up into a sitting position just in case I needed him. “I’m not your baby,” I told my father, and I started to walk out on him the same way I’d walked out on my mother two nights before. But then I stopped and spun around to face him again. I had one more thing to say. “You know what I think, Dad? I think the only reason you gave in to Mom is because you still feel guilty for ruining her life.”

  He winced as if I’d slapped him, but I was too mad to care. I turned away and kept going.

  ****

  I hid out in my room the entire weekend, not speaking to anyone. Except Michael, over the phone. I wasn’t forbidden to call him at Dad’s, just forbidden to see him, which sort of defeated the purpose of a clean break. Like me, Michael thought the whole situation was absurd. Unlike me, he was positive it would all blow over in a few days and my mother would eventually cool down. But he didn’t know my mother. Meanwhile, we missed each other like crazy.

  After an agonizingly long weekend of hiding out and avoiding people at Dad’s, I went home to hide out and avoid some more. After school, while my mother was at work, I made my phone calls to Michael. If I wasn’t such a coward about taking risks, I would’ve asked him to come over. My need to see him was an unreachable, never-ending itch.