You can't believe it.
You won't believe it.
You don't want to believe it, but it must be true.
"I'm sorry, Mary Anne," Dawn is saying, patting your shoulder awkwardly like you're a bomb that might go off, bringing you a can of soda that she usually refuses to touch. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were – I didn't realize you didn't know – that you didn't – "
She trails off, looking and sounding more awkward by the minute, glancing away while you pop open the can – it makes a little whirring noise, a hissing – and take a big gulp, more out of habit than anything. You don't even taste the – what is this, Diet Coke with Lime? – the Diet Coke with Lime going down, because suddenly your throat is tight and you think you might choke, gag and cough all over the table, and so you run to the sink. Your palm is pressed to your mouth, shoving your bottom lip between your teeth, and you try to convince yourself that you're not going to get sick in front of your sister. No, your stepsister.
"Mary Anne?" Dawn says, still sounding uncertain. She's sitting at the kitchen table, one leg tucked up under her body, slouching in a way that Dad would never put up with during dinner. She's wearing a short cotton skirt, a cloud of floaty green and white stuff, and a baggy blue seersucker shirt over a tight white tank top, and she looks like summer and fire with her glowing hair and light blue eyes. The tiny golden hairs on her legs, where she hasn't shaved for a few days, catch the sunlight bouncing in through the slatted windowshades. She looks beautiful, and suddenly you hate her, and it's not just shock but also anger that comes choking up your throat.
"I'm sorry," she says again, like a broken record. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. "I'm sorry, Mary Anne. I didn't know you'd be so …"
You rinse out your mouth and turn to look at her, wondering what adjective she's going for. Homophobic? Weirded-out? Upset – yeah, upset is a good one. It's nice and subtle and so far from the truth. Usually Dawn doesn't hesitate to speak her mind, but right now she's stopping herself, because – and you know, you know this about your sister, no, stepsister – she doesn't want to hurt your feelings. She probably thinks you'll cry.
You won't cry. You'll bash her face in first. Bash her face in – that's something Kristy would say, and you start to laugh and choke and shout all at once.
Dawn looks like she's afraid of you, now. She's staring at the almost-new stone-tiled floor, unbuttoning and buttoning one of the buttons on her shirt, and it's falling off one of her shoulders. You can see her collarbone, poking the thin strap of her tank top, and you wonder if Stacey likes to put her fingers, her mouth, there.
You dry your hands on a dishtowel and collapse back in your seat, taking another defiant swig of Coke. Dawn looks relieved. She's probably thinking, Oh, thank goodness, Mary Anne's going to continue this conversation in a civilized way. You don't really feel like being civilized. "I suppose that's the reason you came back to Connecticut, then? Because of Stacey?"
"No, Mary Anne. Honest. I didn't even know till partway through this year that – that I was – that we were – "
There, she's doing that trailing off thing again. Dawn never trails off. She always knows what she wants to say and she always says it – what's with this sudden uncertainty? But you feel different too, suddenly, so loud and furious, not like quiet, shy Mary Anne Spier. You narrow your eyes at her. "That you were what? Come on, say it. That you were gay, or do you mean that you were a liar who didn't even think about telling me anything?"
"No." Now her lower lip is quivering, her eyes filling with tears until they're the same colour as her shirt. "I'm sorry, Mary Anne. I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know how."
"But you were okay with telling Claudia, huh?"
"Mary Anne, I'm sorry. Stacey told Claudia; I didn't even know Claud knew. Honest. I guess, just because Claudia's Stacey's best friend …"
You glare at her some more, and she figures out pretty quick that she just made a mistake, because she shuts up. "So you're saying that Stacey told her best friend, but you didn't tell your best friend. Hmm. I wonder who your best friend could be, Dawn Schafer. Hey – you don't suppose she's me, do you? Oh, well, now that you mention it, that could be why I had no idea until I ran into Claud during lunch yesterday and she mentioned it …"
"Stop it, Mary Anne!" Dawn stuffs her fingers in her ears. Her face is turning pink, and she's kicking the table leg with her heels like a little kid. "Stop it! I can't stand you saying all this stuff. I know you're angry but I didn't think you'd be like – like this. That's why I told you today, because I thought you'd be okay with it – you're not like this at all. You're so cold and … you're usually so …"
"Nice?"
"Yeah," Dawn replies, a bit of the old defiance in her voice. "You're usually nice. I would have thought you'd at least try to understand." You don't say anything, and her tone softens. "Mary Anne, I can't help it. It's like having blonde hair and blue eyes and being – I don't know – being me. I can't help that I'm, uh, gay. But this doesn't change anything with you and me, you know."
You find that you're nodding, because of course that's right. You know that. You know all that. You're fine with the gay part. You're even fine that it's Dawn, your stepsister – no, your sister – who's gay.
It's the Stacey part that's making you chew your lip furiously right now.
But Dawn's clearly missed the point, because she tries a tentative smile and then a hug. Her shirt makes a crinkly noise against your neck. "Mary Anne, I didn't mean to lie to you. I didn't want to keep this from you. It just – it was so much to think about, I wasn't ready to talk about it yet. But I feel better now, I think." Her eyes are deep and soft, like bright velvet. "Don't tell Mom and Richard, okay?"
And you have no choice but to hug her back, and nod. Because after all, you've kept so many secrets for so long that it won't kill you to keep this one too.
Alone in your room, you lie on your back on your bed and bang your heels on the mattress like a little kid. You still can't believe it – you still don't want to believe it – but you can't deny that it's true, that it's always been true.
You think about nights that Dawn's been sleeping over at Stacey's.
You think about evenings that Dawn and Stacey and, supposedly, Claudia are out doing something like trying that new Indian restaurant in Stamford, though you should have figured that that was a lie the first time Kristy mentioned it in passing. Claudia and Indian food don't mix, and you feel stupid for not realizing it.
You think about afternoons when you stopped by Dawn's locker to ask if she wanted to walk home, and she'd slam the door before you could see the pictures tacked up with chewing gum on the inside of the door.
And you feel stupid, stupid, stupid.
You bang your heels some more. It doesn't make you feel any better, but it gives you little tingles of pain from your ankles to your knees.
You should have figured it out long ago. You're Mary Anne Spier, the quiet, shy, sensitive one. You can tell how people feel just from their "hello"s, you can give advice that ends a huge fight between best friends. But you didn't see this. You never saw it coming.
Why?
Well, the obvious answer. You didn't want to. You were so thrilled to have Dawn home for your junior and senior years. You were so nervous about your own crush on Stacey that you didn't notice that she and Dawn were spending more time together.
Really, does it surprise you? After all, Stacey and Dawn are so much alike. They look alike, with their long blonde hair and blue eyes. Dawn's hair is longer, finer, like silk, and Stacey's is more like a heavy, graceful curtain, but they both have those pretty fair features. They eat alike, although not exactly by Stacey's choice. They think alike, when they both get so single-minded about something – Stacey about math, the closing of the Dow, and Dawn about the environment, the Equal Rights Amendment. They even think alike, and sometimes when Dawn's sitting in her room at her computer with a little frown of concentration on her forehead, you have to look twice to realize she's not Stacey.
They're so much alike. You and Stacey couldn't be more different. Stacey's beautiful, light hair, bright eyes, tall, thin, sleek, gorgeous. You've got dark hair and dim eyes, your figure is nothing special, you still don't even fill out the top half of your bikini, you're forever tripping over things in the living room and kitchen (though granted, that might be Sharon's fault). Stacey's smart and sophisticated, she's already dated lots of people, already kissed lots of people, already done more than that (probably with your stepsister). You're still quiet and reserved, you feel a little behind all the people in your class, you've only ever dated one person and that was over years ago, and you've never done more than kiss and a little, well, a little more. Stacey's lived in New York City. You're from Stoneybrook, Connecticut – what could she possibly see in you?
And so there's Dawn. Dawn, with honey-white hair, a tan and breasts that she probably got on the beach in California, who dated more people in California than she cares to admit. Dawn, who's not from Stoneybrook, despite the fact that she agreed to come back here – no, she wants something bigger and better, and so does Stacey. Maybe that's it, maybe that's why Stacey likes her. Loves her, even. And kisses her and has sex with her and all kinds of stuff you don't want to think about.
You quit pounding your feet on your quilt – it's not making you feel any better – and roll over onto your stomach. You suppose it makes sense, that Stacey likes Dawn. That Dawn likes Stacey. They're so much alike. But that doesn't make it fair.
You wonder if everyone just tries to find someone that they're like, rather than someone they're different from. Maybe your dad and Sharon don't count. They're older, after all, maybe they don't really know what you're supposed to look for in a boyfriend – or a girlfriend – these days. Someone who's like you.
Which is why you back Kristy up against the wall of Stoneybrook Elementary School one day after Krushers practice and kiss her. And maybe that's why she kisses you back.