Saturday, I wake up on the couch around one o' clock. I've not been here all night and all morning. I slept last night in my own bed, slept very heavily thanks to the sleeping pill Tiffany took from Mom's medicine cabinet. The sleeping pill has left me groggy and exhausted. I was awake for a while this morning, but apparently, just took a three hour nap. I pull myself into a half-sitting position on the couch, rubbing at my eyes. Tiffany's stretched out on the floor by the entertainment center, reading a gardening magazine and eating a piece of peanut brittle.
Tiffany hears me move and glances up. "You're awake," she says and pushes up onto her knees. "Are you ready for lunch? The grocery delivery came. Maria and I already had macaroni and cheese. We ate all of it, but I can make you something else."
I shake my head. Tiffany made me instant oatmeal this morning. I ate almost half of it and immediately felt ill. Then I drank the rest of the pineapple juice followed by the remainder of the strawberry-banana juice. I may be developing some sort of juice addiction. "No," I reply, still shaking my head. "Can you get me a glass of ice water though? My throat's really dry. Oh, and a glass of juice. Not apple."
Tiffany nods and hops up. She disappears into the kitchen. I slide off the couch and go into the downstairs bathroom. I wash my face with the chamomile soap and brush my hair with an old hairbrush I find in a drawer. I rinse my mouth out. I should really brush my teeth. I check my sanitary napkin, but I've not spotted any more today. I hope that's over. I bled quite a bit last night, which brought on another rush of tears and melancholy. I felt wrung out and wasted. I want this to be over, completely over. I don't need little reminders of what I've done. But I'm uncertain if this will ever be completely over.
Tiffany waits for me in the living room with the glasses of water and juice. I drink most of the ice water, then settle back on the couch and sip the grape juice.
"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" Tiffany asks. She's now eating a sugar cookie shaped like a Christmas tree. It's slathered high with yellow frosting and green sprinkles.
"No thanks," I say, shaking my head.
Tiffany regards me a moment, a tiny frown on her face. "You can't just drink all the juice in the house," she tells me. "You need to eat actual food. You're going to make yourself ill."
I shrug. I already feel ill, so what does it matter. I sip my juice. "I'm fine, Tiffany. I just want juice now. I'll eat later."
Tiffany sighs and flops back in the armchair. She polishes off her cookie and licks a smear of frosting from her thumb. "You missed a parade of people while you were asleep," she informs me. "People are worried about you."
"Really?" I reply, slightly surprised.
"Yeah. Greer and that weird Sally girl called half an hour ago. They wanted to check up on you."
"Were they together?" I ask, feeling disappointment I don't deserve to feel. Greer and Sally have a right to have fun in New York, together or alone. They have their own lives and their own families, and it is the holidays.
"Yeah, they were together," Tiffany says. "And Kristy came over right after you fell asleep. We didn't want to wake you though. She wanted to let you know that she and Charlie are driving up to New Britain. I guess Charlie was in such a rush to get home after the whole thing with…uh, Sam, you know, that he left Watson and Elizabeth's Christmas gift at school. So, Charlie and Kristy are driving up there. Kristy said she's going to visit Lindsey. What's Lindsey doing in New Britain? I thought she had mono."
"She's seeing a mono specialist," I lie, automatically. There's a pang of guilt. Not really for lying to Tiffany, but rather for forgetting about Lindsey. I've been so wrapped up in myself and my problems lately that I've forgotten her. Out of sight, out of mind. How terrible of me.
"Oh? Okay," Tiffany says, easily, not giving the lie a second thought. "Well, Kristy said she'll come over again when she gets home this evening. She said to tell you she won't be able to stay very long, probably, since tomorrow is Christmas Eve and there's a lot to do at her house."
I smile slightly and nod. "That's fine," I say, which is sort of silly. It's not like Kristy's here to hear me. I am sorry she'll be gone until the evening though. She stayed last night until eleven, sitting around with me in the living room. Mostly, we watched television. I didn't feel like talking much more. Kristy was very understanding and never said a single unkind word, even though I know her stance on abortion has not changed. I shouldn't be surprised. Kristy is my friend. That's all she – in her brash, steamrolling way – has ever tried to be. Although, she did practically force feed me a bowl of chicken noodle soup last night. That wasn't very friendly.
"And then," Tiffany continues, "that Mrs. Ellenburg called. She certainly is brisk, isn't she? I told her you were sleeping, but doing all right. And then Mrs. Bryar came by. She – "
"Mrs. Bryar came by?" I interrupt her.
"Yeah. She brought us some fudge. Don't worry, I wouldn't let Maria hide it in her bedroom like the brownies," Tiffany says. "Mrs. Bryar said she's been worried about us. She asked about you. I told her you have the flu."
"Oh," I say, biting my lip. Suddenly, I feel very ashamed of how I spoke to Mrs. Bryar the last time I saw her. She only tried to help. Yesterday, I was simply embarrassed about how I treated her, partially because Mrs. Ellenburg seemed so disapproving, but now I feel truly guilty. "What else did Mrs. Bryar say? Is she mad at me?"
"For yelling at her?" Tiffany asks, as if I possibly did something else to Mrs. Bryar. Oh, well, there was the incident with her final check. I feel my face turn hot just thinking about it. I can't believe I behaved so childishly. What Mrs. Bryar must have thought. "I don't know," Tiffany continues. "She didn't say anything about that. She didn't say much at all. She was in a hurry and looked really tired."
"Oh," I say and finish the remainder of my juice. "How did I sleep through all this?"
"I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't have given you that sleeping pill," Tiffany replies with a shrug. She repositions herself in the armchair, throwing one leg over an arm. "How are you feeling? Honestly now. Don't just say you're tired. I know that. I can see you."
I smile, weakly, and set the empty glass on the coffee table. "I don't know," I answer and that's as honest as I can get. "I really don't. Mostly I feel empty. Sort of drained. Otherwise, it keeps changing. Sometimes, I feel so relieved and then other times, I feel remorseful. I can't decide if I made a mistake or not." I draw my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them. "And sometimes I…" I don't finish that thought.
"What?" Tiffany asks.
"It's nothing," I reply and look away. I can't admit to Tiffany what I'm thinking. Admitting it would mean I'm actually thinking it. Part of me…a small part of me…wishes Wes had wanted to marry me. And that is a secret thought, one of many secret thoughts, and I will bury it deep with the others.
Tiffany doesn't speak for a moment. "I think you made the right choice, Shannon," she finally says. "I can't really understand what you're going through, but I think it will get better. Eventually, you'll be able to move on."
"Mrs. Ellenburg wants me to see a therapist," I tell Tiffany. "She said Wes wants me to, too."
"I wouldn't want to tell all my secrets to a stranger."
"I don't know if I want to either," I reply. I watch Tiffany a moment and she watches me. "You're a good sister, Tiffany," I tell her.
"Not always," she admits. "But I'll try to be better."
"Me too."
Tiffany smiles. "Maria and I are going to bake sugar cookies. We found a recipe for homemade frosting in one of Mom's old cookbooks."
"Tiffany!" I exclaim. "Isn't there enough junk food already?"
Tiffany tosses back her head and laughs, like I've said something truly hilarious. "Oh, God! You sound like the old Shannon!" she shrieks and laughs again. "And no, there isn't enough junk food. At least not any longer. Maria and I ate all the sugar cookies the Thomas-Brewers sent over and most of the peanut brittle. And Maria's eaten almost all of Mrs. Bryar's fudge."
My mouth drops open. Didn't Mrs. Bryar come like an hour ago? That's disgusting! "You guys are going to make yourselves sick," I inform Tiffany.
"Hey, at least we're eating," Tiffany replies, dismissively, and hops out of the armchair. She pauses beside the couch. "Go take a shower, then come supervise. If you feel like it, that is."
Even though I took a shower last night, I take Tiffany's suggestion. The hot water feels fantastic beating against my body. I wash my hair twice with Tiffany's special mango shampoo that I'm actually not allowed to use since Tyler gave it to her. I think she'll forgive me this time. When I step out of the shower, I wrap myself in a fluffy yellow towel and run a brush through my wet hair, and then I brush my teeth. The latter feels especially nice. When I'm done, I wipe a hand over the fogged mirror so I may view myself. In my reflection, I look so fresh and clean. I wish that were how I felt.
I change into a pair of burgundy plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved gray t-shirt. I sit at my desk, towel drying my hair, and not thinking about much of anything, certainly not the emptiness that suddenly consumes me. It hits me in a flash, hits me hard and spreads, taking me over. I close my eyes tight and continuing toweling my hair. I fight the tears and for once, I win.
There's a soft knock on the bedroom door.
"Come in!" I call out. I try to sound upbeat, but the words come out strangled.
The door opens a crack. Anna Stevenson peers in at me.
I lower the damp towel to my lap and stare at her. I don't know what to say. Anna stares back. She doesn't know what to say either.
"Can I still come in?" Anna finally asks.
"Sure," I reply, nodding.
It's the first words we've spoken to each other in over a month.
Anna slips into the room and closes the door behind her. She looks different than the last time I saw her. She looks like the Anna I used to know, the Anna who used to be my close friend. There aren't any bags underneath her eyes. She looks well-rested, if a bit somber. She's dressed very casually in old jeans and a baby pink thermal shirt with her gray zip-up jacket. She's wearing the same sneakers as yesterday. She is the old Anna again.
I am not the old Shannon.
"I didn't hear the doorbell," I say. It seems like an easy beginning.
"Maria opened the door while I was coming up the walk. You know, she's wearing a scarf tied around her face."
"Yes, I know," I reply, nonchalantly. "I have the flu. Maria doesn't want to be sick for Christmas."
"Oh, well, that makes sense…I guess," Anna says and sits down on the edge of my bed. "It's too bad you're sick for the holidays though. That's rough."
I shrug. "It doesn't matter. We aren't doing anything anyway."
"I saw your half-decorated tree in the living room. It looked really…great."
"Tiffany and Maria lost interest," I explain. I pull my hands into my sleeves and fold my arms over my chest. Suddenly, I feel rather chilled. "How was your Hanukkah?"
Anna shrugs. "I didn't really do anything. Mom, Anna, and I are leaving for the Hamptons tonight to have sort of a belated celebration with Gram Elsie and Grandpa Morris. I wish I could have come home sooner, but my school had its final exams this week. I would have liked to have gone to Emily's funeral. When I was still at SHS, I sometimes ate with Stacey and her friends, you know. They were always really nice to me. Well, most of them." Anna rolls her eyes.
I nod, like I know exactly what she's talking about.
"So…" Anna says.
"So…" I echo.
Anna drums her fingers on her knees and stares across the room out the window. She doesn't speak for a while. Finally, she turns back to me and says, "Shannon, I'm really sorry about cutting you out like that. All those times you called, I shouldn't have refused to come to the phone. I'm really sorry. I was just so screwed up at the time. I know you've been having your own problems here. I wasn't a very good friend, not like you tried to be to me."
It's so strange hearing someone call me the good friend and themselves the bad.
"Abby told me what happened with that guy," Anna says. "I guess he found out."
I bite my lip and nod.
"Was he mad?"
I continue to nod.
Then I cry.
I cover my eyes with my sleeve and sob into the crook of my arm. I hate that Anna's seeing me like this. I hate that someone I'm no longer close to is seeing me like this. And I hate that it's come to this, not just everything, but with Anna and me.
"I'm sorry," Anna says, softly, still perched on the edge of my bed.
I nod again and wipe my eyes with my sleeve. If only Anna knew, if only Anna knew the whole story. There was a time when she would have been my chosen one to tell. That time has passed. I wonder if it will ever come around again for Anna and I.
I pluck a tissue from the box on my desk. I blow my nose and wipe away the rest of my tears. "I guess our roles are reversed," I tell Anna. My voice sounds terrible, all choked and congested. I blow my nose again. "The last time I saw you, you were a disaster. Now, I'm the mess and you look perfectly fine."
"You have the flu. You have an excuse," Anna replies. "I didn't have an excuse. Well, I sort of did. But I could have been nicer and I could have listened more. And I'm not perfectly fine. Just mostly fine."
I toss my tissues in the wastebasket. "So…you and your mom?" I prod.
Anna shrugs and squirms a little, uncomfortable. "Yeah…that," she says, quietly. "There was a lot more to that. I mean, I thought…" Anna's voice falls away and she glances back toward the window. "Mom and Abby came out to New Haven last weekend. They told me the truth. The truth about what Abby did. I know you know. Abby told me."
"Are you mad at Abby now?"
Anna shrugs again. "I don't know. I think I'm tired of being mad. I've spent almost six months being angry about something or other. It really hasn't done me any good. I've only been miserable and I've made everyone around me miserable. Abby was foolish and kind of selfish, but what's done is done. Ultimately, she's mostly hurt herself. Mom was able to put almost all my college money back and I'm going to get a music scholarship anyway. Probably, at least. And I never liked that car. Abby's paying for what she did already. There's no sense being upset with her."
"This is like talking to a completely different person from a month ago," I comment. I'm quite astonished.
Anna smiles a bit self-consciously. "I know. I've done a lot of thinking. And a lot of talking." Anna rolls her eyes. "Adelaide is extremely persistent. I think her semester goal was to wear me down. It worked." The smile drops off Anna's face. She looks uncomfortable again. "I guess…I guess it was just easier to be mad at Mom. I mean, she hasn't been the greatest mother, not really ever that I can remember. She tries, sometimes, but not always. It's been hard since my dad died. For all of us. And all my memories of him are mostly good. I guess it was easier to blame Mom for everything instead of admitting that Dad may not have been this perfect husband and father, this perfect person. I already knew Mom wasn't perfect and it was just easier…"
"I understand."
"I still don't know exactly how I feel about the whole thing. What Dad did was pretty awful. I mean, he left us. I know he came back, but I wonder…did he come back because he missed us or because he knew Mom was…" Anna closes her eyes and grits her teeth, "sleeping with Michael Bergman?" Anna shakes her arms and head, as if simply the thought of Mrs. Stevenson having sex with anyone is the most revolting thought in the world. If only she knew about my parents. "But I guess I'll never have an answer to that. And I'm not sure how I feel about Mom either. I know I've been unfair to her, but still…I don't know. I guess it'll take some time."
"What about your sister? Your other sister?"
"It's weird to think I have another sister," Anna replies and picks a piece of fuzz off her jacket. She flicks it onto the carpet. "She's thirteen and has her own family. Mom promises it's a good family. Maybe I'll meet her someday. Maybe, if she wants to meet me." Anna finally stops messing with her jacket and rests her hands in her lap. "Is it terrible of me to wonder what things would be like if Mom hadn't taken Dad back? I wonder if she ever considers that. She could have married Michael Bergman and started a new family. Well, a different family. Maybe she would have been happier. Maybe we all would have been."
"You could drive yourself crazy thinking about that," I point out.
"I know, I know. Sometimes, I can't help wondering though," Anna replies and raises her shoulders. "So…do you want to talk about you?" Anna asks.
I shake my head.
"Oh, well, okay," Anna says, then is silent for a minute. When she speaks again, she says, "I hope we're still friends, Shannon. You were one of my best friends and I should have treated you better."
"We're still friends," I assure her, even though I'm not certain that's true. We can become friends again, I think. Just maybe not the friends we were. Things cannot simply go back, rewind, and play over the same. It's too bad life doesn't work like that. I would like to rewind the autumn, go back, and change who I've become.
"I'm glad," Anna says and smiles. It's a genuine smile. A pleased smile. "It's unfortunate you're sick. You could come to the Hamptons with us. I mean, since you said your family doesn't have plans," Anna adds, quickly. She knows how my parents are. She knows they haven't changed. "I wish you could come though. It'd be nice to hang out with you again and catch up. You haven't been out to the Hamptons with us since last December. You missed last summer since you wanted to be with Mick instead of your friends." Anna raises an eyebrow and gives me a withering look. I know she's joking and it's kind of nice. It's so normal. Anna giggles. "And last summer, in the Hamptons – "
"Anna," I interrupt her. "No offense, but I know what you're going to say and I've heard Kristy and Abby tell this story a billion times. I've heard it and seen it reenacted. I'm really not up for hearing it again right now."
Anna closes her mouth and watches me a moment.
"But have they reenacted it in their underwear?" she asks.
I roll my eyes. "On several occasions. Abby nearly broke her neck one night attempting to leap over the back of my couch in her bikini briefs and sports bra."
Anna laughs. I join in. Lightly, a bit hesitantly, but I still laugh.
"No one was really in their underwear, you know," Anna tells me. She stops to think a moment. "Wait…Dawn was in her underwear," she says, thoughtfully.
"Please never invite me to the Hamptons again," I request. I pluck a tissue out of the box and wipe my nose. I use another tissue to dab at my eyes. Tiny tears are leaking out and I can't stop them.
"I should leave you alone," Anna says, standing up. "I can tell you don't feel well."
I nod and rise from the desk chair. I walk Anna downstairs, taking the steps slowly. I see Anna to the front door, lean against it while she begins down the walkway. She turns partway down and offers a small wave. I wave back. Then I shut the door. I wonder if I'll ever tell Anna about the abortion. I wonder if we'll ever be that kind of friends again. Maybe. Maybe not.
I find Tiffany and Maria in the kitchen, rolling out cookie dough. Their hair is dusted with flour. Tiffany's working the rolling pin while Maria presses the cookie cutters into the flattened dough. I smell a batch of cookies already baking in the oven. I don't admit it to Tiffany and Maria, but the scent makes me queasy.
"Coming in for a late lunch?" Tiffany asks, airily.
I scowl at her back. "I'll just have some more grape juice," I answer, removing a clean glass from the cabinet. I fill the glass to the brim. "I'm taking this up to my room. I'm tired," I say and start toward the door. "Your cookies smell delicious, by the way," I add.
When I've left the kitchen, I hear Maria say to Tiffany, "She didn't breathe on anything, did she?" I don't have the strength to be offended.
I pull my desk chair over to the window. I wrap myself in an oversize cardigan sweater and sit at the window, sipping my grape juice. I gaze out at the street. It snowed sometime today. Probably while I was asleep. It didn't snow hard, but a thin layer of white blankets most of the neighborhood. The streets have been cleared and I can see Anna's footprints going across my yard and hers. Then in the other direction, there's a second set crossing in front of Mrs. Porter's house, leading to the Thomas-Brewers'. And a third set of footprints that stop in my driveway. Mrs. Bryar's. It's odd seeing them, leading up and leading away, the footprints of people who worried about me. People I've not been very nice to, people who've not been very nice to me. I lean my head against the back of the chair, sipping the juice and thinking. I lose myself in my thoughts.
I lose myself so deeply that an hour passes and I am stunned when the bedroom door bangs open and Mom breezes in. I sit up straight, startled, and stare at her. I didn't even know she was coming home today. I never thought to consider her return.
"Well?" Mom demands, stopping in the center of my bedroom. Her skirt and blouse are rumpled. She has a lovely tan. "Did you get rid of it?"
I nod, numbly.
"Good," Mom replies and turns and leaves the room. She simply walks away. She doesn't ask who took me. She doesn't ask how I am. She simply walks away. She walks away like I am no one but a stranger and a nuisance.