22…Simple Truths…

I see Em up ahead on the sidewalk, flanked by three beautiful swan-looking girls. Of course she's already made friends there, I think, when she smilingly breaks away from the group to jump in the passenger seat. Before I pull back out into the traffic lanes, those same girls seem to be smirking and laughing. They look less like swans now, and more like clucking chickens.

"How was your day, dear?" I ask Em. It is several long seconds while I repress the urge to yell at some of the drivers on the road before I realize no answer is forthcoming. Of course. No one answers anything I ask, even a jokey innocuous question. I glance over at Em and am stunned by what I see. Her head is down on her chest and her face is covered by her hands. "Em?"

Oh hell! I think she's…She's crying.

I grab the tissues she always keeps in the glove compartment and push them into her hand. She takes them without looking up. I keep my hand over her fingers trying to pour all the comfort I can into my touch. Eventually, I put on some soothing music from my iPod that Bea had put in a folder that she cleverly titled, "Soothing Music."

It's not until we're on I-95 deep into New Jersey, that I hear, "Sorry to be such a baby." This is a disconcerting thing for her to say because she's always cried unashamedly.

"Hey, don't worry about it." I can't believe the words, don't and worry came out of my mouth right there together since that phrase has bugged the crap out of me all week. "Get it all out. Cry as long as you like." I look over at her in the dark, the lights from the highway splashing intermittently across her tear-stained face. She's staring straight ahead and looks—I borrow Bea's word for me—defeated.

"You never do."

I guess I've never told her this before, but I immediately make a new vow of openness. I say it now. "That's only because I can't."

"Why not?"

"Crying gets stuck in me, in my throat. I'm not sure why. I wish I could cry, though. It seems better than having your throat feel like it's being blowtorched." That's precisely how it feels right now seeing my dear friend in so much pain. "Plus, you never really get it out—you don't ever feel any kind of relief."

"Oh," is all she says.

I want to ask her what's wrong, but the words get stuck in my throat, almost like crying does. I seriously think I'll lose my mind if she says she doesn't want to talk about it. But Em's always been more open than I am—than everyone in my family is, apparently. "Will you please tell me what's wrong? What's been wrong? I'm sorry we've not gotten the time to talk about it."

I feel a split second of relief when I hear her start, "Okay, but…" And then it dries up when she follows with, "But, promise you won't think I'm a total loser."

Holy hell! The word loser—like panties—has never been in Em's vocabulary. "You are many things, but not that. Just tell me and we'll puzzle it out together, okay?" My family mysteries can wait.

She says in a small voice, "I have a bunch of new nicknames. They started calling me Little Miss Daffodil first, I guess because I wear a lot of yellow. And I like flowers."

"Who?" I ask. But is it wrong of me that I also briefly contemplate…Why didn't I think of that? It's brilliant!

"Those girls who were standing with me outside. They all hate my ever-loving guts. They saw me waiting just a couple minutes before you got there and came over to ask what my plans were for the weekend. But really they just wanted more ammunition to make fun of me. When I said I was going to Philly, one of them said I should fit right in there. I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but I know there's a put-down in it somewhere. I wanted to text you to tell you to pick me up on another block, but I knew you wouldn't get it since you were already driving. I didn't want them to see me getting into a bright yellow car. They'll be something new on Monday, I'm sure."

I think back to the way they did seem to be smirking at Em as soon as she walked away. And I want to go beat them all up, I'm so mad. Instead, I mentally break my grandmother's Rule to call them every bad gender-specific name I can think of.

"After Daffodil, they started calling me Daffy, and then Daisy Duck or Daisy Duke, I was never sure which, maybe both. I don't even know if they intend for me to hear these names because they're mostly whispered behind my back, but I do hear them and it hurts." Oh, I'd bet they fully intend it.

"We call you all kinds of names, and it's never bothered you."

"Yeah, but there's affection there. Acceptance. For my Southernisms, my love of yellow and flowery prints, even for my coordinating proclivities. It even feels loving when smart-aleck Aunt Bea calls me Miss High and Mighty. But not with these girls. They're mean to me."

She takes a deep breath, saying softly. "And then there's Tweety Bird." Again…brilliant, I think, before immediately feeling guilty after what Em says next. "That one bothers me the most because they use Tweety Bird's lispy accent to make fun of me. I heard one of them say, 'I tawt I taw a Vogue intern wearing her gwandmother's clothes,' when I walked by them in the cafeteria one day in a boucle suit. It wasn't haute couture—it wasn't Chanel or anything—but I thought it was nice. And yes, it was yellow." That sounds like the suit she was wearing when she picked me up at the airport. Almost as an afterthought, she adds wistfully, "Tweety Bird was always my favorite cartoon when I was little, and now they've ruined it for me.

"Can I stop you for a moment?" I ask her, wanting to tear into those girls.

"Wait, that's not all. Let me tell you one more thing first, okay?" I nod to her. "Daddy called me up and read me the riot act for spending so much money. He yelled at me. He's never yelled at me before." This is so clearly disquieting for Em. I've seen her dad yell at her brothers, Mitchell and Carter, but never her. She and her mother Allison are treated like the Queen and Princess of their household. "He said I needed to grow up and that money doesn't grow on trees and I needed to stop being a baby."

"Oh Em, you've spent so much on me and Henry! The town car? All Henry's fancy warm-ups and pajamas? That outfit for me?" The familiar guilt overtakes me. "I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

"No you will not—those were gifts! I was just so happy you were in New York, even if the circumstances were awful and even if I don't get to see you all that much. Besides, Mom ran interference for me with Dad. He called back to apologize and put a chunk of change into my account. Guilt money. Mom did the same thing so I figured they must've not told the other and I'm certainly not going to. She also sent me a different credit card to use that Dad won't know about. But I've stopped spending much money anyways. I'm practically as thrifty as you now." I highly doubt that, but I'm not about to say it. "I used to take all three of those girls out for expensive lunches. I even gave one a Celine bag for her Parson's graduation. I was just so sure that if they knew me, they would like me. But I guess I was just desperate and pathetic. Now, I just try to work harder than anyone else and avoid those three."

"One quick thing. You mentioned graduation presents and I've not even thought about that. Let's find some time tomorrow so I can get Leif and James something, okay?" Em nods in the dark. "And I'm so sorry this is happening to you because you are not pathetic. They are. Are you getting anything good out of this? Learning anything?"

"Yeah, but not enough to make a thesis out of it. My hoped-for theme kind of dissolved. It might be that I've just wasted too much time and energy on getting acclimated and on the drama. I was planning to graduate in June, but…I talked to my advisor and I'm just exploring some options."

"Is anything good about your days?"

"Not everyone is mean. I've met some really creative, really passionate people. I met this design pair at a cocktail party for work. Those girls were ganging up on me again and I was hiding in the kitchen hallway. They were servers there and we started talking. I'm going over to their studio next week to see their designs."

"That's very cool. I like the fact of you making new connections, even arising out of the pain of the mean girls."

"I guess so. Can I ask you something, Elle?

"Of course you can. Anything."

"Do you think I dress like an old lady?"

Gulp. I know my best friend wants reassurance. I know she's experiencing something she never has before, just like Bea said when we talked about Em last weekend. I almost want to give her a pat answer, but with my new vow of openness, I settle on the simple truth. "You know what? I don't give a crap how you dress, what covering you put on your body. I like the girl behind it. She is the best friend anyone could ask for. If you wanted to wear yellow spandex body suits or housedresses, for heaven sakes, I'd just say, 'You go girl!' But whatever is your style of the moment, I'd also say you should own it. Make it yours. To hell what anyone else thinks."

"That's the thing," Em says. "I don't know that I've found it yet. You know I chose to go far away to school to find myself. Find what I wanted to express in the world. And with my business. And everything. But what I think I've done is just settle on what I know, using someone else's model, not my own. I'm just not there yet. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does."

"Hey, how far away are we from getting there?"

"Probably about thirty minutes or so."

"And you know the way and everything?"

"Yep. I looked at a map before I left. I'm good."

"I'll never understand how you're so good with directions. Okay, so I need to fix myself up." She reaches into her bag on the floor, pulling out a makeup kit. "And I think we're going to have to change the subject so I don't cry anymore before we get there." She flips down the lighted visor in front of her. "Ohmigod, I look awful."

"You've never looked awful a day in your life and I have more to say about this and those girls, but I'll wait for another time if you need me to."

"Thank you. And you won't tell James about this, will you? He's like the one great thing I've gotten out of these weeks in New York."

"No, of course not." And I can't believe this is coming out of my mouth, but I say it anyway. "That's your story to tell. But I will say that I think you should talk to him. Tell him about it. Share the good and the bad with him."

"Who are you and what have you done with my friend?" Em giggles.

"I know, right?"

"I'm intrigued by this new Elle. Which brings to mind another question I've been wondering about."

"Ask away!" I say.

"You like Leif, don't you? I mean like him, like him."

Well, I can't deny I brought this on myself. After a deep breath, once again, I settle on the simple truth.

"Yes. Yes, I do." Em would normally be squeeing right now. Loudly. I look at her and she's watching me with her lips pressed together, merriment in her eyes. "You're holding back your squee right now. Aren't you?"

She nods at me, holding in her elation. "Barely," she giggles. "I've been waiting for this day for too long." I roll my eyes, but she can't see it because I'm facing the road again. "Don't think I don't know you're rolling your eyes, my friend. I watched him at lunch with Henry when I mentioned you getting asked out by that guy in the band. I did that on purpose." Of course she did. "Leif is attracted to you, too."

"You think?" I really do try to push back my own elation. "But he's so out of my league. He's stunning, Em. And just so…so…"

"Ellawyn Ellis, you are going to make me…curse! I swear. No, you're going to make me cuss! You are stunning! Absolutely. Guys have been after you ever since I've known you. Now that you've gotten your head out of your…books…you might see that for yourself. You have this effortless unique style. You're beautiful. You might let me sex you up a bit, though. Tweak your clothes a little, make the most of your assets."

"I couldn't pull it off." This is what I always say when she offers to do this.

"You could try." And this is how she always replies. "Just think about it. In the meantime, I'm going to work on James about his whole issue with Leif dating friends of his girlfriends."

"That's my girl," I say.

"Hey…you don't call me The Controller for nothing!"

I smile in the dark all the rest of the way to downtown Philadelphia.