The Pretty One(42)

“We should probably get to that Scrabble game,” Drew says quickly, as if he’s aware that we’re on the verge of a major sister slugfest.

“See you guys,” Lucy says cheerfully as she follows him out.

George hands me back my water. “Here you go.”

Even in the dark, I can practically see his saliva floating around in the remaining water. “That’s okay. Keep it.”

I follow George back in and sit by myself on the couch taking turns glancing from my sister and Drew playing Scrabble, to George singing at the top of his lungs, to my watch. By the time George asks me if I’m ready to go I feel like I’ve been sitting on this couch for hours instead of just one. I ignore my smiling and waving sister and shoot Drew a quick salute good-bye as I follow George to the door. I make a mental note to delete the photos my mom took in front of the fireplace when I get home, since I definitely do not want to remember this evening. Nor will I ever attempt to question, tease, and touch again.

During the ride home, George is subdued and quiet, obviously as anxious to get rid of me as I am of him. He pulls up in front of my house and stops the car. I put my hand on the door, but he stops me from making a quick getaway by saying, “Look, Megan…”

Even though I’ve never been broken up with before, I have watched enough chick flicks with my mom to recognize a breakup speech. But this is totally unnecessary, isn’t it? I figure I’ll help George along.

“It’s okay. I feel the same way.”

“I’m glad,” he says, grinning. “I don’t know what it is…this thing between us. But I felt it from the first moment I saw you this year.”

Um…what? This is not a breakup speech. This is a…

“I want to see you again…soon. Tomorrow night. I want to take you out to dinner.”

What?! He is supposed to break up with me, not ask me out again. “No!” I practically shout. “I…I’m going out with my mom.”

“Can’t you get out of it?”

“No can do.” Since when do I say no can do? I sound like my father.

“All right, next weekend then.” Drew leans forward, puckering up.

Fortunately, I turn my head and his big wet one ends up on my cheek instead of my lips.

“Bye,” I say, hurrying out of the car.

Minutes later I’m up in my room drafting an e-mail to Simon.



From: Megan Fletcher

Subject: Cancel the caterer



Simon,

Sorry to inform you that your services as best man will no longer beneeded. The Longwell/Fletcher nuptial sare off.

Sincerely, Megan

P.S. You should probably return the crystal candlesticks.



Within seconds, he writes back. Just like before.



From: Simon Chase

Subject: Re: Cancel the caterer



So sorry. Will happily cancel caterer but warn that you may still have to pay for five-tiered oversized cake your former fiancé wanted to jump out of. Or in.

Sincerely, Simon

P.S. They’re glass.





fourteen

expressionism (noun): a style of playwriting and stage presentation stressing the emotional content of a play, the subjective reactions of the characters, and symbolic or abstract representations of reality.

“What are you doing?” Lucy asks.

I’m sitting at the breakfast table, eating my second bowl of Cap’n Crunch while continuing to work on the diorama I began at two in the morning. “I’m redesigning Simon’s living room. See?” I swing the diorama around.

“That’s not one of my shoe boxes is it?” she says, not even looking at it.

“I’m not sure.” In fact, the shoe box had until last night been the home of her silver gray lace-up sandals that she bought last spring.

Fortunately, she’s already distracted. “Did you sleep in your clothes?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

“You’re wearing the same thing again today that you wore last night?”

“It’s not dirty.”

Lucy wrinkles her nose like she begs to differ and shakes her head as she opens the fridge. “I thought you were getting rid of all those old hoodies.”

“They’re comfortable.” I take another bite of my cereal as I turn the diorama back toward me. I move the miniature baby grand piano (that I painted white to match Simon’s mother’s furniture) a smidgen to the side. Last spring, I bought a giant box of dollhouse furniture on eBay for thirty dollars. Simon had thought I was crazy to pay so much for it, but I had been putting all the furniture to good use. “That’s better,” I say out loud.

“So did you have fun last night?”

“Oh yeah,” I say trying as hard as I can to make sure each word is oozing sarcasm. Lucy is only asking to be nasty. After all, I think it was pretty obvious exactly what kind of time I was having.

“I had a great time,” she offers, even though I didn’t ask. She pulls a Diet Pepsi out of the fridge and kicks the door shut with her foot. “Drew and I played like ten games of Scrabble. We annihilated everyone in the room.”

My hands shake at the mention of Drew’s name and I drop the couch. It bounces off my big toe and lands on the floor.