Anatomy of a Single Girl (20 page)

“No. Of course not,” I reply calmly, even though I’m starting to get irritated. I never knew she was capable of sounding so mean. “And I hate to be a killjoy, Ames, but I’m just really not feeling well. Can we please bail?”

“I am
not
going home now. No one’s offered to buy me a drink yet, and there’re major hotties here. Now that I’m free to hump anything that moves, I want to get some action tonight.”

“Well, we can try somewhere else, preferably a place that’s
not
a drug bust waiting to happen.”

“Anyplace else worth going you have to be twenty-one.”

“I guess I can wait in the car while you go back in.”

“Dom, that’s stupid. Why don’t you just leave, and I’ll find my way back later.”

“Ames, I’m not abandoning you here! This isn’t exactly in the best neighborhood. What if you can’t get a cab? I don’t want some strange guy driving you, especially if you’re planning to get drunk. Also, my stuff’s at your place, and
we have only one set of your house keys between us, so how would we—”

“Fine, fine, fine! I swear, for someone who bitches about her parents being annoying, you’re sure becoming a lot like them.” Amy barrels toward the station wagon without waiting for me.

Soon we’re cruising back over Edison Bridge, and Amy’s looking straight ahead as if I’m not here. There’s no sound except for the engine, the windshield wipers, and an occasional thunderclap. To my horror I realize we’re having our first awkward silence ever. I consider pretending nothing is wrong and telling her about the kidney transplant I saw yesterday, but spontaneously going off about organ donations seems too out of place now. So I just keep driving, and because I don’t know where else to go, I head back to the Braffs’.

When we pull into her driveway, Amy checks her cell once more. “Well, this was a fun end to a fun day.”

“Ames, listen. When I had my big split this winter, I was destroyed, as you remember better than anyone. Except for death and disease, I don’t think there’s anything worse than a breakup you don’t want. But it’s like what Dad told me when I was bawling after it happened—you can’t have highs without the lows. So I just feel really helpless because I know there’s nothing I can say to ease this for you—”

“Dom, hold on.” She glowers at me. “What happened to me isn’t anything like what happened to you. You got broken up with.
I
broke up with Joel.”

“Well, yeah. But what Joel did was a massive betrayal. So either way, the only boys we ever loved broke our hearts—”

“I’m
not
heartbroken, Dom! I’m not! No guy’s worth
my tears,” she shouts. “Okay, I wasn’t expecting it all to go down like it did, but I’m over it. At least, I
was
getting over it at Chamber until you stopped me,
best friend
. Thanks a lot.” Her voice breaks.

This whole year Amy has been my shoulder to cry on, so it must feel as confusing to her as it does to me that the tables are turning. I lay my hand over Amy’s, but she pulls away.

“And who are you to dispense breakup advice, Dom? That you’ve finally had a few G-spot Big Os doesn’t magically turn you into some guru of moving on. I think your track record shows you suck at it.”

“Wait. Excuse me?” I say defensively. This has gone beyond taking things out on me. She’s putting me down—another first for us. “Yeah, Ames, it’s been a long, hard haul, but I think I’m doing damn well, considering. I kept my scholarship, I have an internship, I started dating again—”

“Please. Perpetual booty calls isn’t dating, Domi
-nympho
. What Joel and I have—had—isn’t in the same galaxy as you and Guy. And no matter how much of a sex fiend you’ve become, you’re still always thinking about your ex!”

“Not
always
!” I yell. “I’m getting better all the time. And, anyway, how can I
not
think about him? He was a huge part of my life. Just like Joel is forever part of
your
life no matter how many drawings of him you incinerate.”

“Well, that’s preferable to your hanging on to that stupid ex bag of crap like it was priceless treasures. It’s pathetic.”

“
I’m
pathetic?
You
flew halfway across the country
twice
to share a chigger-filled sleeping bag with someone you spent all summer wanting to cheat on! And let’s not
forget the time you tricked Bruce into kissing you! Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

Amy bolts out of the car into the rain and up the steps to her house.

“Don’t even
think
about following me!” she screams before disappearing behind the front door.

23

I
don’t follow her. I’m too incensed. Who the hell does she think she is? And how have I never seen this side of her before? All these months, Amy acted like a bedrock of support for me when really she thought I was a loser. I put my keys into the ignition to drive away … but something tells me to stay put.

Ten minutes later I take my hands off the keys, and I feel I’m cooling off. Amy’s words sting, but I think how breakups can bring out the worst in the best people, and part of being upset is mouthing off crap you don’t mean. I remember lashing out at my parents in the hours after I got broken up
with, which I still feel bad about—I feel bad about a lot of stuff I’ve said to them—though they never hold it against me. I
would
be a loser if I faulted Amy for a few minutes of lunacy after sharing a friendship that’s lasted nearly half our lifetimes.

Another ten minutes later, I’m more puzzled than angry that she hasn’t come back out by now, though I have no reason to think she would. We’ve never seriously argued before, so there’s no precedent for what happens next. I’m still in disbelief that this happened at all. But people blow up and make up all the time. It’s probably even healthy to clear the air once in a while.… So why do I feel like Amy just dumped
me
?

I’ve been sitting in the car for a half hour now, and any pride I had has been supplanted with worry for Amy. Finally I decide to try her cell, and my stomach sinks when she lets it go to voice mail.

“Hey, Ames. Listen … I’m totally sorry for … everything. It’s late, you had a really rough night, and I can feel I’m running a fever now, so we’re both not in our right minds. Anyway, all I want is to be there for you like you’ve always been for me, so please come out now. Oh, and bring more Tylenol,” I add half jokingly to make it sound like everything’s normal with us. “Okay, see you soon.”

The next twenty minutes feel like twenty years as I wait for Amy to emerge from the house, which she doesn’t. Finally I take the umbrella from the backseat, run up the front path, and ring the Braffs’ doorbell. When Amy doesn’t answer, I use the knocker, and more nothing. Then I walk around the house to try to see her through the windows, but she seems to have gone upstairs. I’m about to forage for stones to toss
up at her bedroom window, but I don’t want to scare her. Then I recall the crazy outfit I’m wearing and how suspicious this would look to anyone driving by, so I scurry back to the station wagon and resume waiting there like a stalker. I’m also soaked because the wind caused the rain to hit me sideways, rendering my umbrella useless.

Twenty more minutes later it hurts when I swallow. My supervisor warned me I might get sick this summer, since hospitals are paradoxically the easiest places to catch something. I hate to leave Amy like this, but I’m no good to either of us unless I take care of myself. So I record another voice mail imploring her to call and reiterating that I want to help her through this. And since I can’t get inside to change into my regular clothes, I have no choice but to drive home in turquoise, pleather, and stilettos. It’s a good thing my parents are already asleep when I get there.

By morning the rainstorm has passed, but my temperature’s 102, I have the chills, and every muscle in my body aches. My parents forgo their Sunday fishing trip to stay home and take care of me, including bringing in humidifiers and brewing me herbal tea with honey. Being sick is one of the rare times when I let them baby me. I want so much to get their advice about Amy, but as long as no one else knows about last night, it feels more like a bad dream than reality, which I guess means I’m in denial myself. I try to sleep so I won’t have to think about anything, but my searing throat’s constantly waking me up. Or maybe it’s my subconscious prompting me to keep checking my phone to see if Amy called. I didn’t realize it was possible to obsess over a girl as much as you can over a boy.

Meanwhile, everyone
but
Amy calls me, starting that night with Guy.

“Aw, that sucks you got the flu. You should order some miso soup from the sushi place.”

“That’d be a good idea if I had any sort of appetite.”

Then he puts on his sexy voice and describes what he’d do to me if I were in bed with him, which just makes me cringe. There’s nothing like feeling like shit to kill your libido.

On Monday, Calvin calls. The last time we spoke, I hadn’t even met Guy yet. I’d be more excited to catch up with him if not for the fact that his free time next year will be monopolized by Samantha. On Facebook they continue showing up together in kissy photos at team trivia, which
I
used to go to with Calvin. But with Amy MIA, it’s wonderful just hearing from a friend.

“Damn, Coppertone!” he exclaims in response to my scratchy hello. “I
was
gonna give you crap about your promise not to fall off the face of the earth, but it sounds like fate took care of that.”

“Yeah. It’s been nonstop here, and now it’s catching up with me. I’m taking off from my internship all week.”

“Well, I’ll let you recuperate in peace, but I wanted to give you a heads-up that I’m e-mailing you the essay for my MBA applications. I took a cue from you and banged it out early.”

“Oh, that’s great. I’ll proof it as soon as it doesn’t hurt to breathe.”

“No rush. We can talk about it when I get you at the airport. You’re still flying in a week from this Saturday, right?”

“Yeah, but if you’re too … busy or whatever to come out, it’s cool.”

“No way. You can’t handle all your baggage by yourself. And it’s been eventful here, too. I have tons to fill you in on!”

“Great,” I mumble.

On Tuesday, Dr. Braff calls. I’m so desperate for news, my hands shake holding the cell.

“Hi, Dominique,” she says barely above a whisper. “Have you been in contact with Amy since this Joel business began?”

“No. I keep calling her but never hear from her. How is she?”

“Clearly not well if she’s ignoring both of us. She’s usually so outspoken and audacious, but now she’s bottling everything up. I’m going to try to talk to her again now.”

“When you do, can you ask her to
please
call me tonight?”

“Of course.”

She doesn’t phone.

On Wednesday, Dr. Braff calls again. She’s fighting back tears explaining how Amy left a note saying she’s gone away to Wichita but will be home by the weekend. “I have no idea if she and Joel have made up or if they’ve even spoken. Oh, she just won’t confide in me, and I feel responsible. Our whole family’s been so wrapped up in Matt getting married, I’m afraid we neglected her.”

I always admired the friends-type relationship Amy has with her mom, but obviously that doesn’t make getting through boy drama any easier. It’s strange hearing Dr. Braff admit weakness, considering that her job is to help people
with personal problems get stronger. In some ways therapists have it harder than surgeons, who can often correct the issue with one operation. There’s no quick fix for emotional trauma.

On Thursday no one calls, and though my bug’s almost gone, I feel sicker than ever. I read a new
Scientific American
article Guy forwarded me on genetic engineering, which mentions how every cell in the human skeleton regenerates within a seven-year period. Amy and I have known each other for eight years, so physically we’re largely different people from when we first met. Suddenly I’m frightened that our friendship, like our old cells, has run its course. We might not have become friends if our last names didn’t start with a B. But what does it
matter
how we became friends? What’s important is that we did, and our friendship is one of the most precious things in my life.

I look around my bedroom, which is wallpapered with her artwork and photos of us together. It would take at least ten trash bags to store all my possessions that remind me of her. I just have to hold out until the wedding on Saturday. Then Amy and I will have to see each other, and I can gush to her face about how much I still need her. I’m trying to be patient for it, but powerlessness is the most dismal feeling in the world, and waiting is just powerlessness plus time.

On Friday, Amy calls. Of course it’s while I’m showering, so several minutes pass before I find out. Just seeing her name on my cell display propels me to jump in place with jubilation, and before I listen to her voice mail, I already know everything’s going to be okay with us. I think, even when I was at my worst, I knew that it would be.

“Hey, Dom. Thanks for all your messages. I’m in Houston on a layover about to take off. I have no right to ask this, but can you pick me up when I land there at noon? I understand if you’re not up for it or … if you just don’t want to. I know I don’t deserve it. I can take the LeeTran home. I just can’t deal with my parents yet, and … I really want to see you and apologize in person. Bye.”

I call back right away, but since her flight has already left, it goes straight to voice mail.

“Hey, Ames! Of course I’ll come get you! Dad took a cop car to work, so I can borrow the station wagon and wait right outside the terminal. I miss you so much and will see you at twelve!”

It’s almost ten now. With all the craziness going on this vacation, I totally spaced on buying Matt and Brie a gift. If I order one online now, they won’t receive it by tomorrow unless I pay monster shipping costs, so I decide to use this time to pick one up at the Bell Tower Shops. But first I swing by the Beta house to retrieve my Herophilus biography, which Guy texted me yesterday he had finally finished.