Falling Under (13 page)
“What’s up?”
“Ahem. Are you busy tonight?” “As a matter of fact, I’m not. Why?”
“Uh, my dad is having a party, and I wondered if you wanted to come. With me.”
“Sure.”
“Oh, and Bernadette too,” I add. “Your friend from the bar?”
“Yeah, she’s coming too.” “Perfect,” Hugo says. “Great. See you later then.” “Okay.”
“Okay bye,” I say, and press the end button. Whew. Wow.
I did it. I rock!
So why is Bernadette laughing and pointing at me? “What?”
“You didn’t . . .” She cackles and slaps her thighs. “What! I didn’t what?”
“You just . . .” she tries, and then shakes her head, unable to speak. She points at the phone.
It rings!
I frown at her and pick it up. “Hello?”
“Mara? Hugo.”
I turn back to Bernadette and make shushing motions. “Yes?” I say.
“What’s that noise?” he says.
“Oh, that’s Bernadette. She, uh, has a condition,” I say. “Ah. Is it a laughing condition?” he asks.
“Yes, she’s been possessed by a hyena,” I say. “What’s up?” “I was so excited you called, I didn’t realize until I hung
up that—”
“You can’t make it.”
“No. I mean, yes, I can make it.” “Oh. You don’t want to.”
“No! I want to,” he says. “Jeez.” “Oh. Okay, good.”
Bernadette has stopped giggling so she can eavesdrop. “So what is it then?” I ask.
She sidles up and puts her ear near the receiver. “I just need to know where and when.”
“Huh? Oh. OH!”
Bernadette covers her mouth and bolts into the dining room.
I am pathetic.
“So if you really want me to come,” Hugo says, “you’ll have to give me the details.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Do you want me to come to your place?”
“Sure.”
“Good,” he says.
“Oh, and do you like Mexican food?” I add. “Because I think that’s going to be the theme.”
“Mexican’s great.”
“Okay, I’ll see you,” I say. “Bye.”
“Wait!” he says. “What—” “Time! Shit! I’m sorry,” I say.
I double check that he has all the info he needs and we say our good-byes.
Bernadette peeks her head back around the corner, a huge grin on her face.
“So?” she says.
“So?”
“So you have a DATE!!!!!” she shouts and then starts jumping up and down.
I do.
Oh, my God, yes I do. I feel a bit queasy.
“Oh, and I invited Faith,” Bernadette says. “Faith?”
As if Hugo wasn’t enough. I’m going to throw up for sure.
Y
ou go straight from school to Bernadette’s.
What you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it are still a mystery, but whatever it takes, you will get your friend back.
Please, please.
Bernadette’s mom answers the door and gives you a warm smile.
“Hello, dear,” she says.
You stammer your request to see Bernadette and wonder if Mrs. Delavier knows anything is wrong.
“Come in, come in,” she says. “We’ve missed you.” “Me too.”
“Perhaps your visit will have a beneficial effect,” she says. “Sorry?”
“On Bernadette’s health.” She gives you a long look. You put your shoes by the antique umbrella stand. “I hope so,” you say.
God, it’s hard to speak when you’re trying not to cry.
“I think she was sleeping, let me check,” Mrs. Delavier says, and then slips up the staircase and out of sight.
Alone in the entryway, you look around in an effort to dis- tract yourself. Bernadette’s house is usually soothing, with its dark, comfortable furniture, the shelves spilling over with books, the baking aromas, and the scattered evidence of the Delavier family hobbies.
It used to feel like home, and you hope it will again.
But that depends on Bernadette, and on your ability to bridge the gap that has opened up between you.
And then you see her on the landing above you, looking sleepy and forlorn in her faded Frankie Says Relax T-shirt and a pair of boxers. Her usually spiky reddish-brown hair is flat and limp and she has circles under her eyes.
“Hey,” she says. “Hi.”
“What’s up?” She shifts from one foot to the other. “Um.. .”
She leans on the railing. “You look like shit,” she says. “I feel like shit. Are you... Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“Good.” You nod and then twist your hands together. “You can come up, Mara. It’s not... I’m not conta-
gious.”
“Of course not. I never thought . . .” You bite your bottom lip and feel your chin starting to quiver.
“Sure,” she says.
“Listen, can I... can we—” “Okay.”
“Talk?”
“Okay,” she says again. “Come on.”
She heads up the second set of stairs and you follow her to her bedroom.
She closes the door behind you. Her hand is shaking. She sits on the bed—the usual place for your conversations— then changes her mind and goes to sit at her desk. She waves you to the window seat and you sit.
“Could I talk first?” “Go ahead,” she says.
“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking that you hate me. I figured you did. But then, maybe you don’t, and I have to take the chance.”
Silence. She nods.
“I was thinking, maybe you’re just scared. Maybe you’re afraid that I would judge, or disapprove or something.”
More silence.
“I don’t though. Whatever you want to do, want to be—I have no problem. The thing is, that night, I was so out of it, I don’t really know what I did or said wrong. Whatever it was, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about making things worse in the lunchroom.”
“You were trying to help that day,” she says. “Don’t worry about it.”
“At the party though, I must have said something... but honestly, I don’t remember.”
“No, you didn’t say anything,” Bernadette says. “It was the look on your face that said something. No matter what you say now, I saw how you felt on your face.”
“But—”
“You’re disgusted by it. Like everyone else.”
“No, I’m not! I wasn’t.”
“You were totally disgusted,” she insists. “Freaked out.”
You think back to the moment when you walked in on them and suddenly realize.
“Bee, no! Remember how stoned we were?” “Yeah?”
“Well, when I came in, I thought you had two heads! So I was freaked out, but not because...I figured either I was having a bad trip or something terrible had happened to you.”
Bernadette’s mouth twitches. “Seriously?”
“Seriously! And no matter what, you’re my best friend. I don’t care who you want to fool around with, or fall in love with, or anything.”
She looks down at her lap.
“And I miss you,” you say. “I hate it.”
Bernadette looks up, tears in her eyes and a happy grin on her face. “I missed you too,” she says.
You hurl yourselves into a long, teary, laughing hug. “Thank God, thank God,” you say.
“I know,” she says. “I’m so glad you came. And I’m so sorry too.”
Cookies and chips are liberated from the kitchen and you sit cross-legged on Bernadette’s bed and eat them.
“So,” you say, “you like girls, hunh?” “I wish I didn’t,” she says, “but yeah.”
“I don’t know much about this, but do you like guys too?
Or just girls—oops, I should probably say women.” “No boys, no men. Can’t seem to do it.” “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“That must be scary,” you say. She nods.
“Have you... How did you find out?” She shrugs.
“I just know.”
“Okay,” you say, and nod your head quickly, wanting to reassure her. “That’s okay, right?”
“I guess. Oh, Mar, I was so afraid for you to find out.” “Did you think I wouldn’t want to be your friend
anymore?”
“I didn’t know.” “Not the case.”
“I know that now.”
“So... what was the deal with Faith? What happened?”
Bernadette swallows, turns pink, and puts her cookie down.
“I had a crush on her for a long time, and I thought maybe... but it’s hard to know, right? Anyway, we had a project together in History and after that we started talking on the phone almost every night. But at school we barely talked. It was awkward.”
“Probably because you liked each other.”
“I think so. So nothing was ever said, exactly, just hinted. And then we were alone in the sauna and... well, you saw what happened.”
You nod.
“It was totally mutual,” she says. “But later, on the phone, she said it was just because she was drunk, that she didn’t know what she was doing.”
“Bullshit.”
Bernadette shrugs. “I guess I’ll never know.” “You heard she’s gone?”
“Yeah.”
“Bee, there’s something else,” you say, and then you tell her about the bathroom incident. To your surprise, she’s not angry.
“Thanks for sticking up for me,” she says. And then, “So... did she say anything else? About me?”
You shake your head. “Were you... are you in love, Bee?”
By the look of longing on her face you know she is. Oh, boy. Oh girl, actually.
Even though you have her back, you’re going to lose her—to Faith, or some other girl. Because a girl can share secrets and go to movies and be your friend. A girl could be your best friend
and
your lover. What would you need a best friend for?
What will Bernadette need you for? Nothing.
You feel like you’ve been whacked in the gut. Bernadette might need you now, but someday she’s going to find some- one and that person will replace you.
Please make it not true.
You would do anything to make it not true.
How do you fight though? You don’t want another best friend, you want the one you have. You want Bernadette, who makes you laugh and protects you and understands everything. How can you keep your place at her side?
“Bee . . . ?” you say.
“Yeah?” She’s more relaxed now, eating chips, licking the flavor off both sides before putting them in her mouth.
You take a deep breath.
“If you... If you need... If you like women.. .” “Yeah?”
“Um.. .”
“Spit it out, Mara,” she says. “No more secrets, right?” You swallow.
“Okay. I was just thinking that I could be...I mean, would you want me to be.. .”
“Huh?” she frowns. “You know.” “You’ve lost me.”
“Well, if Faith doesn’t... If she doesn’t want to be with you, I...I could.”
She blinks twice. “What?”
“I could be with you, if that’s what you need.” “Mara.. .”
“Wait, just listen. I’m already your best friend, right? We already know everything about each other... mostly. So you could trust me, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard— we’ve seen each other naked and stuff. So we could be together and things could stay the same... pretty much. We would just be a little bit... closer.”
“Are you saying ... ?”
“I could be your girlfriend.”
Bernadette looks at you like you’re speaking Russian. “My girlfriend.”
“Yeah, I could.. .”
“I heard you, you don’t have to say it again!”
“Well?”
“No! Oh, my God! What the hell? You’re my... and you want to be my—”
“Girlfriend,” you say, feeling bolder now. “Why not?” Bernadette jumps up from the bed and starts pacing. You stand too. “Why not?” you ask again.
She stops a few paces away and stares at you. She looks mad. Suddenly she walks forward, grabs you by the shoul- ders and kisses you. Your mouths mash together and your teeth knock. After the first second of shock, you try to kiss her back, but it’s over and she’s stepping away.
“So?” she says.
“Uh.. .”
“Feel anything?”
“Um, it was a little fast. Maybe we should try it again?” “You didn’t feel anything,” Bernadette states.
“Well... no.” “Neither did I.” “No?”
“Nothing whatsoever.” “Oh.”
“I’m not attracted to you. No offense.” “Okay.”
“And you’ve never been attracted to me either,” Bernadette continues. “Right?”
“No, but—”
“Or any other woman. Right?” “Well, no.”
“So you, my friend, are straight.” She laughs. “I swear, you look disappointed!”
“I am.”
She lifts her eyebrows, studies you. “What’s the deal, Bones?”
You sink down onto the edge of the bed.
“I feel like I’m always losing people. My mom, my dad— they’re not gone, but they are. You know?”
She comes to sit beside you, takes your hand.
“I get it. You’re not going to lose me though. I only want one best friend, and you don’t need to sleep with me to keep the position.”
“Okay.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate your being willing to sacri- fice your sexuality,” she says.
You laugh.
“I love you, Bee,” you say, a huge grin on your face. “I love you back,” she says.
“Good.”
“Please don’t ever hit on me again though, okay? It gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“N
ot Faith English again!” Bernadette’s eyes are full of mischief.
“Yep. She remembered my address and looked me up, just like I hoped. We’ve been talking.”
“But what happened to Janet?” I sputter. “Who?”
“No, wait, I mean the other one, the new one.” “Oh, Darya?” Bernadette says.
“Yeah.”
“Too many issues.”
“Faith English is the
definition
of too many issues!” Bernadette’s eyes dart away. “That was years ago,” she says. “Humph,” I say. “We’ll see.”
“Come on,” she says, and grabs the scissors. “Let’s do something about that hair.”
6
Hugo arrives an hour later. He looks awfully cute in a sombrero.
“Hi,” I say. “You’re very prompt.” “Hello. Where’s your hair?” he says. “I, uh, sacrificed it.”
“I see,” he says. “You hate it.”
“No, no! It’s chic. And cute.You look very... pixie-ish.” Pixie-ish is better than prisoner-of-war, and cute is an adjective rarely associated with me. Chic, I can take or leave.
“Thanks,” I say. “Come in.”
“So I’m meeting your best friend
and
your family,” he says. “Is this a date yet?”
“Yes,” Bernadette pipes up from the other room before I have a chance to say maybe or no.
“Thanks Bee,” I toss over my shoulder before turning back to Hugo. “No comment.”