Love and Leftovers (15 page)
Read Love and Leftovers Online
Authors: Sarah Tregay
I thought Mom and I
were coming back in September.
So the kids thought
I was kinda stuck-up,
not talking to them
because they were townies.
But there was this boy.
He brought me doughnuts.
He took me to a dance.
He hugged me—
that’s all I wanted.
I wanted someone to hold me
because I was shriveling up
from a lack of hugs.
He touched me—
the hem of my skirt.
And all of a sudden,
I felt beautiful.
I felt wanted.
I felt like a ripe peach
he wanted to devour.”
I’m sorry
s
do not make
Linus
stop crying.
In the Aftermath of the End of the World
I let myself out,
walk home
shaking
and confused.
I throw the front door open
and slam it shut behind me.
“Hey, Sugar Cookie,” Dad calls from the kitchen.
“Don’t
Sugar Cookie
me,” I shout,
dropping my backpack to the floor.
Dad looks up from his marinara sauce.
“This—this is all your fault.”
I rip my arms from my parka sleeves.
“Did you know my life is a bucket of shit?
No. A bucket is too small.
A garbage can,
a truckload,
a landfill!”
I start to blubber,
my tears falling on the linoleum
like drops of water off fresh-washed dishes.
But I turn my shoulders, shake him off.
“How could you?” I choke out.
“How could you leave Mom?
How could you break us up beyond repair?”
Dad turns the burner down,
then takes a seat at the breakfast bar,
leaving a stool empty for me.
“Marcie, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry is for dropping a fork,” I inform him,
“for spilling milk—”
He cuts me off. “Your mom and I have drifted apart.
But you need to know that
at one time we were very, very close.
We were a family, with a baby.”
“Me?” I ask, softening.
“Yes, you. Sit.”
I wipe my nose on a dish towel.
“Charlene used to throw her all into everything she did.
She was a great mom, a copywriter at a huge ad agency,
and she still found time to write novels at night.”
“My mom?” I ask.
“She loved it. Loved it all.
But she no longer had time
for our relationship.
Marcie, your mother and I
hadn’t been intimate for a long time—
years.
And I don’t know if you understand,
but that makes for a lonely existence.”
I can’t believe
he doesn’t think
I understand.
I do.
Your arms ache to hold someone—
you move in slow motion from one hug to the next
so you won’t jostle the warm feeling off your shoulders
before the next hug comes your way.
Your heart feels hollow—
that emptiness screams like an addiction to be filled
even if it means doing hurtful, selfish things
to get a fix.
“I understand,”
I tell him. “Because
I’ve been lonely, too.”
“It was then,
about two years ago,
that I started treating myself to a martini,
instead of coming home to Charlene.
Because I no longer had a wife I could talk to,
I began sharing my problems with Danny.
First we’d talk over drinks,
later, over lunch
or games of racquetball.
It took a while
for me to realize
that I had a deeper friendship with Danny
than I had with Charlene.
So yes, Marcie, this whole situation,
your shit-landfill life,
is all my fault.”
“So you broke our family
into a million little pieces
for
sex
?”
“For love, Marcie.
That’s what families are:
two people who fall in love,
make love,
and give birth to a child they love.”
“Before you married Mom,
did you know you were gay?”
Dad nods.
“Not gay. Bisexual.
I was never able
to put hetero or homo
in front of sexuality.
I loved Charlene
and I wanted
to become a father.
So I tucked
that other part
away.”
Staying Home from School Because My Head Hurts
Dad makes me chamomile tea
and tucks me into bed on the couch
like I am nine and home from school
with a stomachache.
I tell him that nothing
will make me feel better.
Orange juice,
chicken noodle soup,
and One A Day vitamins
won’t cure my heartache.
Staying home from school,
and drinking tea on the couch
with my security blanket
won’t change the fact
that Linus and I are history.
And J.D. and Mom
are over two thousand miles away.
Dad says,
“Time and love
cure everything.”
After I blubber about
Linus saying “I love you,”
and my dismal but honest confession,
I tell Mom I’m lonely,
that the house is too big.
That without someone to take care of,
I feel lost.
She says it’s too quiet,
that the college kids are at class,
that she wandered around the bookstore today,
because there was no one to talk to.
I tell her I’m sorry
for acting like a teenager,
for not following her advice.
She says she’s sorry,
for not being a better mother,
for not taking my advice.
I say that I’ll go for a run,
clear my head
if she’ll take a walk,
breathe in fresh air.
I look at the clock,
add two hours,
and figure J.D. should be
home from school
by now.
I giggle when I hear
him say my name
| without all the letters. | “That good?” he asks. |
| “Say it again.” | “What, Mahcie? I said I pahked the cah down at Bah Hahbah.” |
| “You paRked the caR | |
| down at BaR HaRboR?” | “I miss you, Mahcie— even though you talk funny.” |
I tell him that
I miss him too.
I sit with the Leftovers at lunch,
leaving an empty chair between
myself and Linus.
Everyone is quiet, even Garrett and Ian.
And Katie and Angelo are too wrapped up
in each other to say hello.
“Where were you two lovebirds yesterday?”
Emily inquires, breaking the silence.
Linus pushes his cafeteria tray away
as if the thought of me repulses him.
I didn’t know that he stayed home yesterday, too,
as if heartbreak were a disease.
“We broke up,” Linus says.
Emily looks at me to verify.
“We did?” I ask him,
unsure of what really happened between
the tears and the truth.
“Last I checked,
when your girlfriend cheats on you,
it’s over!”
“Last I checked,
some guys actually touch their girlfriends!”
“Forgive me for showing you a little respect.”
“I didn’t want respect,” I tell him, sharp and loud.
“I wanted—” I search my brain for the right word.
“I wanted passion!”
I once thought
breaking up with Linus
over email
was the worst thing
in the world.
It wasn’t.
The way
he looked at me
when we passed
each other
in the hall
before Spanish class
made me feel
guilty sorry miserable
times
a billion.
Linus had every right to dump me.
And zero reasons to take me back.
Why did I ever think
our relationship deserved
a second chance?
There is no three-strikes
when it comes to dating.
One heartbreak and that’s it.
Done.
Over.
Gone.
I really should have told Linus
that I’d rather be just friends,
instead of spilling the goddamned truth.
Katie’s right.
I am a crap girlfriend.
Oh my God!
I don’t even like
myself.
“Hey,” Katie says,
running to catch up with me.
“Hi.” I pretend not to notice her panting.
“You weren’t on the bus,” she says.
“I saw you walking and got off.”
“I didn’t feel like seeing Linus.”
She’s quiet for a few strides, then says,
“You knew this would happen—
that’d he break up with you.”
“He said he loved me,” I admit.
“So I wasn’t sure.”
“Whoa, he said, ‘I love you’?”
“And then I told him about J.D.
It was horrible.”
“And you didn’t call me?” Katie asks.
“I felt like shit,” I say. “And you were right.
I am a crap girlfriend.”
“I’m your best friend! And I didn’t know
you broke up with your boyfriend
for two whole days!”
“I didn’t want to talk about it.”
I don’t tell Katie I didn’t want to talk to her
because I was ashamed. And she was right.
“I thought you were out sick.
I got your homework assignments.”
“Thanks.”
Katie shrugs.
We walk a block in silence.
“I can’t believe you brought it up at lunch—
the whole cafeteria heard you shouting.”
“Emily brought it up.”
“She didn’t bring up sex and whatnot.”
“Passion.”
“Passion,” Katie says slowly
like she’s mulling it over.
“God, Marcie, you’re picky.”
Katie’s words feel like gravel
inside my sneakers.
“You don’t understand.”