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“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve received a disturbing phone call from an old Central College classmate of mine.”
I decided to go on the offensive because at this point, what did I really have to lose? “Clay Howard’s calling his dad to spread rumors about me now? I knew he took my brush-off hard, but this is kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?”
“Hmmph,” he said. I held my breath as Roger processed this. “Is this some kind of bad prank?” he finally asked.
“Like a fraternity prank? I’m not Greek, Roger.” I emphasized his name again petulantly. “But if it is a prank, it’s in really poor taste.”
“I think we both agree on that,” Roger said. “AnnMarie, are you trying to act out to get my attention? As I explained to your mother, I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time together at the holidays but my, ah, other obligations were pressing. I’d like to take the two of you to Italy during your spring break this year.”
Unbelievable. Roger, the narcissist, thought it was all about him. I wasn’t even sure that he cared if I was the college slut. He only cared whether I was engaged in some post-teen rebellion that might reflect badly on him. I didn’t know what my mother saw in him.
“Do you love Mom, really love her?” I asked.
The question must have caught him off guard because he didn’t have an immediate response. When he answered, his words were measured, his voice cautious. “Our situation may be unconventional, but yes, I do care for your mother deeply.”
Just not enough to leave your wife, I thought. Not wanting to antagonize Roger more, I simply replied, “I hope so.”
“Well, then, thank you for taking my call, AnnMarie. I’ll be sure to tell Clay Howard just exactly what I think of his son making up stories simply because he was rejected. Very ugly flaw in his character. I hope everything else is going well?” Roger’s voice turned formal again.
“Swimmingly, Roger, just swimmingly,” I said.
“You’ll call if you need anything? You can reach me by this number,” Roger offered, ignoring my sarcasm.
This time the pause was on my end. Roger had never offered me anything before.
“I thought you preferred not to receive my requests?” It was more question than statement.
“And I, AnnMarie, thought that your frequent avoidance of me meant that you preferred that I didn’t exist,” Roger replied bluntly.
“Huh, I guess we were both wrong,” I sighed. Roger made me repeat the phone number to him before he hung up.
I stared at the phone in my hand with disbelief. Was it possible that Clay’s threat was actually going to mend a rift between my father and me? It’s not like we were immediately going to fall into a father-daughter relationship, but perhaps we could actually sit in the same room together without being overwhelmed with animosity.
Speaking of animosity, Ellie sat in the living room staring blindly at the TV. She’d fought with Ryan, but over what I wasn’t sure. What was it that she expected him to do? It was almost comical how it had all gone south so quickly. One night you’re watching naked men together and the next no one was talking to each other.
Maybe I couldn’t fix Bo and me tonight, but I could help Ellie. Ellie didn’t even move as I walked over to the coffee table and picked up her phone. “I need to text myself from your phone. I’m worried my texts aren’t going through. Bo hasn’t responded at all.”
All true, but that wasn’t why I was using her phone. I was stealing Ryan’s number so I could meet up with him. And I was going to do it on campus. Maybe even in the library, and if Clay was there, all the better.
You still care about Ellie? – AM
My phone pinged immediately.
YES! I screwed up again but not sure how.
Meet me in 15 at the library?
Library?!? U sure? Sat. night was rough. Sorry! We can meet elsewhere.
Am fine. Don’t care about what ppl are saying. CU soon.
OK.
Before I left, though, I threw Clay’s notes away. They had no hold over me now.
“Ellie,” I called over my shoulder. “I’m going out. My phone works now.”
“Okay,” she mumbled.
RYAN WAS SITTING ON THE third floor near the O-P-Q section of the fiction books in the library. Perhaps he’d had some hope that Ellie would be with me because when he saw it was just me, a half-hopeful smile turned crestfallen.
“That’s a sad look,” I teased weakly.
Ryan snorted and then put his head in both hands. “God, what happened Saturday night?”
“That’s what I want to know,” I replied. “I didn’t even see you.”
“I got a text from Ellie that she was going to the party house with you guys. I told her I’d meet her there. I came in at the point when everyone was rushing out,” Ryan declared. “I didn’t know what had happened until like a half hour later.”
“What did happen after we left?” I’d been so caught up in the drama playing out in my apartment that I hadn’t given a thought to what had gone on back on campus.
“The party kind of broke up. I don’t know if people left because they thought someone was going to call the cops or what,” Ryan said. “A couple of my teammates and I carried Clay home.”
“Is he going to press charges?” I worried that Bo would get in trouble for this.
“Nah, we talked him out of it. Told him it would make him look like a pussy,” Ryan said and then grimaced. “No offense.”
“Whatever.” I couldn’t care less about his pejorative use of gendered words right now. “Why is Ellie moping around?”
“She saw me as she ran out and thought I was standing around, just listening.” Ryan looked down guiltily. “And I guess I was. I mean, I knew since the incident at the QC Café that Clay was behind those rumors. You aren’t the only one, you know.”
“What?” I gasped.
“Yeah, the lacrosse club has a book of girls that they want get back at. It’s like revenge porn, I guess, but instead of putting up nudes of their exes—which they totally do by the way—they spread rumors about the girls that turn them down. It’s their way of taking the girls down a peg or two,” Ryan confessed.
“And you knew this for how long?” I frowned at Ryan. Maybe he wasn’t the good guy I thought he was.
“Just last night. After we brought Clay home and dumped him in his room, I asked what the hell was going on. One of the younger guys caved and confessed. It’d bothered the shit out of him, but he’d been reluctant to confront Clay about it.” Ryan huffed a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair, seemingly relieved to get it all out. “After all, what could he have done?”
“Who are the girls?” Were they freshmen? Could I have done something to put an end to this? The shame I’d tried hard to disperse was creeping back in.
“Not sure. My friend said some of the girls transferred or graduated.” Ryan grimaced. “I think you were their new pet project.”
I shuddered. “Great.”
This wasn’t what I was expecting when I’d asked Ryan to meet up with me. Pushing that aside for a moment, I said, “You need to just be persistent and tell Ellie the truth. But not about the revenge rumors. Okay?”
“She won’t answer her phone. How am I supposed to be persistent?”
I handed him my keys. I owed Ellie one. “Don’t make me regret this. Go now and sweep her off her feet.”
Ryan snatched the keys up and was out of the library before I could even stand up from the table. One problem down. A million more to face. I laid my head on the table and wished I could start over.
BO
AS I STARED AT THE HEAVY brass knocker of Lana Sullivan’s door, I wondered exactly what I was doing here. Lana was a second-year psych major with an eating disorder. What possible help could she give me?
I shifted my weight restlessly from side to side and turned to leave, but before I got even halfway down the steps, I heard the door open and her voice call out, “Running away already?”
Christ. Hot but scary.
I turned back and leaned against the wall of the stairwell, not yet committing to returning to Lana’s pop-up psychology tent. “No, just wondering why the world doesn’t make sense for me.”
“Age-old question. Existentialism. Do I make sense in a fucked-up world?” Lana pushed open the door and walked away, not even waiting for an answer.
I followed. Damn, maybe she knew what she was doing. Closing the door behind me, I noticed she was making herself a drink. Fizzy pink lemonade went into a glass followed by a generous dose of vodka.
“I’ll take one without the fruit.”
“Vodka on the rocks, coming up.”
“Do all therapy sessions involve alcohol? Because if so, I see why it’s popular.”
“Nope, only mine.”
She handed me a large tumbler with ice cubes and what seemed like a fifth of vodka.
“Do you think I’m that fucked up that I need an entire bottle of vodka to fix me?”
Lana shook her long blond hair. “It’s to loosen you up.”
She led me over to the sofa, but I looked at it dubiously. I’d heard a lot of activity took place on that sofa. Lana huffed and pushed me into the chair next to it. “Is Grace still bad-mouthing this sofa?”
I nodded, taking a long draught from the tumbler. “Yes, she’s warned all of us that the sofa’s to be used only in the direst of circumstances because it was infected by Peter the Pumpkin Eater, as she calls him. I take it he’s an ex?”
“Yeah. He’s clean, as far as I know, though. But enough about Grace’s sofa-phobia. What are you doing here? Trying to find the best way to break Noah and Grace up?”
“No!” I exclaimed. “What kind of jackass do you think I am? Is that what Grace thinks?” More importantly, was she saying shit like that to Noah?
Lana scratched delicately behind her ear, like a Persian cat, and contemplated me. “Nah, I was just testing you out. Although, Grace does still think you don’t like her.”
“I don’t know her well enough to like her or dislike her,” I said flatly. “But she makes my boy happy and that’s enough for me.” I didn’t add the “for now,” but Lana let it go.
“Why are you here?”
“Because Grace says you’re always trying to give her advice.”
Lana rolled her eyes. “What do you need advice about?”
“Stuff.” Even sitting here, I was reluctant to share. I had held on to the secret of my dad’s behavior so long, it seemed weird to say it out loud. I felt like I was admitting to some defect. Would Lana think I was a monster because my dad was?
“Stuff is a broad topic,” Lana said mildly. She stretched her legs out, lifting her delicate feet and resting them on the stuffed cube in front of her chair, looking like she could wait me out all day long.
I opened my mouth and I told her everything I had shared with Finn. My dickhead dad. My confusion with my mother. My fear of hurting AM. Lana simply listened. Her face didn’t change one iota. If anything, the longer I went on, the more bored she looked, as if my story was mundane and ordinary and not at all the source of nightmares.
“You could write stuff down in a journal. That’s what every therapist liked to tell me. They’re big into journaling,” Lana suggested.
“Write stuff down? Like what?” I asked.
“Your feelings.”
“My feelings?” I felt like a parrot—a dumb, uncomfortable one.
“You know, I kind of like having you here. It gives me insight as to how awful real therapy will be,” Lana joked.
“Your bedside manner needs a lot of work.”
“The point is, Bo,” Lana said, finally sitting up. She leaned her elbows on her knees and pinned me with her blue eyes. “If you really think you need help, you shouldn’t be here talking to me, someone who’s had less than two years of psychology classes. I don’t think my years of therapy are counted into my practicum.”
“Do you think I really need help?”
“I don’t know. I guess if how you express yourself is either with sex or fighting then probably, but I think those are just excuses.”
“How so?” I held my breath and leaned toward her as if she was going to hand me the secret solution to every problem I had.
“You’re a pretty disciplined guy. You work out a lot or you wouldn’t have the body that you do. You’re obviously very smart or you wouldn’t be here at Central. You don’t seem to be wrapped up in your appearance, given that you seem to wear the same ratty pair of jeans every time I’ve seen you and your boots, which I presume you wore in the Army.”
“Marines.”
“Whatever, it’s all the same.”
