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“Because we’re both so tall and blond,” I said, laughing. J.P. laughed too, and then hung up.
When the Yellowstone caldera last erupted six hundred and forty thousand years ago, it released a thousand cubic kilometers of debris, basically covering half of North America in ash piles six feet deep.
This is totally what’s going to happen when J.P. finally finds his one true love.
I know this is totally selfish to say, but I just hope that when he finds his, I still have mine.
Saturday, September 11, 4 p.m., the loft
Inbox: 0
Phone messages: 0
I can’t believe this. He hasn’t e’d or called yet.
Mom just looked in here and went, “Mia? Aren’t you going out tonight?”
I guess she could tell by the fact that I’m wearing my Hello Kitty flannel pajamas that I’m in for the night.
“Nah,” I said, managing to sound more carefree than I really feel. WHY HASN’T HE CALLED? “I’m just going to hang here and catch up with my Precalculus homework.”
“Precalculus homework?” Mom actually reached out and felt my forehead. “You don’t feel feverish….”
“Ha ha.” Everyone around me is turning into such a comedian lately. I totally put my hands behind my back so she couldn’t see how sweaty they were.
“Mia,” Mom said, putting on her maternal face. “You can’t sit around in this apartment pining for Michael forever.”
“I know that,” I said, looking shocked. “God, Mom! Do you think I’d do that? I’m a feminist, you know. I don’t need a man to make me happy.” It’s just, you know, when that particular one is around, and I smell his neck, my oxytocin levels rise, and I feel calmer and more relaxed than I do when I’m
alone. Or with anyone else.
“Well.” Mom seemed skeptical. She knows about the oxytocin thing. “I don’t know. You’re not staying in now because of that silly news article, then, are you?”
“You mean the one accusing me of dating my best friend’s ex-boyfriend when my own boyfriend and I have barely been broken up a week?” I asked lightly. “Gee, no, why on earth would I let that bother me?”
“Mia.” Mom’s lips started getting thin, a sure sign she was unhappy with me. “You can’t let the fact that Michael is moving on with his life keep you from moving on with yours. Of course it’s important to mourn the loss, but—”
“WHAT LOSS? MAYBE MICHAEL HASN’T GOTTEN MY APOLOGY E-MAIL YET. FOR ALL WE KNOW, HE COULD BE OPENING HIS E-MAIL RIGHT NOW AND SEEING THAT I APOLOGIZED AND BE GETTING READY TO CALL TO TAKE ME BACK. ANY SECOND NOW.”
“Stop yelling,” Mom said. “Are you really feeling all right? You look a little peaked. Have you eaten anything today?”
“Um.” I wasn’t sure how to break it to her that I’d polished off all the lunch meat and the Canadian bacon she’d been saving for breakfast. There wasn’t a piece of meat left in the loft. Or any ice cream, either. And I’d also finished all the Girl Scout cookies. “Yes.”
“Well, if you’re sure you’re feeling all right and you’re going to stay here anyway,” Mom said, “Frank and I might head on over to the Angelika to see that new grunge rockumentary. Would you mind watching Rocky while we’re gone?”
“Sure,” I said. In lieu of smelling Michael’s neck, I figured I could use a few hours of Rocky’s favorite game, which involves pointing at various pieces in his Tonka collection and shouting “Tuck!” which means truck in Rocky-speak. It might relax me.
So now I’m here babysitting my brother.
If only the photographers from the New York Post could see me now. The glamorous life of America’s favorite princess: sitting on the living room floor with her baby brother, playing “Tuck” in her flannel Hello Kitty pajamas…
…while her heart slowly and irrevocably breaks.
Sunday, September 12, 10 a.m., the loft
Inbox: 0
Calls: 0
