Page 46 of He Hate Me

Me: You forgot your bag in my room.

Brandon: Look inside. I found a scrapbook with pictures of baby Deja.

I see it, a photo album in pastel pink with my name bedazzled on the cover. I can’t believe my mom ever did anything so cheesy.

I really was adorable as a baby. There are pictures of me fresh from the hospital swaddled in a white blanket with thin blue and pink stripes. Each two-page spread has a picture of a different life stage. Newborn pics, pics of me before and after I learn to crawl, messy pics of me stuffing random mashed things into my mouth and so on. I especially love the ones where one of my parents is holding me. My mom’s expression is soft, and any expression is loved on my father’s face since I’ll never see it in person again. Ten years after he got killed in a random mugging, I still miss him terribly. He was funny and so smart. He and my mom would fight sometimes, something she and Devin never do, and I remember no matter how angry he got, he never insulted my mom or called her names. I’m not going to say fighting with your husband is better than not fighting, but their relationship was so full of passion.

As the youngest pediatrician in his practice, my dad was on-call more often than anyone else. I remember him taking calls at all hours of the night and occasionally having to run out to deal with an emergency. I used to wait up for him as long as I could until my mom would make me go to bed. I’d try to stay awake even then, listening for his voice. Mom would scold me for it, but if I heard him, I’d get out of bed and run downstairs and get him to tuck me in.

Other memories rush back now. The feel of the dirt we tossed on top of his casket. The physical pain that came with lack of sleep because when I closed my eyes, I would picture my father being stabbed. The anger, boiling and bubbling like poison in a witch’s cauldron, that spilled over onto the kid with the worn shoes and bad haircut. I pushed him into the mud and spread a rumor that he had lice and punched him in the kidneys once, then ran. Not long after that he switched schools, and I didn’t see him again until he was standing on the steps of my house hauling moving boxes. Until he moved down the hall from me.

Everyone thinks I’m so nice, but Brandon knows the other side of me, the one that sensed his pain, saw the other kids pulling away and decided he was a safe target because no one would take his side. My dad had been a doctor and my mom drove a Lexus. Brandon’s single mom got fired as a housekeeper and now cleaned our houses. I hurt him because I was hurting, but I also hurt him because I could. He knows me better than any of my friends do. He knows what I’m hiding behind my practiced smiles. He knows I’m not any nicer than he is, I just know how to make people like me.

There’s a metal tin in the bag as well, kind of like a large pencil case with a hinged lid. There are sticker pictures on it, many of them rubbed off. My mom is in most of them, but there are a few cute cat stickers too. I guess my mom was into cats when she was my age. Inside are a few photos, my mom’s college ring and a folded-up card stock invitation to a fraternity formal. I never heard of my dad being in a fraternity, so did my mom date someone else during college? One of the pictures is of my parents looking about my age in formalwear. My mom’s dressed like she’s going to prom in a poofy grape jelly colored dress. I stifle a giggle because she looks like a jar of Goober and my dad looks like a bar of Special Dark, complete with a red tie.

My parents met at a forensics competition when she was a freshman, and he was a sophomore. She was going to state university, and he was a student at a liberal arts college a few hours away. My mom told me about visiting Dad at his college a lot that first year, then he transferred to her school and graduated from there. I’m curious what college he went to. The invitation doesn’t have a name on it, but there’s an address and a chapter name. I type the chapter name into my phone, and it says it’s at McCrystal College. Why does that sound familiar?

“Does the name McCrystal College mean anything to you, mom?” I ask at breakfast the next morning.

“That’s where Devin went to school,” she says, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

I lower my head to hide my confusion. Did my mom go to a fraternity party with Devin? As far as I know they didn’t meet until they started working together at the same company, the one they’re still with. Could she have mixed his invitation up with her stuff? It seems pretty unlikely that a guy would even keep something like that. Is it possible my dad also went to that college?

“Where did dad go to undergrad the first two years?”

She freezes, her spoon halfway to her mouth, and says,

“Why are you asking?”

“I was wondering if I should apply for legacy admissions or something.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing, honey.” my mother says, “Your father graduated from state just like I did. In any case, your grades are excellent. I doubt you’ll have any trouble getting into college.”

“It can’t hurt, though, right?”

“I thought you had your heart set on the University of Chicago?”

“I do, but I need safety schools. You told me it was a really good college, so I could definitely do worse.”

“Why don’t I look into it for you and let you know,” she says.

“I can just add them to my list.”

“Why waste time if they don’t do legacy admissions? I’ll ask my admin to look into it for you. She’s great at research and you have so much to do already.”

“Okay,” I say reluctantly.

Brandon gives me a what-the-fuck look, so I know it’s not just me. That was weirdly evasive.

“What was that at breakfast,” Brandon asks on the drive to school. He’s looking relaxed today in a Special Interest t-shirt and a faded navy hoodie that almost matches his eyes. He needs a haircut, but I still want to grope him. Bad Deja!

“I looked inside that metal case in your bag last night.”

“And?”

“There was a bunch of my mom’s stuff inside including a fraternity formal invitation. It was for a frat at the college Devin went to.”

“And?”