Just You (18 page)

“Honey, if it were up to me and me alone,
I’d let you date Michael. He’s a nice kid and I like him a
lot.”

My heart sank. My father was my only hope.
Until now, he’d always been on my side. “But it’s not up to you
alone.”

“Like it or not, your mother and I have to
work together to raise you girls. When she’s this firmly set
against something you’re doing, I have to respect that and take her
feelings into consideration.” He looked away from my disappointed
face. “And I have to admit, some of what she said yesterday did
make sense.”

“Like what?” I felt so betrayed, I could
barely get the words out.

“You’re awfully young, honey. It’s fine if
you want to date and have fun, but you’re too young to be in such a
serious relationship. I see the way you two are together and
frankly, it scares me.”

I repeated my now-familiar mantra. “We’re
not doing anything wrong.”

“Still…” He leaned over and placed his hand
over mine, patting it a couple of times and then squeezing. “We’d
hate to see you get hurt, honey.”

We
, I thought bitterly. Dad had been
fine with Michael before my mother got a hold of him. This “we”
business was total bullshit and it galled me that my father had
bought into it.

“You’re not going to let me go out with him
tonight, are you?” I said, yanking my hand out from under his.

“Sweet pea…” My father frowned. I knew it
hurt him to let me down like this, especially since the divorce,
but it hurt me even more. I wasn’t used to having him exert any
type of control over me. Like Mom had so resentfully claimed, he
usually let me do whatever I wanted, allowed me the freedom to grow
and make mistakes.

“I can’t believe you’re siding with her. I
can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you, Taylor.”

“So, what then…you don’t trust Michael? Even
though he’s done nothing to deserve it?”

“He’s eighteen years old,” he said, raising
his voice for the first time. “And you’re my baby.”

I jumped up, startling Leo, who scrambled up
into a sitting position just in case I needed him. “I’m not your
baby,” I told my father, and I started to walk out on him the same
way I’d walked out on my mother two nights before. But then I
stopped and spun around to face him again. I had one more thing to
say. “You know what I think, Dad? I think the only reason you gave
in to Mom is because you still feel guilty for ruining her
life.”

He winced as if I’d slapped him, but I was
too mad to care. I turned away and kept going.

****

I hid out in my room the entire weekend, not
speaking to anyone. Except Michael, over the phone. I wasn’t
forbidden to call him at Dad’s, just forbidden to
see
him,
which sort of defeated the purpose of a clean break. Like me,
Michael thought the whole situation was absurd. Unlike me, he was
positive it would all blow over in a few days and my mother would
eventually cool down. But he didn’t know my mother. Meanwhile, we
missed each other like crazy.

After an agonizingly long weekend of hiding
out and avoiding people at Dad’s, I went home to hide out and avoid
some more. After school, while my mother was at work, I made my
phone calls to Michael. If I wasn’t such a coward about taking
risks, I would’ve asked him to come over. My need to see him was an
unreachable, never-ending itch.

I refused to speak to my mother beyond
necessity, so I was hesitant when she came home early from work on
Thursday afternoon and wanted to take me shopping for jeans.
Apparently she was so pleased with my calm, cooperative attitude
this past week that she wanted to celebrate with some
mother-daughter bonding. What a joke. She may have thought she had
won, but she hadn’t. Not even close. In reality, I was just biding
my time until she trusted me again.

But I really needed some new jeans, so I
agreed.

We dropped Emma off at her friend Madison’s
house and made the ten-minute trek to the mall in silence. I gazed
out the window at the passing trees and businesses while Mom drove
and sneaked the occasional peek over at me. I wasn’t quite ready
yet to give her the satisfaction of speaking more than a couple of
words to her. I was still fuming mad, after all.

After spending an exorbitant amount of money
at my favorite jeans store, Mom insisted we stop at Cinnabon for a
snack before going home. I relented only because I’m a sucker for
cinnamon rolls, and the aroma emanating from the store reminded me
of Michael’s mints. We sat at a small round table with the goodies,
our pile of shopping bags at our feet.

“Taylor,” Mom said, ripping off a piece of
cinnamon roll. “I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you for
understanding my point of view during all this.”

I stared at her. Was that really what she
thought? That I understood? Accepted it? She kept talking, unaware
of my surprise.

“I think you realize now your father and I
care about you and only have your best interests at heart. Steven
recognizes that he hasn’t been the most conscientious parent in the
world. I’m glad he’s on the same page this time.”

I poked at my gooey cinnamon roll, listening
passively.

“It’s for the best,” she said, so sure of
herself. “You’ll appreciate our perspective in a few years
time.”

The rage was back, but this time I kept it
in check. I couldn’t very well throw my cinnamon roll across the
food court. As much as I felt like screaming at her, I knew I had
to keep quiet, be the dutiful daughter for a little while longer
yet. Let her think she had won so I could slide around her,
undetected, when she least expected it.

But I also knew it was going to take more
than my phony “understanding” to fool her. Which was why, at that
moment, I told the biggest lie of my career as a daughter.

“You know, I think it
is
for the
best,” I said. My mother studied me, her expression wary as she
tried to figure out if I was being sarcastic or not. I had to pour
it on thicker. “It wasn’t really working out anyway,” I added,
injecting just the right amount of animosity into my voice. “He
acted like a big jerk when I told him I couldn’t see him anymore.
I’m probably better off without him. I don’t think I’m ready for a
serious relationship anyway. Especially after what happened with
Brian.”

My mother beamed. She believed me. “I
thought so. I’m glad you realized it before you got in even deeper
with him.”

Little did she know I was already in about
as deep as I could get. “No big loss, right?”

“You have plenty of time for boys and
dating, sweetie. There’s no need to rush things.”

I nodded obediently. “I know.”

She smiled a big justified smile, and then
picked up her cinnamon roll for another bite. She was convinced. I
had pulled it off. And if I fooled her, I knew I could fool Dad.
Being a good, obedient daughter for sixteen years had its
advantages. The last thing my parents expected from me was
sneakiness, deceit, and bold-faced lies.

Chapter 17

“You’re going to ruin your appetite for
lunch.”

“Hmm?”

Ashley and I were standing near our locker
after class, waiting for Erin to arrive so the three of us could
eat lunch together.

“You’ve bitten your nails down practically
to your wrist.” Ashley snatched my hand from my mouth and surveyed
the damage. “Taylor, for heaven’s sake, you’re bleeding.”

Erin came up behind us. “Who’s
bleeding?”

“Look.” Ashley shoved my ravaged hand under
Erin’s nose. “She’s bitten off her cuticles.”

Erin shook her head. “You’re a mess,
girl.”

I pulled away from Ashley and curled my
wounded fingers up into my palm, hiding them. It wasn’t the first
time they had bled since I’d started biting my nails. I
was
a mess.

“Stop hurting yourself like that!” Ashley
scolded. “You’re not turning into one of those self-mutilators, are
you?”

I sighed. “No, Ashley. I don’t even realize
I’m doing it.”

It was true. I could be anywhere—in school,
in bed, watching TV, reading, talking to someone—and in a few
minutes my mind would start wandering and I’d end up subconsciously
snacking on my fingernails. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because if I
didn’t give my mouth something to do, I’d be screaming
non-stop.

It was the end of February, and my
transformation from an easygoing kid to a paranoid nervous wreck
was now complete. If Michael hadn’t been so worth it all, I would
have dumped him long ago so I could get some peace. And maybe sleep
soundly again. And even grow my nails back.

For the past three weeks, we’d been sneaking
around like criminals. Robin made it happen. I pretended to have
plans with her on Friday and Saturday nights, and then she’d go out
with friends while I jetted off with Michael. He’d pick me up at
Robin’s, we’d go out somewhere, and then he’d drop me off at the
same spot at midnight sharp. Dad and Lynn were totally clueless.
They never bothered to check up on me, assuming I was with Robin
and no longer in contact with Michael at all. And my mother assumed
her rules were being followed. It was easy. Still, the possibility
of getting caught had raised my stress level to maximum.

“Something’s gotta give soon, hon,” Erin
said, her olive-skinned face filled with concern. “You’re a bundle
of nerves lately. I’m worried about your mental health.
Really.”

“I’m not going insane,” I said,
offended.

“Yet,” Ashley added.

The three of us started toward the
cafeteria. I appreciated my friends’ concern, but really, I wasn’t
that
far gone. I may have
felt
like I was going crazy
on more than one occasion, but my mental state—as far as I knew—was
still fundamentally sound. So far.

“Fries?” asked Candy, one of the lunch
ladies, as we reached the front of the lunch line.

“No, just the chicken strips,” I said, and
moved down to the register with my two distressed friends hot on my
heels.

“We’re worried about you,” Ashley said as
the three of us sat down at our usual table with our orange plastic
trays. I picked up an overdone chicken strip and looked at each of
them, studying their kind, troubled expressions. It didn’t take me
long to figure out they’d been discussing my situation together,
the two of them, behind my back.

“I’m fine,” I said, and bit into the
chicken. At least it appeared to be chicken. It tasted more like
salty, breaded shoe leather with a hint of poultry seasoning.

“I think if you’re this stressed out about
it,” Ashley said, opening her milk carton, “maybe your conscience
is trying to tell you something.”

“Like what?”

She glanced at Erin before answering me.
“Like maybe you shouldn’t be doing it. Putting one over on your
parents, I mean.”

I looked at Erin to see if she agreed. “I’m
worried about how it’s affecting you,” she said apologetically.
“You’re so tense all the time now. You don’t eat. You have dark
circles under your eyes every day. It’s getting…unhealthy.”

I scowled down at my inedible lunch. Once
again, I felt betrayed. My friends were supposed to support me,
without question. Where was Brooke? She’d been through this—she
understood. “What happened to ‘It’s so romantic’?”

“Maybe in a movie,” Ashley replied. “Not so
much in real life.”

A pressure started building behind my eyes,
like my eyeballs were about to pop out at any minute and roll down
the table. “How can you guys even pretend to know what I’m feeling?
You have no idea. You think I like lying to my parents all the
time? You think I feel like I have a
choice
in the matter?”
I pushed my tray away and stood up. “I thought you guys were on my
side…but I guess not.”

“Taylor,” Erin said, gripping my arm.
“Please don’t be mad at us.”

Ashley bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I have a big
mouth.”

“We are on your side.”

“We weren’t even going to say anything, but
today you seem so down. Being in love is supposed to make you
happy, right?”

I sat back down, forgiving them. “Not when
it’s like this.”

****

It had been almost a month since the
glass-throwing incident and I was finally back in Mom’s good
graces. She trusted me again, even though behind the scenes I
wasn’t doing anything to earn it. Sometimes I would think back to
before I met Michael, when simply asking for extra allowance or
making a C on my report card had me quaking in my boots over my
mother’s reaction. Now, the mere idea of her response if (or when)
she found out about my more serious transgressions was too
overwhelming for me to even think about. So I tried not to.

Fooling my father was easy. He was on a
different planet most of the time and so confident in my obedience
that he never batted an eye at my increasingly creative lies about
where I was going. If I told him I was heading to Egypt to check
out the pyramids, he’d probably just say, “Be home by
midnight.”

But I somehow failed to consider that Dad
wasn’t the only one in that house I needed to be worried about
fooling. To my amazement, I received a heads-up before the bomb
dropped, compliments of my enigmatic stepsister.

Leanne had continued to warm up to us over
the past couple of months. She stayed home more and ate dinner with
us almost every weekend. In fact, she was sitting next to me at the
table on that one momentous evening in the first week in March as I
ate my lasagna, blissfully ignorant of what was about to take
place.

“What are your plans for tonight, sweet
pea?” my father asked, his eyes on me as he poured a stream of
Italian dressing over his salad.

“Going out with Robin,” I said, as I did
every weekend. “We’re not sure what we’re doing yet.”