No Such Thing as Perfect (18 page)

“Awesome,” I mumble and grab another shirt and a towel. The bathroom is empty because most of the dorm is already empty. Dad had to work late, so it’s after seven and everyone else has gone home until Sunday.

I run the water, waiting for it to heat up, staring at the blue that coats my smile. There are too many things to talk about this weekend, too many fears, and I just don’t have the energy to have ink in my teeth.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t know anyone was still here.” The girl isn’t familiar, but she clearly lives here, carrying her shower caddy and change of clothes towards the showers. I want to ask her where she’s going for the next few days or why she isn’t leaving if she’s not, but it feels rude. I don’t know her.

“I was just trying to clean myself off,” I explain.

She comes over and rubs hand sanitizer into the towel, which is sopping wet but water isn’t enough to get the ink out of my shirt. I’m in a black skirt, tights, and dress shoes, with a ratty Winnie the Pooh t-shirt. The shirt we’re washing is white and I don’t think anything will make the ink come out.

The girl keeps scrubbing, though, and gestures towards her caddy. She makes a cocktail of body wash, toothpaste, and shampoo and scrubs my shirt with the expert skill of someone who still knows how to hand wash clothes. “How do you know how to do this?” I ask.

“I’m the oldest. My brothers – they’re twins and they’re eight – don’t have anyone to clean up after them. My dad passed away a few years ago, so I’ve gotten really good at keeping the house clean while my mom works.”

“Does she miss you? While you’re here?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard because they’re in California and I can only go home twice a year. I miss them a lot, but she refused to hear it when I suggested going to school close to home. This was the best school and the best scholarship offer and she says they’re surviving. But I haven’t seen them since August.”

“That must be tough.”

She shrugs. “It is, but they’re right. It’s a good school and I can’t stay there forever.”

I look in the sink, where the water has gone deep blue. Pulling the shirt out, I hold it up; the stain is gone. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Here,” she says and she hands me a toothbrush, still in its package. “Always have a spare toothbrush. Guess it’s a good thing I did.”

“Lily,” I say. “I mean, I’m Lily. And thanks. That came out weird.”

“You’re fine. Meghan.” She goes to the shower, now that the ink is mostly gone. I brush my teeth and use part of the towel to wash the ink off my face. Everything is perfect – no sign of damage. Almost on cue, my phone buzzes.

“My dad’s here,” I say to the bathroom, but the water is already running in the shower and she won’t hear me.

I run back to my room and change out of my Pooh shirt into another white dress shirt and grab my bags for the weekend. I realize as I run down the stairs that Meghan and I have lived near one another for three months now and I’ve never even see her before.

I’ve spent too much time living in some kind of suspended life. Going home is going to be very different this time.

H
e has the nerve to show up on Wednesday morning. By the time I got home last night, everyone was tired and I didn’t have to socialize, but I’m trying to pick at a corn muffin my mom ironically insists I eat despite her comments about my weight and I don’t need to see him right now.

“I was surprised you didn’t bring Lily home,” my mom says. She’s washing dishes. I don’t know why – Jon and I both just got back last night and the house is spotless. No one has eaten. I have no idea where the dishes even came from. The kitchen smells like lemon dish soap, though, and it’s interfering with my ability to eat this muffin. Every bite tastes like detergent.

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?”
Please don’t,
I think, but it’s pointless. He does. “She broke up with me.”

In movies, my mom would be so shocked she would drop the dish and we would all enjoy the slow motion shattering. Somehow it would be some heirloom, too, just to instill in the audience what a terrible person I am. None of that happens, of course. She scrubs harder and refuses to make eye contact instead.

“I see. Well, Lily, I imagine you have a good explanation for this?”

I stare at the mangled muffin. Do I sit here, with him so close, telling her what he did? Would she believe me? Would she care? I can still feel him fighting me, can still hear the words he used. How would he defend himself? Would he even bother?

My brother has his head in the fridge, rummaging for food, and he’s oblivious. He’s always oblivious. My dad had to work, so I’m trapped in this room with all of my nightmares and I have only a corn muffin and my version of the story to support me.

“It just wasn’t working,” I say. “We want different things and being away at different schools was hard.” Generic. Vague. Acceptable.

“I guess you should have considered going to school with Derek after all,” she tells me. “I thought you were stronger than that.”

So many words fly through my brain – arguments of my strength. I’ve survived what he did. Survived a year in a relationship that was toxic because I was too naïve to know better. Most of all, I have survived her and she stands there, doubting my strength? But as the defense takes form on my lips, I see her cleaning the already clean plate, her hair in a perfect updo and her clothes starched and ironed, and I realize it doesn’t matter. She won’t understand, but that doesn’t mean I need to wait for her approval.

“I’m going upstairs. I have some schoolwork to do,” I say and I toss the uneaten muffin in the trash, spilling crumbs and not caring.

I can hear their voices downstairs while I work. She made him breakfast and they’re eating, talking about school and complaining about how difficult I am.
I’m sure he was so heartbroken
, I think.
He probably had to sleep with ten people just to get over it. 
I’m angry, but mostly that I wasted so much time. All of high school really. Imagining him as a decent person.

I hate that all of my firsts were his.

****

A
bby came home from Europe and all she wants to do is shop. It’s escape, though, so I agree to head out after Thanksgiving dinner to stand in lines so we can buy a car or something for a dollar. The afternoon was unbearable, listening to my mother’s questions that all focused on how I had failed her by ending things with Derek. The only respite was talking about Jon’s new girlfriend or her joy at the fact that I was “dieting.” I ate three carrots and wanted to puke, but she chalked it up to a success.

“It’s really cold,” I complain. We’ve been standing here for three and a half hours. The store won’t even open for another five.

“Why do people do this?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I thought you wanted to.”

She shrugs. “I wanted to come home and suck up the American-ness. It gets really depressing sometimes to be an outsider.”

“So
this
is your idea of being American?”

“Where else can you get frostbite just to save twelve dollars on a laundry basket?”

“How is Europe anyway? Your texts are cryptic as hell.”

Abby looks around at the mob that has been growing. Some of these people have chairs and small grills. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“It’s after six on Thanksgiving. Is there somewhere else?”

“Let’s go to the city,” she says. “Come on. No one is expecting us until tomorrow afternoon when we’re wiped out from shopping. Something has to be open in the city.”

With the exception of my camping adventure, I had never done anything off schedule. But the last few months had changed a lot and I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Yes?” she asks. “What the hell? That was easy.”

“Tell me about Europe – and I’ll tell you about school.”

Inside the car, Abby programs coordinates for Rockefeller Center into the GPS. I can’t imagine we’ll find parking and I really can’t believe she intends to drive all the way in, but I’m not saying a word. This isn’t about planning. It’s not about logic. There will be parking somewhere and that will be the place where we should spend the evening. It feels freeing to leave it up to fate.

“So, I’ve been having a lot of sex,” she says.

“Shocking,” I remark.

“It’s been good, Lily. It was what I needed, because I missed you. I missed home. I felt like a weirdo, walking around in these places where I could barely ask what time it was, and I probably ended up asking what color my potato was instead. Yet I’d meet these guys... and we’d fuck. It was mindless and stupid, but I had fun and I forgot that I missed you.”

“I am sure there are a number of things I could say or that you expect me to say, but I’m not. I missed you, too. And I’m glad you were at least distracted. Although I was kind of expecting you to tell me about crepes or something.”

She laughs. “Sometimes, it’s lonely, though. All the sex and all the museums and clubs and everything? I’m still alone every morning. Europe isn’t a person. Random guys aren’t friends. It’s great, but it’s not what I expected.”

“Neither is college,” I admit.

“They don’t tell us anything. They just tell us to go be people, to go live a life, but after high school, there were no rules. I love it, but sometimes I just kind of wish someone would tell me what to do next.”

“Are you going back for the spring? Or are you going to start school earlier?”

“Hell, no. I love it. Like I said, it’s lonely, but I don’t even know if I want to go to college at all. I don’t think loneliness is tied to place. I’ve been thinking about why it’s lonely, but it’s because I tie it to some idea. I went to Europe thinking I would find myself or find my passion, maybe fall in love or something.”

“But you haven’t.”

“I don’t want to fall in love. A few guys have asked to spend the night, but I can’t wait to get them out of my apartment. I had a long conversation with myself one afternoon-”

“While you were sitting along the Seine,” I add.

“Shut up. No. I was in Florence actually. But it’s not right, you know? They come to my apartment with no expectations, yet I should want more? Why? I have a great time for the night and then the next morning, I can get up when I want, can go where I want, and no one bothers me. I can stand in a museum and not have to explain a painting or wonder if the person I’m with is bored. I felt so selfish, but why should I? Why don’t I have the right to be selfish? I think I’m pretty awesome. Of course I want to spend all my time with myself.”

“I don’t think it’s selfish,” I tell her.

“What about you? All you said is you and Derek broke up, but are you still waiting to be the perfect girl?”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing,” I admit.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. When I got to school, I wanted nothing but to make things right. I wanted to do what my mom wanted, what Derek wanted. I don’t know when it changed. Not really. But I started to feel like no one was listening. I made friends at school, but I couldn’t shake the past, couldn’t let go. On Columbus Day weekend, we all came home and Derek and I went to the hill and we had sex, as always, but I wasn’t even dressed yet before he told me he wanted a break.”

“He’s such an asshole,” she says.

I nod. “Yeah, I know that now. But I only kind of knew it even then. I went back to school and I was trying to move on, to let it go. He’d said he would visit after my birthday, though, so it was like I was on call for him.”

“Probably so he could try out other girls to decide what he wanted.” Although it’s painful to hear it aloud, I know it’s true and I thought the same things. It amazes me how she could see it so clearly for all this time and I couldn’t.

“He came to my room one night and it was horrible. He was mean, Abby. Aggressive. He called me a slut and he held me down and I was afraid of him. Like honestly afraid.”

“Did he...?”

“No, but the thought that he might? It was so obvious and I had never noticed.”

Abby waits before responding. I know she probably has a lot of thoughts about Derek, since I don’t think she ever really liked him, and she’s my best friend so she’s naturally angry, but she doesn’t speak at first. I run my hand over the frost forming on the inside of my window while I wait for her to talk.

“I will do whatever you tell me to do,” she finally says. “Even though every part of me wants to ruin his life, I will keep my mouth shut if you want to put it behind you.”

“I do. I need to. I’ve spent too much time looking backwards.”

“Okay. Then I won’t say a word. We don’t even have to talk about him ever again. What else is happening at school?”

I’ll talk to her about Jack, but not yet. Instead we spend the drive on the easy things – classes for me, the places she’s seen for her. For all of the things I have to leave behind to move forward, knowing Abby is heading in the same direction as me is a relief. You just can’t ignore the value of having a friend who can meet you anywhere on your path and need no explanation.

****

R
ockefeller Center is busy for nearly midnight on Thanksgiving. People are skating even though the rink is closing soon. Abby managed to find parking, which cost a small fortune and we’re watching people below us, the wind weaving its way through the area but it’s a lazy wind. The buildings keep out the strongest parts of it.

Music plays from speakers somewhere and I sit on a bench nearby, sharing it with a man and his daughter. Abby gets coffee for both of us from somewhere – she seems to know how to find coffee at any hour – and I hold it, keeping my hands warm but not drinking it. No one knows we’re here, no one here knows us, and it might be a stupid tourist thing to do, but I don’t care. I like the anonymous beauty of it.

Squeezing between me and the father, Abby settles herself and sips her coffee. “So tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“The part you’re leaving out.”

“How did you know?” I ask.

She looks at me sideways. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know. It’s so complicated. There’s a guy.”

“Isn’t there always?”