Beautiful Disaster

Chapter Seven

"Of lingoes and grape vines."

"Hey Jen?"

"Hmm?"

I was lying on our couch in the living room, my concentration completely absorbed by the book I was currently reading. Mom was sitting a few feet away at her desk, while Andrew was lying on his stomach on the floor, watching a soccer match on TV. Though the match on TV was making quite the ruckus - soccer fans were always so enthusiastic and loud - and Andrew was constantly letting out a whoop whenever the team he was rooting for got close enough to score, actually scored, or, his favourite moment, whenever the referee warned or shelled out yellow or red cards, I was completely enthralled by the book I held in my hands. So when Mom called out to me, I had to painfully tear my eyes away from the book and turn towards her.

"Can you help me a sec?" She mentioned for me to come to her, and I did, reluctantly. Bookmarking the page I was reading, I dropped the book on the couch and sauntered towards her. Her computer was on, humming loudly away, and as I walked closer I noticed she had a slew of programmes running. When I walked up to her chair, she swivelled in her seat and handed me a tiny business card. I looked it over, not recognizing the name of the business boldly printed atop of the card, or the name of the owner.

"What am I supposed to do again when I want to go to a website?"

My mother was, unfortunately, stuck in a time where computers and Internet did not coexist. She could easily work on the computer, but as soon as she needed to look up something online, email someone or even chat, she was completely clueless. Even after I explained in a billion different manners the 123s of Internet surfing and the whole shebang associated with the World Wide Web, she still called on me to help her out.

Sighing, I reached forwards towards the black mouse and after clicking a few buttons opened a web browser. "There." I said, hoping that if I lead her, she would know the rest already. But when she only blinked at the screen, then turned her brown eyes to meet mine, and blinked at me with a blank face, I knew she was completely lost.

"Okay," I sighed as I pulled a chair to the desk, deciding I better guide her through the whole process once again, "What's the web address?"

She handed me the business card I had been holding a few minutes ago and told me that it was on the card. My eyes roamed over the tiny card, looking for a website, any sign of a www. or a .com or .org. Nada.

"Mom, there aren't any websites printed on this card." I turned the card over, thinking that maybe whoever gave mom this business card had scribbled the company's website on the back, but it was blank.

"Yes, there it is." Reaching over, she plucked the card from my hands and pointed towards a line. My gaze followed her index finger and as I read the line she was pointing at, I felt my eyes slowly start to droop.

"That's not a website, mom." I said, rolling my eyes, "That's an email address."

"Well, isn't it the same?"

I only stared at her.

We lived in an era where everything revolved around computers, Internet and technology. How my mother couldn't decipher the difference between an email address and a website was beyond me. I know that there are people who are completely out-of-the-now, but Lord Almighty have mercy, being surrounded by two kids who knew the ins and outs of internet, and by many friends who actually possessed internet knowledge, it surprised me how long it was taking mom to grasp the internet lingo.

"No, mom, they aren't the same." I drawled out slowly, and I once again proceeded to explain to her in detail, but as simple as humanly possible, about the difference between an email address and a website.

It was safe to say, even though my description was pretty basic and could easily be understood, my mother was sadly not fluent in twenty-first century technology speak.

The shrill ringing of the house phone interrupted my brief introduction of Internet 101. Mom hollered for Andrew to pick it up and mentioned for me to continue. I was actually considering writing down the steps she would need to take to email someone, or visit a website. After the many times I've told her, and she forgot, I believe writing up a Diane Thompson-proof Internet manual was my last resort.

Andrew came speeding from the kitchen holding the cordless phone. "It's for you." He handed me the phone and then zoomed back to his spot in front of the television.

"Hello?" I excused myself and went to sit on the couch.

"Have you heard?"

Plopping down on the couch, which was currently sans the plastic cover that protected the surface during the day from grubby, germ-invested kids, I answered. "Heard what? And you know, normal people usually start a phone conversation with a Hello."

"No time for pleasantries," Michelle urged, her tone curt and sharp, "Have you not heard?"

"Obviously not, since I don't have the slightest idea what the hell you're talking about."

"Jennifer, language." Mom admonished in a singsong voice from a few feet away. I ignored her, instead focusing on Michelle, who was talking a mile a minute.

"It all makes sense now. Why people were pointing at school, why there were whispers whenever we walked into a room."

"People are always pointing and whispering and gossiping. Especially about you."

"But see, that's not it. They weren't pointing at me! At first, I thought they were, and I simply brushed it off as just another day at Augusta High, but I just heard from Melina, you know Melina right?, that she got a frantic call from Stacy Logan, who heard from God knows who, that you were dating Dean Porter."

It took me a second before everything Michelle said settled in. "What?"

"Apparently, you're dating Dean Porter. Now, there are two possibilities: One, whoever told Stacy Logan this absurd story was smoking crack, or two, you actually are secretly dating Dean Porter and have neglected to share the torrid details with your BFF. For your sake, I hope that it's the former, because keeping secrets, especially secrets of this magnitude, is a no-no in the friendship book."

I didn't know whether to laugh or to...laugh. The whole idea seemed absolutely comical and nonsensical. "Honestly, Michelle, what do you think? Do you think I would be hiding a secret relationship with Dean Porter, someone who I haven't had a single conversation with prior to just a few days ago?"

Michelle let out a soft chuckle, "Of course I know it's not true. I just wanted to see how you'd react."

"Surprised by my reaction?"

“Actually, I am. I thought you’d blow a lid, throw a tantrum and organize a witch hunt to find the culprit who spread the rumour.”

“Ah, Michelle. That vivid imagination of yours never ceases to amaze me.”

Her low chuckle vibrated through the phone, “But honestly, Jen, you really haven’t heard or noticed? People have been openly staring, pointing and whispering about you since Friday.”

“I guess I’ve become immune to Augusta’s gossip epidemic.”

“Pshaw! Even during lunch on Friday, didn’t you notice how it got eerily quiet when we walked into the cafeteria?”

I thought back to that moment, “No, actually. I was in a meaningful conversation with Maddie. She didn’t notice either, or else she would’ve mentioned it.”

“She didn’t notice! Ha! Maddie was the one to bring it up!”

“What? When?” I felt my eyebrows furrow. Madison hadn’t mentioned anything regarding this…insane rumour at all to me, but she babbled to Michelle?

“She came into the café after school on Friday with what’s-his-face. We had a little chat when Mr. Clingy went to the bathroom.”

“Now I feel like an idiot.”

“Naw, you’re just really oblivious.”

Bringing my legs up to my chest, I rested my chin on my knees and sighed. “It’ll be over by Monday. Someone will cause a scene at some party this weekend and by Monday this dumb rumour will be old news.”

“Do you really think so? The rumour involves Mr. Popularity.”

She had a point…

“Ugh!” I groaned loudly, causing my mom to turn and look at me pointedly. “What started this stupid nonsense anyway? The simple interview wouldn’t have sparked such a dumb story. Psh, Dean and I dating!”

“Someone saw you get out of his car on Wednesday.”

“Oh.” I should have known.

After the interview on Wednesday, I had every intention of walking to the nearest bus stop and catching a bus to work, a ritual I followed religiously every day after school with Michelle, but Dean kindly offered to drop me off, his way of making up for not showing up on Tuesday for the interview.

At first I turned down his offer, thanking him but saying I didn’t want to impose; I didn’t mind waiting for the bus. But Dean insisted, and after his fifth plead, I gave in.

I guess when I got out of his car later in front of the café someone must have seen me and came up with the wrong conclusion.

Jeez, since when does giving someone a ride to work immediately result in them being in a relationship?

“It’ll blow over,” Michelle assured, “Eventually.”

“In the meantime, I’ll just have to avoid Dean like the plague, or probably start making out with a random dude to prove that I am not dating Dean.”

“Start making out with a random guy and you’ll be dubbed the slut who cheated on Dean Porter.”

“It wouldn’t be cheating because we aren’t even dating.”

“The mob of devoted Dean fans won’t know that.”

“I hate high school.”

Craning my neck back, I squinted in the direction of the kitchen where a clock hung on the wall. “Aren’t you supposed to be on your way over here by now?”

“I’m waiting for my chauffeur.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she’s been out on a day-date for the past four hours.”

“Interesting. New guy?”

“Oh no, it’s the same guy.”

“Your mother’s been seeing Larry the Cable Guy for a solid three months?”

“Yeeeppp.” Michelle’s tone of voice was nothing but dry.

“Which reminds me!” I said as I sat up straight, “You still have to tell me what had been bothering you on Wednesday.”

“Ugh, can’t we just forget about that?”

“Nope, you promised to share.”

“Ugh, fine. I’ll share later. Whenever that is. Mom says we have to talk.”

“Oh? Serious ‘we have to talk’ or I-plan-on-painting-the-living-room-pink kind

‘we need to talk’?”

“The former.”

Which means Michelle will be in a very cheery mood later tonight.

“Looking forward to your bitch rant later. I’ll see you later.”

Dumping the phone beside me, I snuggled into the couch, deciding to watch the soccer match with Andrew.

Mom plopped down beside me and patted my knee. “Calling Gregory ‘Larry the Cable Guy’ isn’t very polite, Jennifer.”

Gregory, also known (behind his back) as Larry the Cable Guy by Michelle and I, was Michelle’s mother’s latest conquest. Michelle has never been keen on her mother’s dating history (it is a long list, after all) but of all the men she’s dated, the one she could not stand the most is Lar- Gregory.

“Oh mom, we’re just having fun. It’s not like we’re calling him a blasphemous name or anything.”

With his redneck looks and accent, it’s easy to see why we would dub him Larry the Cable Guy. The fact that he works at the local cable company only further juiced up the choice of nickname.

“I happen to think that Gregory is a nice man. Someone Joanne needs, after the goons she dated last year.”

I chewed on my bottom lip, nodding my head in agreement. “Joanne does seem smitten by him.”

“I think she’s comfortable with him. She feels safe with him. Something she hasn’t felt in a very long time.”

I looked up at mom suspiciously. “You know something you’re not sharing.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and held back a smile. “Maybe. And I intend to keep it that way.”

“C’mon, mom!” I begged, “Sharing is caring.”

“It’s not my place to tell, hun. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Huffing, I leant back on the couch and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

Andrew turned his head towards us, probably to see what the ruckus I was causing was all about. His eyes shifted from mom to me, and he rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the screen.

“It’s insane how much you two look alike when you do that.”

I raised both eyebrows, curious. “Do what, exactly?”

Turning his head back towards us, he pointed at the both of us. “Cross your arms like that.”

I looked down at my arms and then shifted my gaze towards mom and the similar stance she was sitting in. Mom was studying my own posture, and before I knew it, the both of us were laughing about it.

“Oh baby, there is no denying that you are my child.” She said through her warm laughter, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and hugging me to her.

Half an hour later, the soccer match Andrew had been watching had wrapped up and the team he was rooting for lost, causing Andrew to slump around the house completely bummed out, sighing in discontent and disappointment as he opened the fridge, sighing again as he closed it, sighing as he made his way into the hallway, and I swore I heard a faint sigh as he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him.

Mom and I remained on the couch, and after the game was over, took over control of the remote and turned it to another channel. We settled on a Lifetime movie of tacky proportions, but ended up shedding a few tears at an emotional scene. The movie credits started rolling, and I was beginning to wonder where Michelle was when I heard the doorbell. Jumping to my feet, I sprinted towards the door and threw it open. “It’s about time, Mi-” I stopped midsentence when I saw Michelle’s face and the state she was in. Without a word, a grabbed a hold of her hand and dragged her inside.

She was soaked from head to toe, visibly shivering, her bottom lip purple and trembling. “Are you okay?” I asked as I led her further inside.

She just nodded her head, her eyes cold and firm, but underneath the cold stare, I saw something akin to hurt.

“Did you walk all the way from your house in the rain?”

About twenty minutes ago, it had started pouring suddenly, with even an occasional thunder and flash of lightning. It was still raining cats and dogs outside when I closed the front door.

To answer my question, she once again nodded. Her hair was dripping water, her clothes making a puddle at her feet. “Are you going to form any coherent sentences any time soon?” I said as I started pushing her in the direction of my room, hoping to get her out of those clothes and dry as soon as possible. Her getting hypothermia was not something I wanted.

We had to pass mom in the living room in order to get to my room. The minute she saw Michelle, she sprang up from the couch and rushed towards us.

“What happened?” She urged, “Michelle, honey, are you okay?” When Michelle didn’t respond, Mom turned to me. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. She hasn’t said a word since she got here.”

“Get her changed into something dry. I’m going to make her some tea.”

Michelle shook her head, and I found myself shaking my head at the same time. “She hates tea.”

“Hot chocolate, then?” I nodded in approval, and Michelle did too, faintly.

I steered her into the bathroom and ordered her to strip while I went to find something warm for her to wear. Digging in my closet, I pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a Huntington hoodie I got as a gift from James. By the time I walked to the bathroom, she was already wrapped up in a towel and sitting on the toilet lid.

Putting the clothes next to the sink, I dropped to my knees next to her. She was staring in front of her, a far away gaze in her eyes.

“Michelle, you’re scaring me.” I whispered as I gently touched her cold hands.

The touch seemed to wake her from her stupor, for her eyes focused again, her pupils dilating as she turned her gaze to me. “I’m sorry.”

I smiled faintly, glad that she was at least talking now. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

Her lips quivered, but I had a feeling it had nothing to do with the lack of warmth surrounding her at the moment. Michelle rarely showed her emotional side. I can count on my hand, not even using all my fingers, how many times I’ve seen Michelle shed a solid tear. The best way to describe my best friend would be using the word Stern. She claims her strong character comes from her father’s side of the family, although, after knowing her and her mom for so long, I can also see a lot of that strength in Joanna.

She sniffed and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Mom’s pregnant.”

I felt my eyes budge out slightly, but quickly tried to hide my surprise. “She’s about five weeks along. And she has every intention of keeping it. Abortion is a taboo in the Baker family, after all. My grandparents would probably disown mom if they ever found out she would have done something like that.” Michelle’s maternal grandparents were extremely traditional, old-fashioned and devout Catholics. According to Michelle, they threw a fit when they found out Michelle’s father – a figure that is hardly ever spoken about in the Amery-Baker household nowadays – had left Michelle and Joanna. To this day, they are firm believers that Joanna should have gone out and searched for Michelle’s father and begged him to return. “Mom’s pregnant, keeping it, and is ecstatic about it.” Michelle bit her still quivering bottom lip before speaking again, “And Gregory’s equally happy, of course. He joked that if the baby’s a boy, he’ll be named Gregory Antonius Adger Jr.”

“Antonius?” I mouthed.

“Oh, I know. Antonius!”

A moment of silence lapsed between us before either of us spoke again.

“And you’re not happy about this?” I stared, attentively

“I’m ecstatic, Jenna.” She answered dryly.

“No need for sarcasm, Michelle. This is me. You can tell me what’s bothering you. I know that if it was just this baby news, you won’t be this upset. You’d be stark raving mad right now, but not this. Not like your world is crumbling around you.”

Michelle avoided eye contact with me, instead becoming increasingly fixated with the tiled floor.

“Don’t. Don’t build that protective wall around you. Michelle you know how bad it is to keep everything bottled up inside. You’re hurting and I want to help.”

A lone tear fell from her right eye, but Michelle quickly wiped it away. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” She stood up straight and cleared her throat. “But the thing is, I am upset. And it’s not the baby news. Not entirely, anyways.” Adjusting the towel tighter around her, she stood up and started pacing. “To think that my mother could have been that careless. She’s only been dating the man for three months. You would think that she would have been a little more careful. But it’s not that.”

Leaning against the sink, she drew a shuddering breath before she turned her eyes to me. “Mom’s been in contact with my father.”

For what seemed like the hundredth time of the evening, my eyes grew to the size of saucers. “What?” I immediately pushed myself up from my position on the floor and went to Michelle’s side.

Michelle merely nodded her head, “Yup, daddy dearest finally decided to let us know where he is. That’s what I thought at least. When I found the letter, I thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d finally come around and wanted to see me. After a decade, I selfishly, foolishly thought that he wanted to see me. Stupid of me, really.”

“What happened?”

“I didn’t open the letter. I wanted mom to tell me about it. But she didn’t. A week went by, and she didn’t say a word. I confronted her about it. She told me it was none of my business what the letter said. I got so angry with her.”

“Wednesday?” I asked, “Does this have anything to do with your glorious mood on Wednesday?”

“Yeah,” she answered, “She wouldn’t let me read the letter, but she did confess that it was from dad. I started drilling her with questions. How did she find him, since when have they been in contact, is this the first letter he sent. She wouldn’t answer any of them. She told me it was for my own good that I didn’t read the letter.”

“Uh oh.”

Michelle’s dark eyes locked with mine and I already knew what she had done. “I read the letter. I fished through her stuff and found it.”

Now she really couldn’t stop the flood works. “The only reason they’ve been corresponding is because of the divorce papers. Not once did he mention or ask about me. Once! How am I supposed to feel about that? All this time, I’ve been blaming my mother for driving him off, that she was the reason he left us in the first place. But it was him all along. He didn’t love us. He doesn’t love me. It kills me, Jen. It just kills me.”

For the first time ever, Michelle broke down in front of me. Her protective walls were gone, and the tears came gushing out. For the first time, I saw a vulnerable, and completely fragile Michelle.

Author's Note:

I know, I know. It's been forever since I've updated. Life got in the way, unfortunately.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed :) Much love and chocolate chip cookies your way.

xoxo

K