Look What You've Done

Chapter Five: Where Did the Stick Come From?

After my emotional chit chat with my father, I hid away in my room trying desperately to run away from the drama my mom's love life was causing. Part of me hurt for my father, but the other realized that he was right—my father was an adult. I couldn't go around trying to shield him from my mom's antics though that revelation didn't make it any easier to deal with the craziness. It also didn't make it any easier to forget the awkward visit to my mom's house.

I had been in my room for all of five minutes before my cell phone jumped to life. The caller ID lit up revealing Rachel's name. I groaned, but realized that it was inevitable. The problem with trying to hide from your best friend was the fact that no matter what they were your best friend. You would have to deal with them sooner or later. At this point, I would have preferred later, but that just wasn't Rachel's style.

"Yeah?" I spoke into the phone, skipping all common courtesy. Rachel was probably seeing red.

"You. Told. Him," she clipped out.

I'm not sure if it was the calmness in her voice or if it was the fact that she had just made three words three completely different sentences, but I was a little scared of Rachel at that moment. Only

a little though, and you could never get me to admit that in public.

"Would you be any less upset if I said that it slipped?" I asked. It was useless. Nothing could calm down Rachel when she was upset other than a quart of Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Sadly, I was fresh out.

"Maggie Lynn, you swore that that story would remain between you and me. What am I going to do if that gets out? What if Adam decides to spread the word that I'm still holding a grudge over a freakin' Barbie Doll? Do you realize how childish and immature that is going to make me seem?"

"Any more childish than you are right now?" I mumbled, but thankfully she didn't hear me.

"My reputation will suffer over this. Suffer, you hear me?"

"Yes, Rachel. Look, I'm incredibly sorry about telling Adam that,”—not really—"Is there any way that I can make it up to you?"

And those were my famous last words. I learned a long time ago to never become indebted to Rachel McGibboney because those who do rarely live to tell the tale.

Okay, maybe I'm being a smidge melodramatic, but Rachel has a way of making sure that no one double crossed her ever. She makes examples of those who dare to toe the line. And oh buddy, did I toe the line. Heck, I stuck my whole foot over that line, and now I had to face my punishment.

Punishment came in the form of a day full of shopping and doubling my duty of best friend as personal assistant. I held her bags, texted those she was too busy to text, and even drove. It was probably the greatest Saturday of my life. Not. It did, however, give me a chance to be free of my parents and Adam. While, I grimaced every time Rachel handed me yet another bag to carry—eight fully loaded bags weren't too heavy, really—I did get to see a side of Rachel that was rare. We goofed around

in the food court while munching on pizza. She never once mentioned carbs or fattening ingredients. Instead, we talked about what life would be like outside high school and away from our podunk southern town of Oak Ridge.

Rachel shocked me when she said that she wanted to go to Vanderbilt in Nashville, TN and study English Literature. Now, I'm not one to set low expectations for friends, but her revelation thoroughly

shocked me. As I sat there listening to Rachel talk of her love for e.e. cummings, I realized that maybe there were two sides to my best friend. Sadly, I only knew one of them. I had met the rich fashionista who could rattle off designers like a lawyer could spout out amendments. This new side of Rachel enjoyed literature and dreamed of going to an ivy league school. To say that I was shell shocked was one heck of an understatement. I was still searching for my jaw, which had hit the floor long ago.

Rachel blushed slightly as she said, “You can stop looking at me like I told you my dad was the pope.”

I shook my head slightly before straightening in my seat.

“Sorry, it's just that...”

“...That no one expects me to do anything but marry well and maybe pop out a few brats of my own?” she finished for me. It wasn't the direction, I was going, but the bitterness behind her words stopped me from correcting her.

I sat back in my chair and truly looked at my best friend. She looked tired. Her eyes held very little life, and I realized that things in her life weren't going very well and hadn't been for quite a while.

“What is it, Rach?” I asked, reaching out to pat one of her hands.

She took her hand off the table and shook her head, blinking back tears.

“I don't want to talk about it,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

I was left with no other option than to accept her decision. Her eyes held a look of defeat that seemed very misplaced. The carefree facade was long gone, and I was looking at, if only for a minute, the second side of Rachel. The difference between the two were drastic.

“I think my mom's getting remarried,” I announced after awhile, sensing that she wanted a change of subject.

My assumption apparently was correct because I saw a look of appreciation.

“This will be number four?”

I nodded and poked at my pizza, loosing all hints of an appetite. “Yep, big numero cuatro.”

“Well,” Rachel sighed. “You know what they say, 'Number four works out about as well as number three did.'”

“I've never heard that.” A soft laugh was shared between the two of us. “Yeah, I'm not seeing this one going too long.”

V

Sure everyone says that life is full of surprises, but I guess one never really believes it until they're faced with surprises left and right. My mom and Rachel both decided that the week of September 3rd would be Surprise Maggie Week. Rachel decided to participate by spending every night at my house. I didn't ask when she showed up Monday after school with a duffel bag and a rolling suit case. I chalked it up to the fact that she was just tired of being an only child and needed a good ole' fashioned week long sleep over because everyone has those. (Did I infer enough sarcasm there?)

My mother decided to invite me over for dinner. I was excited. Not. Truth be told, I was fine with dinner at my mom's house until she decided to fill me in with the rest of the details.

“And why don't you bring that Adam boy your grandmother was talking about?”

The phone nearly fell out of my hands when she asked that Thursday afternoon. I nearly had a heart attack when she added, “Oh, and Terry will be there too.”

“But Mom, it's a school night,” I pleaded. “I really need to get my eight hours of sleep. I have a big test tomorrow.”

“Nonsense, you'll do well. You always do. Be here with Adam at seven o'clock sharp.”

The phone call ended before I had a chance to plead my case further. A defeated whimper must have slipped past my lips because Rachel looked over at me and quirked an eyebrow. I was seated at my desk with my free hand gripping the corner and the other limply holding my cell phone.

“She's a devil. She must be.”

Rachel laughed at my response.

“What has she done now?” Per usual, she held a Cosmo magazine and was flipping through it absorbing the knowledge held in the pages.

I shook my head slowly, as if trying to rid the conversation from my mind. “She invited me over to dinner. She also invited Adam. And Terry.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Terry as in redneck, soon-to-be father-in-law Terry?”

A groan was the only response I could give.

“What are you going to do, Mags?”

Another groan. This time I followed it with banging my head on the desk.

“It's like she lives on another planet,” I mumbled in between head bangs.

Rachel jumped up from my bed and grabbed my head before I could hit it again.

“So there's no getting out of it?”

“You mean besides death?”

“Hers or yours?” Rachel mumbled unconsciously. She seemed to be lost in thought.

“I don't want to eat dinner with Mr. Potbelly, and I sure as hell don't want Adam to be there.” Rachel let go of my head, and it landed with a soft thud against the desk. I groaned a third and final time in part due to pain and in part due to desperation.

“I'm sorry, Mags,” Rachel said after a while. “I can't think of a way to get you out of this. I mean you could say that your dad is sick, but she'll probably just call to check up on him. Plus, there's no way he would go along with your story. As much as your dad loves you, he's a sucker for her.”

I knew she was right, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

“Well, I could probably live with eating dinner with Mom and Terry, but what about Adam? How embarrassing will that be? I don't want Adam to be around Terry and vice versa.”

Rachel thought about it for a minute or two. “I mean, you could lie to your mom and say he has other plans, but if you think about it, it might be nice having him there.”

“But what if he thinks that I've told my mom that we're a couple?”

I still had the phone hanging in my hands. Slowly, I sat it down wanting to put distance between myself and the object that allowed my mother to talk to me.

“So what? I'm sure he'll have a good time, besides didn't you say that he met Vivian and Grandpa Mike and loved them?”

“Yeah...” I was not liking where this was going.

“Well, he'll probably like your mom too.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Rachel had joined the dark side. Bon voyage best friend.

The haunted look from the day before returned, and I couldn't help but wonder what was really eating at Rachel.

“I just don't want you ruining your relationship with your mom, that's all.”

I opened my mouth to question her statement, but she beat me to it and asked, “So what are you going to wear, and when are you going to tell Adam he has a date tonight?”

Words failed me at that moment. I wasn't able to give Rachel the answers to her questions. In truth, I had no idea how I was going to pull it off let alone if Adam would actually agree to come tonight. Sure, it wouldn't be the end of the world if he didn't come, but like Rachel said, it could actually be helpful if he came.

After fifteen minutes of shooting the breeze—and by shooting the breeze I mean doing everything imaginable in order to avoid calling Adam, but Rachel soon grew impatient and forced the phone to my ear—I finally got down to calling Adam and asking him to dinner. I could hear the humor in his voice when he replied, “I'd love to.”

Of course, it was the type of humor that told me not to trust a single word he said let alone allow him to be anywhere near my family. But, unfortunately, I was desperate to fix the situation and in order to do that Adam had to come to dinner. Plus, Rachel watching me like a hawk wasn't helping matters.

Now that dilemma number one was solved, I turned my attention to what I would be wearing. Rachel immediately dove into my close and came back out with an outfit that would suit the event. After I slipped it on, Rachel stood back from her art work and nodded in appreciation.

“Now let's just hope that this night doesn't end in disaster,” she said with a half smile.

Hope was all that we could do at that moment. At around 6:30, I pulled up to Adam's house to pick him up. My palms were sweating, and I hated it. I stared at Adam’s house and willed myself to calm down. It was just one dinner. He would meet my mom and Terry, we would have dinner, and then he would take me home. The end.

So why was I so nervous? I refused to admit that I was actually excited about spending time with Adam. This was only a way to appease my mom because I definitely had no feelings whatsoever for Adam.

“All right, I have to knock,” I told myself, staring up at the house.

My mouth went dry and my hands started to shake. I felt like my legs were made of steel, but eventually I forced myself to move forwards and knock on the door. The door swung open a few seconds after I knocked, and I was met with a freshly showered Adam. He was wearing a light blue polo and a pair of khaki shorts, which was accessorized—I know it's not a word, but work with me people—with the arrogant smirk he normally wore.

“Don't even,” I said, quickly. “The only reason you were invited is because Vivian can't keep her damn mouth shut.” You know that rule that dictates to respect your elders? Yeah, it went out the window in situations like this. I spoke in a low voice, almost whispering, hoping to emphasize my point.

“I was just going to say you looked nice, Maggie.”

His smirk never faltered, and it was hard to tell if he was being serious or not. It was as if he had this look perfected.

“All right. We need to get going. We're running late.”

We weren't really, but I needed a quick topic change. I spun around on my heel towards Bertha, but only made it a few steps before, “Wait, you need to meet my mom.”

Mom? MOM! My brain seemed to shut down quickly. This dinner was supposed to be a way to appease my mom not meet his. If I met his mom that would make it seem like we were—no, I wouldn't even let myself continue the unbearable thought.

“Come on inside,” the devil, I mean Adam said.

He held the door open and gestured for me to step inside. I did so timidly.

“Mom, I’ve got someone I want you to meet!” he called out once I was inside.

My nervousness increased tenfold in the seconds it took his mom to appear from what I assume was the kitchen. This was not the plan. Houston, we have a problem; this was definitely how it was supposed to go.

Adam's mother as beautiful, and held her head high. She was very thin with high cheek bones and a haughty look to match it. Blue eyes that matched Adam’s gave me a once over, and I couldn’t help but be self conscious.

I wore a gray strapless dress that clung tight in the torso and hung loose around my legs. It stopped an inch above my knees and was accented with a chunky turquoise belt. Matching flats and a set of pearl earrings were my only accessories. My bangs were swept off to the side, and my hair was tied back in a low pony tail. I felt pretty and yet somehow inadequate. There was something in his mother’s eyes that told me she did not approve. I kept the frown back and forced a smile as Adam introduced us.

There could only be a few reasons why his mother did not like me: 1. She knew who my mother was, 2. She didn’t think I was good enough for her son—maybe wanted me to be more like Rachel, or 3., No one was good enough for her son.

My brain worked overtime as I tried desperately to figure out a way to rectify the situation. The cold look I was getting from Mrs. Thompson was making me incredibly nervous. But then again, there was really no reason to fix things with her—if they were damaged to begin with. Adam and I were not an item, and I needed to make sure that I remembered that. We were simply going to dinner because Vivian couldn't keep her mouth shut. I repeated that thought several times hoping to calm myself down. No such luck.

“This is Maggie. Maggie, this is my mom.”

A curt nod was my only greeting. I took it with open arms, however, because it was more than I was expecting.

“It was nice to meet you, Maggie,” Mrs. Thompson said before disappearing into the kitchen.

The whole situation felt surreal. I wasn't even sure if I was actually standing in Adam's foyer anymore. The woman breezed in and out within ten seconds, and in that time span she not only surveyed me, but judged and decided that I was unworthy. Okay, so maybe she didn't say all that. The look was in her eyes though. I would have picked myself had he not been watching me with an amused grin, which was even more annoying than the arrogant smirk.

“Well come on, Maggie,” he said throwing an arm over my shoulder, “let's get this show on the road.”

I pushed the arm off before walking out of the house, purposely ignoring his laughter.

“I'll never know where the stick came from,” he mumbled, but since he was right on my heels, I heard the words crystal clear—which now that I think about was probably his intention all along.

“Look.” I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to him. “Let's just get this dinner done and over with. I don't want to do this anymore than you do.”

Bertha, my Explorer, was calling out to us, wanting to go for a ride. I chose to oblige and climbed in before Adam made another witty remark.

“What makes you think that I don't want to do this?”

I started the car and put it into gear. “Can we just get through this without giving me a headache?”

Adam's eyes glinted. “I can't make any promises, sweet heart.”

Dear Lord, what has Vivian done to me?

A/N: So I live. Promise. Life has been so crazy since I last updated. I moved, started a new school, started a new job, etc. I got a lap top, which didn't come with Word--grrrrrr--and had to deal with a non-existant social life. So hopefully, you guys haven't rallied with pitch forks and what not. This chapter was hard for me to write, and it's probably riddled with errors. A thousand apologizes. Hope you enjoy it though.