“No way. I’m not talking to him.” And then I add, “Or any other guy besides Michael.”
“Okay, this is getting annoying, Mel. Who do you like, Michael or Fortune, huh? Decide. ’Cause I’m sick of hearing about this shit.” Leave it to Ally to tell it like it is. She doesn’t have Jessica’s patience or tact.
I try to make it as simple as possible. “I love Michael. I like Fortune.”
“Earth to Melissa: Michael is gone. So maybe you better love Fortune. Love the one you’re with, you know the song?”
“You don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand what? What’s there to understand? Yeah, okay, so you and Michael were in love. I get that. But he’s left you. We talked about this a billion times. He probably freaked out about how old you are. And so he’s gone. Are you going to become a nun?”
“I can’t go out with someone who treats a cat like that.”
“What are you talking about? You get all freaked out about a cat, but you’re fine kicking some girl in the face?”
“That’s different. She asked for it. This cat did nothing wrong.”
“You’re crazy. You know that? Fortune’s not a bad guy. If he put a cigarette out on you, that would be a different story. But everyone knows Butt. Everyone butts out on Butt.”
“Have you?”
“No. Are you insane? Come on,” she whines, “make up with him. He’s sooo cute.”
It sounds weird her saying that about him, seems so superficial. As if it’s something she thinks I’d like to hear. And I don’t know why she’s going on like that, since she’s not truly into guys anyway. I sigh deeply. “Why are guys such assholes?”
“They’re born that way. It’s just the way it is. So … will you come out with us tonight?”
I sigh again. It’ll mean I have to see Fortune.
“Come on. It’s Saturday night.”
“Yeah. Okay. Only because I don’t want to be around home. But he’s kidding himself if he thinks I’ll talk to him before he gives me one big fat apology.”
Turns out Fortune’s big fat apology is a fantastic night in bed, and by one A.M. all is good. It’s hard to break up with someone when the sex is so great. It’s like guys who are good in bed get this immunity card that can be played at any time, only it’s an immunity dick.
“How’s Butt doing?” he asks as I climb out of his bed to get home before my mom wakes up.
“I’ve named him Ralph. But don’t worry, I’m going to give him back this week. He’s miserable living with me. He basically lives under my bed.”
“Well, I got something for Ralph.” He reaches for his jeans on the floor, and into the pocket. I prepare myself for some stupid-ass joke, but instead he pulls out this half-chewed little rubber mouse with wire whiskers. I smile. “It’s not new,” he says. “It’s from my sister’s cat.”
I reach over and take it. This is the grey part of people I was talking about, this fuzzy space where you just can’t easily dismiss people anymore.
“Look at your smile,” he teases, all proud of himself.
I hold my hand up in front of my face to hide it. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s a good person. I reach down and punch his firm stomach. “Shut up,” I say. Then I take off my clothes and get back into bed.
Forty-One
My mom finds me in the laundry room in the basement of the building on Tuesday night. I’m sitting on the dryer, doing my math homework. I’ve been hiding down here as much as possible, whenever I have to be at home and she’s around. We aren’t getting along. She’s like a yo-yo. Sometimes she’s all needy, and then other times (when she’s mad at me) she punishes me by shutting her door and ignoring me and making me feel like she can’t stand the sight of me.
“There you are,” she says, with that sappy look on her face, all droopy-eyed, sad, and pensive.
I’m trapped.
She sits down on the white plastic chair, pulls one of the laundry baskets toward her, and starts sorting our socks and underwear. She looks like hell—straggly hair, no makeup, purplish bags under her eyes.
“Is it Ricky’s?” I ask, doing the math and figuring her stress must be that it’s probably not Scott’s.
She sighs. “I don’t know.”
“Giovanni’s?”
She laughs. “No. Impossible.”
“Why?”
“We used protection.”
“Ichhh.” I make a face. Somehow, the thought of my