Little Pieces of Me, page 11
“I told you your father was Mark Meyer,” she says, her voice low and stern.
“I know you did, but my DNA is saying otherwise.”
“A customer just came in,” Mom says with false cheer. “Can we talk about this later, Paige?”
“Can we?” I ask. My voice wavers, and I don’t think I realized just how much I need to have this conversation until now. “I mean it, Mom. I don’t want to just brush this under the rug. It’s too important.”
“Bye, dear,” she says in full performance mode. “Talk soon!”
Chapter Seventeen
Then
ONCE SISSY DECLARED HER PROPERLY READY FOR HER BIRTHDAY date, Betsy went down to the living room to wait for Mark. She caught her reflection in the mirror and smiled.
Sissy had said she looked like Marie Osmond with her hair so silky and straight. While Betsy wouldn’t go that far, she did like the way the eyeliner and mascara made her deep-set eyes look so much bigger. She worried the orangey-red lipstick was too much, but Sissy insisted that a girl only turned nineteen once.
Headlights illuminated the front windows of the sorority house, and Betsy felt butterflies take flight inside her. She laid her hands over her stomach in an attempt to calm herself down.
There was no reason she should be nervous. She and Mark had gone out to dinner on dozens of Saturday nights, and this one wasn’t any different—although Betsy hoped it would be. She hoped it would feel more special, that there would be a present. And cake. There had to be a cake—what was a birthday celebration without cake?
At seven sharp, she heard a knock on the front door and waited for one of her sisters to answer.
“Betsy,” someone called. “Mark’s here.”
She stood and smoothed the skirt of her dress and resisted the urge to touch her hair, not wanting to mess up Sissy’s handiwork. Betsy took her time walking toward the entryway to where she secretly hoped Mark would be waiting with flowers.
As she turned the corner, she tried not to be disappointed when she saw him standing there with empty hands but a big smile on his face.
“You look beautiful,” he said, kissing her cheek.
“So do you.” Betsy felt her cheeks blush even deeper than the rouge Sissy used to accentuate her cheekbones.
Outside, Mark opened the car door for her like he always did. Betsy sat with her hands folded in her lap, waiting for him to get in the other side. The queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach was a new sensation for Betsy. Despite the missing flowers, she was almost giddy with excitement, full of anticipation for every perfect moment.
“Where are we going?” Betsy asked as Mark settled into the front seat.
“I thought we’d swing by my place first,” he said.
Betsy nodded and forced a smile, even though there wasn’t anything special about going to his place—they went there almost every night they saw each other. She hated to think that Sissy had wasted so much time on her hair and makeup for nothing.
“I have a little something for you there,” Mark said. “A birthday present.”
Just like that, the fluttery feeling was back. Betsy could hardly follow the conversation during the rest of the ride, she was so distracted thinking about all the possible gifts Mark could have picked out. For her. For her birthday.
She hoped it was jewelry—something simple, not too expensive. After all, it was the thought that counted, and no matter what it was, she would gush and say it was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. And it would be, if it came from him in celebration of the day she was born.
A necklace would probably be best. Something with a charm, a blue charm, since that was her favorite color. A simple necklace she could wear every day.
Betsy smiled, imagining the compliments she would receive when she wore the necklace around campus. She could picture herself gently touching the charm, saying, “Thank you, it was a birthday gift from my boyfriend.” That might even be more wonderful than the gift itself.
A bracelet would be nice, too. That way she could see it every time she looked at her wrist. She already decided that whatever it was, she would never take it off.
Betsy touched the simple pearl earrings she had borrowed from Sissy. She would love to have her own pair of nice earrings, although she wouldn’t be able to admire them unless she was looking at herself in the mirror.
There was one other type of jewelry Betsy had yet to consider. She looked down at her bare ring finger. It was too soon to start thinking about marriage, but she could see herself getting used to a lifetime of birthdays being celebrated with presents and wine and fancy dinners.
“So, what do you think?” Mark asked as he pulled into the parking spot outside the off-campus apartment where he lived with a few other guys from Hillel.
“Sorry,” Betsy said. “About what?”
Mark laughed and got out of the car without telling her what she was supposed to have an opinion about. She was going to have to do a better job at focusing on what Mark was saying. She was usually so interested in the things he talked about—politics and religion and history—but tonight, nothing could get her mind off this mystery gift. Once she opened whatever it was, she wouldn’t have to pretend to be present.
Although she did wonder why he had to give her the gift at his apartment. Surely a jewelry box would be small enough that he could tuck it in his pocket.
“Why don’t we just pick it up and I can open it at the restaurant?” Betsy suggested as Mark opened her car door. She usually shied away from attention, but the idea of people watching her open a present from her boyfriend made the whole thing feel more like the momentous occasion it was.
“It wouldn’t fit under the table,” Mark said.
Betsy paused before walking up the steps to his second-floor apartment. She couldn’t imagine a gift that would be that big.
Mark smiled as he unlocked the front door, looking almost as excited as Betsy had been at the start of the evening. Inside, he nodded toward the living room, where a giant box was wrapped in balloon-covered wrapping paper.
“What did you do?” Betsy asked through a nervous smile.
The box was way too big to hold a tiny piece of jewelry. But maybe he was teasing her, and this box would lead to a smaller one, which would lead to a smaller one, until she got to one that would fit in the palm of her hand like those Russian nesting dolls.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Open it.”
Betsy heard herself squeal as she rushed toward the box. She slowly peeled away the tape, being careful not to rip the paper. She went slowly, wanting to savor this moment and remember every detail so she could tell Sissy all about it the next morning.
Behind her, Mark laughed. She gave him a smile, then turned back to her gift. The last bit of wrapping paper fell away, revealing an ordinary brown box. She opened the lid, prepared to see a second box, maybe even wrapped with a different kind of wrapping paper.
But there wasn’t a second box inside. There was a big blue roll of fabric.
She looked back at Mark, confused. The slight frown on her face was in direct contrast to the huge grin on his.
“Do you like it?”
“What is it?” Betsy asked, trying not to sound ungrateful.
“It’s a sleeping bag,” he said, clapping his hands together like a little boy who had just gotten a shiny new toy truck.
“But, why?” Betsy asked. She wasn’t trying to be rude; she was just terribly confused and inexplicably sad. She’d been so foolish to think about necklaces and bracelets, to put all of her hopes in a silly gift. Her eyes filled with a rush of tears.
“I thought we could go camping together,” Mark said. His smile was still big and bright, unlike Betsy’s, whose was falling more and more by the second.
“But I don’t like camping,” Betsy said, her voice barely above a whisper. They had talked about this, on more than one occasion. Whenever Mark brought up camping together, Betsy had told him that she didn’t like the idea of sleeping or going to the bathroom outdoors like an animal. “This is a gift for you,” she said.
“No, I’ve got one of my own. This is a sleeping bag for you,” Mark insisted, his smile faltering. “Wait— Betsy, sweetheart. What’s wrong? I thought you’d like it.”
Betsy wiped her eyes and turned away so Mark wouldn’t see how hurt she was. She told herself she ought to be grateful that he had gotten her a gift at all. She should just smile and tell him it was the thought that counted—but the thought did count, and his thought had been all wrong. Either he had disregarded her feelings, or he hadn’t been listening to her.
That was what hurt the most, what caused the tears that were now freely falling. After almost a whole year together, Mark didn’t even know her.
Betsy’s stomach turned as she realized she’d been all wrong. She had been settling, and now it was obvious that she and Mark weren’t right for each other.
If he wanted a girl to take camping, he needed someone else. And Betsy needed someone who saw her for the woman she was, not the woman they wanted her to be.
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Betsy knew she had to end things. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them to pretend they had a future together.
She thought of what Sissy might say if she were here, that it was about time. That Betsy should stop wasting the best years of her life with a guy whose punny jokes she didn’t find that funny and whose kisses didn’t make her toes tingle with desire.
“Bets?” Mark rested a hand on her shoulder, but she flinched away from his touch.
“I don’t feel well,” she said.
“Do you want some water?” He looked so concerned that Betsy almost considered giving him another chance. But then the sleeping bag caught her eye, and she felt the fury rise up again.
Betsy shook her head. “I think I just need to go home.”
“Maybe if you lay down for a bit?”
“I said I want to go home,” Betsy snapped. The sound of her voice scared her, taking her back to a place she never wanted to return. Betsy could hear her mother’s tone in her words, and she realized she’d had it all wrong.
She had been so focused on not being like her mother with a line of men rotating in and out of her bed that she missed the fact that she had already turned into her. Sad and alone, using men—in her case, one man—to desperately try to fill the void inside. A void, she feared, that would be impossible to fill.
BETSY DIDN’T SAY a word the entire car ride back to the Sigma Delta Tau house. She just sat in the front seat and crossed her arms over her lap, staring at the road ahead. All of her energy was focused on holding back her tears. She didn’t want Mark to see her cry.
When he pulled up in front of the house, Betsy opened the door and climbed out before he could open it for her. She didn’t want to look at the sad and confused expression on his face. The idea of explaining to him how much it hurt her to realize that he didn’t know or understand her was too much to bear. And it wouldn’t make a difference. As far as she was concerned, it was too late. They were over.
“Bets,” Mark called after her.
She shook her head and let herself inside without saying a word. The TV was blaring in the living room, and Betsy stood there a moment with her back against the door as she heard Ali MacGraw tell Ryan O’Neal that love meant never having to say you were sorry.
Betsy caught a sob in her throat. She didn’t want the girls to see her cry. She couldn’t handle seeing their sad faces when she told them things with Mark were over. Especially not after they had all seen her acting so excited—so naive—as Sissy helped her get ready for what was supposed to have been such a special night.
She cupped her hand over her mouth to silence her cry as she rushed up the stairs to the second floor. She flung open the door to the bedroom she shared with Sissy, grateful that the room was empty. Betsy collapsed on her bed and let nineteen years’ worth of tears pour out. Tears for the birthdays she had pretended not to care about, and the future ones she now imagined would be just as bleak.
Betsy knew she should pull herself together and stop being so melodramatic. It was just a sleeping bag, and she was used to her birthday being a disappointment. But Mark had gotten her so excited, and it wasn’t really just a sleeping bag. It was a symbol, proof that she had spent almost a year of her life with someone who hadn’t bothered to listen to the things she had to say, who hadn’t cared enough to truly get to know her.
As the tears fell, Betsy’s shoulders shook. She felt her nose running but didn’t care enough to wipe it. She should have listened to Sissy. Her best friend, it turned out, could see what Betsy hadn’t. Not until tonight.
Looking back, Betsy wondered if she had ever been in love with Mark or if she’d just been in love with the idea of being in love. Of having someone be in love with her. Sure, Mark was someone. But he clearly wasn’t her someone. Her someone would know her, inside and out.
Betsy had wasted the last year of her life on a relationship that was going nowhere. And college was almost halfway over. She was running out of time, a thought that brought on a flood of new tears.
“Forgot something!” Betsy heard a familiar voice call from the hallway. “Be ready in a second!”
It was Sissy. On her way to their room.
Chapter Eighteen
Then
ANDY FOUND COMFORT IN THE RHYTHM OF HIS FEET POUNDING the pavement, keeping a steady pace through the streets of campus. The campanile chimed as he ran past the bell tower, downhill toward the football stadium, which was empty thanks to it being a bye week, then right toward Potter Lake.
He didn’t run because he was good at it; he didn’t do it to be fast. He ran because it helped clear his mind, allowing his worries to fade away. Letting himself forget about the note Lawson left for him at the house. “Stopped by to chat,” the note had read.
Sure, his fraternity brother could have stopped by to give him notes from the classes he’d missed this past week. But Andy knew that wasn’t what Lawson wanted to talk about.
He pushed himself to run faster, leaving thoughts of the mess his life had become in his dust.
When his muscles started to burn, Andy slowed to a stop. He bent over to catch his breath, and it was only when he stood back up that he realized he was standing at the corner of William’s street. His pulse started to quicken again, and he tried to calm himself, slowly breathing in and out.
Andy knew he couldn’t just stand there doing nothing like a lost fool, so he started to stretch. He twisted his body and brought his left arm across his chest, trying to decide whether fate or habit had brought him here. And what he wanted to do about it.
Of course Andy wanted to see William more than he wanted anything, but it would crush his soul if William refused to see him. Still, Andy knew he had to try. Especially if his gut feeling was right and he was going to be outed soon.
Once the truth was out, Andy would no longer be welcome in his fraternity. He would be brotherless and homeless. He’d probably be kicked off the football team, too. And without a scholarship, he’d have to leave college and go home—if his parents would even take him back, which he knew was unlikely.
The only bright spot was that if he lost everything, there would be nothing left to come between him and William. As long as Andy could convince him to be patient a little longer, to give their relationship another chance. He had to try.
Andy started to jog down the street, toward the square, brown, nondescript building where William rented a studio apartment on the third floor.
The buzzer had been broken for two months, so someone had folded an old pizza box under the door to keep it from locking. Andy had worried about William’s safety, knowing anyone could simply walk into the building. But that day, he was grateful to have one less hurdle.
Andy let himself in and ran up the first flight of stairs, pausing before the second to collect himself and his breath. He took the last flight one step at a time, torn between anticipation and dread.
He stood in front of apartment 3C and raised his hand to knock, tentatively at first. After a few torturously long seconds, he knocked again. This time, louder and with purpose, committing to his decision no matter how flawed.
The door flew open, and William stared at him with unfocused eyes. Andy couldn’t tell if he was half-asleep or high. Maybe both. William’s lips were set in a straight line, neither a smile nor a frown.
Andy’s eyes trailed down William’s bare chest to the thin line of hair that disappeared beneath his flannel pants. He looked back up to William’s face, trying to find forgiveness in his eyes.
“I . . .” Andy started, but he didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t thought past what would happen once William opened the door. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, showing up like this. “I,” he said again.
Andy looked down at the stained carpet in the hallway, a cacophony of colors from decades’ worth of spilled messes that had never been cleaned up.
He soaked in every detail in case this was the last time he stood at this threshold. Andy couldn’t believe he was being sentimental about such a filthy place, but he ached for the person who was inside it, and the person he was inside those four dirty walls.
Just like that, Andy knew what he had to say. He looked up at William, but before he could deliver the apology from his heart, William’s hands were clenching Andy’s sweat-soaked shirt, pulling him inside. He slammed the door closed with more force than necessary and backed Andy up against the wall.
Andy opened his mouth to speak, but William’s lips were already on his. William’s hands were under his shirt, kneading his back. William briefly broke the kiss to slip Andy’s shirt over his head.
Before his shirt even hit the floor, Andy closed the distance between them, hungry for those lips, for the man he thought he’d lost forever. William’s tongue tasted like wine, and Andy felt drunk with pleasure. He pushed off the wall, and they stumbled together toward the mattress on the floor.
