Bright Side (14 page)

(Kate)

A text from Maddie,
U need to call b4 u come. It’s rude.

Maddie’s got one helluva way with apologies. I respond,
Sure.
Because I need to bite my tongue. This is not worth fighting over.

I don’t expect a response and I’m ready for this to be over, but it comes anyway,
Can we talk?

Of course I’ve already softened to her, because
I can’t hold a grudge.  Or maybe I’m just a sucker. Either way, I forgive easily.
Call me
, I text back.

Maddie calls immediately and pours her superficial heart out. And because it’s her superficial heart we don’t touch on the real issue—her bulimia. We talk about money instead. Which, let’s face it: if all the money in the world dried up and blew away, she’d live.
If the bulimia doesn’t go away, it will kill her. But she’s not ready to talk about it yet, so I don’t push it. At least for the moment, we’re communicating.

She says she lied about her job because she didn’t think I’d be impressed if I knew she was a
receptionist and not a lawyer. Like I care. She could be a garbage collector and I wouldn’t be any less impressed than if she
were
a lawyer. People get way too hung up on labels and titles. Then she tells me she’s in way over her head with credit cards and debt, and that her roommate moved out unexpectedly in July and she hasn’t been able to find someone new to take over the other half of the lease. She’s two months behind on her rent and they’d started threatening her with eviction. That’s why she called me. She didn’t know what else to do. I do feel sorry for her, but it always astounds me how people get used to a certain lifestyle and decide anything less is unacceptable. I went from growing up in a beachfront home to living in a garage with my sister. And you know what? I liked the garage better. I guess Maddie couldn’t do a garage. I reveal some of this to Maddie, but spare the details, the grief. It’s always been a struggle, and that’s all she needs to know. I’m not looking for pity, but sometimes if people feel like they can empathize with you, it’s kind of like giving advice without actually
giving
advice. Backwards I know, but no one likes to be told what to do. They like to figure it out for themselves. As the reverse psychology session is wrapping up, I remember my conversation with Morris last night. I have an idea. “Would you be opposed to having a male roommate?”

Her voice lights up. “No, especially if he’s attractive and single.”

“Attractive yes, single not so much.”

“All the good ones are taken.”

“Also, he’s gay. Does that make you feel any better about him being taken?”

“Um, not really.” She laughs and for the first time since I’ve known her I feel like I’m talking to the real Maddie. She sounds sincere and exhausted, like her life is just too much and for a moment she’s not worrying about what other people think.

“Sorry. But his cheekbones are exquisite. I wouldn’t mind looking at him every day.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She laughs again and it sounds good on her.

“I’ll get ahold of him today and have him call you. His name’s Morris.”

“Okay.”

“Cool. I hope it works out.”

I text Clay for Morris’s number, and then call him.
An hour later, Maddie and Morris met, talked, and by 5:30 that afternoon Morris had packed up his hotel room and moved into Maddie’s second bedroom.

I love it when a plan comes together.

(Kate)

“Um, Sugar, is there something I can help you with?”

My roommate is rifling through my closet when I walk in our open dorm room. I’ve surprised her and she jumps at the sound of my voice. It’s guilty surprise, and reminds me of when I’d catch Gracie sneaking cookies before dinner. I guess she didn’t hear me come in … or expect me back so soon. 

“No
… no ... I, um, I couldn’t find one of my shirts and I thought maybe … maybe it got mixed in with your shit on the floor and you accidentally put it in your closet.”

She’s lying. Her cheeks are the guiltiest shade of red—a dead giveaway. I don’t like it, but I’m not going to call her on it, because while she was ineloquently justifying whatever she was doing all I heard was Gracie
’s voice in my head saying, “I wasn’t going to
eat
them, Kate.” I walk past her and hang my bag on the back of my desk chair. I notice two of my shirts on her bed. I sure as hell didn’t leave them there. I pretend not to notice. “What’s your shirt look like, dude? Maybe I can help you find it.”

She licks her lips as
her eyes flit to her bed and my shirts. She knows she’s been caught but she lashes out at me anyway. “Never mind. It’s probably in the laundry,” she snaps.

God, I wonder if she realizes what a terrible liar she is?

As I walk toward the door I offer, “If you say so. Nature calls, I need to run down the hall.” I point to my shirts on her bed as I reach for the doorknob. “And Sugar, if you want to borrow one of my shirts all you have to do is ask. They’re like my kids though; I’m protective and I like to know where they are at all times.” I don’t look back before letting the door shut behind me.

I bump into Peter whose just walking out of his room across the hall. “Hey Pete, sorry.”

“Hi Kate. No problem, I didn’t see you either.”

“Where are you headed,
mon frère?”

“Cafeteria. I was waiting for Clayton, but he just texted and said that he’s having dinner with Morris in Minneapolis tonight.”

That makes me happy. Clayton has talked to Morris every day since we went to Spectacle and they’ve gone out every night. Clayton’s on cloud nine. “Righteous. Well, I realize I’m no Clayton, Pete, but if you don’t mind waiting for two seconds while I use the little girls’ room, I’ll join for the entrée du jour.”

Peter smiles that nervous smile that tells me: (a) He’s relieved he doesn’t have to go to the cafeteria alone, and (b) He’s relieved to not have to ask someone to come with him
so
he’s not alone. “I don’t mind. I’ll wait outside.”

I run down the hall. “I’ll be out in two minutes.”

Dining is routine, but Pete and I are becoming accustomed to eating without Clayton. I miss Clay, but I don’t mind time alone with Pete either.

At first I had to carry the conversation with Pete because he’s quiet and shy. And I didn’t mind because he’s kind and funny, and I liked being around him. But then I discovered Pete has this insatiable thirst for national and world news, political and otherwise. And though we sometimes differ on our views, because he leans slightly right and I lean slightly left, we’re both open-minded enough to listen to the other person’s opinions. Not many people are like that, I treasure open-mindedness. And to me, Pete’s intellect is a gift. I have to be honest: I was a little insulted at how shocked he was that I could hang with him in debates involving foreign policy or the economic crisis in Europe, but I’m kind of used to people assuming I’m just a dumb blond. And I admit that I sometimes perpetuate that assessment,
because it’s just easier and kind of funny. If you’re important to people they take the time to figure out you’re not—a dumb blond that is. Pete’s taken the time. 

We’re talking about the current situation in the Congo when I notice Pete’s eyes keep drifting just over my left shoulder. I turn around and pretend I’m looking for something in my
hoodie pocket that’s hanging on the back of my chair. The cafeteria is almost empty except for one girl sitting by herself in the corner behind me. I see her in here every day. She always sits by herself and she’s always reading, totally immersed. She’s small and has mousy brown hair that’s always pulled back in a messy bun. She wears glasses that are perched on the end of her nose, the same way old people wear reading glasses, but hers aren’t reading glasses. They’re big and round. As usual, she’s completely wrapped up in her book. The entire building could crumble around her and I doubt she would notice. I admire intense concentration like that. Reading is an escape from the outside world. Everyone needs a little of that to keep their sanity.

I turn around and go back to eating my peas, sorting out the carrots and pushing them aside
because they’re repulsive. Cooked carrots taste like baby food mixed with dirt. Only in this cafeteria have I ever seen peas and carrots served together. What a disappointing combination. I always thought they just made that up in
Forrest Gump
—“like peas and carrots”—but I guess not. I liked Forrest and Jenny together and now, sorting my carrots from my peas, I’m left wondering if maybe they weren’t right for each other after all. Forrest and Jenny were more like peas and butter or peas and salt … anything but carrots. I gesture over my shoulder with my fork. “Hey Pete, you know that girl over there?”

Awareness flames in his cheeks
and he shakes his head slightly.

I smile inwardly, because I
’m pretty sure he was checking her out. “She always sits alone; maybe we should invite her to come sit with us sometime.”

The blush deepens, but other than that there’s no movement. He doesn’t speak.

I lean across the table and whisper, “She’s pretty cute, Pete. She’s got the unassuming, sexy librarian thing going on.”

He smiles slightly and gives himself away, but averts his eyes away from mine and stares into his
mound of mashed potatoes so intently that I swear he expects them to speak to him.

I lower my voice in hopes that I won’t embarrass him further. “Dude, you should ask her out.”

He looks terrified and shakes his head again.

I sigh, but keep my voice low, “Pete, you’ve been checking her out the whole time we’ve been sitting here. Don’t tell me you’re not interested.”

“I wouldn’t know what to say,” he says, exhaling. He seems helpless, or maybe hopeless, or maybe a little bit of both.

I extend my hand across the table in introduction. “How about, ‘Hi
. I’m Peter Longstreet. Do you mind if I sit down?’ Conversation would naturally progress from there.”

“What if it didn’t? What if she ignored me, or … or … or told me to get lost?” Yeah, that’s sheer panic I hear in his voice.

I smile. “Dude, I don’t think people even use the phrase ‘get lost’ anymore. I’m pretty sure you’re safe.”

He cracks a smile. “You know what I mean.”

I reach across the table and put my hand on top of his to stop his fingers from tapping his spoon against the tabletop. “Pete, dude, you’re an amazing guy. She looks like a perfectly nice girl. What have you got to lose? You should go talk to her. Listen, I’m all finished up here anyway and I’ve got a paper to get started on, so I’m gonna head back to the dorms.”

“You shouldn’t walk alone,” he says after me. He and Clayton are always worried about me walking around campus after dark by myself. They bought me two cans of pepper spray: one for my keychain and one to keep in my bag.

I smile and release his hand from mine. “I’ll be fine. When I leave, give yourself a few minutes to summon some courage and promise me you’ll stop by and talk to her on your way out, okay?”

He looks like he might
pass out or puke, but he nods and looks resolved in a terrified new way. “Okay.”

I
slip on my hoodie and grab my dishes. “You’re the man, Pete. That’s your new mantra. I. Am. The. Man.” I wink. “Good luck.”

He exhales. “Thanks Kate.”

I drop off my dirty dishes, say “Hola” to Hector, and on my way out, I notice that Pete’s on his way to drop his tray of dishes as well. I know I have about forty-five seconds to make my move, so I make a beeline toward Pete’s girl’s table. The cute librarian doesn’t look up from her book, even though I’m standing less than a foot from her. I’m invading her space and I feel bad about that, but I don’t have time to waste. I clear my throat. Nothing. So I kneel down and start speaking. “Excuse me,” I say. Her eyes dart to me. “Hi, my name is Kate. I’m sorry to interrupt, but in about thirty seconds my friend, Peter, is going to stop by to talk to you. He’s really nervous about it, but please know that he’s a nice guy, a really nice guy. Please hear him out.” She frowns, but nods. “Thanks.” I exit quickly without looking back.

Pete knocks on my door about fifteen minutes after I return from dinner. His smile is so big that I notice for the first time he has dimples in both cheeks. He immediately starts rambling.
Rambling!
He’s usually reserved and calculated even when he’s being funny, so this is something. “Her name’s Evelyn. She’s a freshman, American History major. She likes reading the classics, but enjoys biographies and science fiction as well.” He looks so pleased with himself.

I glance at my watch. “That’s one helluva report.”

His smile hasn’t faltered, not even a millimeter. “She’s easy to talk to.”

I slap him on the shoulder. “Excellent. See. She loves you already. Did you get her number?” 

His smile slips a little. “I thought it would be too forward to ask her the first time I talked to her. Would it have been too forward?”

I shake my head
. “No. If you’re feelin’ it and she’s into you, it wouldn’t have been too forward.” His innocence kills me.

His eyes flash away from mine and his lips tighten in frustration. He’s upset with himself.
“Darn it.”

“No worries. You’ll have something to talk about next time you see her.”

The two-dimpled smile returns. “I’m meeting her at the cafeteria at seven o’clock tomorrow. We’re going to eat dinner together.”

I clap my hands. “Hot damn, Pete, that’s practically a date.”

“Thanks Kate.” His eyes go to the floor and then back up to meet mine again. “You know, for the encouragement. I would have spent the rest of the semester just looking at her if it weren’t for you.”

I don’t expect to be thanked for everything, or really for anything. But I never take a thank you for granted, especially when it’s one as heartfelt as this one. “That would’ve been creepy
.” I wink. “So you’re welcome.”

He
nods and turns to unlock his door.

“Pete?”

He turns. “Yes?”

“I meant what I said earlier. You’re an amazing guy. And Evelyn’s a lucky girl.” I smile. “Good night.”

He smiles shyly. “Good night.”

I feel like I’ve just seen happiness and confidence bloom in my friend for the first time.
What a great combination.