Epic Adventures of Lydia Bennet (9781476763248) (19 page)

Yep. Mary yelled.

“What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”

I shrugged.

“Forget Cody for a second. Forget running off and disappearing and, honestly, making me kind of worried about you. Why'd you go and drag Violet into this?”

I shrugged.

“Lydia, seriously, what's going on with you? This isn't like you. Not the you I've come to know lately.”

I didn't shrug. But I didn't speak, either. I didn't know what to say. I was afraid of what I might say.

“You're ‘sick' all the time, you're skipping therapy—don't think I didn't notice you've had like three times as much to drink tonight as Denny and I have—I don't know what you're thinking, but you know you can't pull this shit when we move, right? Not as my roommate, not as a serious college student—”

“Well, good, because I'm not going!”

It just fell out of me. And I couldn't take it back.

Not in front of the whole bar.

Mary and I were yelling because the band was really loud, but then the song ended abruptly and things got a little too quiet, with the exception of my voice, which was still quite loud.

I felt a dozen pairs of eyes swing in our direction. More. It was like that day in psych class all over again, only . . .

Did I care?

Really, did I?

I couldn't even tell.

But maybe that was because I refused to look at the only pair of eyes that actually mattered. Mary's.

I could feel them. But I wasn't going to look.

Through a haze, I heard Violet clear her throat into the microphone.

“We've still got a few more songs for you guys . . .” she went on, as if nothing had happened.

But everything had.

The windshield wipers squeaked back and forth for a long time. The rain was steady enough to keep blurring up the window in between, but not enough to drown out the sound.

We'd left the bar pretty much immediately, ditching Denny. I'm sure he'll understand. I hope he will.

Mary didn't say anything the entire drive home. Neither did I. I only managed to glance at her once we pulled into the driveway.

Mary didn't look at me, but I saw her jaw shifting. Chewing on words she hadn't decided to spit out yet.

And, quite suddenly, I felt sober.

I wished I didn't.

“Are you telling the truth?” she finally asked, her voice low and controlled. Her eyes still watching the rain beat down and get wiped away.

“Yeah.”

She inhaled deeply, and it very well may have been the first breath either of us took in the past minute. Her hand reached up and turned the key in the ignition, stilling every sound except the rain. Tapping against the car over and over. Like a million people all trying to get our attention.

Why did you do it, Lydia?

What's Mary going to say?

What's everyone going to think?

Do you have anything to say for yourself?

Have you learned nothing?

Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap.

“So that's . . .” Mary started, stilling the fake rain voices inside my head. “That's it? No school. No transfer.”

I nodded even though I knew she wasn't looking at me.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap,
filling the silence.

“I'm sorry, Mary, I know you waited and planned everything around—” The words rushed out from my mouth all at once, only to be cut off with a shake of her head.

“It's fine.”

“No, it's not fine. I promised you—”

“It's fine. It is what it is.” Mary sighed. “I'm sure you did your best.”

I sat there, unsure how to respond. I don't know exactly how I thought this revelation would go—I never really let myself think that far ahead—but I knew this wasn't it.

“Let's go inside before this rain gets any worse.”

Rain. Right. I nodded. “There's an umbrella in the door.” Before I'd even closed my mouth, Mary reached down, grabbed the pink polka-dot umbrella, and tossed it in my lap. Her car door opened and slammed shut again just as quickly, leaving her on the outside.

I followed, opening the umbrella and making the short trek from the bottom of the driveway to the front steps. Mary fumbled with the keys, slippery from the rain, her clothes dripping water all over the doormat.

She took off her soaked Converse wordlessly and left them by the door. I waited for her to go up the stairs first, alone. She obviously didn't want to talk to me. Not that I blamed her.

I decided to go into the kitchen and get some water before heading upstairs. The lights were off throughout the house, so I moved
quietly, not wanting to wake my parents. I would tell them. I knew I had to. But it could wait until the morning. One weird confrontation was enough for the night.

“Eep!” I screeched as I turned on the kitchen light. “Dad! Oh my God, you scared me.”

My dad was sitting at the kitchen table. In the dark. Like some creepy old statue.

“Sorry, honey,” he murmured.

“What are you doing? It's like midnight.” I grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and an unwanted thought snuck into my mind. “You weren't waiting up for me, were you?”

The idea that my parents possibly still didn't trust me was not a pleasant one. I mean, it was super valid, obviously. But it still hurt. I knew I'd been irresponsible lately, and Mary knew, but
they
didn't know. Yet.

“No, of course not,” he replied.

I sat down across from him with my water and watched him massage his temple with his fingers. I realized his eyes were red, and he looked tired.

“Is . . . everything okay?” I wasn't sure I wanted to ask.

He looked up suddenly, as if just fully noticing I was there.

“Oh. Everything's fine, sweetheart,” his tone changed as he reassured me. “I just couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to wake your mother.” He smiled at me and I tried to believe it. “How was the show?”

I shrugged. “Mary's friend is a good singer.”

“Good. Good. I'm glad you're going out again.” I swallowed my guilt. Guess they hadn't noticed me sneaking out after all.

He got quiet, and I thought about telling him then. Ripping off the Band-Aid, all at once, tonight. But I looked at him again and saw how genuine the smile on his weary face was and decided to just let us both get a few hours sleep before I broke open that can of worms.

That's kind of what it felt like. A bunch of worms crawling
around my stomach, making me queasy at the thought of letting the rest of my family know I'd messed up. I thought telling Mary would make it easier, but it really just put me in a holding state, the in-between before everyone knew.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

“It's late, peanut. Are you heading to bed soon?” Dad asked.

“Yeah,” I said, pushing my chair back as I stood. “I'm gonna go upstairs now. Are you . . . ?”

“I think I'll just stay here for a few more minutes.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him.

“Do you want the light on?”

“No, that's all right. I don't want to wake your mother,” he repeated. I flipped the switch and left for the stairs.

A minute later, I reached the second floor and saw that the light was on in the upstairs bathroom, and the door was open. I saw Mary's shadow moving across the doorway, and I walked toward it.

She stood in front of the sink, wringing her rain-drenched hair out with a towel. Her eyes caught mine in the mirror, unsurprised, and she didn't look away.

“Are you still going?” I asked her.

“I have to,” she replied. “I already have a job waiting. I can't stay here and do nothing.”

“I understand if you're mad at me.”

“I'm not.”

“Why?”

A sigh. “I'm just not.”

Mary put the towel down and turned to face me, finally.

“Is that why you kept telling me to hang out with Violet? So I would know somebody in town and you wouldn't have to feel guilty about bailing?”

She didn't say it in an abrasive way, but it still took me by surprise.

“No, of course not.” I hadn't even thought about that. And I wasn't entirely sure why Mary had, either, to be honest.

She studied me, and I found myself studying her right back. I had no idea what was going through her mind. This whole thing was . . . strange. Stranger than I'd thought. Less explosive than I'd expected. Less . . . anything, really. It felt flat. Hollow. And confusing.

“Okay,” she finally said.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay,” she repeated. “Look, I'm tired, I'm going to go to bed. Tell your parents tomorrow, all right? You have some stuff to figure out. We all do.”

“I will,” I promised.

She brushed past me and headed for Jane's old room.

“Mary,” I called out, stopping her. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, Lydia. We're fine.”

I stood in the bathroom doorway as Mary shut the bedroom door behind her. Tomorrow was going to suck. Today sucked. Most of everything had sucked lately. And as things sucking was becoming the constant state of life, that turned into “fine.” That was the most “fine” anything seemed to be.

So, really, I guess tomorrow would be fine. Everything would be fine. Just perfectly fine.

I didn't tell my parents the next day. The only thing I did was drive Mary to Books Beans and Buds for her last shift.

There's no reason for her to stay anymore, like she'd said. She isn't waiting for me to graduate, so why spend another two weeks
down here when she could be up in the city? The past week or so she'd spent a couple of hours a day after her coffee shop shift on the phone with Lizzie, working on stuff, so obviously she's needed more there than here, pouring my mochaccinos.

After I dropped Mary off, I . . . didn't do anything. Didn't go to class, didn't go home and snuggle Kitty. Didn't get on the Internet and go to the CBC campus map and torture myself. Again. I just drove around, ending up at the beach.

I told myself I was gearing up to tell my parents.

In reality, I just fell asleep in the sun.

I thought this would be easier, now that Mary knew. But it wasn't. It just . . . it sucked.

When I woke up, I was hungry, so I drove back into town and bought myself a burger at Crash. Then, my car wouldn't start.

No, really. Just another thing to add to the crappy pile. I could have called a cab. But I decided to use the bathroom first. So I crossed the street.

Well, it would have been rude to use Carter's bathroom and not order a drink, right? And I'd need a little courage to talk to my folks.

It was dark by the time I got home. But that didn't mean people weren't out and about. Specifically Mary, who was outside in the driveway, trying to squeeze all her belongings into the back of her car.

“Lydia!” she said, as the cab pulled up. “What happened to your car?”

“Wouldn't start,” I said, a little bleary as I got out.

Mary crossed over to me, got way too close to my face. Extreme close-up Mary. “Are you . . . are you
drunk
?”

“Not really,” I said, as I dropped my keys. Bending down to pick them up, things got a little spinny.

“Shit—no wonder you took a cab.”

“It's not that bad.” I rose back up to standing. And it didn't even take three seconds before I had to fling myself at the hedges to puke.

Stupid Crash burgers.

“Oh, crap,” Mary said, coming over to help me up. “Okay . . . okay, let's get you cleaned up.”

“My parents . . .”

“Aren't here. They had a thing at the club.” She took my sleeve and used it to wipe my mouth, started to lead me into the house.

I felt so stupidly relieved. I wasn't going to have to talk to my parents yet.

“My car really wouldn't start,” I slurred.

“Uh-huh,” Mary said as she took me inside, changed my clothes, and tucked me in. “I told you to figure your stuff out,” I'm pretty sure I heard her mutter, “and this is how you do it?”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“I know,” she replied. “I don't know why I expected anything else.” I heard her sigh. “Dammit, how am I supposed to leave now?”

You have to go
, I thought.
Lizzie needs you. You have to go, and I have to stay
. I didn't want to stand in her way.

That's what I thought. But that's not what I said.

“No one wants you to stay. Just . . . go already,” I said, slurring as sleep overtook me.

And she did.

Mary left the next morning. By the time I'd woken up, she was already gone.

I don't know if she's ever going to speak to me again.

I'd like to think this is my low point. That I'm never ever going to do anything again that makes me feel like this. Not the drinking/puking/morning-hangover-from-hell feeling (repeat two times now!), but the
other feeling. The I-fucked-up-and-don't-know-how-to-fix-it feeling.

But unfortunately, that wasn't now. The low point would come later this evening.

“I can't believe Mary had to head out so soon—I feel like she just got here!” my mom said that morning at breakfast. I was trying to swallow some eggs. It wasn't going super well.

“Yeah, well . . . she had to jump at that apartment opportunity, you know,” I lied. Mary was going to be staying on Lizzie's couch until she found a place to stay long-term. But since she wasn't going to be making a ton (until Lizzie's company got some rich people to invest in it) and I was no longer going to be there to contribute some of my student loan money to the rent, she was probably going to end up renting a closet in a house with ten other people.