The two of them were discussing chair rails, and I decided that I had better just head back upstairs and wait until she was finished.
“Bridget?” Meredith spotted me.
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“Hi, Meredith.” I stopped. “Hey, Todd. I didn’t see your car outside.”
“Oh, no, my wife dropped me off.”
I think I actually did a double take like Scooby-Doo does when something surprising happens. “Your
what?
”
“My wife, Janet.”
He stood facing me with his hands on his lower back like a pregnant woman. I tried to take in his gelled, blond-tipped hair, the way he said all of his words like they were really exciting—even “chair rail”—and his overall f lamboyancy and picture him with a wife. I had been one hundred percent sure he was gay.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were, um, married,” I said, trying not to sound as completely baff led as I was. I looked at Meredith who was, I was pleased to see, stif ling a giggle.
“Going on four years, yeah! So, Mer, let’s get back to re-finishing this
basement!
”
“Hey, Meredith, can I talk to you when you’re finished here?”
“Is everything all right?”
“Sort of…I mean, yeah, I just have to talk to you, is all.”
She stared concernedly at me for a moment and then nodded.
I went upstairs and sat down at the kitchen table, and stared fixedly at the wax fruits in the centerpiece.
I felt nervous. More nervous to talk to Meredith than I felt about the fact that I could very well be dead in a few hours.
I looked at the clock. Three o’clock. I thought, sadly, of how many times I’d still been at school at this time in the afternoon.
Thought of all the memories I had of sitting outside on the lawn, f lirting with Liam or another boy (though the other ones weren’t half as much fun), or joking around with Michelle 1 9 8
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and Jillian, planning what we were going to do for the rest of the day, and all the other things that had happened.
They all felt tainted now.
Maybe I’d been the only happy one, and everyone else had just been humoring me out of fear that I’d make their lives even more miserable than I already had. I felt like a fool, thinking I was making memories that would last forever, when all the while everyone had abhorred my very presence.
How many times had they left me and I’d gone off feeling happy while they’d exchanged wide-eyed, conciliatory looks about how dreadful or bitchy or selfish I was?
I didn’t even want to know.
But there must have been times where they had fun, too, I reasoned. Why else would they have stayed friends with me?
Just merely to avoid my, I don’t know,
wrath?
Surely
not.
Right?
I didn’t go after girls and laugh in their faces. I just talked about them, decided who was cool and who was not, and a number of other things that didn’t make sense even to me anymore.
Then another thought struck me: Was Jillian still my friend?
Maybe not. I mean, who knew where her friendship loyalty really was?
I appreciated the irony in what was happening to me. I’d spent years making up for the embarrassments of my childhood and trying to make sure I didn’t have any during high school.
I had tried so hard to ensure that I had friends, and that my reputation stayed golden. But because of
how
I’d tried, I had been working slowly backward.
I thought of Mr. Ezhno and his optimism on the first day of school. And how I’d promptly proceeded to spend every 1 9 9
class period teasing him and making it all harder for him. I wasn’t the only one who did it, but I certainly contributed to it.
I hoped that what I’d done to start fixing everything was enough. Not enough to save my life, I was certain, but enough to help put things the right way again. Brett wouldn’t be in trouble anymore, Mr. Ezhno would have his job back and Michelle would, hopefully, carry on with a little more confidence and try to get some help.
Then there’s Meredith. What could I say or do that would be enough to undo what I’d done? At school I was just the person who filled everyone’s quota for bitchy high school girl.
But at home I was part of someone’s life. Meredith had had some idea what she wanted for her future. And what she’d ended up with was me.
Then something hit me. Something that made me feel not only angry with myself and remorseful for my actions, but disappointed in myself.
I’d spent years fancying myself to be Cinderella.
Well, I had the story right, but the role wrong. It wasn’t that Meredith was the evil stepmother—I was the evil step-daughter.
The thought shook me.
I pulled my phone out of my purse, pressed the three on speed dial and held it, shaking, to my ear. It rang. Rang some more. Then it went to voicemail.
You have reached the voicemail box of—
the recording skipped and I heard my father’s voice—
Richard Duke. Please press
one—
I pressed one. The phone beeped, and I spoke.
“Um, hey, Daddy…it’s um, it’s Bridget. I haven’t talked to you in forever, or seen you at all…I just…I just wanted to say…” What did I want to say? Neither my dad nor I were 2 0 0
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sappy, emotional people. We didn’t talk about our feelings.
And I couldn’t tell him what I’d learned about my mom. He’d wanted me to believe she was dead for a reason. I took a deep breath. “When you’re back in town next time, I think we should hang out. It’s been too long since we’ve talked, and—”
I chose honesty “—I’ve just realized I’ve been kind of a total jerk for a while. So. I’m trying to make up for that. Call me back if you want to. Um. I love you. ’Bye.”
Would I be dead when he called back?
If
he called back?
Just then, I heard Meredith’s and Todd’s laughing voices coming up the stairs.
“So we’ll get started on that ASAP, right?” Todd said, his high voice sharpening on every
s
in his sentence.
“Absolutely, yes, just give me a call once you’ve figured out the colors and all, and we’ll go look for the rest together. All right?” She smiled, and they walked amicably to the front door.
I watched as Meredith said goodbye and closed the door.
There was an abrupt change in the atmosphere. The kind that always happens when the door closes on a guest and there’s someone waiting for an argument or a conversation on the other side.
She strode into the kitchen toward the refrigerator.
“You want one?” She asked, holding up a pink Vitaminwater. Connect.
“Yeah, sure.” I was feeling all of those things that sick or elderly people must feel when they’re coming to the end of their lives. They must wonder if this will be the last time they see their grandchildren. Or if they’re having their own last supper. Here I was, wondering if this was going to be my last fruity drink.
Meredith grabbed one for me and one for herself and pulled out the chair next to mine.
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“You said you wanted to talk?”
Here it was.
“Yeah…okay, so I’m just going to launch right into my apology.” I watched a crease come and go between her eyebrows after I said the last word. I took a deep breath. “So. I’ve been awful. For, like, the whole time I’ve known you. And it’s not fair, I’m sorry.”
Her expression was cautious. Dubious. “Bridget, where is this coming from?”
“Just that I know that I’ve been really mean to you. I can’t undo everything I’ve ever said or done. And I really, truly don’t expect you to accept my apology. But everything you said the other day was right. I can’t act this way, and it’s true that I’ve been acting really immaturely. Even cruel.”
“Well,
I—”
“Just don’t say anything for a minute, okay? Please? Not like, because I don’t care, but I have to just say what I’m saying before I lose my nerve, or my thoughts.”
Or my life.
Meredith agreed, looking bemused. I drew in several deep breaths, as I tried to think of how to explain what I was feeling.
“I realize now that you have been nothing but kind to me, and that all you’ve gotten in return is…me. And that’s not fair; I’ve been such a jerk. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been sort of working things out in my life and I just want you to believe me when I say that it’s not just you I’ve treated this way. It’s not that I’ve ever thought or think now that there’s anything wrong with you. You’ve been a great mother.”
The burning sensation that indicates that tears are on their way had started about halfway through my speech.
Meredith’s face had since softened, and she was now looking sympathetically at me.
“Bridget, honey, don’t cry. It’s okay, I understand.”
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“How could you understand? How can you accept my apology after how I’ve behaved?” My voice was pleading.
Meredith laughed. “Because I can tell that you mean it.
There have been moments in our time together where I’ve believed I was seeing the real you. Do you remember when I picked you up from Outdoor Ed?”
I
nodded.
“That was one of them,” she said. “I knew you weren’t trying to pull that trick on Michelle, that’s why I never told your father. Although it turned out the camp director called him anyway.” I felt my cheeks grow hot as she went on. “And I know that you’ve been sorting out who you want to be for a while.”
“But I’ve been
such
a bitch!” I said the words with the same tone of disbelief an outsider might use after watching me for a while. Which was kind of how I felt.
“Listen, if you really want to change—and we all have to at different points in our lives—then just do it. And don’t spend time worrying about whether or not the rest of the world is going to forgive you. Even if nobody you know wants to forgive you, you’ll find new people. And you’ll treat those people the way you’ve learned to.”
The tears became harder to hold back as I listened to her speak. She was so much more compassionate than I could ever have been in a situation like this.
“Okay.” I sniff led.
“And Bridget? I
totally
thought Todd was gay until he showed up today with his wife.”
“Right?” I gave a small laugh, and hung in that middle area between crying and laughing for a few minutes.
When I finally shook off the tears and simply sat there with puffy eyes, she told me that she had to run over to the store and asked if I’d like to come.
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“Sure,” I said, feeling genuinely excited to spend some nice time with her.
She smiled and told me that she just had to go change, and that she’d be back down in a minute.
I felt really happy to have her there. I didn’t know anyone else who would have been that understanding about what I’d done. All the damage I’d caused. And she was good-natured enough to let bygones be just that. It takes a really, really strong person to do that.
As I washed my face of the tears and heavy mascara—which was all over my face—I felt really sorry. Not just because of everything I’d done, but also because I wished I had more time to fix it. I was going to be dead in only a few hours, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Meredith and I went to the grocery store and ambled around, picking up some vegetables, milk and other boring groceries that always seemed to be on the don’t-forget-to-buy list. But I’d never felt more appreciative of the little things.
We were passing an endcap when I heard Meredith coo.
“Ooh, you know what would be awesome on a day like this? Fondue.”
My mental jaw dropped at the suggestion. Meredith had meant on a cold, rainy day like this. But she didn’t know what kind of day it was for me, or how right she was that it was exactly what we needed.
“Yeah,
definitely.”
Meredith tossed two boxes in the cart and grabbed two baguettes, saying, “Always better to have
more
than is healthy or necessary.”
I laughed, still feeling shocked at the way the afternoon was playing out. “Hey, um. When was the last time you watched
The Sound of Music?
”
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“Oh, man,” she said, looking like she was thinking back a long way, “I don’t think I’ve seen it since I was a kid. My mother and I used to watch it.”
Huh.
“Do you want to watch it this afternoon?” I asked, feeling like I was asking someone on a date.
“Sure. I have a few things to do when we get home, but after that, definitely.”
“Yeah, I have some stuff to do, too.” I thought of Brett and Mr. Ezhno, and of course, my impending death.
When we got home I helped put away the groceries, despite Meredith’s insistence that I didn’t have to, and then ran up the stairs to the desk in my room.
Bypassing my laptop, I grabbed a pen and ripped some note-book paper out of my school binder, and sat down to write.
After several failed attempts, which resulted in a cartoonish mountain of balled-up pieces of paper, I had my first letter.
Mr. Ezhno,
There isn’t much more I can say than I’m sorry. I’ve been a terrible student/person, and you’ve been a great teacher.
I’m sorry for the snarky comments, I’m sorry for never getting to your class on time, I’m sorry for distracting other students who are trying to pay attention. And I’m really sorry that you got fired. For the record, I didn’t intend for that to happen, and the whole thing was a misunderstanding set in motion by something stupid that I said. I told all of this to the headmaster, and he assured me that you’d get your job back.
Sincerely,
Bridget Duke
P.S. I’m sorry.
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I read it to myself several times. It still didn’t sound good enough, but ultimately I decided that it just couldn’t sound good enough. There
was
no “good enough” for this kind of thing and even if there was, there wasn’t time.
I folded it up and put it in an envelope, and started on my second letter. After even more failed attempts, I ended up with something I thought said it all.
Dear, dear Brett,