Wishful Thinking (16 page)

"Dad, don’t," I said. I didn’t need a recap of what I already knew.
 

"Look I know you think I’m out of touch, but women never change, even the strongest woman has insecurities and the last thing any of them want to see is their man cozying up to another woman."

"I wasn’t cozying up to anyone. Claudia is a friend that’s it. A friend who came to see how I was doing. Summer overreacted. She doesn’t bother to visit me until the one day another girl is. It’s so stupid."

“Right or wrong it is what it is, besides, you can’t blame the poor girl for being busy. She just wants to hold her brother’s hand while he goes through chemo."

"What?" This was the first I’d heard of this.
 

"Nobody is supposed to know, but his leukemia is back please don’t say anything to your friends. Her parents want to keep it under the rug for now. Her father really is a selfish son of a bitch—sorry. More worried that if it gets out his son is sick it will ruin his chances for re-election. I’ll never understand what Rita saw in him."

What? “Rita? Summer’s mom’s name is Rita? You made out with Summer’s mom?"
 

"Oh yeah, we grew up in the same neighborhood together. It was a long time ago, but she’s an incredible woman, did this thing with her tongue––”
 

"Dad, please stop—I can’t hear anymore or my breakfast is going to come back up."

Dad turned up the tunes and I sat back in my seat. Richard was sick again. Richard was Summer’s older brother by two years. He’d fought leukemia the first time when he was nine. Despite a grim prognosis—he’d beaten the odds and went into remission. Why didn’t Summer tell me? Probably because I was being an asshole who acted like he didn’t give a shit.
 

My father and her mother used to make-out, gross. Now, her mother was making out with women and my dad was probably making out with Maggie. Did dad know about Rita making out with other women? For that matter did Summer?

I sat on my bed flipping my phone from hand to hand. I’d finally read Summer’s text—it took over an hour to work up the courage to read it and all it said was
hey
.
 

My heart was racing, my palms were sweaty and I was on the verge of passing out—over one fucking word. I texted back—
Hey babe.
 

Two hours later and I still hadn’t heard from her. I tried calling and it went straight to voicemail. I listened to her bubbly voice tell me to leave it. God I missed her. Beeps sounded in my ear. I was silent thinking of what to say, so I went with the truth, "Hey it’s me … I’m sorry … I miss you.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say and hung up.
 

Did she see it was me calling and send me to voicemail or was her phone off? If it wasn’t the latter I was in big trouble.
 

That’s it.
 

I needed to get out of the house. I grabbed my jacket and keys off my desk.
 

“I’m heading out for a bit," I hollered to my dad as I passed through the kitchen. He was hunched over the dining table tapping a pencil on a stack of files a cell phone to his ear. He waved his hand at me and mouthed, "Be safe," before turning his attention back to his call.
 

The engine whirred before turning over and cranking to a start. I exhaled, wrapped my hands around the steering wheel. I loved the creaking noise leather made when you gripped it.
 

“Did you miss me baby," I said patting the dash. I adjusted the mirrors, looked both ways and hit the gas then slammed on the brakes when Claudia walked across the end of my driveway.
 

"Hey," I said after I rolled down the passenger side window. A rush of cold air made me shiver.
 

She came up and stuck her head through the window, "Hey. I was just coming to check on you." Her hair was pulled back but it spilled over her shoulder as she tilted her head to look at me, "What is that smell?"

I took a whiff. She was right something stunk. I turned around, examined the backseat, and saw the leftovers from Romano’s staring back at me. She was looking at the food bag too, "Is that—oh yuck is that from dinner the other night?”

"It’s been a while since the last time I drove," I said turning back around to face her.
 

“Where you heading to? Wait, let me guess, going to Summer’s."

"Nah, she’s busy."

"To bad," she said and smiled.
 

I don’t think she felt bad about it. "I guess."

"You going to Ian’s party tonight?"

"I don’t know my head’s still bothering me."

A car honked as it passed around my car.
 

“I better let you go before someone else gives you another black eye." She patted the door and took a step back.
 

“I’m going to get a shake. You wanna come or not?"

She looked down the street towards the direction of her house then back to me. “What girl can turn down such a sweet invitation as that," and got in.
 

“God it stinks." She grabbed the leftover bag on the back seat and placed it into a garbage can someone had left out at the curb. She buckled her belt, "You should go get this thing scrubbed. Blech!"
 

Claudia had a bitchy side—enhanced by her New York accent—and I found it to be her best quality because it allowed me to be a prick. With everything going on I needed my inner prick right now.
 

“Maybe it’s you," I said smiling and sniffing the air around her.

Without hesitation she lifted an arm and took a whiff. She pondered for a moment then said, "Nope."

I shook my head, checked my mirrors and pulled away from the curb. Maybe Claudia was really a dude in chick’s clothes.

It was a relatively warm afternoon breaking up the monotony of cold March days in Maine. The sky overhead loomed clear of even wispy clouds. My hoodie combined with the intense sunshine kept me warm as I ate an ice-cream cone and walked along Fallen Oaks downtown farmers market on Mandrake Avenue. Claudia kept lagging behind me stopping to admire every trinket in each store-front window we passed.

When we got to the miniatures store Claudia froze unable to break her stare from the window.
 

"It’s closed for winter," I said over her shoulder.
 

She glanced at the sign and I could hear the disappointment in her voice when she said, "Whatever."

It amused me that Claudia with all her indifference attitude, oohed and ahhed at the same things Summer did. As different as girls could be they all seemed to go gaga over small things, the smaller the more ahh’s it garnered.
 

She stared a few more minutes and finally stood up, “Who closes a shop for an entire winter? They don’t like money or something?"

"I don’t know," I said licking at a rivulet of vanilla running down my hand, "They usually reopen at the beginning of April."

She shook her head and tossed her shake in a nearby trash-bin, “I still say it’s stupid."

"Got it."

"All right you’ve had ice-cream we’ve talked about boring stuff now tell me how much trouble you’re in?"

 
I finished the last bite of my cone. "What trouble?"

"I was there when Summer came over and saw us sitting together. She didn’t look happy and
 
she’s acting different at school. Sad or something.”

"I don’t want to talk about it."

Claudia turned her attention to another store front window, "That bad? Can’t say I’m surprised."

"Why do girls act like that? I mean isn’t it clear we’re only friends and there’s nothing else?"

Claudia looked back at me, "Are you saying I’m ugly?"

"Wait. What?"

"Kidding," she said. "Don’t worry you’re not my type. And I’d hate to mess up this great friendship we have going.”
 

Was she being sarcastic or serious? Because I did feel a connection between us. Where it came from I didn’t know, but it was definitely there. With Claudia there wasn’t even a slight pang of nerves when we talked. With Summer I always worried about offending her or hurting her feelings or who she was comparing me to. There was no twitch downstairs when I looked at Claudia, just a kinship of sorts.
 

Claudia continued, "And I imagine you’re a very sloppy kisser."

"You’ll never know."

She ignored me. “Girls like Summer fall into two categories."

"That’s it just two?” I said my words biting with sarcasm.

"Yes. Two. There’s category A where she suffers from ugly duckling syndrome …”
 

I interrupted, "Look I don’t buy into all that Freudian crap or any other stupid—"
 

“Or category B and she’s total bat shit crazy,” she continued as though I hadn’t said a word, “and this doesn’t come from some stupid magazine with an airbrushed hottie on the cover, this comes straight from my therapist who I see on Mondays. See Graham says girls who are bat shit crazy think they’re hot, that they’re too good for everything and everyone. You can blame their daddy for it. Graham calls it the princess complex,” … she calls her therapist by his first name…
 
“Daddy gives them everything. On a regular basis they’re told they’re perfect, it’s how their dads make up for the lack of actual interaction with them, it makes them crazy when they don’t get their way. You know. Like they have to have everything they want when they want it and if they don’t they fly into a rage because they feel they deserve it hence bat-shit crazy.

“Whereas girls who suffer from ugly duck syndrome have grown up believing they were worthless. They suffered the opposite of princess complex, you know, absent fathers who barely grunted a hello to them on their birthday. Those girls are totally insecure and—”

“Are you for real? Summer falls into neither of those––she’s never fished for compliments and she never goes psycho when she doesn’t get her way.”

“You are so clueless. It’s obvious she’s thinks she’s ugly, but I see subtlety is completely lost on you.”

“Fine, I’m clueless tell me which category do you fall in?"

"That’s strictly confidential and we’re not talking about me we’re talking about Summer, besides I may have paraphrased a little,” she said keeping an even tone. She didn’t even seem embarrassed by the fact she had a therapist. I wondered what she went for. Even more I wondered what side she fit. I guessed by her hard edge and rather frightening father that she suffered from princess complex, and was thus …

“How do you know she falls into the syndrome and not the bat shit or whatever?"

Claudia stopped mid-stride and crossed her arms over her chest as if she couldn’t believe I asked such an obvious question. "Wow. You must be the worst boyfriend on the planet." She rolled her eyes, "It figures." She continued walking.

I stumbled up behind her, "What am I missing?”

“Why did you invite me for ice-cream instead of her?”

“Because you happened to be in the right place right time.”

“So if Summer were walking by you would have asked her?”

“Yes―no … she hasn’t answered my calls. She’s pissed and it’s all my fault. Right? You’d dump me if you were her wouldn’t you? Any girl would."

She looked me up and down, “Are you done pouting? Did you get it all out?" Claudia stopped in front of a candy shop and pointed to a fancy bag of fudge in the window. "You can start with that."

I took a closer look at the heart-shaped bag of chocolate, "How is a stupid bag of chocolate going to help me?"

Claudia smacked her forehead, "Seriously what does she see in you." She was still looking in the window. She turned to me, "What’s that phrase they say all the time now, um, hearts and flowers or whatever. While I’m not the romantic type Summer certainly is. Besides begging, you better bring candy and other things."

"What type are you?"

“Focus. Do you want my help or not?”

"So chocolate?”

“Yes. Maybe a teddy bear or some jewelry.”

“Would any of that work on you? I mean put yourself in Summer’s shoes would it be enough?”

“I believe romance is highly overrated so I can’t think any other way. When I was a kid my dad came home everyday with some sort of trinket for my mom. Flowers, jewelry, chocolate, you name it. He never failed to have something for her” … Claudia definitely had mommy issues. I could recognize that flaw in anyone. The more she talked the more I understood our connection, the commonalities kept coming … “after a while it didn't seem romantic, it seemed like a chore, a duty. That’s not romance that’s work and who wants that?"

"Come on," I said, "like you wouldn’t be mad if a guy forgot Valentine’s Day or your birthday? Please. Say that stuff doesn’t matter all you want, but I’m sure you eat it up like all the other girls do."

She nodded, "You’re right I wouldn’t want a guy to forget but I don’t need stuff either. It’s not the stuff that’s important to a woman … it’s the idea you care about us, that you remember and go out of your way to remind us you care. Anyway you’re going to need more than chocolate. You’re going to need … hmm," she bit her lip, slapped her hands together and spun and swayed her hips excited, "You’re going to need some of this if you want to keep her."

"I need to dance?"

She rolled her eyes again, "Seriously? God,” She exhaled hard, pinching the bridge of her nose, “This, right here—talking. From what little interaction I’ve seen of the two of you, there’s not enough talking, no offense, but you’re kind of closed off and she’s desperate to know you. Don’t you know a girl’s security in her relationship is based on the level of information she knows about you.”

"It’s just, it’s hard.”

"Look you don’t need to explain it to me. I’m just calling it as I see it." She bumped her shoulder against mine, “Summer really likes you, I can tell, but if you don’t let her know you feel the same, she’s going to jump ship for self preservation, you know?”

“I know. It’s just …”

“Scary?”

“Yeah.”

She chewed on her cheek, “Come on, it’s getting late and I need to get home.”