Authors: Meredith Schorr
Lainie shook her head. “Wow, Jane. Getting laid is supposed to make you a
happier
person. I think I preferred the Jane who was
celibate for a year.” With that, she turned around again and walked quickly to her room.
I called out, “I was joking!” just as her door slammed.
I turned off the television and walked to the kitchen. After grabbing a couple of Oreos and pouring a glass of chocolate milk, I headed to my room, stopping outside of Lainie's on my way. I gently tapped her door with the knuckles of my right hand but thought I heard her on the phone and decided it could wait. After all, I was just teasing. Nothing worse than she'd done to me many times.
I spent the rest of the day in my room, watching a
Top Chef
marathon and screening phone calls, one from my mother and another from Claire. I thought about asking Marissa if she wanted to go out for sushi but remembered that sushi was never fresh on Sundays. Since I wasn't in the mood for Chinese, I decided to save money and make dinner at home.
At about 6:30, I heard Lainie go into the kitchen and quickly followed her, hoping to eat together, but when I got there she was sitting at the table with Antoine and they were eating directly out of containers of Chinese food. They were whispering but stopped when they saw me.
I was suddenly in the mood for Chinese food after all. Hoping for an invitation to join them, I said, “Don't mind me.” I bent down and grabbed a frying pan from the cabinet. When I stood up again, I raised the pan in the air and said, “Just gonna make some fried eggs. Nothing like breakfast for dinner!”
“Hi Jane,” Antoine said softly.
“Hi, there!”
Lainie stood up. “We're going to eat in my room. C'mon Antoine.” She grabbed two containers of food and the plastic bag containing spicy mustard, duck sauce, and fortune cookies and started walking through the archway that led from the kitchen out into the hall.
“Bye, Jane,” Antoine said. Then he gathered another container of food and the bottle of Diet Pepsi and followed Lainie back to her room.
I called Marissa to vent that Lainie couldn't bear to share a meal with me now that she could eat in bed with her boyfriend. When
voicemail picked up, I left a message and ate dinner alone, bent over the newest issue of
Cosmopolitan
. I was surprised Lainie left it out there for me to read, figuring she and Antoine might want to try out the sex tips.
C
HAPTER
37
The next day, I put on headphones and listened to my iPod at work to avoid overhearing Andrew's seemingly back-to-back telephone conversations with
Farah
. I realized I wasn't as into him as I was into the
idea
of him, but it pissed me off to no end that the office flirt had tossed aside his male-slut ways for a girlfriend. He was like the male version of Lainie – boasting about the pleasures of non-exclusivity and then opting for a committed relationship.
Ever since I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was to fall in love and get married. I wasn't so naïve as to believe that simply wanting something made it so, but Andrew and Lainie's simultaneous conversion from terminally single (and happy about it) to blissfully attached while I was boyfriend-less and without an LSAT exam under my belt, made me wonder if
not
wanting something was the key to making it happen.
When Lady Gaga's “Just Dance” came on, I bopped around in my chair, singing. I hadn't been dancing in a really long time, probably since Marissa begged me to go to Katherine's bachelorette party. Maybe Bethany would want to go dancing.
“Jane!”
Startled, I removed my headphones and looked at Andrew. “What?”
Pointing at my office phone, he said, “Your phone is ringing!”
“Oh.” I looked at my phone. Claire again. I still hadn't figured out what I was going to tell her about the LSAT and let voicemail pick up.
“Screening your calls?” Andrew asked.
“Not all of them. Just my family.”
Andrew raised his eyebrow at me.
“Don't ask!”
Later that night, I was watching television in the living room when my doorbell rang. I muted the TV, got off the couch, and walked toward the door, throwing the remote on the couch behind me. “Who is it?”
“Your sister.”
I opened the door to see Claire with a small baby bump, hands on her hips, her lips pursed. “Hey,” I said. “Unexpected surprise.”
“Well, if you aren't going to return any of my calls, you leave me with no choice. I thought you might be dead!”
I let out a laugh. “I'm clearly not dead. But thanks for your concern.”
“That's what sisters are for. You might want to return the favor,” she said, looking over my head into the apartment.
I realized we were still standing in my doorway. Making room for her to walk past me, I said, “Do you want to come in?”
Her back to me as she entered the apartment, she said, “Thanks for asking.”
I followed her to the living room where she sat on the couch and just looked at me. “What's going on?” I asked.
“Why don't you tell me?” she said, her expression giving away nothing.
“You're the one making the house call!” I sat down next to her on the couch.
“Mom said you didn't call her back either.”
Fidgeting with the magazines on the coffee table, I said, “I'm sorry. Just have a lot going on right now.”
“Join the club.” Looking hurt, she said, “Don't you even care about your nephew?”
“Of course I care about him.” I gently rubbed her belly in a circular motion. “But he's not even born yet.”
“I thought you were going to brainstorm names with me,” she said, brushing my hand away.
“It's only been a few days, Claire. And I have been thinking about it.”
“Really,” she said doubtfully.
“Yes, really!”
Sounding positive that she could call my bluff, she said, “Throw out a name then.”
Crap. Think fast. Boy's name. Boy's name.
“William!” E
t tu Brute!
Claire gave me a funny look. “William?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding my head enthusiastically.
“You want me to name my son William Williamson?”
Fuck.
“Why not? It's a family name.”
“It's a stupid name!”
“Then don't ask for my help!” I bent over the coffee table and started wiping the smudges with Fantastic.
“What's with you, little sister?”
I shrugged, reclining back against the sofa throw pillow. “Nothing. Just a lot going on. You wouldn't understand.”
“Try me.”
“I'm sick of being single.”
Claire laughed. “That's it? You seem to be living it up.”
I looked at her in surprise. “Is that a joke?”
“Nope.”
“Well I'm not ‘living it up,’ as you say.”
“Not even a little bit?”
I could tell Claire was trying really hard to keep a straight face because her lips were quivering slightly. “No! What are you talking about?”
Claire removed her pocketbook from the floor, placed it in her lap and put her hand inside. Handing me a clear plastic bag with a black lace thong inside, she said, “I think you left this at my apartment.”
“That's not…” I felt my face get hot. “Oh, my God.”
Claire held her hand up to my face. “I was going to give you the benefit of the doubt that you just stayed at my place one night when Pin Cushion was being particularly annoying. But your face just
gave it away. You were a very bad girl, weren't you, little sister? Maybe I should start calling
you
‘Pin Cushion.’”
“That's so not cool! I'm just having fun. Lainie knows how to have fun. Well, at least she used to. You don't understand!”
Claire smiled. “I understand completely. But don't leave your underwear on my living room floor and tell me you're not enjoying the single life. Thank God I didn't find them in my bed,” she said, mumbling the last part.
Even though she was my sister and had known me before I was potty trained, I was embarrassed. “I'm sorry, Claire. I don't know what I was thinking.”
Claire shook her head. “Neither do I. I don't care who you bring to your apartment. With the exception of ax murderers and rapists, of course. But why did you bring him to mine?”
“I didn't want him to know where I lived. I didn't even know his real name.”
Wide eyed, Claire stared at me. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” Before I could answer, Claire's face turned pink and she said, “Wait. You didn't want to bring a strange guy to
your
apartment. So you brought him to
mine
? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
She has a point.
“I don't know what I was thinking.” I shrugged. “But nothing was stolen, no one was raped. And we used protection!” I smiled hopefully. “All's well that ends well, right?”
Dryly, Claire said, “I'm starting to see a pattern here in your thinking.”
“What's that?” My heart started beating faster, sensing I wasn't going to like the answer.
“
You
wanted to screw some random guy.
You
didn't want to bring him to your apartment.
You
didn't want him to know where
you
lived. You were thinking about yourself. And only yourself. With no regard to anyone else. Seems to be your thing these days.”
“
You
have Kevin.
You
have a baby on the way. Mom likes
you
better. You have everything and I have nothing.” I felt tears burning the corners of my eyes and blinked them away.
Claire stood up and flung her pocketbook over her shoulder. Facing me, she said. “You must be kidding.”
Sniffling, I looked up at her and said, “No. Not kidding.”
“I think it's very convenient how you recreate history, Jane. Again, to make it all about you. Who was the one in the gifted and talented classes all through grammar school and junior high while I had to go to the Huntington Learning Center for one-on-one tutoring? Who had a nine-year love affair with practically the first boy she ever kissed while I went to the senior prom with my best gay boyfriend? Who was daddy's little prodigy while I had to intern at his law firm just to get a little attention? I have everything? Please, Jane. Get over yourself. You've been single for less than two years of your adult life. Deal with it.”
“This is
my
apartment and I don't have to deal with anything.” I stood up and placed my hands on my hips defiantly.
“Then I'm leaving
your
apartment.” Claire put her coat on and walked to my front door. Turning around to look at me one more time she said, “No one has the perfect life. No one,” walked out and closed the door behind her.
C
HAPTER
38
I sat in the passenger seat of my father's Audi and rolled down the window, letting the cool breeze hit my face.
Taking a quick sideways glance at me before looking back toward the road, my dad asked, “You hot, Pumpkin?”
“No. Just need a little air.” I felt a bit suffocated riding to my parent's house from the train station. I wanted to be anywhere else, but my mom broke down all of my excuses for not coming home for the day. I told her I had a tentative date, thinking that would make her happy, but she said “tentative” and “definite” were not the same and if he really wanted to take me out, he'd nail down plans. Then I said I had promised to go to brunch with Marissa if my date fell through, but she said I should just invite Marissa to their house. Thinking that was actually a good idea, because my mom would be less likely to grill me about men with Marissa there, I called her but didn't hear back.
Who was I kidding anyway? My mother would grill me about my love life with or without Marissa in attendance. Even homeland security probably couldn't protect me.
My dad pulled up the driveway, turned off the engine and smiled at me. “Home sweet home.”
I smiled back, “Yup,” tossed my bag over my shoulder and followed him up the multi-colored tile pathway to the front door. I
smelled cinnamon. “What did Mom make?” I hoped she'd waited for me to make breakfast.
“Mom made French Toast,” I heard her say, before she walked out of the kitchen. She wiped her hands on the midnight blue polka dot apron she was wearing over a turtleneck sweater of the same color blue and winter white pants and pulled me in for a hug. “Hi sweetheart. How nice of you to grace us with your presence.”
I dropped my arms to my sides and mumbled, “Sorry. Been so busy lately.”
She motioned for me to take a seat at the kitchen table. Sitting down too, she said, “For instance?”
“Like work! Is there any coffee?”
“Have you had any yet today? You shouldn't drink more than one cup a day or it will…”
“Stain your teeth.” I gave her a toothy smile. “My teeth are neither yellow nor brown, Mom. And I haven't had any coffee yet today,” I lied.
“Here's your coffee. Just the way you like it. Skim milk and one Sweet ‘n Low,” my dad said placing a cup in front of me. When my mom got up again to check on the food, he whispered, “Don't worry, I used cream and sugar.”
I whispered back, “Thanks” and smiled softly at my dad, wondering how such a down-to-Earth, laid back guy fell for my regimented no nonsense mom.
Another case of ‘opposites attract.’
“So, how do you think you did?”
At least he asked the dreaded question when my mom was not at the table. “Not sure.”
True, since how can I be certain how I did on a test I didn't actually take?
Joining us with the plate of French toast, my mom said, “Columbia or Queens College?”
My dad laughed. “She can do better than Queens College. At least Brooklyn Law, right sweetie?”
“Right, Dad.” I dug my fork into a piece of toast and dropped it into my plate. “Can you please pass the syrup?”
“You'll have to figure out where to apply. Narrow it down to a handful of schools. Application fees are not what they used to be,” my mom said before taking a small piece of toast into her mouth.
“It's not that expensive,” my dad said. “Better to keep her options open than apply to too few.”
I pushed my plate away. “Can we change the subject? Is Claire coming?” We hadn't talked since we fought at my apartment and I really had no desire to see her except to bond over how annoying our mother could be.