The Good Life

Chapter THIRTEEN



A few days later I slept until 11am like the slacker I was. I did what I did every morning (or afternoon) when I woke up. I went downstairs for coffee. But when I walked into the kitchen I nearly screamed out loud.

There was a girl in the kitchen. She had her back to me and was standing on her tiptoes on one of our barstools, reaching into the top shelf of a cupboard. She had long, dark, wavy hair and was wearing what looked like a men’s light blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and no pants. Either she was wearing no underwear at all, or she had on a thong because her bare butt cheeks were sticking out from under the shirt. From the back she was perfection. It was as if a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader was standing in my kitchen.

She turned to look at me when she heard me come in and when she did, the front of her shirt opened to reveal some side-boob. No, she was not wearing a bra under her shirt. And yes, her face was just as perfect as her butt. Lucky bitch.

“Hi!” she said in a way-too-perky voice. She probably really was a cheerleader. “You must be Adam’s little sister!”

Being called a “little sister” by someone who was probably a decade younger than me was a bit condescending and annoying, but I was so glad she was with my brother and not Jake that I let her comment slide and breathed a big sigh of relief. Not that I wanted to see my brother’s sexual conquests naked in my kitchen and, trust me, he would hear about it later, but it was a billion times better than seeing Jake’s sexual conquests, even if they were fully dressed in ugly, baggy clothes with dirty hair and no makeup. Because even that would suck. Seeing that Jake hooked up with a girl this hot in the same house where I was sleeping a bedroom away, would kill me. Just because I had stopped our sequel from happening, didn’t mean I was ready to see him with someone else.

“Jake’s told me so much about you!” she continued as she hopped off the stool (she was wearing a thong – thank you, God!) and held out her hand, which opened the shirt even more and revealed her perfectly perky C-cups.

Before I even knew what was happening, Jake stood up from behind the kitchen island and set his camera down on it.

“Good morning, Rox,” he said, smiling like nothing was wrong with this scenario at all, “Or is it afternoon yet?”

I was so confused. Why was there a mostly naked girl in my kitchen? Where was my brother? Why was Jake hiding behind the island? What did I walk in on? Who the hell was this girl?

“I’m Carmen, by the way,” Miss Perky-In-Every-Way said, as if she read my mind.

Carmen! Carmen was the girl Adam asked Jake about that one night! Carmen must be one of Jake’s flings – one that began way before I arrived in Michigan and was apparently still going on.

I knew I wasn’t Jake’s girlfriend, but I never imagined I was merely a fling within a fling!

I’m so stupid! What was I thinking getting involved with him again? He’s still the same different-DNA-on-the-sheets-every-week guy he’s always been. I can’t believe I was so effing stupid to think he ever cared about me!

I knew all along things would not end well. Jake was a dead-end road! He didn’t do relationships. I was never going to be anything more to him than a convenient live-in lay so it was a good thing I put an end to it. Ugh, why do I have to be so stupid sometimes?

I didn’t say anything in the kitchen. I was speechless. I kept looking from one to the other, waiting for some logical explanation that had nothing to do with sex – an explanation I knew would not be coming, because there was no other explanation for this.

As irrational and childish as it was, I had the urge to pick up his camera and smash it on the floor. I wanted to throw something, and break something, and hurt something he cared about it because I felt so hurt inside.

I didn’t shake the hand she held out. She eventually dropped it and used it to close her shirt. Then she also looked back and forth between Jake and me. She looked confused. I bet.

Confrontations were not my style. Even if I could’ve assembled some comprehensive thoughts and formed complete sentences at that time (and I couldn’t), I wouldn’t have started anything with either of them. As I turned around and walked out of the kitchen, I held my chin high, so as not to look like the desolate loser I felt like.

Once I was out of the kitchen and safe from their view, I ran up the stairs, into my room and closed the door before the tears began to fall.

Why did I ever think it was a good idea to come here? I was looking for a fresh start but all I did was move backwards! I’ve been here a month, and I’m no closer to a so-called better life than I was when I got here. I have no job, no life, and no purpose. I’m like a waste of space on the couch. In fact, if Jake and Adam threw a piece of leather over me, I could BE the couch!

I’d only met with Violet twice, but didn’t seem to be making a difference to her since she had just been caught stealing lip-gloss from CVS. I couldn’t go to school for another year. I was too embarrassed to get a job because the only job I knew how to do was one that I was ashamed of. I never saw my brother because of his work. My BFF had a life of her own. And the cherry on top of this shit-sundae was that I’d had sex – unprotected sex – with the biggest player in Ann Arbor who had just made a fool of me in my own house! One thing I probably had was an STD. One thing I definitely did not have was a future here in Ann Arbor, and there was no reason for me to be here. No reason at all.

I pulled a weekender bag out of my closet and started mindlessly throwing things into it as tears fell freely down my face and burned my cheeks. As much as I would love to go back home to NYC, I knew I couldn’t afford it. There was only one place I could think to go – Florida. Maybe my dad could pull some strings and get me a late acceptance into the MSW program at his school … if they even had an MSW program. I knew my parents would let me stay at their condo until I could get on my feet and get my own place. I wouldn’t mind being a barmaid on a beach. For some reason, serving drinks on a beach seemed a lot more sophisticated and respectable than serving drinks to a bunch of drunk and arrogant college kids in Ann Arbor. Yes, I could totally do this. I could move and get a real fresh start, not just an opportunity to remake mistakes all over again. Not a re-do, but a clean slate.

“Rox?” Jake tapped on the door.

No. He couldn’t see me crying. He couldn’t know how hurt I was about the cheerleader in the kitchen. I couldn’t let him see how much I cared. He could never know. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady.

“I can’t talk right now, Jake,” I said. “I’m not dressed.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

Don’t remind me, a*shole! What a jerk thing to say right now!

I took another deep breath to keep my voice from wavering. “Please get away from my room, Jake. I do not wish to speak with you.”

“You do not wish to speak with me?” he mocked me. “Why are you talking like a robot? Are you okay? You know that wasn’t what it looked like.”

If I wasn’t so upset I would have laughed out loud at that overused line. “I’m fine,” I said in my calm robot voice. “Please let me be alone right now.”

I didn’t hear anything else after that so I figured he’d gone downstairs. I stayed in my room packing, crying, sniffling, and texting Hope and Allison, who both said I should talk to him before I moved to another state.

Once I was all cried out and had a full set of luggage packed, I went into the bathroom to put some cold water on my eyes and apply some makeup so it wouldn’t look like I’d been crying.

When I felt composed enough, I held my head high and went downstairs. I didn’t know if Jake was around, but I was going to have to take my chances because I needed coffee even more after all of that crying.

The kitchen was empty – score! I walked over to the Keurig and pushed the power button. It whirred to life as I selected a K-cup of blueberry-flavored coffee from our carousel and stuck it in the machine. I thought I was in the clear, but as I was getting the coffee creamer from the fridge, Jake came in from the patio carrying his laptop under his arm.

I ignored him and continued with my coffee. He set the laptop on the island and flipped open the screen.

“It’s not what you think,” he said quickly.

I stirred my coffee, still ignoring him. I looked up at the ceiling to avoid any tears from escaping. I still felt extra sensitive.

“I was just taking pictures,” he explained. “She’s engaged. She wanted to have some pictures taken to give to her husband on their wedding night. She wanted some pics taken in a kitchen and asked if we could do them here because she liked our bar stools and the glass cabinets.”

I put the creamer back in the fridge and avoided his eyes.

“Here, I have them on my laptop if you want to see. I should have told you, but I just wasn’t thinking, and that was stupid of me.”

I picked up the coffee mug and took a quick, nonchalant glance at the thumbnail photos on his screen that Jake had clearly taken while lying on the floor. Looking at her perfect butt and her coy smile as she glanced over her shoulder, ugh, it made me want to throw up.

I tried to exit the kitchen, but he stepped in front of me and blocked the door.

“I’m sorry, Roxie. I mean it.”

I looked at the floor to avoid his eyes. I wasn’t ignoring him to be a brat. I was worried that if I tried to talk, my voice would crack, and the last thing I wanted was to stand there and cry in front of him.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soothing. He rubbed my arms just under my shoulders. It felt comforting and his voice was caring and kind. His apology was genuine. Damn him! “What’s happening?” he asked. “Why are you so upset? I told you it was nothing, and that’s the truth.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, trying hard to keep my voice steady. “You can do whatever you want.”

“I know I can do whatever I want, but I’m not going to bring some girl home a couple of days after you slept in my bed. That would be a dick move and you have to know I have more respect for you than that.”

I did know that. And his story made sense. He really was taking pictures of her. Why else would she be reaching into the top shelf of our cupboard? There wasn’t anything up there but some Tupperware from like 1985. But sometimes when I get really mad, I don’t want to stop being mad, so I find more reasons to stay mad. Does anyone else do that? Or is it just me?

“My brother asked you about Carmen,” I said quietly. “When he heard us upstairs. He asked you if Carmen was over.”

Jake let out a long sigh, walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. I sat down, too, curious to hear the rest of this story.

“You’re right,” he started. “There was a time a while back when her and her boyfriend broke up and she came over after work a few times. But now they are back together and I am not at all interested in her.”

I thought about this ridiculous scenario for a few moments before I spoke.

“So she wants to give her husband, on their wedding night, a bunch of pictures of her that were taken by some guy she hooked up with when they were broken up?”

“Hey, I never said she was the brightest crayon in the box. That’s why there’s no way I could ever seriously date her. But she paid me like everyone else; the shots I took of her are going to add a lot of value to my portfolio because she has a great body, and the prints she orders are going to make me even more money.So I really don’t care what she does with the pictures.”

As another woman, I was able to see through her façade more so than Jake. She was probably trying to seduce him, and I doubted if she even had a fiancé, but it wasn’t really my problem anymore. I’d be moving out anyway.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked.

“You’re forgiven. But I think we both know this roommate situation isn’t going to work out. We can’t be having conversations like this every time one of us brings a date home.”

“You’re right. We should probably just keep having sex with each other then. And that way we wouldn’t need to bring dates home, and we’d never have a conversation like this again.” He gave me a cocky, but hopeful, grin as he waited my response.

To be honest, that sounded like a super idea. But how long would it last before he decided he was bored with me and traded me in for another one of his cheerleaders?

“Or,” I said, “I could just call it a loss and move down to Florida with my parents.”

“Are you serious?” he asked quietly. His silly smirk was gone.

I nodded. “I’ve already packed.”

He took a deep breath. Then he stood up and shook his head at me. “You’re seriously going to run away again? God, that is so like you. I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”

I stood up, defensively. “What do you mean run away again? When did I run away before?”

“How about going to North Carolina instead of going to school in Michigan? Your hockey player boyfriend humiliated you, so you ran away.”

“I applied to UNC before that even happened!” It was true. I had. I might have chosen the school afterward, but I had already applied.

“And why’d you move back here? Because you were running from your problems in New York.”

“NO!” I shouted. “I wanted to stay in New York! I just couldn’t afford it!”

“So you came here? To Ann Arbor? It might not be New York City, but it’s definitely not cheap to live here. Try again.”

“It’s a lot cheaper than New York. And why wouldn’t I come here? When something bad happens to a person, they’re going to go to the people who love them for support.”

“So what are you running from this time then?”

“I’m not running! I’m fixing a mistake I made.”

“What was the mistake?”

“Moving here!”

“Why was it a mistake?”

I sat back down on the couch and studied the fibers in the living room carpet. “You guys,” I said quietly, “you, Adam, Allison – you all have your own lives, and I need to find a life of my own, too. There isn’t anything here for me. There’s no school that will take me on such short notice, and there’s no job I can get where I won’t be serving people who are going to look down on me. All I do is watch TV, drink wine and lay out in the sun. That’s not normal.”

“What are you going to do in Florida that’s so much better?”

I couldn’t really think of a good answer. If there was any way to start my Master’s sooner that would be a good reason to go, but I should probably find out for sure if that could happen before I moved over 2000 miles away.

Jake sat down next to me again. He seemed calmer, less agitated. “I agree that you need to get a job; if not for money then just to get out of the house. But there are things for you here. You’ve got that little sister to keep out of trouble. You promised you’d take Allison’s kids to Cedar Point. I can even get you your old job back at The Bar. You used to make tons of money there.”

“That’s a nice offer, Jake, but there’s so many people I know that go in there. I don’t think I could handle having them laughing at me.”

“Yeah, there are people we went to high school with who go in there, but they are just regular people with regular jobs. It’s not like they are all millionaires or anything. You’re the one who’s been living in some penthouse suite in New York all this time. You’re the one with a bedroom full of shoes that are probably worth more money than I’ve made in my entire life. No one is going to look down on you for having a job, and it’s ridiculous that you even think that.”

“It wasn’t the penthouse,” I mumbled.

He stood up. I could tell he was angry again.

“And you know?” he asked, as he paced in front of me. “It really pisses me off that you think working in a bar is so shameful. I work in a bar, Roxie. Does that mean you look down on me?” He stopped pacing, stood in front of me and pointed at his chest. “No, wait. Don’t answer that question. Of course you do. That’s why you left me and got engaged to some rich a*shole a week later.”

I gasped and looked up at him. Was that the way he saw it? Was that what he’d been thinking all this time? That I was ashamed of him for being a bartender? That I married Caleb for money? Is he right?

I touched my cheek because it felt like I’d been slapped, even though he hadn’t touched me. And since I was still in an uber-sensitive mood after crying all morning, that was all it took to get the tears behind my eyes again. I blinked away what I could, but there was really no way to hide them this time.

“Never mind,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I wasn’t ashamed of you,” I said quietly.

“That shit doesn’t even matter anymore.”

“It seems like it kind of does, or you wouldn’t have said it.”

He sat down next to me again and looked at me seriously. “Look, staying and trying to make this work for you, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Running away after barely giving it a chance, that’s a reason for people to look down on you. That’s something to be ashamed of. But you go ahead and leave if you want. I’ve gotten used to it.”

And with that, he left the room. A few minutes later I watched through the bay window as his Jeep pulled away from the house.

Jake’s comments gave me a lot to think about, but I didn’t have the time to think about them at the moment because I was supposed to meet Violet for our afternoon outing in an hour, and I looked like a train wreck.

I ran upstairs and washed my face again, put on some of my Benefit Eye Bright again and took another chance on mascara – except I used waterproof.

I wasn’t in the right mood to be trying to encourage or inspire anyone, but I told her I’d be there today, so I was going to be there.

I was sitting on a park bench, lacing up my roller skates, when her grandma dropped her off in the parking lot. When Violet told me she liked to roller skate, I’d been super excited about it because I hadn’t done it since I was a kid. I had to buy myself a pair of roller skates but I bought them at a discount sporting goods store instead of an expensive designer. At least one thing about my life seemed to be changing for the better, eh?

Violet got out of her grandma’s car and headed toward me with a surly look on her face. Don’t tell anyone, but I kind of wished I had gotten a younger little sister, one who was too young for attitude problems and backtalk. I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t happy to be there. She’d rather be hanging out with her hoodlum friends and stealing makeup from drug stores. Maybe I didn’t have to feel guilty for not particularly wanting to be there either.

She was a pretty girl, with her thick brown ponytail, big blue eyes and petite frame, but she wore way too much makeup for anyone to tell. Also, attitude was worth a lot more than a pretty face, and she had a serious problem in that department.

As her grandma’s car pulled away from the park, Violet turned and held up her middle fingers on both hands towards the car like she was some kind of gangsta. She sat down next to me on the park bench, looked at her watch and said, “One hour. Starting now.”

Umm, okay. I was suddenly kind of scared.

She had the kind of skates that attached to the bottom of her shoes. Once she had them on she stood up and said, “Come on, lady. I’ll race you to the concession stand.”

I was still fuming over being called lady as she raced off like some kind of speed skater. I wasn’t foolish enough to try to beat her so I skated over at a slower pace that was just fast enough to keep my eye on her in case she tried sneaking off. By the time I made it to the concession stand, she was literally skating circles around the small building, and I was clutching my sides in pain. I needed to work out more!

She laughed when she saw me. “I was going to say we should get an ice cream, but it doesn’t look like you need one,” she said with a smirk.

Was she calling me fat? That little bitch! I was too out of breath to reply, and for that I was lucky, or I might have been banned from the BBBSA forever.

She giggled, and her eyes danced as she skated around me. I was still trying to catch my breath.

“Water,” I gasped. I sat down at one of the picnic tables and pulled a plastic Victoria’s Secret Pink water bottle out of my bag. It was gigantic. It didn’t fit in the cup holders of my car or any piece of exercise equipment in our basement. It took up practically all of the space in my bag and I needed two hands to drink from it. But it was a free gift with purchase, and it was cute and girly, and said Drink Pink on it, so how could I resist?

Violet laughed even harder. She sat down across from me at the picnic table. “You need some help with that?” she asked snidely.

What is this girl’s problem today?

She pulled a water bottle out of her backpack. It was yellow and had a smiley face on it.

“You couldn’t find one with a frown?” I asked.

For a second, she looked pissed that I had given her some of her own crap. Then she smiled and I could tell she appreciated it.

“What’s this I hear about you stealing lip gloss from CVS?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “I stole lip gloss from CVS.”

“I heard. But I don’t understand why you did it. Your grandma told me she gave you twenty dollars, and the lip gloss was only like three dollars.”

“It wasn’t about the money,” she said. “It was about the thrill.”

“You think getting arrested is thrilling? You think having to go to court and possibly being sent to a juvenile jail is thrilling? You think your grandma having to pay your fines and court costs is thrilling?”

“No,” she said seriously. “Not that stuff. I really do feel bad about the fines.”

“You should. Especially since she was nice enough to give you money to shop. A lot of kids your age don’t get an allowance.”

“I know,” she agreed. “None of my friends ever have money. That’s why they steal.”

“Did they know that you had money that day?”

She shook her head.

“Why didn’t you tell them that you didn’t need to steal makeup? That you could buy it?”

She shrugged and looked at the ground. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted them to like me. To think I was brave.”

Oh dear … she reminded me so much of myself for saying that.

“Violet,” I started off cautiously. “Being a follower is not brave. It’s weak. The brave person would be the one who said to all her friends, ‘Hey, we have enough makeup and stealing is for losers. Let’s take my allowance and get a pizza instead.’”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand,” she told me. “There are two kinds of people at my school – rich ones and poor ones. I’m like the only one in the middle. I can’t pretend to be rich but I can pretend to be poor.”

“I understand wanting to fit in. But stealing doesn’t make you poor; it makes you a criminal. You really have to stop worrying about what people think before it takes over your life, and you don’t even remember who you really are anymore.”

She snorted. “That’s great coming from you.”

I was shocked at her audacity. “What do you mean?”

“Look at you with your Kate Spade bag and your Victoria’s Secret water bottle that probably weighs fifteen pounds. You didn’t bring that to the park because it’s a practical way to stay hydrated while you’re roller skating. You brought it because other people would see it and think to themselves, oh how cute is that? I wish I had a water bottle like her.”

Hmm … she might have a point. I could have easily brought a plain looking and easier to carry water bottle with me. I guess today is the day for everyone to call me out on my character flaws.

“And,” she continued, “didn’t you tell me last week that you didn’t want to get a job at the bar you used to work at because you were afraid people you knew would see you working there and think you were a failure?”

Umm, yes I did say that.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “And you don’t want to end up like me when you’re older.”

“Maybe not,” she said honestly. “But I would like to have a Kate Spade bag someday.”

We both laughed. I pulled some things out of my bag. I took out my wallet, my gigantic water bottle and my keys. I left the expensive mascara and lip-gloss inside and handed her the bag.

“Here,” I said. “You can have it.”

She looked stunned. “Really?”

“Sure,” I told her. “I have enough bags.”

“Wow,” she said as she put the shoulder strap over her arm and stared down at it in awe. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I told her.

“I can either use it to fit in with the rich kids or tell the poor kids I stole it,” she explained. “Either way, it’ll give me some clout.”

I smiled and said a silent prayer. Thank God it wasn’t my Chloe bag.