I stared at a corner of the ceiling where a small spider was busy making a web. It had been over two months since Peter and I stayed in Minneapolis, and to say we did it was just so middle school. It felt like an ocean had opened up between me and Portia and I would never be on her side of it again. It made me embarrassed for her, and lonely for me.
I hadn’t seen Peter alone since the night we parked at the scenic overlook in February. It was like I was fasting for weeks and weeks before getting these sudden feasts, where I had to eat as much as possible to survive the next fast. Before we drove away that night, he told me the same thing he had before we’d left Minneapolis, that we didn’t have a relationship. I can’t be with you, he said, not the way you want. And I ignored him again. Graduation was only a few months away and then our biggest obstacle was gone. Peter didn’t know that I had plans; I could see how the whole play would unfold.
In the meantime I still had to wear this other life. Part of me had wanted to break up with Tommy since the first night Peter kissed me, but the show had to go on. Everyone thought of us as a couple, a single unit. Every day someone asked if Tommy and I wanted to do this or that and I always answered, “I don’t know what Tommy wants to do. I’ll ask him.” Then during lunch I asked Tommy about our plans until he said what I wanted him to say. I always tried to spend our dates with other couples, especially since he’d started trying things.
“I told him waist up only.”
Portia tucked her jewelry bag into the suitcase next to me on the bed. “You said he wanted to do more.”
“It’s not my problem if he doesn’t listen.”
“It might be your problem.” She put on a jacket and quickly shrugged it off again. “What am I doing? I won’t need that in Tennessee. It’s going to be eighty degrees.”
Then she sat down next to me and got really serious. “Look, Hattie, I know you think you’ve got Tommy wrapped around your little finger, but look at him. He’s a giant.”
She stopped, tongue-tied, which was so not like her.
“What are you saying, Portia?”
“I’m just saying be careful.”
I left her on the bed and stood in front of her full-length mirror. It felt better to have this conversation through a reflection. “You’re saying be careful in case my boyfriend is a rapist?”
“Pretty much.”
“And this has nothing to do with the fact that you wanted to ask him to Sadie’s?”
“Are you kidding me? He was just one option. It’s not like I liked him.”
“Obviously not, if you think he’s going to force himself on me.” I started giggling. “Come on, Porsche. Tommy? Really?”
She looked put out by my laughter; she just sniffed and went back to picking out clothes and talking about all the fabulous things she was going to do in Nashville. We didn’t talk again before her trip, but as soon as their plane landed she started compulsively texting me, which was typical Portia. I just replied with stuff like, “Great!” and “That sounds awesome!,” which was typical Hattie.
Tommy ended up coming over on Tuesday during spring break. Mom was home, putting together a care package for Greg in the kitchen. We hadn’t heard from him in a few weeks because he was on an active assignment. No one really knew what it meant except that Mom had to start working on a package for him. She bought magazines she thought he’d like, made cookies and wrapped them in bubble wrap, and tucked in all sorts of odds and ends with sticky notes to tell him why she’d included them. She sent cartons of cigarettes, too—even though she hated smoking—because Greg said they were better than money over there. It sounded a lot like prison to me. He was scheduled to come home in July, and sometimes I caught Mom flipping the calendar pages back and forth like she was counting down the number of flips until she could breathe easy again. You didn’t notice when she was moving around, which was like always, but when she sat at the dinner table or read books at night her hands trembled. I didn’t remember them doing that before Greg left.
When Tommy came over, he asked about Greg. I always forgot they’d been on the football team together when Greg was a senior and we were sophomores.
“Here, Tommy, write him a quick note. He’ll be glad to hear from you,” Mom said.