A Long Thaw (15 page)

Juliet tries to decide if the truth is useful to the situation. ‘I was fifteen.’

‘See?’

‘See yourself, Hannah. I was too young. Listen to me.’ Juliet pulls her legs under her and sits facing Hannah. Such a pretty girl. Hannah has long straight silky hair. She’s strawberry blonde, with milky skin and freckles. She has almond-shaped green eyes and full lips, with teeth that are nearly perfect, even without braces. She has the breasts of a girl in the middle of puberty – not too big, but bigger than a lot of girls her age. Juliet looks at her sister and realizes the danger she faces.

‘His name was Jonathan Metcalf,’ Juliet begins, running her fingers through Hannah’s hair. ‘He was a senior. He used to stop and talk to me at my locker, in front of everyone. I thought I was so cool.’

Hannah endures Juliet’s touch. Juliet wonders how often she gets this kind of attention. ‘It was over fast. And it hurt a little. But more than that, it just didn’t feel good. When he was finished, I wondered why people like to do it at all.’

Jonathan had driven her to his house after school. He told her his parents wouldn’t be home and she knew what that meant. Afterwards he’d gone into the bathroom. Juliet had gathered her clothes and found the bathroom in the hall. She’d got dressed and sat on the toilet for what seemed like an hour, unsure of what came next. She didn’t come out until she heard him on the stairs. She found him in the kitchen, making a snack. He offered her a soda as if it was any other afternoon. She begged off: she had to get home to her sisters. He didn’t even kiss her goodbye.

‘He never called me again. Avoided me at school.’

Hannah looks up at her sister, wide-eyed.

Juliet remembers the walk home, down the hill and out of the fancy development where he lived in his big house with his well-stocked fridge and four bathrooms. Deirdre was asleep when she got back. Juliet made Mac ’n’ Cheese for dinner, taking the smallest portion, unable to swallow more than a few bites.

‘So tell me about Matt.’

‘He’s in my grade. We have science together, third period. He’s nice. He makes me laugh.’

‘Well, that’s good. Those are two really great qualities. How long have you been dating?’

‘About a month.’

‘Has he been pressuring you?’

‘No. But I know he wants to. I mean, when we’re making out, I can just, you know,
feel
it?’

Juliet suppresses a smile. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. But sometimes our bodies get ahead of us – especially boys’.’

‘I know. Hormones. We learned all about that in sex ed.’

‘Well, good, but there’s a lot of stuff that never gets covered in those classes.’

Hannah tips her face up, looking at Juliet sceptically.

‘Like, do you want to be in love with the person you have sex with for the first time?’

Hannah shrugs. ‘I guess.’

‘Do you think a month is enough time to get to know that?’

Hannah chews her lower lip.

A silence swells between them as Juliet doubts her own authority on the subject. ‘Well, I really, really hope you’ll wait,’ she says finally. ‘I know I can’t tell you what to do. All I can do is tell you what I want for you.’ She holds Hannah’s chin and looks into her eyes. ‘I want your first time to be special. I want you to be with someone who loves you and treats you well. Because you are such a great girl, Hannah, do you know that?’

Hannah’s face flushes and she pulls away.

‘You are.’ Juliet lets her hands fall into her lap. ‘You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re sweet. You’re a really good sister – to Lilly and to me, too. And you’re just ridiculously beautiful.’

Hannah rolls her eyes.

‘Well, you are. And you need to know these things so you don’t fall for the first boy who tells you something nice about yourself. It doesn’t take a special person to see those things. They’re obvious and they belong to you, no matter what. Okay?’

Hannah shrugs. ‘Okay.’

‘And you should be choosy. Don’t settle. You deserve someone who remembers your birthday and introduces you to his friends and cares about the things you have to say.’

‘Like Jesse?’

Juliet stops. She reaches out and covers Hannah’s hands with both of hers. ‘Better.’ She takes a breath and keeps talking, before Hannah can delve any further. ‘When you decide to have sex, don’t do it because he wants to – do it because you want to. And be careful. If you’re going to have sex, you have to be grown-up enough to go to the doctor and get on birth control. And the boy should still wear a condom and he should be tested for STDs. And if he balks at any of it, he’s not the right guy, okay? Because the right guy will wait until you’re ready and he’ll want you to feel safe.’

Hannah nods.

‘You can talk to me about this – whatever you decide. I will always help however I can.’ Juliet pulls Hannah against her chest and holds her tightly. ‘I wish I could protect you from everything that’s coming your way in the next few years, but I know you have to live it yourself.’

They sit together in silence for a while. Juliet isn’t sure if she’s said the right things, if Hannah has heard. When Lilly runs in to say the cookies are cooling, Juliet sniffs and rubs her eyes quickly.

‘We’re coming,’ she says, standing up. Clearly relieved by the change in agenda, Hannah runs after Lilly. Juliet is right behind them.

‘Are we done yet?’ Hannah asks.

Juliet sits up and blinks the wetness from her eyes, pretending it’s the wind. She tells Hannah to be careful getting up. She pulls Lilly to her feet.

They stand back. Hannah rubs her palms together, watching the crusty snow melt into her mittens. Juliet shakes the snow from her curls and dusts off Lilly’s small frame. They all stomp their feet and snow falls off them, creating their own tiny blizzard.

‘Mine is so small,’ Lilly says.

‘The smaller the angel, the faster they fly.’ Juliet tries to smile.

Lilly scrunches up her nose.

Juliet reaches into her coat and retrieves the camera.

On the way back to the car, Lilly rides on Juliet’s back even though she knows she’s too big for this. Juliet and Hannah hold hands through their soggy mittens.

The last night of their trip, the three of them lie in bed. Lilly is snoring.

‘Have you seen him?’ Hannah asks in a whisper.

Juliet takes a breath. She doesn’t need to ask who. ‘No.’

‘He still lives here, right?’

‘Around here.’

‘Do you know where?’

‘No.’ They’re quiet in the darkness. ‘I can find out if you want me to.’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah.’ Hannah pulls the covers tighter around herself. ‘He doesn’t want us.’

Juliet pulls her sister close and kisses the top of her head. ‘He doesn’t deserve us.’

Ryan shows up at the apartment at the beginning of January. When Abby opens the door, he leans towards her and she steps away.

‘I guess that answers that,’ he says.

‘Ryan.’ Abby sighs. ‘I don’t have any answers.’ She pushes the door closed and walks to the couch, sitting in a corner with her feet under her.

‘Have your cousins left?’ Ryan sits in the chair across from her without removing his coat.

‘Yesterday.’

‘Did they have fun?’

‘I think so. I haven’t seen Juliet so happy since . . . well, since we were kids.’

He stares at her across the coffee table.

‘You told me we didn’t ruin things,’ Abby says.

‘I know.’ He laughs bitterly.

‘You didn’t mean it.’

‘I did.’ He leans back in the chair. ‘And then, like an idiot, I let myself hope.’

‘Hope?’

‘That things could change.’

Abby remembers his hands on her. She also remembers his words.
Abby, we’re young.
His dismissive tone, as if she were a silly little girl prone to tiresome tantrums.

‘I think I just need some time on my own,’ she says.

‘Abby.’ Ryan shakes his head. ‘Fine.’

‘What?’

He raises his eyes to meet hers. ‘You’ve never had trouble being alone. You can be alone in a relationship or a crowded room. You’re very good at being alone.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Abby! When we were together?’ He leans forward again. ‘You never let me in.’

‘
I
never let
you
in?
You
never let
me
in!’ Abby holds her head in her hands, her fingernails pressing into her scalp.

Ryan pounds his hand against the arm of the chair. ‘That’s bullshit!’

Abby throws her arms into the air.

‘Whenever anything important happened in my life, you were the first person I went to.’ He points at her. ‘Can you say the same?’

Abby opens her mouth, then clamps it shut as she realizes that, no, she can’t. Hadn’t she even said as much to Juliet when she tried to explain her feeling that things weren’t right between them? But had it always been that way? She can’t remember.

In the face of Abby’s confused silence, Ryan stands up.

‘Please don’t just leave.’ Abby feels like she might cry.

‘I’m not mad, Abby. I hardly have the right, do I?’ Again the bitter laugh. ‘But I am going to leave.’

‘But we’ll talk again?’ Abby stands up.

‘Sure,’ he says, walking quickly past her and out of the door. He leaves without a goodbye. He doesn’t look back.

Abby sits across the table from a man she has exchanged emails with. He has thick black hair and dark eyebrows. He’s a little hairier than Abby would like, a little shorter. But those are small things. And he’s dressed nicely in a navy blue suit and tie. They met here at his suggestion. It’s only a few blocks from her apartment, but Abby has never been. It’s a pricey French place that seems to be scrimping on the electricity. Abby squints at her menu.

‘Would you like to share the
escargots
?’ her date asks. Ernie. Unfortunately Abby finds she’s most superficial about names and his doesn’t sound right. In her fantasies, that was never Prince Charming’s first name.

She smiles and agrees. She chooses her dinner by reading the prices on the right-hand side. She orders the chicken, one rung up from the vegetarian option. Ernie orders the prime rib. He selects the wine.

Abby finds herself gauging everything he says and does in reference to Ryan. Ryan would never have taken her someplace so showy. Ryan would not have held out her chair. Her instinct is to label these things pretentious, to put every un-Ryan-like quality in the negative column. But maybe it’s time for her to date someone totally different, to be wined and dined by an older man. Ernie is four years older than her; he’s an investment banker who talks seriously about politics and religion and the economy. He does, in fact, talk a lot. Unlike Ryan. Abby tries to count this as a benefit.

By the end of dinner, she knows a lot about Ernie. He’s the oldest of three; the rest of his family lives in the Midwest and his two younger sisters are both married. He went to school in Boston and loves it here, loves his work and the buzz of city life. He’s socially liberal and fiscally conservative. He plays tennis and follows the Red Sox.

Perhaps it’s her journalistic training that makes the exchange so uneven. She has no trouble thinking of things to ask him and he answers all her questions, like a man who takes for granted that his life story is endlessly fascinating. But he doesn’t ask her any questions and she doesn’t feel comfortable just volunteering information when it seems he couldn’t care less.

So she’s caught off guard when, after paying for the meal – dismissing her offer to pay half – he kisses her full on the mouth. They’re standing in front of the restaurant and she has turned to say goodnight when he leans in. She kisses him back out of a mixture of surprise and politeness. She wants to end the evening in a way that will not embarrass either of them.

With that in mind, she pulls away from his embrace and smiles kindly.

‘Your place or mine?’ he says, lifting his eyebrows.

‘I—’ she stammers, unsure if he’s being serious. It’s such a cliché, she has to hold in nervous laughter. ‘Um, I have an early morning,’ she says inanely. It’s not the truth; nor is it the point.

Ernie scowls but agrees to let her walk herself home. It’s a chilly winter night and she regrets wearing a skirt, regardless of its length, because her thick tights aren’t thick enough and her high-heeled boots are treacherous on the patches of ice here and there on the path in front of her. She’s so focused on the bone-chilling cold and the pavement at her feet that it isn’t until she gets back to her apartment that her fury releases itself.

She sits on the couch, unzipping her boots and chucking them across the room. ‘So I’m supposed to sleep with him for some chicken fricassee?’ she growls into the empty room.

‘Abby?’ Juliet pokes her head out of the kitchen.

Abby gasps as her head whips around. She clutches her chest, then begins to laugh at herself. ‘I thought I was alone.’

Juliet walks into the living room. ‘Clearly.’ She sits down. ‘So what is this I hear about the offending fricassee?’

Abby sighs. ‘My date,’ she says, pulling her feet under her and rubbing the chill from her ankles. ‘Seemed to think paying for dinner got him a ticket into my pants.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, maybe that’s unfair. Maybe he just thought we’d had such a great time.’

‘Did you?’

‘Not really! I mean, he seemed nice enough at dinner but . . . He didn’t ask me any questions.’

‘I hate that. It’s like they just expect you to do all the work. Although . . .’ Juliet pauses ‘. . . maybe he was nervous.’

‘Maybe. He didn’t seem that nervous when he kissed me. If anything, it seemed like his problem was over-confidence. It was just so odd. Like he assumed sex was part of the deal.’

Juliet shrugs. ‘For some people.’

‘I guess. I’ve never had sex on a first date.’ Abby pulls her skirt over her knees. ‘Have you?’

‘Sex on a first date.’ Juliet has to think this over. ‘Not a first date. But I have done the one-night-stand thing.’

‘Really? Gosh, I’m so repressed.’

‘Or I’m so slutty.’

‘Juliet.’ Abby shakes her head, disapprovingly. ‘Has the feminist movement really made such little progress that those are our only options?’