Complicated Girl (5 page)

“Holy shit, you’re pregnant, Feather.”

Her eyes widen, and she glances over her shoulder at the door to make sure we’re alone.

Turning back to me, she’s beaming. “Shh. It’s not official. Please don’t mention this, because my first pregnancy years ago ended in miscarriage. This one’s going well so far, but… you know.”

I pat my own stomach and nod. “I don’t know about babies, but I do own a baby maker, so I’m qualified to pretend I know. Don’t worry, I won’t tell the others.”

She re-adjusts her sweater, so her bump isn’t visible. “You’re good at noticing things in other people. I hope you’ll share something tonight about yourself, if you’re ready.”

“You know I don’t have major problems, though. I’m not a mess like some of the others.”

She gives me another amused smile. “Of course not. I remember. You came here that first night because you thought it was a Weight Watchers group.”

I nod solemnly. “And I thought it was a good one, because there were so many skinny people in the group.”

“At what point did you realize it wasn’t Weight Watchers?”

My cheeks get hot. “Halfway through the second meeting.”

Feather laughs. “But you kept coming.”

I shrug. “I lost five pounds, so it worked.”

The door creaks, and the rest of the members start filing in. People sign their names in Feather’s book, so she can keep the billing straight. She charges a small fee per drop-in, just to cover her time.

I keep watching the door for Drew. I hope he shows up tonight, even though I also hope he doesn’t. I’m so mixed up, feeling two opposite things at once.

Abbie sits beside me. “That’s certainly an interesting T-shirt. You’ve got a lot of guts, Meenie.”

I look down at my
I ♥ BJ
shirt. “It’s for Beijing. I love Beijing.”

“Have you been to China?”

“No.”

She pats my leg. “I know what a BJ is, dear. There may be snow on the mountain, but there’s fire below.”

“You wild thing, Abbie.”

“I wonder if that young man will come back tonight.”

“Who?” I ask, playing dumb.

“Don’t worry, dear. He’s all yours. I won’t fight you for him.”

“Oh, that guy. You can have him. I don’t like good-looking, well-dressed, sensitive guys.”

“Sure, you don’t,” she says knowingly.

We start on time for a change, at eight o’clock, and get right down to business. Abbie tells us about the crazy things her sister did this week, and we all offer our support.

I’m up next, and just as I take a breath to start, the door creaks open. Drew steps in, an apologetic grin on his face. Feather gestures to an empty chair, and thirteen sets of eyes watch as Drew unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat.

I’m speechless. He’s so confident. He looks like a famous actor or model sitting down to do an interview on a talk show. He’s way too good looking to be in group therapy. He should be paying for one-on-one. It’s not fair to the rest of us. How are we suppose to focus on our problems when we’re busy drooling over Drew’s square, lickable chin. Or staring at those dazzling brown eyes.

Oh, it just keep getting better.
The hem of his suit pants have ridden up enough to reveal his socks, and even his socks are HOTTT with three t’s. They’re argyle—those interlocking diamond shapes that have a sexy-older-man quality to them.

Feather clears her throat. “Welcome, Drew. I’m sure you’ll be on time next week, now that you know where the room is. I guess we’ll just keep going. Meenie was about to share something with the group.”

I tear my eyes away from Drew and look at the floor. The floor is gray carpet tiles. Not sexy. My eyes flick back up to Drew. He’s much nicer to look at.

“Meenie?” Feather snaps her fingers, and a few of the others laugh.

“Oh, balls.” I cover my face with my hand and slump down in my chair. “Somebody else go. I can’t go. Not if he’s here.”

There’s the collective sound of everyone gasping in breath. My tone was accusing and rude.

I peer through my fingers at Drew. “No offense.”

He points to his chest, confused. “Me? Hey, everyone, I’m really sorry I got here late. But if you want me to go, I’ll go.”

Carla, sitting across from me, says, “Young man, you’re bothering Meenie.” I look up in surprise. Carla doesn’t usually say much at all. She’s really worked up, though, saying, “I saw you putting your dirty eyes all over our Meenie last week. This isn’t a group for sex addiction, you know.”

I start laughing. I’m so overwhelmed with emotion, I think I might even start crying. “He didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell Carla and the others. The group is quietly listening, so I continue, “Drew did come over and talk to me last week, but he didn’t put his ‘
dirty eyes all over
’ me. I’m fine, honestly.”

“I’m not a sex addict,” he says, his voice considerably louder and more forceful than necessary.

A few ladies make ooooh sounds and I hear someone snicker, “
Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much
.”

I pull my hand down from my face and mouth an apology to Drew.
I’m sorry.

He locks me in his gaze, and I can’t pull away from his dazzling brown eyes. “You were here first,” he says, directly to me. “I can find another group. Just say the word, Meenie, and I’ll back off.” He looks around at the others, meeting their eyes and charming them one by one with his undeniable, palpable, inescapable, unstoppable, overwhelming, so-real-you-can-taste-it, charisma.

I can feel the energy shifting over to take his side. Now I’m the mean one, mean ol’ Meenie, driving away the sweet young man with the GQ cologne and the GQ suit and the GQ looks.

“I want nothing more than what’s best for the group,” Drew says.

He bats his thick, dreamy eyelashes.

All the ladies whip off their panties and throw them at him. Feather uncrosses her legs and gets double-pregnant just by looking at him.

I know! I know! I’m out of control!

There’s no such thing as double-pregnant!

I push my chair back and stand up. “I brought fucking TEA CAKES!”

A hush falls over the group.

Now that I’m standing, my full shirt is visible. I can feel everyone reading it. I want to tell them
I know, I know. I’m out of control.

Feather smiles sweetly. “Tea cakes? Are you suggesting we take a short break?”

“No! Keep going. I just mean…” I trail off when Drew looks up at me with his big brown eyes, like he’s begging me to let him stay.

“Your call,” he says, looking all vulnerable and puppy-eyed.

He’s wearing an orange tie with splotchy flowers. It’s the ugliest tie I’ve ever seen. I want to grab him by the tie and strangle him. But I also want to hold his face in my hands and nibble his eyebrows.

“You should stay,” I tell him. “And I’ll stay.” I sit back down in my chair with a hard plopping sound and a jolt that goes up my spine. “We’ll both stay, and we’ll work on all our problems.”

“Good,” he says.

“Good.”

We both turn and look at Feather. She’s holding her fingers to her mouth, like she might throw up. Either she’s not past the morning sickness phase, or Drew and I are about to make her vomit. This isn’t good.

She puts her hand down slowly and rests it on her knee.

“Good,” she says. “Drew, why don’t you go ahead and share next, while Meenie composes her thoughts.”

He rolls his shoulders back, suddenly cocky. All of his humility is instantly gone, and we’re back on his talk show. Now what is he going to say?

“I called up the lady who had my balls,” Drew says, looking self-satisfied. “I got those balls back, and I tucked them back onto myself, and that’s why I’m here.” He gives me a fiendish look. “All thanks to Meenie’s suggestion.”

The group turns to look at me. I can feel their support shifting even further toward Drew, and against me. Even though I spent the entire day making fancy tea cakes, for them. The nerve.

Abbie leans in and whispers, “What does he mean?”

Her whisper is loud enough for the whole group to hear.

Drew doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Last week, Meenie tried to drive me away from the group. She said I have no balls. I don’t think she meant to, but she seems to be a… complicated girl.”

I raise my hand. “That means
bitch
, everyone. Drew’s insulting me. I vote we give him a time out.”

This stirs up some noise, and people start to argue. We don’t usually do time outs, but it has happened.

Feather gets up from her chair, covering her mouth. “I’m not feeling so great.” Her porcelain skin is as white as cake flour. “Excuse me, I just need to use the restroom.” She runs clumsily from the room.

Drew gestures to her empty chair with one gorgeous hand. Does he have a manicure? His nails are shiny.

“Meenie, you should take over,” he says, laughing. The others join him with their own chuckles. “You seem to like being in control.”

I get up and cross over to Feather’s chair, calling his bluff.

“First order of business,” I announce. “All in favor of giving Drew a time out?”

Everyone but Drew looks down at the ground. I feel like a high school teacher looking for a volunteer to solve a chemistry equation. Drew maintains steady eye contact, his kissable lips curved in a smug grin.

“Fine. I’m complicated,” I spit out. “But I was just joking around with you. Can’t you take a joke? I’ve hung out with guys before. Most of my friends in school were other wrestlers, and they constantly razzed each other about their balls. Why is it that some guys can’t take the same joke, when it comes from a woman?”

The group is very still, like they’re pondering the same question.

One woman raises her hand. Deborah has been coming to the group for a few months now, trying to cope with her anxiety over trying to be the perfect mother. In fact, that’s why most of the ladies are here. I’m the only one who doesn’t have any major issues, probably because I don’t have kids. I only started coming here by accident. I don’t have problems like these people do.

Deborah keeps waving her hand. I nod for her to go ahead, and she says, “I was watching a TV show last night, and the wife said something to the man about him not having any balls… and he killed her. He picked up a hammer and just whacked her right on the head.”

The group gasps, and Drew starts to laugh. He pretends to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

Within seconds, everyone is asking Deborah what TV show it was, and they start talking about the show. One of the younger women pulls out her phone and starts reading text messages, oblivious to everyone. The few older men in the group just look confused.

I’m terrible at leading this group.

My heart sinks. For the past few months, I’ve been harboring a fantasy that I could be an assistant to Feather, or one day run my own support group. I’d have to take some more courses, like Feather’s been doing, but now those dreams are evaporating.

I glance over at the door and rub my damp palms on my jeans. Tonight is a total write-off. I came here to get some wisdom, but clearly fate had other plans.

Total disappointment.

I keep staring at the door and feel a rush of relief as I imagine myself slipping out right now. Maybe my time at this group has run its course, and I should find something else to do Tuesday nights. I hear there’s a good pottery studio here at the community center.

I lean down to grab my purse from the floor.

I’m out of here. This chapter of my life is finished.

My hand passes through empty air where I expect my purse to be. Of course. My purse is not under my chair, because I’m in Feather’s seat.

Before I can get up, Drew says to me over the din of everyone else chatting, “Meenie! You lost control over your group. When Feather gets back, you’re in trouble.”

I shoot back, “Oh, what do you know, Mr. Fancy Manicure? Seriously. Why are your hands so clean and perfect?”

His eyebrows raise, and he moves to fold his hands on his lap, tucking his finders under and hiding his nails.

“Too late,” I call out over the noise. “I already saw your shiny nails, Mr. Manicure. That’s my new name for you, by the way.”