Confessions of an Ugly Girl (12 page)

“He uses a wheelchair? For God’s sake,
why
?”

“He’s a quadriplegic.” I added, “Like Christopher Reeve.”

“Oh my God, you mean he’s
crippled
?” she gasped. “Why would you date someone like that?”

“He’s a really nice guy,” I retorted.

There was a long pause on the other line. “Do you swear you’re not just teasing me?”

“I’m not!”

“So he can’t move his arms or legs?” my mother asked. I guess she was mentally reviewing everything she knew about Christopher Reeve. “Oh my God, is he on a breathing machine?”

“No, he can breathe on his own,” I mumbled.

“Do he use one of those wheelchairs you control with your tongue?”

For some reason, the thought of Sam operating a wheelchair with his tongue made me giggle, in spite of everything. It could be worse, right? I decided maybe I shouldn’t let on that Sam wasn’t as disabled as she thought he was. After what she was picturing, a relatively normal-looking guy in a manual wheelchair would probably be a relief to her.

“I can’t believe you wanted this boy over that nice George,” my mother grumbled. “He’s not even Jewish!”

Yeah, let’s get our priorities straight here.

After all that, I was pretty nervous about how my mother would react to meeting Sam. I wasn’t optimistic. I got the feeling that Sam, despite his confident display, was nervous too. I could tell by the way he kept tossing and turning in bed, instead of falling asleep like a light like he usually does.

Sam and I left the hotel the next afternoon and headed over to my parents’ house. They have a really nice big house, and as we pulled into the driveway, I realized there was a nice big step to get to the front door that I totally forgot about. Sam even asked me if there were any steps and I said no, because who remembers one step?

I could see him eying the step as he parked the car. “Sorry,” I said.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I can manage.”

As I’ve said, Sam can usually jump one step, but he was having trouble with this one, for some reason. Just to torture me, maybe. Three tries and he couldn’t do it.

“Do you need help?” I asked.

Sam shook his head. He never
ever
wants help. The only time he’s ever asked me for help with something was when I unbuttoned his shirt and he couldn’t get it buttoned again. Small buttons elude him.

He made it on the next try, thank God, and I forced myself to knock on the door. My mother answered and I could see her eyes bugging out when she saw Sam, even though he wasn’t on a breathing machine. She didn’t do much to hide her reaction either.

“Nice to meet you, Samuel,” she said.

“Sam,” he corrected her.

Even though I had been silently praying that she wouldn’t, my mother then held out her hand for him to shake. It’s just automatic to do something like that when you’re meeting a new person. Sam took her hand, but I could tell that she was unnerved by the way his fingers didn’t move.

“I got you something, Mrs. Glockenfeld,” Sam said. He reached into the pouch on the back of his chair, and pulled out the small container of pastries he’d taken with him from home. He came close to dropping them as he handed them over, but he didn’t. “It’s apricot hamantaschen.”

Sam said he got them at what was probably the only Jewish bakery in Silicon Valley. He was really proud of himself, and he assured me that my mother would love them. I couldn’t say yet whether my mother would love the hamantaschen, but I could definitely tell that she did
not
love Sam.

“Thank you,” my mother said stiffly.

We all stood there in awkward silence for a moment. I’m not sure how long we would have stood there if my younger sister Rachel didn’t walk into the hallway, looking visibly pregnant. I hadn’t seen her in months and I was so shocked that my mouth fell open. I had been dreading Rachel’s inevitable pregnancy for years, but now I was so happy that there was a distraction to take the heat off me. Great timing, Rachel.

As I mentioned before, my sister Rachel is gorgeous. I don’t know how we came from the same genetic material. It’s sort of like that movie where Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito are twins. She’s really beautiful and has all the best genes, and I am the leftover crap. And her husband Theo is a freaking surgeon. I could never compete with that. May as well go for broke.

Sam was really great, actually. He’s such an amazing schmoozer. Even though I’m sure he was aware of it, he acted totally oblivious to the fact that the whole family seemed very uncomfortable with the wheelchair, at least initially. My mom was staring really conspicuously. But like he promised, he was incredibly charming. He made a big fuss over how nice the house was, then made a fuss over Rachel’s pregnancy. I think Rachel liked him more than anyone else. At one point, he made her laugh so hard that her apple juice came out of her nose.

The only person who didn’t seem charmed was my mother.

“Do you need any special utensils to eat with, Sam?” she asked him as she started setting the table.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Glockenfeld,” he said politely.

With about half an hour left till dinnertime, my father came out of his office. “Sam,” he said. “Millie tells me you’re good with computers. Do you think you could help me out a little?”

“No problem, sir,” Sam said.

I cringed. My dad has no idea what he’s doing on the internet so he downloads all kinds of weird stuff and his computer is crawling with viruses. It takes like an hour to open a browser window, it’s so damn slow. I didn’t think that there was anything Sam was going to be able to do to fix that computer in half an hour, but it turned out I was wrong. By the time dinner was on the table (which ended up taking an hour), Sam had undone years of damage to that poor computer. My father was beaming ear to ear. “Sam’s a genius!” he declared. “You better not let him go, Millie!”

All in all, dinner went great. I usually end up getting plastered on wine during the meal because it’s the only way I can deal with my family, but this time I only had one glass like everyone else. (Except Sam, who didn’t drink at all because we had a 40-minute drive back to the hotel right after dinner and he wanted to show my mother that he wasn’t the kind of person who would drink and get behind the wheel.) It felt like Sam was accepted into the family. It was great.

After dessert, Sam went out to the car. I tried to follow him, but my mother asked if she could talk to me alone. We stood out in the foyer and she gave me this desperate look. “Why don’t you spend the night here?” she said. “Sam can go back now and Daddy will drive you back tomorrow.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “We’ll be fine.”

“Matilda, please don’t marry that boy.”

I thought I had heard her wrong. “What? We’re not—”

“I can see that he’s very serious about you,” she said. “And I know he cares about you, but it would just be a huge mistake to marry someone like that. If you can’t see that, then… I just don’t know.”

“Why would it be a mistake?”

“You need a man who can protect you,” she said. “A man who can take care of you.”

“Sam makes a really good living—”

“Millie, you know what I mean.”

I did know what she meant and I was furious. Even with all the times she gave me crap about my weight or dressing sloppily, I had never been this angry at her. “I love Sam,” I said. “And if you can’t accept him into this family, then he and I will start a new family on our own. You don’t have to be a part of it.”

“Millie, stop it. I’m just worried because I love you.”

“If you love me, then you should trust my judgment. For a change.”

My mother looked at me a long time, or at least it felt like a long time to me, then she said in a small voice, “Okay, Millie.”

I let out a breath. Had I just won an argument with my mother? It was almost too easy. I almost expected the sky to open up and frogs to start falling on us. “We’re leaving,” I said.

“Call me when you get home to let me know you arrived safe.”

Sam was already in the car when I got there. He was sitting behind the wheel, looking very energetic considering how much we had just eaten. “Ready to roll?” he asked me with a grin.

I didn’t return his smile. “Let’s go.”

We didn’t talk for the first ten minutes of the trip. All these thoughts were swirling around in my head. I’d never told off my mother before. I felt exhausted from the effort. And a small part of me was scared that she was never ever going to accept Sam and this was going to be an issue forever. Finally, Sam broke the silence by saying, “Well, at least your dad liked me.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. I didn’t want to tell him what my mother had said to me, but I think he had figured it out.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I tried my best.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but...”

I bit my lip. “Did Holly’s parents get along with you?”

Sam sighed.

“What?”

“Why do we always have to bring up Holly?” he said. “The last thing I want to talk about is my ex. Why are you so interested in her?”

I blushed. He was right—I was way too interested in Holly.

He sighed again. “Her parents liked me, yeah. But her last boyfriend drove a motorcycle and had snake tattoos all over his skull.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Look,” he said. “Sometimes parents can’t deal with the fact that I use a wheelchair. And sometimes it’s a deal-breaker.”

I didn’t say anything and Sam pulled the car over. He looked really sad. My heart ached just looking at him. “Millie, do you want to break up with me?”

This felt like a turning point in our relationship. It was the point where I could either end this relationship because it wasn’t worth the grief from my family, or we could take things to the next level. Did I want to break up with Sam? The answer was very obvious.

“No,” I whispered.

He seemed incredibly relieved. I don’t know why, but all of a sudden, I burst into tears. At that moment, I loved him so much. He took me into his arms and held me till my shoulders stopped shaking.

DECEMBER

December 1:

Some character on
Sex and the City
(or some other dumb show I’m embarrassed that I used to watch) said that when a man wants to get married, a light goes on in his head, and he marries the next woman he dates. Well, Sam’s “marriage light” is on for sure. He really wants to get married. Everyone knows it. He wanted to marry Holly, but that didn’t happen, and now he’s with me.

Actually, it makes me feel better about the whole Holly thing. It wasn’t that he loved Holly so much that he wanted to marry her. He just wanted to get married and she happened to be his girlfriend.

Yesterday, we were going out to a restaurant and there was a jewelry store next door. Sam said to me, “You never wear jewelry. Do you want me to buy you something?”

“I’m not really into jewelry,” I said, which is true. I must be the only woman in the world who doesn’t wear any jewelry. I just don’t “get” jewelry. Also, each year, more than 50,000 people in this country are injured by jewelry. Seems like a big risk for nothing.

Sam gave me a meaningful look. “What about rings?”

Everyone within a five block radius could hear me swallow. Sam was thinking about buying me a ring. A
ring
. Amazing, my mother had actually psyched this one out. I couldn’t believe this was happening for me.

“I like rings,” I said in a small voice.

“Good,” he said.  

I told Donna that I thought Sam was going to propose soon. She was super excited. She said she thought he was going to buy me a gigantic rock because he tended to be pretty generous about spending money and he had a lot of it. Actually, she sounded a little jealous. I know she always wishes her husband had bought her a nicer ring.

(He bought her a crappy ring because he’s kind of an asshole. But don’t tell her I said that.)

I know we haven’t been together that long, but I think if Sam proposes, I will say yes. I mean, I will
definitely
say yes. But I can’t help having a few reservations—the person you marry is a big deal. Supposedly, I’ll be spending the rest of my life with him. Maybe having kids with him someday. Dealing with Sam’s disability can be difficult sometimes and it would be a huge commitment to deal with it for the rest of our lives. I think about things like how would he help me chase after the kids or get them strapped into their carseats or lift heavy packages or…

I’m getting ahead of myself. First Sam has to ask me to marry him, then I’ll worry about everything else.

December 3:

One thing that’s a little hard to get used to is how much people stare at Sam and me when we’re out together. I mean, they’re staring at him, not me. I don’t tend to get stared at. I may be ugly, but I’m not Elephant Woman ugly where all the townspeople gather ‘round to see.

The wheelchair attracts attention. I probably would have stared too. Especially since it’s a guy in a wheelchair on a date and they want to check out what kind of girl he’s with. But it still makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

Sam isn’t remotely bothered by the stares. He doesn’t even seem to notice. When we go out, he acts like the restaurant is completely empty and we’re the only two people there. He doesn’t seem to care that when he kisses me, all of the eyes in the room are bugging out.

Kids are the worst. Adults will stare, but at least when you look at them, they’ll quickly look away. But kids will just keep on staring. Last night we were out at dinner, and this five-year-old kid at the next table was really gawking at us. I took Sam’s cue and ignored him, but on the way out, the kid stopped at our table.

“Why are you in a wheelchair, mister?” the kid asked.

I felt my face burn, although not as much as the kid’s mom, who was bright red. Sam just smiled good-naturedly and said, “Because my legs don’t work. So I use the wheelchair to get around.”

It would have been fine if that were it, but then the kid said, “What’s wrong with your hands?”

At that point, the kid’s mom started apologizing and pulled the kid away before Sam could answer. If the mom hadn’t been there, Sam would have been happy to answer the kid’s questions for the next hour. He’s so patient about that kind of stuff.

When the kid was gone, Sam turned to me and said, “It really doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m used to it.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I know people stare a lot,” he said. “But that’s okay. They’re just curious, especially the kids. I know it still makes you a little uncomfortable though.”

“It’s just... hard to have everyone staring,” I admitted.

He laughed. “Yeah, I know. I was a teenager when I got hurt and the last thing I wanted was everyone staring at me every time I went outside. I basically refused to go out in public for about a year.”

“How did you get over it?”

“My older brother Eric pretty much dragged me out kicking and screaming,” he said. He grinned. “He made me try to hit on girls too.”

I was jealous of Sam, having that kind of relationship with his brother. Rachel and I weren’t like that.

“Anyway, you’ll get used to it too.” He looked into my eyes. “If you stick around long enough.”

He kissed me. Everyone in the restaurant was staring, but I knew I was going to get used to it.

December 4:

Sam’s older brother Eric called a few days ago and told him he was driving in for a visit today. I got the sense that there was something wrong. I asked Sam if he wanted me to come along when they went out and Sam said definitely yes. It’s nice that Sam wants to include me in everything, but he’s allowed to have a private night out with his brother. To be honest, I wish I hadn’t gone.

Eric is three years older than Sam and they’re really close. Eric lives up in Oregon with his wife and two kids, and I know Sam’s driven out there at least twice since we’ve been dating, although I didn’t come with him either time. (My choice... he invited me.) My sister Rachel is exactly three years younger than me, and Sam never seems to get why Rachel and I aren’t that close. I tried to explain to him that when you look like I do, being BFFs with your sister The Beauty Queen isn’t really a possibility.

“You’re as pretty as Rachel,” Sam insisted. Of course he’d say that.

I’m actually sort of jealous of the relationship Sam has with his brother. Sam told me that when they were kids, Eric kept the bullies away. And he told me that Eric did a lot for him when he was first injured. “He quit college for a year,” Sam said like he still didn’t totally believe it. Apparently, when Sam first came home after breaking his neck, he couldn’t do much on his own.

“Like what?” I asked him.

Sam shrugged. “You know.”

“I thought I was allowed to ask you anything and you were going to answer me truthfully.”

Sam made a face. “I don’t even know why you want to know about this anyway.”

I wanted to explain to him that when you love a person, you want to know everything about them, even the bad stuff. I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to know what it was like for him to be a teenager and coming home for the first time from such a big life change. I wanted to understand how he became the person he is right now. “I just do.”

“Well,” Sam said slowly, like if he took long enough to answer, I might change my mind and say forget it. “I just wasn’t adjusted to doing things on my own yet, and my upper arms were weaker than they are now. So I had some trouble with things that the medical folks call activities of daily living. Like, you know... bathing, going to the bathroom, stuff like that.”

He turned away from me then and changed the subject. I was still stuck on the idea of Sam being 17 years old and needing help to go to the bathroom. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like. It must have just about killed him.

We met up with Eric at Sam’s apartment. I can now rest easy knowing that if anything ever happens to Sam, there’s a spare walking around. By that, I mean the two brothers look a
lot
alike. I think Sam has the cuter face, and Eric has some added lines and gray hairs, and Sam wore glasses while Eric didn’t, but in general, they looked very similar.

“So this is the infamous Millie Glockenfeld,” Eric said as he shook my hand. He was just under six feet tall and as I stood next to him, I got the feeling that this was how it would feel standing next to Sam, if he could stand. For a moment, I wished standing next to my boyfriend and being able to look him in the eyes was something that I could do

“Infamous?” I made a face at Sam. “What are you telling him about me?”

“Sorry, I let on about your prison rap sheet,” Sam joked, pulling me into his lap so that I could be eye-to-eye with him instead of his brother. And I immediately felt guilty for what I had thought a minute ago.

For the first time in our entire dating relationship, Sam let me drive. He and Eric were planning to get completely plastered, and I got to be the designated driver. I was actually sort of intrigued because Sam rarely has more than one or two drinks and I’d never seen him close to drunk before. I wondered what he’d be like.

We got to the bar and had to park in a non-handicapped spot because we took my car, so I had to let Sam out before pulling into the spot. Parking spots in California are tiny, mostly because there are so damn many cars. I admit, I’ve scratched a few cars while pulling in or out, then made a break for it.

(Oh, don’t act so shocked. Everyone does it.)

The bar was moderately crowded, but we managed to get a table that didn’t involve being perched on barstools. There were a lot of girls at the bar and they were all really hot. I felt immediately self-conscious, like I shouldn’t even be in the same room as these girls. I half expected a bouncer to tap me on the shoulder and tell me I was too ugly and I’d have to leave.

Even though Eric was married with kids, I noticed him checking out the girls. I was proud of Sam that he didn’t even look vaguely interested and still had all his attention directed at me. “I like this place,” Eric commented.

“I thought you might.” Sam grinned.

Eric turned to me. “Did you know that I was the one who showed Sam how to pick up girls? Everything he learned, he learned it from me.”

Sam groaned, but he was still smiling. “Yeah, yeah...”

“It’s true,” Eric said. “I dragged him out to a bar on his 21
st
birthday and I told him we weren’t leaving until he had six phone numbers. I swear to god, he had six phone numbers in fifteen minutes. Charming bastard.” Eric laughed. “I’m sure you know what I’m talking about better than anyone, huh, Millie?”

Boy, do I.

Sam wasn’t kidding about the drinking. Before the food arrived, the guys both had two double shots of whiskey each. Sam slowed down after that, but Eric didn’t. He was drinking a
lot
. Before I even finished my burger, Eric was starting to slur his speech. I knew something big was coming and I could tell Sam knew it too. Despite all the drinks he’d had, Sam looked nervous.

“I lost my job,” Eric said, as he downed another shot. “I’m two months behind on mortgage payments. Goddamn economy.”

Sam told me Eric was a lawyer. I’d heard a lot of lawyers were getting laid off.

“I’ll lend you money,” Sam said instantly.

“No,” Eric said. “I am
not
taking money from my little brother. No. Way.”

“You’ve lent me money before. I’m paying you back.”

“I said no. What if you lose your job too?”

“No, our company’s doing great, right, Millie?” Sam looked at me. I nodded, not really wanting to get involved in this moment between brothers.

“Dad’s lending me money, it’ll be okay,” Eric said. “But Alicia... she doesn’t respect me anymore. She thinks I’m a loser because I don’t have a job.”

“Alicia is crazy about you!”

“Then how come we haven’t had sex in six months?”

Oh God. I couldn’t be here for this. I mumbled something and got the hell out of there. I went to the bathroom, trying to figure out what I was going to do to kill some time. I checked my hair, my make-up... both terrible, but nothing much to
do
about it. I paced a few times, back and forth, until some girls came into the bathroom and gave me weird looks.

I went back out into the bar and spotted my table. Now Eric was
crying
. There was no way I was going over there. Sam seemed really calm and reassuring to his brother. I somehow got the idea that the two of them were used to providing support for each other. I guessed that when Holly dumped Sam, there’d been a similar dinner, except Sam was probably the one getting alcohol poisoning. I wonder if he’d cried. I’ve never seen Sam cry before. I can’t even imagine it.

Finally, I went to the bar counter and sat down. I really wanted a drink. I’ve driven many times before with one beer in me and I’m not exactly a lightweight, so I figured I could still be the designated driver if I had one beer. I ordered a Guinness from the bartender.