Love and Other Things I'm Bad At (18 page)

11/23 BEST THANKSGIVING EVER

Is it because for once in the past 5 years I’m not in charge of “all the breads” and don’t have Grandpa hovering constantly at my elbow with a carving knife and a 25-pound turkey on a platter?

First off, this family does not even take off Turkey Day. I have never seen 8 people work so hard in my life. They are like this well-trained army of specialists. Milk division. They could start a dairy college and call it Milk U. Except that sounds vaguely obscene.

But what was so great was that they didn’t
care
if I ate the turkey or not. I mean, they kept offering, like 10 times, and I kept saying, “No thank you,” and that was just fine with them. Got the feeling they just enjoyed offering things again and again—ritualistic behavior that was part of the meal whether you ate turkey or not.

The mashed potatoes were completely lumpy and dreamy. They had a glass dish they called the relish tray, which wasn’t filled with relish but with pickles and olives. When I ate everything on it, it miraculously got refilled, though I never saw it happen. Mrs. Johannsen made a green bean/onion-thingy casserole; MJ made fresh rolls; together they made 3 pies, all while I was still asleep. Only strange thing was the trademark red wobbly Jell-O sculpture, which I remembered from the day we met.

I love Mary Jo’s family. They let me sleep until 10, they let me disappear into my room for hours whenever I want to, and don’t get upset by it. Love it here.

Wonder how Grant is spending Thanksgiving. Wonder if he’s having a good time. Probably watching endless football games with his dad. Probably not even missing me. He’s home in Denver, and so is Beth. Best not to think about this, but to concentrate on positives in life. Like the fact there is leftover pie.

11/24

Just had the most incredible conversation with Mary Jo over breakfast!!! French toast. Yum. Forgot it was made with eggs and milk until 2 slices down the hatch. We were drinking the entire percolator of coffee, and conversation was flying. Mary Jo explained why she was back with Joe, even though she had ditched him for me for Thanksgiving; they’d already talked on the phone a couple of times. Which reminds me, I need to call Mom and tell her where I am so she doesn’t worry. Anyway, Mary Jo was defending Joe.

“He’s not that bad,” she said. “He was really stressed about passing bio, and he still is. So he took it out on me. He apologized. Look,
we’re
not the same, Courtney. So we’re not going to like the same kind of
guy
.”

Big relief. Because I thought she did like the same kind of guy—no—the same GUY, Grant.

So she told me how Joe never stopped saying nice stuff about her body now, and how stupid her extreme diet was, and how since she’d gone off it, she’s been not even caring about weight anymore, which is the only way to be, I think. Of course I’m lucky in that, and probably shouldn’t even talk about it, I said, because everyone in my family’s sort of skinny. So then Mary Jo said, “My birth mother is really thin, you know. So I’ve got genetics on my side, too.”

“Wait—your birth mother?” She has a birth mother? I mean, so do I, but—this was different.

“I told you I was adopted,” she said. “Remember?”

She did? Gulp. Totally slipped my mind. I did remember her saying in our housing workshop that I never listened. This was really bad. “Oh, sure. And um . . . what about your brothers?”

“They’re not. See, my mom really desperately wanted a girl, but she couldn’t have any more kids after she had my youngest brother. So they adopted me.”

“Right.” I nodded. Had she told me that? And if so, when? “So um, do you know your birth mother? Or is this from pictures you’ve seen, or like . . .” LIKE WHAT, COURTNEY? I felt so clumsy and awkward with my lame questions, like I was drowning in quicksand and swallowing it at the same time. I suck. Haven’t I listened to a word she’s said? Well, no, not really. I’ve been sharing a room with her for almost 3 months and I don’t know she’s adopted? I
really
suck.

“Of course I know her,” Mary Jo said. “She works at the town post office. We’ll go down after lunch and I’ll introduce you.”

“That is so cool,” I said. “I can’t wait to meet her. I already love your whole family, you know, so I’m sure I’ll like her.” Pouring it on a bit thick, like the real maple syrup I was drowning my French toast in, because of a) sugar overdose, and b) guilt.

LATER . . .

Snowing. Blizzarding. Trip to post office was called off. Everyone sitting around eating cold turkey leftovers. Mary Jo mentioned we could snowshoe to P.O., but then we realized her bio mom probably wouldn’t be there by the time we got there. Ed said he could hook up horse and sleigh, which sounded awesome to me, but MJ said it was snowing too hard and we’d get stranded.

Instead sat around inside, first doing homework by the fireplace (a/k/a “napping”), and then watching TV. Very weird experience to watch
Sally Jesse
with 6 men looking over your shoulder. But I couldn’t look away. The topic was Betrayal. The topic was Courtney’s Life.

They were talking to girls whose former best friends had ruined their lives, while the “friends” waited in a secluded area. All of the guests reminded me of myself: and why is this topic on talk shows every time I watch them? Is it that common? And if so, what is the point of trying to find a new best friend?

The guest who was me kept describing everything that had happened to me. Little taglines floated at the bottom of the screen saying things like

Hates her best friend for stealing her boyfriend.

Says her best friend betrayed her and she’ll never trust her again.

Says she doesn’t want to be friends anymore.

Won’t accept former friend’s apology.

Can’t stop reliving pain of phone call from the Tom.

Is sitting in a farmhouse for Thanksgiving because she can’t face her family.

Once I started down this path, I had to run out of the room because I was crying. Ed and Mary Jo came after me and took me out to the barn and showed me how to milk a cow. Found myself thinking that cows are cute, if large. Felt like a hypocrite as I enjoyed entire, bizarre process. Except that I really only brought one pair of boots, so they’re outside in the snow now because they got too smelly.

11/25

Met Mary Jo’s bio mom today. Her name’s Patty, and she gave Mary Jo a big hug and told her how beautiful she was. They seemed really close and I thought it was amazing, considering the circumstances. I noticed she had tiny feet like Mary Jo and same hair also.

“Well, she
was
thin,” Mary Jo said as we left the post office, which was actually a sort of desk thing inside the Stop ’n’ Go. “Ever since she gave up her walking route and started sitting behind the desk, she’s gained weight.” Mary Jo let out a long sigh that was a white puff in the sub-zero air. It reminded me of when Beth used to smoke when we walked to school in the winter.

“Mary Jo?” I said. “No offense, but you have to stop looking at everything and everyone based on pounds. Okay? Because you look fine, you’re doing great at school, and nobody really cares. Okay?”

She explained how she never thought about it at all, really—not until she came to CF. She grew up with all those brothers, and everyone always told her she was pretty, and she never really compared herself to her high-school friends. Then she got to CF and felt totally overwhelmed, and she was living with me, the health nut. And Joe told her she was too big, and it just pushed all the wrong buttons. I always forget that other people have buttons, too.

“So I’ll try to change,” she said. “I’m sure it’s really annoying, listening to me obsess about it.”

“No, it’s not that,” I said. “It’s just . . . I hate worrying about how I look, and I hate when my friends worry about it even more. Because there’s more to life. And anyway, you know what? Screw genetics,” I said. “My mom likes everything I don’t. And this hair color? It’s like, where did that come from? Nobody else in my family is a redhead.”

“Um . . . well, your cut’s sort of starting to grow in nicely,” Mary Jo said.

We went home and had lunch. Mary Jo showed me her wall of ribbons in the den, all for raising and showing sheep at fairs. Then she told me that when she was little and got lonely for not having a sister, she went out into the barn and slept next to a goat. “You’re the first roommate I’ve had since Chipper,” she said. Then she realized how dopey she sounded and we laughed so hard it was sort of embarrassing.

Mary Jo went to help with some chore, so I went inside and sat down next to Mr. Johannsen at the kitchen table. Brother who refuses to speak came in, nodded awkwardly at me, grabbed a sandwich and ran out of the kitchen.

I was trying to be polite, so I asked Mr. Johannsen about what it’s like to have his own business and whether he knew about that bovine hormone.

He started telling me all about how factory farms are taking over; how thousands of family farms have closed or gone out of business in the last 30 years. He told me about how hard it is to make a living. (Man was just looking for an opening, apparently.) He told me about a famous historical milk strike, where farmers dumped out all their milk to protest the low prices, and how they were planning another one soon. Didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’ve been on my own milk strike for years. I started feeling really guilty. Maybe people like me are the reason family farms are going under. I had him pour me 2 glasses of fresh whole milk and drank them right away.

Now Mr. Johannsen thinks I am a “great gal,” and Ed is even more in love with me because I hit it off with his dad.

I, however, have stomach cramps.

11/26

Got back to campus tonight. I can’t believe it. Grant was here while I was gone. He
drove
the whole way, hung out for 2 days waiting for me, and then left.

There are 7 increasingly despondent messages from Grant on the answering machine, and he left this very very sweet letter for me:

Dear Courtney,

I don’t know where you are, and it’s killing me. How can you not be here? I risked speeding tickets, I risked getting stuck in snow drifts, and I risked sleeping in the hallway of this dorm of yours that apparently has no heat.

[Good thing Grant keeps that sleeping bag in the car, the one with a tiger print on the inside that I’m always making fun of because he’s had it since 4th grade? Or
6th
grade, as he claims.]

This campus is deserted and the whole town is sort of shut down. I looked for you at Bagle Finagle, but it was closed. Ended up having a turkey dinner at some place called Brat Wurstenburger, which I think you told me about once. The very nice people there all thought I was left on campus by myself for Thanksgiving and insisted on buying me dinner.

This campus (not including unheated Rankin Hall), despite 3-foot-high snowbanks, is pretty nice, actually—small, but old, nice brick buildings, lots of history, lots of trees. But with you not being here the place seems like a dump. Where are you? I finally tracked down your mom and Bryan in Nebraska. She said you went to a friend’s at the last minute, but she couldn’t remember which friend’s. I didn’t know if that was true, or if she was just mad at me, which is entirely possible. But you’re obviously not here, and I’ve already filled up the memo board on your door, not to mention your answering machine tape, so . . .

So I’m left here sitting in the freezing cold hallway, with my Discman on, listening to the CD you made me, wondering: where are you? Why aren’t you here? I missed you like crazy before. Now that I’m here, where you usually are—where you live and sleep every single day—I miss you even more. I’ve got 100 things to say to you. I want to make things right between us. I love you.

And I guess I have to leave today if I want to get back to CSU for classes Monday, which I have to do. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I missed you. It would have been great. Next time I’ll call first, and next time you’d better be here. Please call me as soon as you’re back so I know you’re okay.

Love,

Grant

Read letter and collapsed on bed, woozy from emotion. Mrs. Johannsen ran to get me a cold washcloth from the bathroom, and Mary Jo fanned me with her bio textbook. “I’m okay!” I said. “Really.” It’s just that I forgot how great Grant could be. I’d been trying to forget. And remembering all of a sudden was a complete shock.

Mary Jo keeps pacing around the room, telling me I’m crazy if I don’t call Grant this second, if I don’t get back together with Grant immediately. Look at all he did, read that letter again, listen to all those sweet messages!

“Do you have any idea how much that means? What he did? Driving out here when he only has a four-day break, and I’ll bet he had to take time off from work, and do you have any idea how much homework someone in his program would have over Thanksgiving break? And he risked it all to come see you, and then sat here in town and worried about you for two days straight and—”

“Okay, okay! I’ll
call
him,” I said. “Tomorrow.”

Can’t sleep. Very excited about the Grant letter. Very, very, very excited.

11/27

7:30
A.M.
Just called Grant. Woke him and roommate Matt up. Told him how sorry I was that I left town without telling him where I was, told him about my trip with Mary Jo and what a good time I had. Told him I loved his letter. He sounded groggy but happy. Still tired from the drive.

All I kept telling myself while he talked was “Grant doesn’t know how to lie.” So he must be telling the truth when he says nothing really happened that night except a really dumb kiss. But no matter how many times he says it, I still have my doubts. And it’s like, how am I supposed to trust them when they are living within an hour of each other, and I’m on the other side of Nebraska, and then some? But then Grant drove out here. So that means something. Maybe it means that he is extremely guilty. But no. Just looked at letter again. Seems to be an act of love.

Oh crap. Have to run—late for work now, and I’m still on probation.

10:45
P.M.
When I got to work, Jennifer was standing by the door waiting for me. “Remember what I said? One more strike and you’re out?”

“So how was your Thanksgiving?” I asked as I took off my coat, scarf, hat.

“Oh, uh, fine,” she said.

Totally threw her off by being exceedingly polite. Trying to act like Mary Jo and her mom. I gave her a big smile, hugged Marcus, hugged Ben, put on my apron and immediately got to work.

“Three strikes?” Marcus said under his breath as we restocked cheese bins. “What does she think this is? Jail?”

“Isn’t it?” I said, laughing.

“No, this is one of those hospitals for the criminally insane,” Ben said.

Then funniest thing to date happened. Thyme came in. But I didn’t even know it was her. She was waiting in line with her sister, both wearing lots of makeup, leather coats, skirts, leather boots, leather everywhere. But I honestly didn’t recognize her until Ben said, “So Thyme. How was Chicago—uh, I mean Sheboygan?”

“Hello, Benjamin,” she said. “Hello, Courtney. Mark.” No emotion registering on her face. She had lipstick on. She had a purse dangling from gold chain with a cell phone hanging off it. Disgusting.

“Thyme?” I said. “Oh my God, how are you?”

More like: oh my God, WHO are you?

“Morgan, are you getting anything to drink besides a triple cap?” Her sister was down by the cash register, flashing a fresh 20, or maybe it was a 50. Tricia was making coffee drinks and chatting about the latest weather front with her.

“Would you grab an OJ for me, Thornton?” Thyme replied.

I was standing there thinking: Morgan? Thornton? What the hell? Thyme’s ordering coffee drinks and a bagel with cinnamon cream cheese? I was unable to even speak.

“Did you guys hit the Anne Klein outlet yesterday?” Marcus asked as he prepared her bagel. “Or wait, maybe you have more of an Ann Taylor look going. Well, some Ann anyway.”

“I was thinking Donna,” Ben said as he looked at Thyme with this expression of complete disbelief.

“DKNY?” I said.

“More like DKWI,” Ben said. I was starting to laugh.

“Or how about DWI,” Marcus said. “Dressing while impaired.”

Thyme narrowed her eyes at us. “Nice aprons.”

Ooh! Cruel!

“
Morgan.
Your triple cap is getting cold,” her sister said from a table by the window.

“Coming, Thornton! Talk to you guys later!” Thyme called over her shoulder.

Marcus, Ben, and I left standing there, stunned. Even Tricia came over and joined us.

“I
told
you she was a complete phony,” Ben muttered.

“Does this mean she’s going to shave now?” Tricia asked. “Because I really wish she would.”

Then Jennifer came out, caught us all “clumping,” and reminded us of company policy: only the batter is allowed to clump at Bagle Finagle!

I’ve got like 17 strikes now, but she is still allowing me to play.

Oh joy.