Notes From the Backseat (20 page)

Soon, the crowd started to disburse. Joni and Phil were mobbed by well-wishers. Coop made his way toward me, hugged me so hard I lifted a few inches off the sand. He just held me like that for a long moment, my toes dangling above the earth, while seagulls screeched and the ocean roared. I wanted to stay there forever, smelling his smells, wrapped tightly in his arms.

When he put me down at last, I said, “What was that for?”

“For everything,” he said. “You're a genius. You know that, right?”

“A genius, really?”

“Obviously. Who else could take this ragtag bunch and whip us into shape like you did?”

“Gwen.” I turned, and there was my dad holding hands with Kelly. “We're going to head over to the house. You want a ride?”

“Oh, um, no, we'll probably help clean up here, first.” Everything had been so frantic this morning, I'd completely forgotten to tell Coop about my father. “By the way, Dad, this is Coop, my boyfriend.”

Coop looked from me to him and back again in surprise. My father took advantage of his confusion and gave him a squinty once-over. His bushy eyebrows furrowed in a look of paternal concern. He must have approved at least a little, because he stuck his big, rough hand out and Coop shook it firmly. It was all so man-to-man, I wanted to laugh, but I remembered in time to complete the introduction.

“This is my father, Martin, and his…” I hesitated for half a second.

“Fiancée,” Kelly said, buttoning her coat.

“Fiancée,” I repeated, a little hoarsely. “Kelly.”

My father and I exchanged a look. Mine said,
You? Getting married?
His said,
What can I say? I'm in love.

“Great to meet you,” Coop enthused. “Wow. I had no idea.” It was a little vague, what Coop had no idea about—that I had a father or that he was here or that he was marrying this cat-eyed brunette. It was probably better to leave it ambiguous.

“Well, I guess we'll see you there.” Dad nodded at us, flashed a crooked grin, and they ambled down the beach, along the river's edge toward the parking lot.

Coop stared after them. “Did you mention your dad would be here?”

“I just ran into him last night.”

“What are they doing here?”

“I guess Kelly's friends with Joni's parents.” I shrugged. It was a weird coincidence, that was for sure.

He looked at me. “Don't you sort of…dislike your father?”

In our three-month courtship, I'd only divulged minimal data: my parents divorced years ago, I was mad at my father, we weren't on speaking terms. “Well, it's a little more complicated than that.”

His gaze went soft and he ran his thumb over my eyebrow. “Promise you'll tell me the whole story sometime?”

I just nodded.

Because, you see, I do want to tell him. I want to tell him about the time I trapped a monarch butterfly in a Mason jar, sealed it tight, and cried when it went still. I want to tell him about the day I almost jumped off the high dive, but instead climbed back down with hot pee running down my thighs. I want to tell him about the years when my dad and I were close, after the divorce but before I got mad at him—when he'd call me from a commune in Berkeley, a village of yurts in Arcata, a straw-bale hut in Ashland, and we'd tell each other secrets. I want to tell him everything about the girl I was before I met him and I want to hear everything about him, too.

All in all, things look promising (knock on wood).

Bubbly with Love,
Gwen

6:00 p.m.

 

M
arla,

Okay,
chica,
get yourself another cappuccino, because what I'm about to tell you requires fortification.

When you get this letter, you'll disown me. I'm a disaster at love; my heart is a tiny, shriveled-up pea. The hard ones, you know? Like those wasabi kind we used to get at Trader Joe's.

Maybe it's the only-child thing. I never learned to share. I covet. I hoard. I can't afford a decent therapist.

Then again, she really is a bitch.

There I was, floating along on my pink cloud of champagne and pure, sugary optimism. My inner soundtrack was blaring “Some Enchanted Evening” and I just knew that Coop and I were destined for sixty years of sweet, monogamous bliss. I was already moving into our chic,
trés
retro apartment, arranging the furniture (his red leather chair would look divine next to my cream silk couch, incidentally) and naming our children (Audrey and Clark, of course).

That's when I walked into the kitchen.

And saw them.

With their arms around each other.

Embracing.

“I love you, Coop,” the viper murmured against his shoulder.

“Love you, too, kid. I'll always be here for you.”

I watched this touching tableau, paralyzed by horror. They stood in profile near the sink; her cheek was pressed against his lapel, eyes closed. He was looking out the window. She must have sensed me, because her eyes popped open. But she didn't move. She just stayed there in his arms, her glacial stare taunting me.

“How much more of this do you expect me to take?” My words were like knives slicing through the air.

“Gwen.” He loosened his hold on her, but he didn't jump back like a man caught at something. He just eased himself away, turned to me with a nonchalance that was grotesquely out of sync with the toxic sludge bubbling up from my gut. “Something wrong, kitten?”

“Something wrong, kitten?”
I barely recognized my voice; each syllable sounded hollow and cold. “I walk in on—on this—and you stand there like everything's cool?”

Dannika, the treacherous cow, actually pursed her lips together to keep from laughing. It took every ounce of control not to go for the eyes.

Coop took a step toward me, but I backed away. He frowned. “Maybe it looked sort of—I don't know, suspect—but there's nothing going on here that I'm ashamed of.”

“Friends hug sometimes,” Dannika informed me, like she was addressing a cranky toddler. “It happens.”

“You've done nothing but provoke me all weekend!”

She widened her eyes. “Provoke you?”

“
Please!
I've tried to be a good sport, but for Christ's sake, you're a miserable bitch and you're after my boyfriend.”

She offered me a saccharine, condescending smile. “I'm sorry you feel that way.”

“Come on, Dannika, that smile is even faker than your tits!”

Coop put a hand up. “Whoa, let's cool down, Gwen.”

“I'm not going to
cool down,
okay? Jesus, Coop, you expect me to just hang back while you cuddle up with this harpy?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I don't know what you thought you saw—it was just a hug.”

“Oh yeah? And what about Malibu?”

He stared at me blankly. “What about Malibu?”

Dannika shook her head. “She won't let go of this fixation. I tried to tell her we've always been friends.”

I whirled on her. “Liar!”

“Am I missing something here?” Coop was looking from her to me and back again.

“Dannika claims you had a really hot week in Malibu—from her account, it was
sizzling.
”

Coop turned to her. “What's she talking about?”

Dannika shrugged. “No idea.”

“Did you tell her that?”

“The girl's delusional.”

I lunged toward her. “Say that again, you—”

“Gwen!” Coop angled between us, holding me back. “Look, Danni and I are just friends—I swear to you.”

“Oh yeah? Try telling her that!”

Dannika addressed her fingernails. “This is what I was talking about….”

Coop just shook his head.

“What?” My temples throbbed and I was sweating under my dress. A fat woman in a flowered muumuu opened the back door and peeked into the kitchen; seeing us, she backed out again. “
What
were you talking about?”

Dannika looked at Coop. “You really want to spend your life with a woman who can't handle a hug?”

He shot her a look of warning. “She's upset, Danni. Back off.”

“Oh, so now I'm reduced to the third person?” I was getting dangerously close to screeching.

Dannika didn't even spare me a glance. “Give it some thought.” She picked up her champagne flute, swiveled away from us, and slipped out the door. I wanted to tackle her, wrestle her to the floor, lock my fingers around her size two neck until she begged for mercy in ragged gasps.

But I restrained myself. Already, I was getting that low, sick feeling—the nauseating remorse that settles in after you lose it. I was reminded of that torturous climb back down the high dive ladder, stinking of pee.

Coop exhaled. “You really don't trust me, do you?”

“She's a two-faced, lying—”

He gripped my shoulder. “Forget her for a second. I'm talking about you and me.”

“Coop, there is no you and me when she's in the picture.”

He took a step back. “Well, she is in the picture. I'm sorry, but she's my friend.”

“You always put her first!” I sounded like a child.
Stop,
I told myself. But I couldn't.

“I can't just amputate big parts of myself to suit you. It wouldn't work.”

“You have to choose.” Even as I was saying it, I knew it was stupid. Unreasonable. But I wasn't in control anymore. “Who matters more to you, Coop? Me or her?”

“Gwen, don't do this.”

“I asked you a question.”

His eyes darkened; they went from a mossy, muddy hazel to an opaque green I'd never seen before. “I heard you.”

“Well?”

“You both matter. A lot. In very different ways.”

“Separate but equal, huh?” My voice had an ugly edge.

“Gwen.” Our eyes locked and then I saw his face go from frustrated to resigned. “If I have to give up my friends for you, then you're not the girl I thought you were.”

Exit angry, gorgeous man.

I stood there, my mouth dry, my cheeks burning.
What just happened?
My heart was still pounding so fast and hard, I could feel it throbbing in my tongue.

I burst out the door. “Coop! Wait.”

He was already lost in the river of guests. I froze, then, and felt a hundred eyes on me. The back deck had become my stage. I looked frantically from the hushed crowd assembled to the large, open kitchen window. They must have heard everything. No wonder they were studying me like I was an insect they couldn't quite identify. A couple of teenage girls giggled; two old, wrinkled ladies shook their heads knowingly. Joni made a sympathetic face.

The woman in the flowered muumuu said, “Jesus, girl, don't just stand there. Stop him!”

I ran from their probing stares, pushed through bodies in search of Coop, but when I got to the meadow, someone stepped in front of me and we collided.

“Gwen!” My father was taking a sip from a highball when I plowed into his side. He used a cocktail napkin to dab at the spot on his pale, button-down shirt. He looked more amused than angry. “In a hurry?”

“I—yeah, but…” Coop was out of sight, now. I was drunk on a potent cocktail of adrenaline, rage, remorse and panic. I couldn't think straight. “Goddammit,” I said to no one in particular.

“What's wrong?” He put a hand on my arm. His thick fingers squeezed my bicep, prompting a whole new storm of emotion.

I turned to face him. “You want to know what's wrong, Dad?” My tone elicited looks, and a couple holding hands near us backed away slightly. “I'll tell you what's wrong: nine years old, middle of the night, standing on a stranger's porch while my mother screams at the guy inside to leave his little slut alone and get his ass home to his wife and daughter. Sound familiar? Oh, but I guess you think there's nothing wrong with that, huh? That's just natural, right? Anarchists don't believe in monogamy. Well, you know what? Your little experimentation in free love probably just cost me the only guy worth having.”

Okay, so the connection was tenuous, but I wasn't capable of solid logic with my heart hammering in my mouth.

“Gwen, honey, let's not do this here.”

Kelly was headed for us with a flute of champagne in one hand, a plate of food in the other; I could see Dad glancing at her nervously.

“Great!” I barked. “Your selfishness made me a jealous, insecure mess and you want me to keep it down so your little girlfriend won't hear? That is just like you, Dad. That's just you all over.”

I ran from him, then. I didn't know where I was going, I just sprinted as fast as my kitten heels would take me, away from the concerned faces, the craning necks, the tables of food and the bluegrass band and the kids spinning themselves drunk in the garden. The air was cool now, getting colder, and my strapless dress with the matching scallop-edged jacket provided paltry defense against the evening breezes, but I didn't care. I left the dirt road and plunged into the forest, even though the uneven ground forced me to take off my shoes. When I was finally far enough away from everyone to feel invisible, I leaned against an oak tree and sobbed for a good five minutes. The trunk was huge and solid, the branches a sinuous network above me. The moss under my fingers was thick and spongy. Touching it reminded me of playing with my father's beard when I was little. I hadn't thought of that in years.

“Hey.”

I turned around and there was Joni, looking like a woodland nymph in the dappled sunlight. “Hey yourself,” I sniffled.

She came closer. Her small hand reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. I could smell the lavender water I'd forced her to soak in; she'd said she hated perfume, but I'd convinced her she should be fragrant for her wedding night.

“What is it?” Her big doe eyes found mine and I started to cry. “Shhh…” she tried to hug me.

“No!” I pulled away. “I don't want to get makeup on your dress.”

“Okay, okay,” she said. “Just tell me what's going on.”

I sniffed and she pulled the handkerchief from my breast pocket, started mopping up the inevitable globs of mascara and even wiped my nose, as if I were a child.

“I made a scene. Well, two scenes actually. In the last ten minutes.”

She looked impressed. “I only caught one—well, part of one.”

I laughed, but the sound got sidetracked somewhere in my throat and came out as a strangled little sob. “I'm such a moron.”

“No, you're not,” she said. “What happened?”

“Things got out of hand. Dannika sucks.
Eugh
—I could kill her.” I shook my head. “I should have just trusted him. Why did I say he had to choose? It's so childish.”

Joni lowered her chin. “Gwen, you're going to have back up a little.”

So I told her everything: The hug, the catfight, the ultimatum. It was all so junior high and dramatic; I couldn't believe the things I'd said. You know me. I like my drama onstage. Even then, I worry that all the fainting and fighting and thrashing about will wrinkle my perfectly pressed costumes.

When I got to the part about yelling at my dad, I felt even more sheepish. I mean, Jesus, this was a pretty random occasion to unpack all my baggage. Was it really fair to blow up like that when all he'd done was sleep with some chick twenty years ago? It wasn't even like he was sneaking around. Maybe it was my mom I should be mad at. She's the one who dragged me to his girlfriend's house.

Joni was wide-eyed, suitably awed by my stupidity, I guess. I felt bad about that. This was her day and here we were, gnashing our teeth at each other when we should be clinking glasses. I apologized, but she waved a dismissive hand at me.

“This is amazing, Gwen. I mean, how long have you been waiting to confront your father?”

“What do you mean?”

“You finally told him how much he hurt you. That's like a serious breakthrough.”

I hung my head. “Then why do I feel like a spoiled brat who's just acted out at someone else's birthday party?”